summary: sometimes letting go is harder than holding on. when two married dominants quietly dismantle the life you’ve spent years building around self-reliance, you’re forced to decide whether being cared for is as terrifying as it feels, or as freeing as they’ve promised.
au/background: you’ve always known what submission was. wanting it has never been a problem—but letting someone have it was. years of taking care of yourself have made independence feel like the safest route to life. then comes wanda and natasha—married dominants who don’t expect perfection, only honesty, patience, and a willingness to meet them halfway.
this series will start in an already established relationship through snapshots of time. anything from quiet moments, difficult conversations, gentle (or not so gentle) lessons that come with learning trust, and allowing yourself to be cared for.
authors note: welcome to my newest wandanat au <3 i’m very, very excited for this one. we talk about submission a lot, but something i don’t think we highlight much is the struggle sometimes to fully let go and let someone hold us. this au will be dedicated to moments with softer dominance (though there will still be strict & hard moments as well) and all around healthy dynamics.
Summary: You grew up in a foster care facility until you were six years old. Happy memories were distant, until a new, green-eyed high school volunteer started one day. You became her precious baby, and she became the first, and last, mother figure in your life. You wish you remembered her name, but you were suddenly placed with a foster family one day without ever getting to say goodbye.
Now, you're a quiet university student. But why does your regular customer, Wanda, make memories of the facility swirl in your head? Why does her touch feel so familiar? And when was she going to tell you she's married?
Word Count: 8.7k
Warnings: 18+, age gap, mommy kink, heavy Freudian themes, pseudo-incest, dom/sub undertones, suggestive, a little emotional regression, angst and fluff, finding comfort in each other in a possibly unhealthy way
A/N: first time writing something like so pls be gentle and read the warnings
—
The memories of the foster care facility had been popping into your mind more often lately. They were usually a mixture of sad or painful events. Prospective parents passing you over for kids who were brighter, more talkative, or openly craving affection. Volunteers assuming you didn't want to be bothered, leaving you to read or draw alone at the table. The facility staff scolding you, frustrated that you didn't try harder to be chosen.
It wasn't that you didn't try on purpose.
You had been there since the day you were born, spending six years inside that building. When you were a newborn, people thought you were too much responsibility. A blank slate where one slip-up could ruin a life. Then you became a toddler, making friends with the other kids. You would play outside, screaming at the top of your lungs and laughing until you couldn't breathe.
But then one day, your best friend left with a foster family. Then another. And another. You were happy for them, but beneath it all, you started to close in on yourself. You grew scared of the pain of opening up to someone who could leave at any moment. So, you started to keep your distance. You talked less, stayed inside, and kept your head down.
But one day, shortly after you turned six, a happy memory formed.
You were drawing at one of the tables by yourself. The sleeves of your oversized t-shirt were folded up, and the hem fell past your shorts. The other kids were talking excitedly with one another, a noise you were used to drowning out.
Suddenly, a hand larger than yours, adorned with rings, appeared next to your crayons.
"Hi," a soft, slightly accented voice said.
You turned your head, meeting wide, green eyes. The corners of them crinkled as she smiled brightly, her face level with yours from where she crouched beside the table. You scanned her face, noticing her dark brown hair before looking down at her name tag. It listed her as a volunteer.
You wish you had committed her name to memory, but assuming she would be like the rest, you hadn't looked closely.
"Hi," you mumbled, wanting to get back to your coloring.
She picked up a blue crayon, twirling it between her fingers. "I'm a new volunteer here. I saw you coloring and wondered if I could join you."
You looked down at your drawing. She would probably get bored and leave to play with the others. The thought made you pout as you stared at the yellow duck you had drawn.
"I guess..." you responded quietly, continuing your coloring to distract yourself.
She giggled softly. Before you could react, she lightly pinched your cheek between her index finger and thumb. You turned to her, her fingers still holding your cheek, and gave her a little glare. She only giggled more.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound apologetic despite her grin. "You just looked too cute."
You looked away, your cheeks heating up. You shook your head, forcing her fingers to fall away. "If you're gonna draw, do it quietly," you said with the biggest sigh your small body could muster.
With one last giggle, she pulled out the small, plastic chair beside you. She settled in, grabbing a sheet of paper from the stack in the center of the table. You could see her glancing at your drawing repeatedly before finally starting her own.
You sat silently, trying to keep your lines smooth even though they always wobbled in the middle. Other kids came up to her, asking her to play and wanting to get to know the new volunteer. Your chest tightened every time, even when you tried not to care.
But she always rejected them kindly, telling them she was in the middle of spending time with you. Your heart warmed just a little, despite your best efforts to act indifferent.
Half an hour into drawing, she started to speak to you. She acted as though you were answering her questions even when you stayed silent, the smile never leaving her voice.
You learned she was a high school senior completing volunteer hours. You found out she had an annoying twin brother who always brought up that he was a few minutes older. She told you about being from Sokovia, how she had only been in the States for a few years, the foods she liked, and the classes that bored her. She talked about her plans for the future, wanting to do something meaningful with her life.
Time passed like that—her talking about herself while you sat there, pretending not to listen but absorbing it all.
When she stopped talking, you peeked up. She was holding her drawing out to you with a shy grin.
It was a drawing of you. More specifically, of you sitting right in front of her, the little splotches of color from your own paper captured in her sketch. Even though there were other kids behind you, you were the only person in the drawing.
Your eyes widened as you looked between her and the paper. She was about to speak when one of the workers called your name, announcing it was bath time. Disappointment washed over you. Surely she would find someone more interesting after this.
You gathered your drawing, but her warm hand enveloped yours completely, stopping you. Your eyes met her green ones.
"Can we trade?" she asked, smiling softly as she looked down at the paper in your hands.
You weren't attached to your drawing. You had messed up the lines far too many times for it to look like anything, and it wasn't anywhere near what she had made. But you found yourself nodding shyly before you could think twice.
She swapped the papers but kept her hand on top of yours, holding it there for a moment. "See you later, alligator," she said gently. Her eyes didn't waver, and somehow, you believed her.
"See you," you whispered.
Her hand finally released yours. You hopped off the plastic chair and walked across the room toward the worker. You looked back, fully prepared to see her talking to another kid. Instead, you found her watching you leave with delicate affection in her eyes.
She started coming every other day. Sometimes she wore her backpack, arriving straight from school. On colder days, she would stop at the coat rack to hang her jacket. But despite those little differences, her searching for you was a constant. She would locate you with a single glance, walking over quickly with a bright smile that lit up the room.
You always ignored her for the first few minutes while she told you about her day. She would join you in whatever you were doing, even if you were just sitting silently outside, staring at the sky. At first, she sat an arm's length away. But as the months went on, the distance closed. And your heart opened.
You remember the first time you sought her out. It was right after a nap with the other kids your age. Bad dreams had plagued you—memories of the friends who had left, telling you that you would never be loved. You had gripped the front of your oversized shirt with small hands, your chest aching because you believed them. Tears streamed down your cheeks, even as you tried to swipe them away with the back of your hand.
It was then that she showed up. The door opened just a crack so the hallway light wouldn't flood the dark room. You could recognize her silhouette easily by that point. Shimmying out of your blankets, you quietly stepped over the other kids, your vision blurred with tears.
You remember her surprised face. Her eyes widened when she saw you standing right in front of her, forcing her to look down. Your fingers curled into the denim of her jeans while you sniffled. She crouched down, her eyebrows furrowed with worry as she brushed the tears off your cheeks with her thumbs.
"What's wrong, baby?" she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake anyone.
You shook your head, staring at her with shiny eyes. You let go of her jeans and lifted your arms. She scooped you up immediately, rocking you back and forth. Holding one hand against the back of your head, she pressed your cheek into her shoulder. You breathed in. The comforting scent of sweet flowers, like the ones that grew by the swing set outside, washed over your senses.
More bright memories formed after that, multiplying over the weeks. You started talking a little more, telling her what you planned to draw. You sought her out whenever your shoes were untied. When you watched the sky, you sat in her lap instead of leaving that empty space between you.
In the picture books you read, the mom was always there for her child, whether they were sad or happy. Always wiping away tears after a bad dream. Always listening to them talk, even if it was nonsense about nothing at all.
Just like she did for you.
You remembered when one of the other kids got fostered. Their foster parents had come to pick them up from the facility, and the way the new mother beamed when the child called her "Mommy" always stuck with you.
Wanting to see that same look on her face, you walked up to her the next day just like you had after your nightmare. You tugged on the hem of her shirt to make her look down, tilting your chin to meet her smiling eyes.
"Hi, mommy," you said quietly, your voice shy.
Her eyes widened. Tears immediately began to shine in them before she scooped you up, hugging you tightly. She held you like that for a long time, her breathing shaky against your shoulder. You remember wondering if you had done something wrong. But then she spoke, her voice watery and thick with emotion.
"If only I were older... more stable..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "Then I could take you away from this place."
You hadn't understood why she was crying. She didn't have to take you away from there. You were happy as long as she came to visit. You thought it would last forever.
After that day, you became her precious baby. She would call you that every time she greeted you. She started staying past her volunteer hours, right up until the moment you had to go to sleep. The farewell was always the same.
"See you later, alligator."
"Bye-bye, mommy."
She would smile brightly whenever you called her that, as if you had given her the greatest gift in the world. Holding hands while walking, sitting in her lap while she read to you, her pushing you on the swings. They were pure, happy memories.
But the sunny days ended abruptly.
A couple who had visited you a few weeks prior appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. You had assumed they would choose someone else, since they had stopped talking to you weeks ago. Instead, they walked up to you with small smiles that didn't reach their eyes and told you that you were leaving with them.
She wasn't there that day. You never got to say goodbye. All you had from her was the drawings she'd trade with you that you begged to take with you.
You were in another state by the next day. In a spacious new apartment, a new room, a new school. You tried to be grateful for it all, but your foster parents weren't parents. You would try to get their attention, showing them your grades or asking for help, but their polite, distant smiles made you realize something quickly. The love you had read about in picture books wouldn't be found here.
It was more of an arrangement of convenience. They received money from the state for fostering you, and they got to look like a complete family from the outside. Even after they adopted you once the six month period passed, inside the home, you were just a guest.
That's how you lived for the next twelve years until you became an adult. And for the two years after that, you were on your own, refusing to accept their charity anymore.
Frankly, it wasn't something you chose to reminisce on. The ache in your chest from remembering her, from never being able to see her again, would always feel too painful.
But it's the green eyes in front of you that had been awakening these memories lately.
"Hi, honey, not too busy today?" Wanda asks, pulling an array of fruits and vegetables from her reusable bag and placing them onto the conveyor belt.
You pick up a package of cherry tomatoes, scan it, and set it to the side. "No, not today. It's been pretty quiet," you respond, continuing to scan the rest of the items.
You make a conscious effort to keep your head down, not wanting her to see the excitement on your face from her arrival.
You met Wanda a few weeks ago when you first started this job as a checkout clerk. It fits into your university class schedule well and pays decently because of the nicer neighborhood it's located in.
Your first day had been horrendous. In the last few minutes of your shift, a customer began complaining about their total, claiming they had a coupon that should reduce the price significantly. You tried scanning the coupon they held out, but it came back invalid every single time. Even when you tried to explain the situation calmly, they began to raise their voice until everyone in the front of the store was looking your way.
Situations like these have never been easy for you. You hated being the center of attention. You hoped they would just get it out of their system, pay, and leave so you could go home, but they wouldn't budge.
It wasn't until a voice came from behind them that the situation resolved itself.
"If you can't afford it, then just say so and move on so the rest of us can have our turn."
You craned your head back, meeting a pair of green eyes that you could swear you've seen before. It reminded you instantly of the volunteer who doted on you when you were still at the facility. But this woman had reddish-orange hair and no accent in her voice.
The customer's face turned beet red. They finally tapped their card against the reader, grabbed their bags, and walked away muttering under their breath.
The woman stared the customer down all the way until they exited the sliding glass doors. The moment she looked back at you, her expression instantly softened into something bright.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with customers like that, sweetheart. I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Wanda. What's your name?"
There was something about the cadence of her voice that made your heart beat faster. The array of crayons on the small table back at the facility immediately came to mind. You quickly shook the thought off when she gazed at you expectantly.
You introduced yourself shyly, admitting it was your first day.
It took off from there.
Wanda visited a few times a week on random days, except for Fridays, which were a constant. You'd share short conversations with her. She'd stay longer sometimes on days where there was no line, chatting about her own time in university and letting you vent about stuck-up professors
Thankfully, today is Friday.
Unfortunately, you're exhausted from classes and your roommates being loud in the living room. It was taking everything in you to not close your eyes. The sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot were simultaneously blinding you and keeping you awake, but it was getting harder to keep your shoulders upright.
You take a breath, forcing a smile onto your face when you notice Wanda helping pack her groceries. You've reminded her over and over that this is part of what you're paid to do, but she never listens.
"They might replace you with me at this rate," you say jokingly, the tiredness dulling the inflections in your voice.
Wanda looks up from one of the bags, raising a brow. "Then would you be the customer?"
You huff out a little laugh. "This grocery store is a bit out of my price range."
"Then that arrangement won't do," she responds with a small smile, looking back down. "How else would I see you and that shy smile?"
Your gaze drops down to the scanner, heat rising up your neck to your cheeks and ears.
"See?" Wanda points out, laughing brightly.
Suddenly, her voice drops into something quieter. "Are you sleeping enough, darling?" she asks, gathering her bags nonchalantly. You see her peering at you when she thinks you don't notice.
Don't bother her with your problems, the rational part of you reminds you. It was one thing to complain about professors. It was a whole other thing to tell her about your living situation.
"I slept enough," you respond, meeting her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
She stares at you, scanning your face carefully before giving you a quick smile, like she's thought of something satisfactory.
"Do you get off soon?" she asks, glancing at the watch resting on her left wrist.
You glance at the register screen, finding that you're almost at the finish line.
"I only have around ten more minutes." You breathe out a sigh of relief.
She looks to the side for a moment, nervously biting her lower lip.
You can't help but find her beautiful with the way the sunlight shining in splays perfectly across her face. She's wearing a plain blue blouse and white trousers. No logos. No heavy gold rings or designer bags like the women who usually patronize this neighborhood. Just a silver watch on her left wrist. That modesty was one of the things that had made it easier for you to talk to her.
"I know your parents probably told you not to follow strangers. But hopefully, I'm not a stranger at this point," she starts, speaking quickly. "Would you like to take a walk with me after this at the park across the street? I saw there were a few food trucks, so maybe we could grab an early dinner?"
Frankly, your parents hadn't told you much of anything. You had figured out how to navigate the world on your own. But Wanda isn't a stranger, and the park across the street is always crowded. You wouldn't be in any danger. Perhaps it was naive of you, but with Wanda, you never felt afraid. Just her presence made you feel safe.
The prospect of spending more than a few minutes with her makes something in your chest flutter. It's a feeling you haven't felt since you were six years old.
"O-okay," you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for the slip.
Wanda beams at you, adjusting the bags of groceries hanging on her wrists. "I'll be waiting outside for you, honey. Take your time coming out," she calls out, already turning around and walking out the door.
You watch her walk away before finally turning back to the register. You stare down at the scanner in front of you. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth, but it doesn't stop the smile forming on your lips.
The sound of footsteps approaching cuts the moment short. You quickly smooth down the front of your apron, erasing the smile from your face before looking up to meet the next customer a few paces away.
"Next," you call out politely.
—
You step out into the parking lot, squinting against the blinding rays. Lifting your arms, you stretch your tight shoulders and release a yawn. Your t-shirt rides up with the motion, the hem resting just above your belly button before you finally let your arms drop.
Looking around, you find Wanda leaning against her car a few paces away. She's already staring in your direction, but her gaze is low. It takes a few steps in her direction before she finally glances up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly slaps a smile onto her face.
"Ready to go, darling?" she asks, her voice a bit breathless.
You adjust your bag hanging on your shoulder before responding. "All set."
It's a quiet, comfortable walk across the street. You and Wanda stroll between the food trucks, pointing out options before ultimately deciding on sandwiches. Wanda pays for the food before you even have a chance to unzip your wallet.
"I-I could've paid for my own food," you mumble, a stubborn pout forming on your lips.
You both take a seat on an open bench facing the pond. Wanda turns her torso toward you, her expression softening into something you can't quite name. There's a distant sadness in her eyes that doesn't match the small smile on her face.
Before you can think to look away, she reaches out and pinches your cheek gently between her index finger and thumb.
"Let's just say I wanted to treat you. I'm the one who invited you out, after all," she says gently.
Her hand falls away, but her fingers linger close for a moment. Her gaze remains locked on your face, watching you quietly, as if she's studying you.
You stare back at her, your eyes wide. The familiarity of the gesture has your mind racing, your thoughts rushing straight to the one person you could never forget. You never allowed anyone to touch your face like this. Even when friends tried to do it jokingly, you always flinched away. It felt like if you allowed anyone else to repeat the gesture, you would start forgetting her. The memory of the first person who loved you.
Wanda isn't her, you chastise yourself internally.
Your heart twists sharply in your chest. A wave of guilt washes over you, eating away at your stomach just for letting Wanda cross that line without a fight.
But for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Usually, when others even reached for your face, you felt a wave of unease. If anything, Wanda's touch felt like coming home. The realization makes your heart ache—you don't want the volunteer to fade from your memory.
You look down at the bench, focusing on the arm's length of distance separating you two. The sandwiches she bought sit untouched between you. For a few long moments, the chatter of people walking by the pond fades into background noise as your thoughts consume you.
It isn't until Wanda speaks that you finally snap out of it.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling," she starts quietly. Her expression looks distant, as if she's watching old memories float past.
You open your mouth to tell her the truth, that it didn't make you uncomfortable at all, but she continues, forcing your jaw to snap shut so you can hear her clearly.
"There's someone I've been missing for a very long time. Your smile and that cute pout... they remind me of her so much," she whispers, meeting your eyes with a sad smile. "She would be your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what she's doing. If she's eating okay, if she's receiving the love she deserves... if she still remembers me. But I always hope she's happy, even if that happiness didn't come from me."
The ache in Wanda's voice is almost palpable. It makes your chest tighten in the same way it does whenever you let yourself look back at the past.
Wanda's expression suddenly morphs into a grimace. "Maybe this is just me easing my own guilt. I'm sorry if this is bothersome, sweetheart. It must be weird, being compared to someone you've never met. But talking to you recently... it's been making me think of her more."
Her eyes widen suddenly, her posture stiffening as her voice turns frantic.
"That's not why I've been talking to you, though!" she exclaims, her voice rising enough to draw a glance from a passing couple. "I love our conversations. Genuinely. Seeing you so tired today just made me want to do something to help, even if it wasn't much."
You look out at the pond, watching the light breeze track ripples across the surface.
So she's missing someone too, you think.
The realization eases the guilt churning in your stomach. The puzzle pieces fit together now. The comfort and protection you only ever found from one person—the most important person in your life—had suddenly reappeared in a matter of weeks through Wanda. It makes sense now.
Wanda reminds you of her.
Secretly, you've known this all along. Probably from the very moment you locked eyes with her at the register.
You're not replacing her. The thought immediately making your frantic mind rest. She'll always be your mommy.
You and Wanda are just finding comfort in each other.
"Can we keep meeting like this?" you ask shyly, turning your head toward her. You let your eyes drift up to the sky. "There's someone I've been missing too. When I talk to you, I feel like I remember her more clearly."
You let your gaze drop back to Wanda's face. She's staring at you, her green eyes bright, as if she's looking right at a memory.
"Of course," she breathes.
You shift on the bench, scooting a little bit closer to her. It reminds you of when you were younger—the distance closing slowly, piece by piece.
—
You step into your shared apartment, barely sparing a glance at the kitchen counter littered with dirty plates and utensils. You make your way down the hall, feeling the heavy bass of music vibrating from beneath one of your roommates' doors.
Closing your bedroom door, you lean your back against it and finally breathe out. You let your bag drop to the floor, the heavy thud of it barely audible over the noise outside.
Reaching up, you let your fingertips brush slowly across your cheekbone. You can still feel the lingering warmth from where Wanda’s hand had cupped your face before you parted ways. Her eyes had locked onto yours for a long second before she finally turned around.
You can't help but wonder who it is that she's missing so desperately. But you didn't want to ask. You know that if she threw the question back at you, you would have a hard time answering.
How do you explain to a woman you just met recently that you miss a teenage volunteer from fourteen years ago? How do you explain that you still can't forget her? It would be like admitting to Wanda that she reminds you of the only person you ever viewed as a mother.
You walk across the small, cold space of your room and pull open the bottom drawer of your desk. Reaching inside, you run your fingertips across the rough, waxy lines of the papers hidden at the bottom.
All of her drawings are stored here. Some are messy pieces you had colored together. Most are the clean, detailed sketches drawn just by her.
You miss her so much it aches. The parallels between her and Wanda are almost eerie, pulling your heart in entirely different directions.
But it's exactly that conflict that makes you want to see Wanda again. You want to feel that safety you haven't felt since you were six years old.
You pick up the very first drawing she ever gave you. The sketch of you sitting and drawing at the table.
"Is this okay, mommy?" you whisper into the quiet room, the memory of her smiling green eyes flashing behind your eyelids. Wanda's face appears for a split second before fading away.
—
You start meeting with Wanda every Friday after your shift. She's always waiting for you, leaning against her car, her smile dazzling the moment she notices you.
The second time you meet, she takes you to a cute bakery down the street. You've noticed the inviting exterior before, but knowing the area, you knew it would be far out of your budget. Wanda doesn't let you pay, even when you try handing the barista your card. She just glances at you, raising a single brow. Your arm automatically lowers, and Wanda pays anyway.
It reminds you instantly of the look She would give you when you tried to avoid bedtime at the facility, just wanting to spend more time with her. You would automatically listen back then, wanting to be her obedient baby.
With Wanda, you get to experience many of the things you never could in the city. A flaky, buttery croissant at the bakery. A French restaurant you always wanted to try but could never get a reservation for even if you could afford it. Even just sitting peacefully on the park bench. You're always in a rush, jumping from classes to work, then back home to study. This is the first time you've truly gotten to take in the city you've lived in for fourteen years.
You and Wanda always end up at the park, no matter where you go first. You sit on the same bench in front of the pond. It's where you have the deep conversations that aren't just about university or daily life. It's there that you find out Wanda is the chairwoman for a massive charity—one even you've heard of. She tells you it was something she always wanted to do. To do something meaningful with her life.
The phrasing is so familiar. You remember Her saying the exact same thing. It makes you look at Wanda differently. The passing interest you had because of her looks and her similarities to the person you miss, growing into something much greater with every meeting.
It's your third meeting when you learn more about the person she's missing. You make a passing comment without really thinking. It's only then that you realize how much more willing you're to speak lately, usually being so reserved.
"When I was a kid, I used to think all ducks were yellow," you recount, your voice airy from reminiscing. "Then I found out only the ducklings are."
You let out a little giggle. Staring at the ducks slowly crossing the pond with little ducklings following behind, you think of the yellow duck drawing you made the day you first traded drawings. Your feet swing back and forth beneath the bench, your fingers curled tightly over the front edge of the wood.
It's a few moments before the heavy silence really hits you. You turn your head to look at Wanda. She's staring straight ahead at the pond. You track her eyes, finding that she's fixed on the tiny ducklings trailing behind the mother duck.
Her voice is shaky when she finally speaks.
"My precious baby thought the same thing," she says, a watery smile stretching across her face.
Precious baby.
You close your eyes, biting the inside of your mouth to stop the emotions threatening to surface. You haven't heard that phrase in fourteen years. Her smiling face immediately comes to mind—the way she would look down at you, crouching to be at eye level before gently stroking your cheek.
"My precious baby."
You always loved it when she called you that. Your lips would immediately curve into a wide grin before you called her your mommy.
Remembering it makes your heart ache for Wanda. From what she's told you, it seems she had to let go of someone she loved, just like you did.
You scooch a bit closer to Wanda, though a sliver of distance still remains between you. As you move, the scent of sweet flowers suddenly washes over your senses.
The swing set. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder.
Your head snaps up, looking for the source, but the tree branches above you just sway gently. It must be the breeze, you think wryly.
But it's that familiar, comforting scent that gives you the confidence.
You reach out, your fingers gently tugging on the hem of Wanda's blouse.
She turns to you. Her green eyes are wide, glimmering with unshed tears, and her mouth is slightly agape. She looks at you as if she's staring straight at a ghost from her past. You figure she must be reminiscing just like you are.
"I'm sure she's out there thriving," you say, your voice adamant despite the slight tremble of your shyness.
Wanda holds her gaze on you, not saying a word. You peer up at the sky, anxiousness setting in the longer she stays silent. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything.
It's only when you feel Wanda's warm palm settle against your cheek that you meet her eyes again. Her expression is soft, her lips curved into a gentle smile. But it's the delicate affection in her green eyes that makes your heart jump. It's how you know she's only looking at you, completely tuning out the crowds of people sitting on the grass and walking by the pond.
Her thumb brushes your cheekbone before tracing lower, brushing slowly against your bottom lip instead.
You feel her movement freeze suddenly. The affection in her eyes remains, but you can see a layer of guilt churning just beneath the surface. She pulls her thumb away from your lip but keeps her palm resting against your cheek.
"I'm sure she is," Wanda whispers. Her voice sounds hopeful, but it's swirling with an array of heavy emotions you can't decipher.
—
With every meeting, you and Wanda only become closer.
Sometimes you’d catch her staring at you in your peripheral vision whenever you looked up at the sky. Watching the clouds drift by and finding shapes in them had become a habit again, just like when you were younger. On clear days, letting the blue expanse amaze you cleared your mind.
You figure that maybe the person Wanda misses used to do the same. The first time you noticed her doing that, you’d honestly felt a bit uncomfortable, but a mixture of guilt lay within that as well.
Because you weren't the person she was thinking of. Maybe seeing you was hurting her more.
It wasn't like you couldn't relate.
After the day Wanda had brushed your lip with her thumb, her touches became more constant. Sometimes she’d rub away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth after you ate a pastry. Sometimes she’d run her fingers through your hair and carefully move stray strands out of your face. Sometimes, when you were sharing a funny customer interaction, her hand would land on your thigh, squeezing it gently as she laughed.
Shame would creep up your neck when your body reacted. You’d press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache settling in your lower stomach. Your chest warmed from the familiar, comforting touch that you'd only experienced from Her, but now you were feeling the exact same way from Wanda.
Some days, you felt like you were betraying the person you had been forced to leave behind. Even after you were fostered, you had never found that same love. It was a rare, safe feeling that you had reserved just for Her.
But here you were, opening your heart up in the exact same way to someone else.
It was a constant push and pull. You keep reminding yourself that Wanda is a completely different person. They just happen to be similar. You weren't replacing Her. You refuse to.
And it wasn't like you could just walk away from Wanda now. Even in the short period of time you've known her, you've become deeply attached. You sought Wanda out whenever you needed advice, had questions about your university classes, or really just wanted to talk about anything at all. She listened every single time, even when the things you said didn't make much sense or lead anywhere.
Wanda's touch was always kind, but slowly, it began to cross the blurry boundaries between you two. Her hand began to linger higher up your thigh, holding it there and squeezing occasionally. You remembered the intense heat burning through your skin the first time she did it. But whenever you looked up at her, her green eyes were always full of that same gentle, consuming affection.
Sometimes when she looked into your eyes in these moments, her gaze would immediately avert, her lips curving downward like she was upset with herself. She'd blink a few times, her eyes brightening more with every blink before she'd look at you again and let her fingers curve around your thigh confidently.
You know this desire you feel for Wanda is twisted. Wanda reminded you of the only mother figure you had in your life. But, you like Wanda, and being around her feels like you're creating memories that you should've had with Her.
—
It's a month and a half later when you first slip up and tell Wanda a little bit about Her.
You're sitting on the park bench like usual, your arm pressed against Wanda's. You and Wanda had started a book series together. Wanda had the second volume in her hand, reading aloud to you. Your head slowly drifted to the side until it landed on Wanda's shoulder.
You noticed you'd been doing this more often, subconsciously, finding comfort in Wanda whether it be emotionally or physically.
You could hear the smile in her voice as she continued reading. Birds chirped in the distance. Children giggled behind you. But Wanda's voice drowned them all out. It reminded you of sitting outside with Her in front of the swing sets, sitting in her lap as she read one of your picture books to you while pointing at the pictures she liked. You found yourself speaking before you could even think to stop.
"This reminds me of when I was a kid," you murmur wistfully, closing your eyes.
"Did someone else use to read for you?" Wanda asks, her voice unusually tight.
You nod softly, your cheek swishing against her shoulder. "Mhm," you confirm, your voice relaxed. "My mo—"
Your eyes widen. Your posture straightens out. Gnawing lightly on your bottom lip, you look away. You've never talked about Her with anyone before. It felt sacred, like something that was just for you. Your hand tightens around the front of your shirt.
It's confusing. All these habits you used to have starting to come back since you met Wanda.
Wanda’s hand envelops yours, her touch gentle but firm as she coaxes your fingers to release the fabric of your shirt. Sliding her palm against yours, she interlocks your fingers together. She rubs her thumb in slow circles against the back of your hand.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about the person you miss," she starts slowly. "But if you do... I'm always here, darling." You turn your head automatically, wanting to see Wanda's face that always manages to comfort you.
You don't know how she knew who you were talking about. It feels like Wanda is able to read you with a single glance. It makes you a bit anxious if she can see the feelings you have for her that are muddied by your past.
You meet Wanda's eyes. She's looking at you with an aching softness that you can feel in your bones. Your shoulders droop, melting at the comforting warmth coming from her hand.
Tears glisten in your eyes despite yourself.
It's confusing.
The complicated, messy feelings swirling inside you. There's the intense comfort you're receiving from Wanda, slammed right against the terrifying feeling that you're somehow betraying Her.
But you find your fingers tightening, squeezing Wanda's hand anyway. The motion reminds you instantly of when you used to swing Her hand back and forth while walking around the playground. You tilt your chin up, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill over your lashes.
You hear Wanda inhale shakily. Maybe this is too troublesome for her, you think, trying even harder to rein in your rogue emotions.
Suddenly, Wanda pulls you in closer by your interlocked hands. Her free hand rises to rest firmly against your cheek, her fingers spanning your jaw as she tilts your face up to force you to look at her.
"It's okay to cry," she whispers, her tone incredibly low and soothing. "My baby."
Your eyes widen, a wave of panic hitting you. You know Wanda is probably just seeing someone else in you. You know you shouldn't be letting her call you that. Only one person was ever allowed to use that title.
But you don't stop her.
Instead, a consuming warmth blooms from your chest and outwards. You squeeze her hand tighter. Her thumb brushes slowly against your lips as she gazes down at your mouth. You expect her to freeze like she usually does after a few moments. For the guilt to make her pull away.
But this time, she just continues.
—
Every time you come back to your apartment after meeting Wanda, you always go straight to your desk. You pull out the bottom drawer, running your fingers along the rough, waxy lines of the crayon sketches.
The guilt is starting to ease the longer you meet with her.
This isn't you replacing her, you remind yourself, staring down at the stack of drawings. You're finding something else in Wanda.
You try to ignore the nagging question in your head—the one threatening to shatter the fragile resolution you've finally found.
But what is it that you're finding in Wanda, then?
—
You're sitting on the park bench with Wanda. Your legs are stretched across her lap, your hand locked firmly in hers. Her other hand rests on your knee, her fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh.
She's telling you about her day while you listen silently, absorbing every word. Your gaze tracks the ducklings as they follow the mother duck across the surface of the pond. Something about the scene makes you speak up suddenly, cutting Wanda off right in the middle of her sentence.
"—and then he told the staff that he knew me, and that I would—"
"Wanda," you interject.
Her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly as she turns to look at you. You're normally polite, always staying quiet and listening intently until she finishes her thoughts.
"Yes, baby?" she responds, her voice soft but clearly confused by the interruption.
You turn your head toward her. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your throat tight as the question finally slips past your lips.
"What are we doing?"
She tilts her head, her expression full of feigned confusion, but her eyes tell you everything. She knows exactly what you're referring to.
"We're spending time together," she says with a light chuckle. She brings your joined hands up to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your hand.
"I… I know that," you start, your confidence beginning to wane. "I just mean..."
You trail off. You can't bring yourself to say it out loud. You can't ask if she's projecting, or tell her that she somehow makes you feel the exact same safety your mommy did while you also crave a romantic connection. Instead, you just freeze under her gaze, your lower lip trembling slightly.
Wanda leans in closer to you. Her hand slides higher up your thigh until her index finger rests right in the deep crevice where your leg meets your hip. Your breath hitches when she taps her finger in slow, rhythmic beats against the sensitive skin there.
"I know I shouldn't feel this way," she starts. Her face showing the conflicting, messy emotions that are churning inside you. "Not when you remind me..."
She trails off, refusing to finish the sentence. Her lips curve into a soft, vulnerable smile.
"But being with you brings me so much joy," she whispers, her thumb grazing your hip. "I love when you get crumbs all over your lips and I have to brush them away for you. I love when your feet swing under the bench when you're happy. I love hearing your little ramblings. Can that just be enough for now?"
She looks at you, her green eyes wide, desperate, and hopeful.
"Being with you makes me happy too," you admit in a whisper.
Wanda beams at you, the warmth of her hand making your own lips curve upward as well.
Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzes against your side. You pull out your phone, finding a new text message from your parents. They've been reaching out more often lately. Something about wanting to make up for the time they should've spent being real parents to you.
Are you okay for rent this month? We can send money if you need. Let's meet sometime to catch up over a meal.
You release a tired sigh as you read the text from your adoptive dad.
"Everything okay?" Wanda asks, her voice tinged with worry.
You lock your phone screen without responding to him, looking up with a small smile that falls flat. "Everything's okay," you respond, trying to keep your tone bright. "It's just my parents."
Wanda's hand tightens around your upper thigh suddenly, making you jolt slightly on the bench.
"Did they need something?" Wanda asks.
Her voice is colder than you've ever heard it. The gentle, soft lines of her face are completely gone, her lips pulled into a rigid line.
"Yeah..." you start slowly, still in shock from the sudden shift. "They were just checking to see if I have enough for rent. And... if I want to meet up for a meal."
Her fingers tighten even more against your skin, making a sudden swarm of butterflies erupt in your lower stomach. You try to look away, but Wanda releases your joined hands, bringing her palm up to scoop your jaw and tilt your chin back up.
Her eyes are incredibly dark as she stares down at you. You know you should probably feel afraid of the intensity radiating off her, but instead, the butterflies morph into a low, throbbing ache that makes you shift slightly.
"If you don't have enough for rent, then I can take care of it," she says. Her gaze never wavers, making you realize she's dead serious.
You release a shaky laugh. "I'm okay for rent, Wanda. I promise."
"Then are you meeting them for a meal?" she asks quickly, her tone demanding as she watches your eyes intently.
You shake your head as much as you can while she holds your face in her palm. "No. There's no need to," you start, a wry smile pulling at your lips before you grin up at her. "I'd rather eat with you."
You wonder if she knows just how true that is.
Her tight grip finally releases on your face and your thigh. She uses her thumb to softly stroke the skin of your chin where she had held a little too hard. Before you can even blink, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your chin before pulling back with a thoroughly satisfied smile.
"I'll have to take you somewhere nice then," she says simply, the warmth returning to her voice.
She pinches your cheek lightly between her index finger and thumb. Your eyes close automatically, your head leaning heavily into her hand at the familiar gesture.
You both sit there like that for a long while. Her hand remains resting on your thigh, while her other hand releases the soft skin of your cheek, pressing her warm palm against your face instead. You giggle brightly when the tiny ducklings try to snuggle up against the mother duck's feathers.
Wanda chuckles beside you, her thumb stroking your cheek delicately like you're something precious.
"What's funny, baby?" Wanda's voice raises a pitch, like the way you naturally do when you're speaking to a child. But for some reason, it doesn't bother you. It reminds you of Her and the way her voice would brighten when she'd see you.
You turn your head, giving Wanda a cute, little smile without really thinking about your words.
"They look like us."
Her eyes soften immediately, and she leans forward to press her lips softly against your cheek. "They do," she agrees, pulling back just enough to give you a smile filled with pure affection.
You both stare at the pond for a while, until Wanda glances down at her watch. You hear her take in a sharp breath before she finally releases your face. Her hand slides away from your inner thigh, leaving a sudden, chilling patch of cold skin behind.
"I'm sorry, baby, but I have to go now," she says quickly, though the profound softness remains in her voice.
Your lips instantly jut out in a pout. You move your legs off her lap, shifting on the wooden bench so you're sitting properly again. "Okay," you respond, your voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "I'll see you next time."
You force a wide smile onto your face, desperately reminding your frantic mind that you'll see her again soon.
She stands up, turning around to give you one last bright smile. "See you later, alligator," she says, her voice raised to that higher pitch again.
"Bye-bye, mommy," you respond automatically, waving your hand at her.
It's only when Wanda takes a few slow steps down the gravel path that your blood turns to ice.
Wanda freezes, suddenly coming to a stop. It feels like everything around you has paused, only Wanda's motions continuing. She turns around slowly to face you.
"S-Sorry," you stutter, your pulse hammering in your throat making your mouth turn dry. "I don't know why I said that."
She stares at you. Her green eyes are blown wide, her mouth agape as she looks at you with breathless intensity.
"Are you—"
"Moya lyubov, I'm here to pick you up," a raspy voice sounds from right behind Wanda.
Wanda's mouth freezes, but she doesn't turn around, her eyes staying on you. Your heart is beating erratically, the pounding of it almost making your ribs ache.
"Wanda?" the voice asks, but she still doesn't move, like her gaze can't leave your body.
You lean forward slightly, meeting a pair of green eyes, slightly more vibrant than Wanda's. Her hair color is similar to Wanda's, but this woman wears a power suit, nothing like the comfortable, modest clothing you see Wanda wear.
The woman walks past Wanda to you, shaking Wanda out of her stupor.
"Natash—"
"Hi, you must be the one that Wanda's been talking about," the woman starts. "I'm Natasha. Wanda's wife." Natasha lifts her hand up to you for a handshake.
Your hand lifts automatically, though it feels like your mind has gone completely blank. You shake her hand, her firm grip doing nothing to bring you back to reality.
Wife? you think frantically.
Your gaze darts down to Wanda's left hand, tracking a gold band resting on her ring finger. A ring you're absolutely certain you've never seen on her hand before today.
Then what was all of this? Eating together at restaurants, sitting side by side. Holding hands at farmer's markets because Wanda didn't want you to get lost. All the conversations you've had here a this bench.
Natasha's hand continues to hold yours in a firm grip. She scans your face, observing you closely.
"I can see why Wanda is so taken with you," she says with a small smile, though there's something else brewing behind her eyes.
You look past her to Wanda. Her eyes are wide, her face pale, like she's been caught in a terrible lie.
But Natasha knows about you. Wanda's talked to her about you.
You look back at Natasha. She doesn't look angry. Rather, she looks down at you with pity in her eyes, her lips pulled downward. The betrayal you expect to see on her face, replaced by something else entirely, sends your mind into a blur.
"What…" you start, your voice barely a whisper.
What did you just get yourself into?
—
A/N: *laughs nervously* a bit morally ambiguous here huh? i was going to make it a bit spicier, but i felt like it was a waste of the concept to rush it. idk if i'm going to leave this as a one-shot or make it into a miniseries of sorts. let me know what you think ♡
Summary: What if the Angel of Death fell in love with the woman who refused to let anyone die?
Warnings/Tags: AU, angel!reader, doctor!wanda, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, yearning, forbidden love, immortal reader, graphic medical procedures, death, grief, discussions of mortality, existential themes, religious/angel imagery, temporary victor (vision) x wanda, eventual wanda maximoff x fem!reader, angel!steve, doctor/bestfriend natasha
A/N: Just a short update. Chapter 5 will come faster, I promise.
Chapter Four: The First Fallen
Tony did not wait for Y/N to decide whether she wanted to see him again.
Three mornings after their encounter outside the hospital, he appeared on the roof of NewYork-Presbyterian just before sunrise, carrying two paper cups balanced in a cardboard tray and wearing a charcoal coat tailored too carefully for a man who seemed determined to look casual.
The city beneath them was still caught in the seam between night and morning. Streetlights burned in long amber lines down the avenues while a thin silver edge gathered beyond the river, slowly separating the buildings from the sky the way a hand might peel a photograph from its negative.
Far below, an ambulance eased into the covered drive, its lights sweeping once across the wet pavement before vanishing beneath the awning. A city bus rattled through an empty intersection. Windows lit one by one in the apartment blocks across the street, each small yellow square a person waking into a day they believed, without question, they would finish.
Y/N stood near the ledge with Steve a few careful feet away, the wind pulling at the hem of her coat though it moved through her rather than against her. She did not turn when the roof door groaned open behind them, but she felt Tony's presence cross the gravel the way one feels a held breath released. That particular human carelessness of a person who has decided, this morning, not to be careful at all.
He stopped beside her as though joining two angels on a hospital roof were an unremarkable errand, something between picking up dry cleaning and walking a dog. He lifted one cup from the tray and held it toward her, letting the steam curl upward and vanish between them like something trying and failing to reach her.
"I brought coffee," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon rather than her face. A courtesy, she would come to learn, that he extended only to the people he was most nervous around. "I understand this is not much of an incentive for someone who cannot taste it. But I did not know what else to bring to an intervention."
Y/N looked at the cup without taking it. Steam rose and dissolved against nothing.
Steve said nothing, but his attention had settled on Tony with the particular stillness of a man deciding, moment by moment, whether to intervene.
Tony noticed. He lifted his own coffee toward him in a small, mocking salute. "You can stop looking at me like that, Steve. I am not here to convince her to leap from the roof."
"You've convinced people to make reckless choices before." Steve's voice was quiet, but the quiet did nothing to blunt the warning folded inside it.
Tony pressed a hand to his chest, feigning a wound. "I prefer to think I provide dramatic context and then allow people to ruin their lives independently. There's a difference. It's mostly liability."
"I didn't ask you to come," Y/N said, turning back to the city so she would not have to watch him try to charm his way past her.
"No one ever does." Tony set the rejected cup down on the low stone wall beside its twin, leaving it there between them. "It's one of the great burdens of being necessary."
The wind swept across the roof and lifted his coat at the hem. He stepped nearer to the ledge, resting both hands against the stone, and for a moment he looked less like a man who owned buildings and more like one who had simply run out of places to stand.
Steve broke the silence first, and when he spoke his voice had gentled into something closer to instruction than conversation. "There's a woman in Queens. Her time is close."
Y/N heard it the instant he said it, the way she always did, a second heartbeat arriving before the words that described it. An elderly woman lay in a narrow apartment three boroughs away, her daughter asleep in a chair pulled close to the bed, one hand still resting on the blanket as if she'd fallen asleep mid-vigil. The woman's breath had thinned to something shallow and effortful, and beneath it her heart carried the particular, unmistakable stagger that came before a stopping.
"I know," Y/N said.
"She won't be frightened," Steve told her, and something in the certainty of it made it clear he had seen a thousand deaths gentler than the world expected. "But she shouldn't wake alone."
Y/N nodded, already half turned toward the feeling of the apartment, the metronome dust, the daughter's slack shoulders.
Steve's gaze slid sideways to Tony, and something passed between the two men that Y/N could not name. Old, complicated, worn smooth by years neither of them discussed easily, the kind of understanding that exists only between people who have grieved the same thing from opposite sides of a door. Then Steve stepped back and let the pale morning air close over the place where he had been standing, and he was gone.
Tony stared at the empty spot for a moment too long. "He still knows how to leave a room," he said, and there was real admiration buried under the sarcasm. "Very solemn exit. Impressive commitment to making everyone else feel guilty by comparison."
"Why are you here?" Y/N asked, and this time she looked at him.
He rubbed his thumb along the seam of the paper cup, and beneath the humor his face went careful, almost young. "Because three days ago I watched you follow a surgeon through traffic while an ambulance carrying a dying man passed within a few feet of you, and you didn't so much as flinch."
"I reached him before he died."
"That isn't the point."
"He wasn't alone when it happened."
"You were distracted." Tony said it plainly, without cruelty, the way a man states a diagnosis he wishes were wrong.
Y/N's attention drifted downward, through the roof, through several floors of concrete and glass and human noise, until she found the rhythm she had not realized she was listening for. Steady, if a little fast, the tempo of someone who had gone home after midnight and come back again before dawn.
Tony followed the direction of her gaze without needing to be told what it meant. "There," he said softly. "You're doing it again."
"I'm standing still."
"Your body is."
She said nothing to that, because there was nothing to say that would not confirm it.
Then the first note of the sunrise song moved through the city, and every other sound in the world seemed to lean quietly out of its way.
It began beneath hearing, older than any language spoken by the living, too vast to be contained by mortal ears, and yet Y/N felt it in the marrow of whatever passed, in her, for bone. Light sharpened along the river. Across Manhattan, unseen, angels turned by the hundreds toward the coming dawn: on rooftops, on the girders of bridges, along the ledges of church steeples, all of them tilting toward the horizon like something rooted turning toward a sun it could not live without.
Beside her, Tony went very still.
Y/N looked at him and watched the change move across his face in stages. The humor left first, then the practiced confidence, until what remained was a man stripped down to something almost unbearably plain. One hand buried in his coat pocket, the other curled around a cup of coffee he could feel going cold against his palm, watching a sunrise he could no longer hear.
He had once stood among them. He had once heard the song the way she was hearing it now, full and unbearable and enormous. Now the heavens opened around him in total silence, and he watched it happen the way a man watches a door close on a house he used to live in.
"Do you miss it?" she asked.
He didn't pretend not to understand her. "Every day."
There was no deflection in it, no joke reaching to soften the answer, and that absence told her more than the words did.
The light spread wider over the river, gilding windows and rooftops as the song gathered and swelled. Angels listened. Tony watched them listen, his jaw tight, and Y/N found she could not look away from him either.
"Then why don't you regret it?" she asked. "The choice."
He took a slow drink before answering, and she understood the motion for what it was. Not thirst, but time, the kind of pause a man takes when he has carried an answer so long he has to check it still fits in his mouth.
"Missing something isn't the same as wishing you'd never left it." His eyes stayed on the horizon. "I miss never feeling pain. I miss knowing I couldn't get sick. I miss not lying awake because Pepper's late coming home and I'm doing math on how long a drive from her office should take." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the cup. "I miss eternity the way people miss the houses they grew up in. The rooms get bigger in the memory. The summers get warmer. The doors were always open, in hindsight, even the ones that weren't. That doesn't mean you're meant to go back and live there."
"You gave all of this up for one life."
He turned his head, and for once there was no irony anywhere in him. "No. I gave it up for my life."
The distinction sat between them, small and enormous at once.
The sunrise song went on filling every place he could no longer reach, and he let it, standing there and taking it the way a person stands in rain they've decided not to run from. Then, without ceremony, he picked up the second cup and pressed it into her hands. She let him. The cardboard held no warmth; the steam brushed her fingers and felt like nothing at all.
"Come with me," he said, already turning toward the door. "You have questions, and this roof encourages far too much poetry for an honest conversation."
"There's a death waiting in Queens."
"Then go." He adjusted his collar, unhurried. "I'll be at a café on Madison at nine. If you don't come, I'll be back tomorrow with breakfast and increasingly personal observations."
She didn't move. He reached the door and paused there, one hand on the frame, and looked back at her with something that might have been mercy.
"You should also know that Pepper has decided she likes you," he said. "Which means this is no longer under my control, and she will probably invite you into our home whether either of us is prepared for it or not."
Then he was gone, and the door swung shut behind him with a metal clap that seemed, for a moment, louder than the song still moving through the sky.
Y/N looked down at the coffee in her hands. Her concentration slipped, just slightly, and her fingers passed halfway through the cup before she caught it, steadied her hold, held on.
Around her, angels went on listening to the dawn, faces upturned, unmoving.
Y/N listened with them. But for the first time in longer than she could measure, the song didn't sound only like eternity.
It sounded like something that could be lost.
The woman in Queens died at seven twenty-three.
Her name was Miriam Rosen. She had taught piano for fifty-one years and held, without a shred of doubt, the conviction that not one of her students had ever practiced enough. When the last breath left her chest and her eyes opened onto the room beyond the room, she looked first at her daughter, asleep in the chair with one hand still curled against the blanket, and then unerringly, as if she'd known exactly where to find her, at Y/N.
She did not look afraid. She looked, if anything, faintly annoyed.
"I expected my husband," she said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve, the gesture surviving even the transition out of her body.
Y/N stood near the foot of the bed while morning light filtered thin and gray through the curtains, dust turning slow circles above an old radiator that had stopped working years ago and never been replaced. "Your husband isn't an angel."
"I'm aware of that. I expected him anyway." A pause, and then, with the faintest crack of something softer beneath the irritation: "He was never good at waiting."
Her daughter stirred in the chair but did not wake. Miriam drifted toward her and hovered one transparent hand above her hair, unable to touch, unwilling to leave without trying anyway. The motion of it slow and careful, a woman memorizing a face she already knew by heart.
"She worries too much," Miriam murmured.
"She loves you."
"That is often the same thing." She said it not as a complaint but as a small, private joke she had made peace with a long time ago.
She stayed there several minutes longer, her attention anchored to her daughter's sleeping face even as time loosened its grip on her, resisting gently, not out of fear but out of tenderness, the reluctance of someone leaving a room she has loved rather than one she is afraid of.
When Steve appeared in the doorway, Miriam looked him over with the frank, appraising curiosity of a woman who had spent five decades correcting children's posture.
"You are not my husband either."
"No," Steve agreed.
"You look too serious."
He accepted the verdict without defending himself.
Miriam's gaze slid back to Y/N, and it caught, sharpened on the paper cup still cradled in her hands.
"You're distracted," she said, and there was something almost delighted in the observation. The newly dead noticed things the living had long since stopped seeing.
"It was given to me," Y/N said, feeling the need to explain herself and disliking that she felt it.
"By someone you dislike?"
"I don't dislike him."
"Then by someone you like."
"That isn't relevant."
Miriam's smile deepened, satisfied, as though Y/N had just confirmed something she'd suspected the moment she walked in. "My husband brought me coffee every morning for six months before he worked up the nerve to ask me to marry him. It was dreadful coffee. He was persistent anyway."
"This has nothing to do with marriage."
"Everything has something to do with marriage, if you live long enough." She said it lightly, but there was decades of certainty underneath it, the kind that could not be argued with because it had already been tested and found true.
Steve's mouth shifted, not quite into a smile, and Y/N caught it and looked at him. He lowered his eyes before she could ask what he found amusing.
Miriam took one last look at her daughter, then drifted toward the doorway where Steve waited. "Tell the man who gave you the coffee that it's gone cold."
"He knows."
"Then perhaps," Miriam said, already fading, already turning, "he understands you better than you think he does."
She left with Steve, and the small apartment seemed to shrink without her in it. On the bedside table, beneath a film of dust, a metronome stood with its arm resting motionless in the exact center, as if someone had stopped it deliberately, mid-beat, a long time ago and never started it again.
Y/N looked down at the cold coffee still cupped in her hands.
Then she disappeared.
---
The café occupied the ground floor of a narrow building on Madison Avenue, its windows fogged pale with warmth, the smell of roasted coffee escaping in a soft exhale every time the door opened onto the street.
Y/N arrived at nine exactly.
Tony sat near the back with Pepper, a newspaper spread carelessly across half the table and his phone balanced on top of it, though his attention had settled, with far more sincerity, on the eggs in front of him. Pepper sat across from him in a cream blouse beneath a dark coat, her hair falling neat over one shoulder, her posture the calm, practiced calm of someone with long experience keeping Tony Stark from turning an ordinary morning into a public incident.
A waiter approached the door as Y/N stepped through it. His gaze slid past her without catching.
Tony lifted a hand from across the room. "She's with us."
The waiter turned toward the apparently empty doorway and frowned, recalculating.
Pepper closed her eyes briefly, the particular patience of a woman doing quiet math on how many apologies this would cost her. "Tony."
"What?"
"You're making the poor man question his own perception of reality."
"Character building," Tony said, unbothered, already reaching for his coffee.
Y/N let herself become visible.
The waiter startled hard enough to slosh water over his own fingers, staring at her, then at the door, clearly trying to reconstruct a version of the last ten seconds in which he hadn't simply missed a woman walking in.
"I'm sorry," Y/N offered, because it seemed the decent thing to say.
"She's very quiet," Tony said, gesturing at the empty chair as if that explained everything.
Pepper gave the waiter a smile calibrated for damage control. "Our friend has a habit of appearing unexpectedly. It's a whole thing." The explanation made no real sense, but it gave the man a reason to leave, and he took it gratefully.
Y/N sank into the chair beside Pepper. It offered no sensation beneath her, the same way the café's warmth failed to reach her skin at all. Conversations layering over one another around the room, cups clinking against saucers, a child laughing somewhere near the window.
Pepper's eyes dropped to the paper cup still in Y/N's hand. "You kept it."
"He said he brought it for me."
"I also said it was an intervention," Tony put in, cutting into his eggs without looking up. "Apparently the coffee left a stronger impression than the concern did."
"Coffee's kinder," Pepper said.
He pointed his fork at her. "This is exactly why I prefer talking to people who at least pretend to respect me."
"We pretend not to find you exhausting. There's a difference."
Y/N watched the exchange pass between them like a ball tossed too many times to count. Sharp on the surface, no real edge underneath it, the particular rhythm of two people who had worn a groove into their arguments until the arguments themselves had become a kind of tenderness.
Pepper picked up the unused menu at Y/N's elbow. "Would you like anything?"
"I don't eat."
The waiter, returning at precisely the wrong moment, caught the end of it and stopped mid-step.
"She means she's not hungry," Tony said smoothly.
"That isn't what I meant."
"I'm translating."
Pepper cut in before either of them could make it stranger. "Tea, please. Something mild."
Once the waiter retreated, Y/N turned to her. "I can't taste tea."
"I know."
"Then why order it?"
Pepper folded the menu and set it aside, unhurried. "Because people get uncomfortable when someone sits at a table with nothing in front of them, and because Tony is about to spend the next hour explaining human existence to you as though he personally invented it. You'll want something to hold onto."
"I have made several important contributions to the general understanding of human behavior," Tony said, setting down his fork with dignity.
"You once walked into traffic," Pepper said, not looking up from her coffee, "because you assumed the driver would sense your presence and stop."
"He did stop."
"After hitting a parked car."
"No one was seriously injured."
Y/N watched the shape Pepper's smile took, small and knowing, and something in it made her ask, plainly: "You're married."
"Excellent," Tony said, leaning back. "We're starting with observable facts. I respect the strategy."
"Yes," Pepper said, one hand curling around her cup. "We're married."
"You knew what he had been?"
"Not when we met."
Tony lifted his coffee in a small, self-satisfied toast. "I was a very convincing human."
"You didn't understand why people carried umbrellas."
"Rain seemed like a minor inconvenience."
"You refused to wear a coat in winter because you thought being cold was educational."
"It was educational."
"You got a fever."
"My transition required experimentation," Tony said to Y/N, as if this settled the matter, while Pepper's expression suggested it had never once settled anything.
"He also tried to pay for breakfast with an antique gold coin," Pepper added.
"It had considerable numismatic value."
"The waitress thought you were laundering money."
"She lacked imagination."
The waiter returned and set the tea in front of Y/N, steam rising off the pale surface in a way that meant nothing to her hands. She wrapped both palms around the cup anyway, copying, without quite deciding to, the posture Pepper had taken with her own coffee. There was no warmth to find. She noticed the absence more than she expected to.
Tony's eyes tracked the movement. "You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not pretending."
"You're holding it exactly the way Pepper is."
Y/N looked down at her own hands, then across the table at Pepper's, and found them arranged the same way. Fingers curled loosely, thumbs resting along the rim.
She let go.
Pepper's expression gentled. "There's nothing wrong with learning by watching."
"That's what angels do," Y/N said. "Watch."
"That's what you've always done," Tony said, folding the newspaper closed and setting it aside, his voice dropping into something more serious. "It isn't the same as learning."
Y/N met his eyes. Mortality had etched fine lines at their corners and left faint shadows beneath them. Time already writing itself across his face in a hand she recognized from every dying patient she had ever stood beside.
"What's the difference?"
"Watching teaches you what people do." He reached across the table without looking and found Pepper's hand, threading their fingers together with the unconscious ease of a gesture performed ten thousand times. "Learning changes what you do afterward."
Pepper glanced down at their joined hands. Tony's thumb moved once, absently, over her knuckles, and something in Pepper's face shifted in response to it. Small, private, not meant for an audience, though Y/N could not stop watching it anyway.
"What changed you?" she asked.
Tony considered the question with real weight this time. "Everything."
"That isn't an answer."
"It's the most honest one I have."
He glanced around the café. A child near the window dropping a spoon, his father bending to retrieve it without breaking stride in his own conversation; a woman at the counter laughing into her phone loud enough to turn heads; the door opening and closing, sending a current of cold air rippling through a stack of napkins.
"When I became human, I thought sensation would be the important part," he said. "Food. Pain. Heat. Touch. Music. I spent weeks treating the world like a lab. Ate until I was sick. Stood barefoot in snow because I wanted to know what it actually felt like instead of what it was supposed to feel like. Let Pepper talk me into believing cheap wine had some kind of hidden value."
"It does," Pepper said.
"It tastes like disappointment in a bottle."
"You finished it."
"I was gathering data."
"He cried," Pepper told Y/N, "because a song ended."
"It was a very moving song."
Y/N tried, and failed, to picture Tony Stark crying over the end of a song, and the image was so unlikely that amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it.
Tony pointed at her, triumphant. "There. That was nearly a smile."
"It wasn't."
"It was," Pepper said, her own smile deepening.
Y/N looked down at the tea instead of answering, watching the last of the steam thin and disappear.
Tony's voice quieted when he continued, the performance falling away from it by degrees. "Sensation was overwhelming. But it wasn't the important part. Choice was. Every morning I woke up knowing I had less time than I'd had the day before, and every decision mattered because I couldn't make all of them." His fingers tightened, just slightly, around Pepper's. "I could stay or leave. Speak or stay quiet. Forgive someone or let the chance go by. I could spend an evening working, or I could sit across from the woman I loved while she pretended she wasn't watching me over the top of her book."
"I was watching you," Pepper said.
"I know."
Her gaze warmed, and for a moment neither of them seemed to remember Y/N was sitting there at all.
Then Tony's attention returned to her, steady. "Mortality turns time into currency. You can't afford everything. Eventually that's how you find out what actually matters to you. Not because someone tells you, but because you run out of hours and discover, too late for some of it, what you spent them on."
Y/N thought of the hours she had spent trailing Wanda through hospital corridors, waiting outside doors, listening for a heartbeat three floors down. She had never once thought of that time as spent. Time had never asked anything of her before.
"What happens if you choose wrong?"
"You will," Tony said, without hesitation, without softening it.
Pepper glanced at him, but his attention stayed fixed on Y/N.
"You'll say the wrong thing. Trust someone who lets you down. Waste years on something that falls apart in your hands. Hurt people you never meant to hurt." His voice lowered further. "You'll lie awake wishing you could go back to one single moment and do it differently. And you won't be able to."
Y/N listened for the rhythm beneath his ribs. Strong, still, though age and some old illness had left small irregularities threaded through it now, faint stumbles in an otherwise steady beat.
"Why would anyone want that?"
It was Pepper who answered, quiet and certain. "Because the possibility of losing something doesn't make loving it meaningless."
Y/N turned to her. There was no uncertainty anywhere in Pepper's face.
"It makes love frightening," she went on. "Sometimes it makes it unbearable. But it doesn't make it meaningless."
Tony lifted Pepper's hand and pressed his mouth briefly to her knuckles, the gesture so familiar it looked almost absentminded, and yet Pepper's whole face changed around it anyway, softened in a way that suggested it had never once become ordinary to her, no matter how many times he'd done it.
Y/N looked away, toward the fogged window, toward the gray sliver of New York visible through it.
The waiter passed and asked if they wanted more tea. Pepper declined. Tony ordered another coffee despite the look that earned him.
"Did you know he might die before you?" Y/N asked, once the waiter had gone.
Pepper's eyes stayed on Tony. "Yes."
"And that didn't make you afraid to love him?"
"It made me afraid every day."
Tony looked at her, and for once the humor had gone completely out of his face.
Pepper held his gaze a moment before turning back to Y/N. "Loving him has given me more anger and worry and grief than I know what to do with. More sleepless nights than I care to count." A pause, and then, simply: "It's also given me a life I wouldn't trade for a safer one. Not once. Not on the worst nights."
"That may be the kindest complaint you've ever made about me," Tony said, leaning back.
"You bought a motorcycle without telling me."
"A practical purchase."
"You didn't know how to ride it."
"I learned."
"You broke your wrist."
"The road was poorly designed."
Y/N listened as they slid into another familiar argument. Tony exaggerating, Pepper correcting him without heat, one interrupting and the other ignoring it and continuing anyway. Neither voice turned cruel. They knew, she realized, the exact shape of each other's faults, every edge and flaw memorized the way a hand learns a well-worn key, and neither of them had left.
That unsettled her more deeply than anything Tony had said about mortality.
After breakfast, Tony insisted on walking.
Pepper had a meeting downtown, and she paused outside the café to press one gloved hand flat against his chest before she left, and he bent to kiss her without any apparent awareness that Y/N or the flow of pedestrians around them existed at all. When Pepper stepped back, she turned to Y/N.
"You're welcome in our home."
"We hadn't discussed that," Tony said.
"We're discussing it now." Pepper adjusted the lapel of his coat with the ease of long habit.
"Our home contains expensive and fragile things."
"You're one of them."
Tony sighed, the sound of a man who had lost an argument several exchanges before he'd noticed it starting.
Pepper smiled at Y/N. "Don't let him frighten you off."
"He doesn't frighten me."
"I've become far too approachable," Tony said, aggrieved, as Pepper kissed his cheek and disappeared into a waiting car.
He watched it pull into traffic and hold there a beat too long, the way a person watches a door long after it's closed.
"You still fear losing her," Y/N said.
"Constantly."
"And yet you let her leave."
"She has a meeting."
"That isn't what I meant."
"I know," he said, and this time he didn't try to dodge it.
They walked south together, Madison Avenue thickening with pedestrians who moved around Y/N without seeing her, some of them shifting aside at the last second on instinct alone, some instinct in the body registering a presence the eyes refused to.
"You can't keep someone safe by keeping them from living," Tony said, hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried despite the crowd breaking around him. "That isn't love. That's possession wearing love's coat."
Y/N thought of Wanda beneath the hospital awning, of Victor sending her home so she'd rest, of Wanda trusting him enough to leave a dying man in his care. "What if the person you love already belongs to someone else?"
Tony's stride slowed by half a step, just enough that she felt it beside her.
He turned his head. "There she is."
Y/N kept walking, and he matched her without effort.
"There's someone," he said. It wasn't a question.
"His name is Victor. He's a surgeon. He works with Wanda." She said it evenly, and only after the words were out did she realize how much she'd given away with the order she'd chosen to say them in.
"You know his name."
"Yes."
"You know his schedule, too, I'd bet."
She didn't answer that, which was its own kind of answer.
Tony exhaled through his nose. "That bad."
"There's nothing bad about him."
"That's what makes it worse." He gestured as they crossed the street, dodging a cyclist with the unbothered grace of a man who'd once walked directly into traffic on purpose. "If he were cruel, or careless, you could dislike him honestly and be done with it. Instead he's decent. Competent. He brings her food when she forgets to eat, which I understand is apparently a whole occurrence, and he does it without making a production of it."
"I didn't tell you that."
"You're telling me now," Tony said, watching her face. "Your expression did the telling before your mouth caught up."
Y/N's jaw tightened. She hadn't meant to give him that, hadn't meant to picture it so clearly that it painted itself across her face before she could stop it: Victor setting a paper bag down over Wanda's tablet, the particular ease of a man who had done the same small kindness enough times that it no longer needed announcing.
"I don't dislike the food," she said finally.
"You dislike that he's the one bringing it."
"I don't want to take anything from her."
"Admirable," Tony said. "Probably untrue."
They stopped outside a small bookshop, pedestrians dividing around them like water around a stone. "She loves him," Y/N said.
"Perhaps."
"They've built a life together."
"So had Pepper and I, before I understood what I actually wanted." He looked at her directly. "You were already human when you met her."
"No," he said. "I only looked like I was."
The answer silenced her more thoroughly than anything else he'd said all morning.
He pushed open the bookshop door, holding it, gesturing her toward the warm interior with its smell of paper and old glue. She stayed on the sidewalk.
"Why did you bring me here?"
"Because you keep going back to a hospital to watch a surgeon who doesn't know you exist, and Pepper suggested I try kindness before sarcasm, for once, as an experiment."
"You haven't attempted very much of it."
"I'm proceeding carefully," he said, and let the door swing shut, his own reflection standing alone in the glass for a moment before he turned back to her. "Tell me about her."
Y/N's gaze drifted toward the hospital, though it stood miles away and out of sight in every direction that mattered. "She's a cardiothoracic surgeon."
"I know," Tony said. "She's my surgeon, remember?"
"She doesn't sleep enough," Y/N said, and once she'd started, the rest came without her quite deciding to let it. "She carries coffee around until it's gone cold and drinks it anyway, out of stubbornness more than anything. She sings before difficult surgeries, though she'd deny it under oath. She hates crowded elevators, takes the stairs when she thinks no one's timing her. She remembers the names of her patients' families even when she pretends she's forgotten them, because admitting she remembers means admitting how much each one costs her."
Tony said nothing, letting her keep going.
"She tells frightened people the truth. But she shapes it first, softens the edges just enough that they can carry it out of the room without breaking. She gets angry when death doesn't listen to her, genuinely angry, like it's personal, like it's an insult aimed directly at her. She believes every failure belongs to her, even the ones there was never anything she could have done about."
The noise of the street seemed to recede as she spoke.
"She makes promises she can't guarantee, because she can't stand to leave someone without something to hold onto. She's reckless with herself in a way she'd never allow in anyone she loved."
Tony watched her with an expression too gentle to be entirely comfortable to sit under.
"And you worry about her."
"Yes."
"You admire her."
"Yes."
"You're jealous of Victor."
"No."
He lifted one eyebrow and let the silence do the rest of the work.
"I don't want him harmed," she said, sharper now.
"That wasn't the question." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Do you want her to see you?"
The stairwell rose up in her memory. Wanda's red-rimmed eyes, her whispered question into the dark, the exact moment her gaze had found the precise place Y/N stood without any way of knowing she should look there at all.
"Yes."
"Do you want her to touch you?"
Y/N's eyes dropped to Tony's hand resting against the bookshop door, and from there to the memory of Wanda warming a stethoscope between her palms before pressing it to a frightened child's chest, to her fingers linked through Victor's over a cafeteria table, to the careful, unhurried way she held the hands of strangers who were dying and needed, more than anything, not to do it alone.
"Yes."
Tony exhaled slowly, the sound of a man setting down something heavy. "Then stop telling yourself this is harmless."
"What would you have me do?"
"That's the question you came here to ask."
"I didn't come here to ask anything."
His mouth curved, without any real amusement in it. "You carried cold coffee across two boroughs and back."
Y/N looked down at the cup still in her hand. She had forgotten she was holding it.
Tony took it from her gently, and this time she let him. He dropped it into a bin by the curb without ceremony.
"You are not ready to become human," he said.
Her eyes snapped back to his. "I never said I wanted to."
"You didn't need to."
"I asked what it costs."
"No," he said. "You asked whether it was worth paying."
The distinction landed too close to true to argue with.
His expression softened, all the sharpness draining out of it at once. "Don't choose mortality because you're lonely. Loneliness makes every open door look like salvation, whether or not there's anything waiting for you on the other side of it."
Y/N heard the old pain buried under the words. "You were lonely."
"For longer than I understood at the time. Long enough that I mistook it for something else — restlessness, curiosity, boredom. It took Pepper to show me what it actually was."
"And she saved you."
He shook his head. "Pepper loved me. She didn't save me. Those aren't the same thing, and it matters that you understand the difference before you go looking for someone to save you too." He slid his hands back into his pockets, the gesture almost defensive. "I chose humanity because I wanted the chance to build something with her, but that life had to become mine, not just something borrowed from being near her. If all you want is Wanda, you'll make her responsible for every kind of pain that follows you into a body. Hunger. Fear. Illness. Grief. Regret. She can't carry that for you. No one person can."
Y/N thought of Wanda taking on the suffering of every patient who passed through her hands as though it were rightfully hers to bear.
"She would try."
"That's exactly why you can never ask her to."
A bus rumbled past, filling the street with noise and exhaust, and they stood through it without speaking.
"Becoming human isn't a romantic gesture," Tony said once the street had quieted again. "It isn't stepping out of eternity straight into a love story with better lighting. It's waking up in pain and discovering your body has needs you can't will away no matter how much you want to."
Y/N listened, and did not look away from him.
"You'll be cold. You'll be hungry. You'll get tired in ways sleep doesn't fix. You'll hurt people and not be able to undo it. You'll watch the people you love suffer and find out love gives you no special power to stop it — none. It just makes you watch closer."
His voice dropped further, quieter than she'd heard it all day.
"You'll lose the sunrise song. And some mornings, the silence where it used to be will feel less like peace and more like a punishment you agreed to."
She thought of his face on the roof, the way it had changed when the song began and he could no longer hear it.
"And yet you'd choose it again."
He looked down the street, toward the place where Pepper's car had long since disappeared into traffic.
"Without hesitation."
There was no triumph in the answer at all.
Only certainty, worn smooth by years of testing it against every doubt he'd ever had, and finding it, every single time, still true.
---
Y/N returned to NewYork-Presbyterian late in the afternoon.
She told herself it was because hospitals were full of dying people, and someone had to be there for them. The lie had grown so familiar by now that it no longer cost her any real effort to tell.
Wanda stood outside Lila Bennett's room, a pen caught loosely between her lips while she scrolled through a fresh set of test results on the tablet balanced against her forearm, her hair gathered into a loose knot that had clearly been fought into place hours ago and was losing the argument.
Victor approached from the far end of the corridor, a paper bag swinging from one hand, and Y/N stopped where she was and simply watched him come.
He held the bag out. Wanda eyed it with open suspicion, pulling the pen from her mouth. "What is that."
"Lunch."
"It's nearly five."
"Then it's an early dinner," he said, entirely unbothered, setting the bag down over her tablet before she could protest further.
"I ate," Wanda said, though she was already reaching for it.
Victor glanced toward the nurses' station, where one of the nurses shook her head slowly, without looking up from her charting.
"Traitor," Wanda muttered.
The nurse smiled and did not apologize.
Victor's hand found the back of Wanda's neck, brief and unhurried, the kind of touch that had clearly been repeated so many times it no longer required thought. "You can't operate tomorrow if you collapse today."
"I'm not going to collapse."
"You said that the last time. Right before you fainted during residency."
"That happened once."
"Twice."
"The second time was dehydration, which is a completely different medical event."
He simply looked at her, steady, unimpressed, and after a moment her resistance folded. She reached into the bag, unwrapped a sandwich, and took a bite mostly to end the conversation.
"Satisfied?" she said around it.
"Moderately."
His hand lingered a moment longer at her neck before dropping away, and Wanda leaned back into the pressure of it without seeming to notice she'd done it at all. The unthinking ease of a body that trusted another body completely.
Down the corridor, Y/N felt something sharpen inside her chest with a precision that no longer surprised her.
She knew its name now. Longing.
Pepper's voice returned to her, the possibility of losing something doesn't make loving it meaningless, followed, close behind, by Tony's warning about doors that only looked like salvation.
Wanda glanced down the hallway while she chewed, and her gaze found Y/N's position without hesitating, without searching, the way a compass finds north.
She went still.
Victor noticed immediately. "What is it?"
Wanda didn't answer right away.
Y/N could have vanished. She had every reason to. Instead she let the outline of herself linger at the edge of visibility. Not fully present, but no longer entirely absent either, a shape half-drawn in the air.
"There," Wanda said quietly, taking a step forward.
Y/N held still.
A nurse pushed a supply cart between them, breaking the line of sight for three full seconds, and when it passed, Y/N had not moved an inch.
Wanda's breathing had changed. Shallow, quickened, the particular rhythm of someone straining to hold onto a thought before it slips.
"Wanda?" Victor's hand found her arm.
She looked at him, then back down the corridor, then at him again. "I thought I saw someone."
He followed her gaze and found nothing. "There's no one there."
"I know."
Concern gathered visibly across his face. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
Wanda folded the sandwich wrapper closed over the uneaten half, her appetite apparently gone. "I'm tired."
"You slept last night."
"Not enough."
He studied her, and his worry was so plainly genuine, so entirely without performance, that it should have comforted Y/N to see it.
Instead jealousy moved beneath her ribs like something with its own pulse.
Wanda looked down the empty corridor one final time before letting Victor guide her, gently, back toward the nurses' station and Y/N stood unseen only a few feet away, watching her go.
Tony had asked whether she wanted Wanda to see her. The answer had been yes, immediate and unhesitating.
Now, watching Wanda search an empty hallway for a shape she couldn't quite name, Y/N understood, with a clarity that frightened her more than any warning Tony or Steve had offered that day, that being seen was no longer enough.
She wanted to be known.
---
Steve found Y/N in the hospital chapel after midnight.
She sat in the last pew, though sitting was an imitation more than a need, a habit borrowed from watching the living do it. The chapel held only the glow of small electric candles ranged along one wall, and beneath several of them, someone had tucked folded prayers written in hurried, private handwriting. The kind of paper meant to be found by no one but God.
Steve entered without a sound and settled beside her, and for a long while neither of them spoke. Y/N let her attention drift upward, through floors of concrete and steel, to where Wanda had finally fallen asleep in an on-call room, one arm folded beneath her head. Victor had left only after making her promise, out loud, that she would actually rest.
"You spoke with Tony," Steve said eventually.
"Yes."
"He told you what becoming human requires."
"Yes."
Steve rested his forearms loosely on his knees. "And now?"
"I understand less than I did this morning."
"That's often what the truth does to a person."
Y/N turned to look at him fully. "Do you believe he made the wrong choice?"
Something shifted in Steve's face, old grief, carefully worn, familiar enough by now that it no longer showed on the surface unless he let it. He looked toward the small flickering candles, each one a request neither of them had been sent to answer.
"No."
The answer surprised her more than she expected it to.
"You grieve for him."
"Every day."
"But you don't believe he was wrong to leave."
Steve lowered his eyes. "My grief doesn't get a vote in what his life was worth."
She turned that over in silence for a moment. "If I chose the way he did, would you believe I was wrong?"
Steve went very still, and the stillness stretched long enough that the ordinary sounds of the hospital crept in to fill it. An elevator chiming somewhere above them, a gurney's wheels rolling over polished tile, a muffled announcement dissolving into static before it reached the chapel doors.
At last he looked at her. "I would believe you were gone."
"I would still exist."
"Not here." His voice had gone rough at the edges. "I could stand beside you and you wouldn't see me. I could hear you suffer and you wouldn't know I was there to hear it. When your life ended, I might be close enough to catch your last thought, but I couldn't answer you. Not as your friend. Not anymore."
Y/N looked down at her own hands, folded uselessly in her lap.
"Angels lose humans every day," Steve went on, quieter now. "We walk beside them, and then they move on ahead of us, and that's the shape the work has always had. Losing one of our own is different. It leaves a silence in a place eternity used to live."
Tony had spoken of the silence left behind by the sunrise song.
Steve was speaking of the silence left behind by Tony.
Y/N felt caught squarely between the two of them, two different griefs shaped like the same door.
"I haven't chosen anything," she said.
"I know."
"You're speaking as though I have."
Steve looked at her, steady. "You carried coffee to Queens."
Her expression tightened. "Why does everyone keep telling me that means something?"
Something almost like a smile touched his mouth, gone as quickly as it came. "Because you've never once carried anything you didn't need."
The chapel settled back into quiet. Several floors above, Wanda shifted in her sleep, and Y/N's head lifted toward the sound before she could stop the reflex.
Steve saw it happen. Whatever had almost been a smile disappeared entirely.
"Who is she?" he asked.
"You already know her name."
"That isn't what I asked."
It was the same question Tony had asked her that morning, wearing a different voice.
Y/N's gaze drifted toward the chapel doors. "She's a surgeon. She fights death like it's insulted her personally. She believes skill should be enough to save everyone, and when it isn't, she punishes herself for the crime of being human."
"And what do you want from her?"
She thought of Wanda's eyes finding her in the corridor without needing to search. She thought of touch, of coffee gone cold, of rain she couldn't feel, of fear, of a heartbeat that wasn't hers and never would be unless something changed.
He rose from the pew, unfolding slowly, and looked back at her from beside the chapel doors. "That's why you have to decide what she's allowed to see."
He paused there, hand against the wood.
"Tony is right about one thing. Loneliness can make an open door look like salvation, whether or not it actually is one."
"And if it is?" she asked. "If it's real?"
"Then it will still ask you to step through it," Steve said. "Every door does. That part never changes, no matter what's waiting on the other side."
He left her there with the candles.
Y/N sat through the remaining hours of the night and let the hospital speak to her in the only language it had ever fully trusted her with. Prayers murmured into the dark, a hushed argument two floors up, a last breath somewhere on the third floor exhaled at 3:14, the thin, furious cry of a newborn arriving on the fifth. She heard Victor call the nurses' station just to confirm, quietly, that Wanda was still asleep. She heard Natasha warn a first-year resident, in no uncertain terms, not to wake her for anything that could survive until morning.
But above all of it, clearer than any of it, Y/N listened to the sound of one particular heart.
It beat on, steady, in the dark.
Finite. Fragile. Entirely unaware that an immortal woman sat several floors beneath it, wide awake, wondering whether an eternity of listening meant anything at all if it had to be spent forever on the outside of being heard.
the two of them are eating you out under the sheets while your friends are asleep in the room... can you be quiet?
details: summer fling, smut no plot, im so incredibly tipsy rn so this may be a shit fic ok?, modern au, top!wandanat, bottom!reader, eating out vagina/anal (r!recieving), short, exhibition kink
Under the dim glow of the moon coming through the slits in the blinds, you lay there, a writhing, panting mess. The summer heat was already stifling, but the two of them pressed between your legs, their mouths working in tandem, made you feel like you were burning up from the inside. You could feel the cool sweat beading on your skin, mingling with the dampness between your legs.
Your friends were sprawled out around you, oblivious to the silent symphony of pleasure unfolding beneath the sheets. You could hear their soft snores, their gentle breaths, and it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside you. You were a live wire, every nerve ending alight with sensation, every muscle taut with anticipation.
Natasha's tongue was a wicked thing, darting and probing at your back entrance, making you gasp and clench. She was a tease, a tormentor, and you loved every second of it. You could feel her smirk against your skin, could imagine the gleam in her eyes as she watched you squirm. She was taking her time to come familiar to the feel of you, and it was driving you wild.
It was Wanda who had your full attention. Her tongue was a warm, wet heaven as it slid between your folds, lapping at your core. She was relentless, her tongue flicking against your clit with a rhythm that was making your hips buck uncontrollably. She was sucking and licking, her mouth a perfect, wet paradise, and you could feel the pressure building inside you, coiling like a spring ready to snap.
You bit down hard on your hand, your teeth sinking into the soft flesh, as a particularly intense lick from Wanda sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You could feel the whine building in your throat, but you swallowed it down, your eyes shut tight with the effort to stay quiet.
Wanda's fingers joined her tongue, sliding inside you, curling in just the right way to make your eyes roll back in your head. You could feel your orgasm building, could feel the wave crashing over you, pulling you under. You bit down harder on your hand, your other hand fisting the sheets, as your body convulsed with the force of your release.
You could feel Wanda's tongue lapping at you, drawing out your orgasm, making you shake and tremble. You could feel Natasha's tongue, still working at your rim, her touch gentler now, soothing you as you came down from your high.
You lay there, panting, your body still quaking with aftershocks, as the two of them pulled away, their heads popping out from under the sheets. They looked at you, their faces glistening with your pleasure.
Your cheeks flushed under the attention, shy. You had many soft protests before they began and now you're a silent thing. Chest rising and falling fast, leaking onto the sheets. Wanda leans in to press a kiss to your lips while Natasha slides a hand up your thigh, drawing near to where your clit lies.
"shh," Natasha hums against your skin, her hand stilling in a gentle, possessive hold as Wanda pulled back with a knowing smile, leaving you breathless in the dark quiet of the room.
note: i know this is short... just wanted a sensual hot one shot... im super tipsu rn.
By Wednesday, I was already restless. It had only been three days since Vision came home, but it felt longer.
Long enough for everything to change. The phone calls stopped. The late-night visits stopped. Even the little notes Wanda used to slip into my hand after prayer had stopped.
Now there was only church. And even there, she barely looked at me.
It was smart, necessary and it hurt so much.
I sat through my Thursday online class at the kitchen table, pretending to take notes while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely.
Mom noticed. “You seem distracted.”
I blinked. “Just school stuff.”
She hummed. “School or Wanda?”
My stomach tightened and I looked up too fast. “What?”
Mom smiled faintly, stirring coffee at the stove.
“Nothing bad. You just haven’t been over there much since Vision got home.”
I forced a shrug. “He’s home. I shouldn't interfere.”
Mom gave me a long look. Then smiled. “Well. I know Wanda misses you.”
That stuck with me, because I missed her too, so.. much.
—
that night as i'm unable to sleep, I get out of bed and hop out my window. I leave just a crack open to get back in later. I pause and stare at Wanda's window; I sigh then step closer. I pause and wonder if I should peak in or not, and after a few moments I decide not to and simply walk to my backyard towards the swing-set ive had since childhood.
I sit and let out a deep sigh as I swing just slightly, back and forth; listening to the creak of the metal as I move. I stare down at the ground, lost in my thoughts.
When will I see Wanda again?
Why does it hurt so much without her?
Am I really that attracted?
Is she hurting without me? Are these feelings mutual?
When will vision leave?
Just as that last thought crosses my mind i hear a deep, low voice, "Hey kid."
I clench my jaw. Vision.
I relax my jaw before turning to face him; He's already walking towards me, since no fence separates our homes.
I swallow hard and stand up.
He speaks again before I get the chance, "Why are you up so late? Is it those... panic spells?"
I swallow hard and play my part, "Yeah" i barely breathe out before clearing my throat; which I assume sells the lie, at-least a-little.
"They're that bad?"
I nod and sigh heavily as if I’m having a hard time breathing, "pretty much." I murmur hoping my short answers will make him leave.
I watch him as he crosses his arms and looks at me for only a few seconds, but it feels like forever. He eventually sighs, "You've been pretty attached to her since you were a kid, and still, even now as an adult."
I furrow my eyebrows, acting confused but my heart races as i prepare myself for him to lay it on me, to tell me he knows about me and Wanda.
"How does she help you?" He adds, stepping closer and leaning against the metal that holds down the swing-set.
"She talks me through it, we pray together... She... Helps me find some sense of peace." I say, hoping i sound convincing.
He looks at me and tilts his head, just as I start to feel real panic I sniffle and force a few tears, "I'm sorry-" I say before sniffling again, "It's... It's just that.. She’s like a real mom to me, you.. you two probably wont understand, but... most Mexican parents don't believe in this stuff. They say it's just in my head and that i need to think of something else-" I ramble and let out a choked up sob to sell it, "But Wanda... she.. she actually comforts me and listens to me. I know my parents try their best but.. seeing the way Wanda was with her boys.. I just.. I never got to have it and i longed for it... p-please.. don't tell my parents this.." i say, tears now falling down my cheeks consistently.
He looks at me in shock, then worried. He glances back at the house and then at me again before he scratches the back of the neck and bites his bottom lip, like if he's feeling embarrassed or awkward, maybe both. "That's why she misses you so much then.." he says slowly before continuing, "Thats why she says she misses feeling like a mom.. uh.." he pauses and clears his throat again, "sorry kid." he says quickly before turning and darting towards the back door to his house.
I stand there, stunned as I watch him walk away. I slowly sit back down on the swing as actual nervousness and anxiety creeps in now, because im not sure if he believes me or not. And part of me feels like i sold it but another part of me isn't so sure.
i don't hear their back door, nor do i hear her rushing footsteps. It isn't until she says, "baby?" in a worried tone that makes my head snap up, and my eyes go wide, "momm-" I start before i cut myself off as I slowly stand up again. She looks at me with an expression that makes my heart break, maybe I did oversell it.
"Oh my baby." she says as she rushes to me and hugs me. I sob as soon as I feel her cradle my head into her chest and I feel her body sway slightly as if to rock me. She squeezes me tighter, "talk to me sweetheart, what happened? Vision said you were distraught and needed me." she says while kissing the top of my head repeatedly.
I sniffle and speak in a trembling voice, "I- I.. he.. looked so suspicious.. I just- I made him believe that I see you as a mother who nurtures me and cares for me the way I needed... I just- I-" I choke up as another sob escapes me and I start to shake and my breathing gets uneven as I try to speak again, "B-but I- I'm not.. crying-because.. of that- I- I miss... you so-much- mommy" I finally choke up as I squeeze her back and she starts to sniffle now, "oh baby. I'm so sorry. He should've been gone by now. My sweet girl, mommy's here. mom-" she pauses which makes me pull back just enough to look at her. I follow her gaze where she's looking at my tree house. I take the hint and tug her towards it. we climb it and settle together over a mattress i have laying there along with a small battery powered light. She immediately pulls me onto her lap to straddle her, "My babygirl, Mommy has you now. I'm so sorry. I hate being apart from you like this." She says as she cups my face. "I promise, It wont be forever."
_
Sunday comes hot and bright. The little white church felt heavier than usual, packed with bodies and summer heat despite the ceiling fans pushing warm air around.
I sat beside my parents near the back. Wanda sat with Vision near the front. A perfect picture. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. Her smile looked easy. Natural. It made my chest ache.
Pastor Ellis spoke about temptation and duty, his voice carrying through the room like thunder. I barely heard any of it. I was too busy watching her. And every time I did, guilt hit me harder. Not because of Vision because I wanted her to look back.
After the sermon, everyone spilled into the fellowship hall for coffee and sweet bread.
That’s when the whispers started.
Mrs. Thompson smiled when she saw me. “Well, there she is.”
Her friend Mrs. Wilson laughed.
“Haven’t seen you at Wanda’s lately.”
My throat tightened. Before I can answer, Mrs. Wilson leaned closer. “She’s been pouting without her little shadow.”
They laugh. I force a smile.
Across the room, Wanda was pouring coffee. Vision beside her, just watching.
Mrs. Thompson tilted her head. “You know, Wanda talks about you like you hung the moon.”
Mrs. Wilson added, “Practically adopted you.”
My stomach twisted.
Mom walked up beside me, hearing the tail end. “Well,” she said lightly, “Wanda’s always had a soft spot for Y/N.”
Mrs. Thompson smiled. “It’s sweet.”
Then she lowered her voice. “But folks do notice.”
Mom frowned. “Notice what?”
Mrs. Wilson laughed. “Oh, nothing bad.”
But the way she said it made my blood run cold. Mom’s eyes flicked to me, sharp now. Thinking.
The seed has been planted in her head.
—
Later, upstairs during prayer, Wanda led the group like always. Steady, calm and beautiful. Vision wasn’t there. He’d gone home. For the first time all week, it was just us.
Sort of, but I could feel it.
The tension, the eyes. Even the older women seemed to watch us differently now; Like the closeness looked different, like maybe they were trying to place something they couldn’t name.
After the group ended, everyone slowly filed out. Wanda found me in the empty prayer room. The air in the room was thick with the residue of the prayer session, the lingering scent of incense and old wood, but as soon as the last of the group filtered out and the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted violently. Wanda didn't just close the door; she locked it with a sharp, definitive snap.
Before I could even breathe, she was on me. She lunged forward, her hands gripping my shoulders with a desperation that bordered on aggression, pulling me into a kiss that tasted of hunger and long-suppressed longing. Her lips crashed against mine, bruising and urgent.
"I've missed you so much," she murmured against my lips, her breath hot and erratic. "I've been going crazy without you... God, I wish it was you I was married to. I wish you were the one I woke up to every morning."
She pulled back just an inch, her eyes searching mine, filled with a raw, aching sincerity. "I'm so sorry we had to be apart. Please forgive me. I'm pretending at church, playing the part of the perfect wife, but behind closed doors... we stay apart. I'm making Vision sleep in the guest room. I won't kiss him, I won't let him touch me. I'm saving every single bit of myself just for you."
My heart hammered against my ribs, the tension of the last few days finally snapping. "I miss you too," I whispered, my voice trembling. "And it's more than just missing you... I'm getting deeper feelings, Wanda. I've been feeling so needy... in every way."
A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. She reached up, cupping my cheek with a tenderness that made my knees weak. "My good girl," she murmured, her voice dropping into a sultry, commanding register. "You've been missin' and needin' mommy haven't you? Can you promise to stay quiet for mommy?"
"Yes, mommy," I whimpered, leaning into her palm. "I promise."
The moment the words left my lips, her demeanor shifted to one of focused intent. She reached down, her fingers deft and quick as she undid the button and zipper of my jeans. She pushed them down, letting the denim and my underwear pool in a heap around my ankles. With a sudden surge of strength, she gripped my waist and lifted me, hoisting me up to sit on the edge of the heavy wooden desk.
My clothes remained a discarded pile on the floor as she stepped between my thighs, parting my legs wide. I felt the cool air hit my skin for only a second before her warm hand slid upward, gliding over my thigh and slipping directly between my legs to my core.
She didn't rush. She entered me slowly, one finger sliding deep into my heat while her thumb found my clit, beginning a slow, rhythmic rub. I let out a series of small, sharp gasps and whimpers, my head tossing back against the desk.
Wanda smirked, leaning in close to nibble and tug at my earlobe, her tongue licking the shell of my ear. "That's it, baby," she whispered, her voice a vibration against my skin. "Let mommy know how good she's doing."
She pushed a second finger inside, stretching me, her thumb increasing the pressure on my clit. "Look at you," she groaned. "You're so tight and wet for me. You've been craving this, haven't you? Such a needy little thing for mommy."
The praise sent a jolt of electricity through me, making my whimpers grow louder, more desperate. She captured my mouth in another deep kiss, muffling my sounds as she accelerated the pace. Her fingers worked me relentlessly, rubbing and pumping in a blur of friction and heat. I felt the tension coil tight in my gut until I finally snapped, my body arching as I finished with a loud grunt and a long, shaking whine right into her mouth.
She didn't pull away immediately. She lingered, her fingers twitching inside me as if she hated to let go of the connection. Slowly, she withdrew her hand, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room. She began to pepper my face with kisses—my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks—before trailing down to my neck and chest, leaving a trail of fire in her wake.
Unable to stay passive, I reached for her, pulling her back up and switching our positions. I pushed her back, guiding her down until I could dive between her legs. I buried my face in her scent, my tongue swirling and licking her clit with a hunger that matched her own.
Wanda let out a series of choked gasps, her fingers clutching at my hair. "Oh god... yes... right there," she whispered, her voice strained as she struggled to keep her volume down, terrified of being overheard. She whimpered, her hips bucking against my mouth as I drank her in, driving her toward her own peak with focused, wet laps.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless and flushed, she helped me stand. "Mommy needs to take care of you, sweetheart," she whispered, helping me pull my underwear and jeans back up, smoothing the fabric with a lingering touch.
She slipped back into her own clothes, and we spent several more minutes locked in a slow, reluctant make-out session, savoring the last moments of privacy.
The drive home was heavy with a different kind of tension. As she navigated the streets, Wanda gripped the steering wheel tight, her expression darkening. "This is the part I hate," she admitted, her voice laced with frustration. "I hate leaving you. I wish you could just come home with me."
As we pulled up to my place, she glanced at the house next door, her jaw clenching. She let out a long, weary sigh and reached over, taking my hand in hers. "I love you. I'll call you as soon as Vision is gone. And if he doesn't attend the prayer sessions... then you're mine that day. Entirely mine."
She reluctantly let go of my hand, the loss of her touch feeling like a physical wound as I stepped out of the car and headed toward my front door.
-
As I left the church that afternoon, Mom fell into step beside me.
Quiet. Too quiet. Then she asked: “Y/N… are you sure everything with Wanda is exactly what you’ve said it is?”
I froze. And for the second time that week— I didn’t know how to answer.
summary: sevika didn’t believe in softness. not for herself, anyway. not until her daughter— her entire world— found the one babysitter she refused to let go of. you were supposed to be hired hands, nothing more. but between late nights, spilled juice, and tiny hands tugging you closer, sevika starts wanting something she knows she shouldn’t.
content: size kink, pwp, smut, praise kink, sevika has a daughter, nipple sucking, slight manhandling, strap, kissing, squirting
word count: ~ 2k words
discord server - fic directory
“You’re hired.”
You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. Securing this job was the only way you’d planned on paying for your bills this winter. You didn’t have a single alternative option. Sevika guided you to the hall before she very carefully twisted the knob, opening a door. You peeked inside.
Inside was a little girl in a pastel pink dress, she was perhaps only just two years of age. When she saw you, she walked closer, standing only a few inches away from you, looking up at you with curious eyes.
Then, she ran to Sevika’s legs, throwing herself all over the other woman. Sevika, caught off guard, chuckled and bent to pick her up. She seated the little girl there on her hip, “this little menace is Mira.”
“She’s adorable. She’s got your eyes, aww…”
“Yeah, but don’t let that fool ya’, she’s still very difficult to take care of.”
“Oh, I don’t believe any child is difficult, they just need to be understood in their own way.”
Sevika just nodded with a little smile before she walked, holding Mira, “c’mon.”
You followed her into the kitchen.
“You’re not to give her anything sugary without checking with me first, she gets very hyper when you give her even the littlest nibble of chocolate so I overview her sugar intake,” Sevika explained.
“Understood.” You nodded, “anything else?”
“She can pretty much express herself and communicate already,” Sevika glanced at Mira who was sucking her own finger. “I’ve gotta warn ya’ though, y’can’t take your eyes off her. Not even for a second. She’s very… active.”
You blinked. Mira giggled as if she was already plotting how to ruin your day, then kicked her legs.
“If she waddles too fast, runs and falls over— don’t baby her. That’ll make her cry and shit. Just tell her everything’s okay and nothing happened. She usually never cries from shit like that.” Sevika opened the fridge to show you where she’d kept Mira’s food, “oh!— and she’ll likely plead you give her candy or anything sugary— don’t give in. Ever. Always check with me.”
“Alright. Hawk eyes and no sugar. That’s easy.”
“Oh, and she climbs everything and screams a lot.” Sevika added casually.
You looked at Mira, “you sure? She looks so sweet.”
“She’s just a little shy.” Sevika passed Mira to you.
You almost dropped the sudden weight but then adjusted, and lifted to seat her on your hip, “there we go…”
Mira paused, looked up, gauged your expression and giggled, burying her face in your torso.
“Aww, she’s so cute.” You told Sevika.
Sevika raised a brow, nodding to Mira. You looked down— she was chewing your blouse.
Your eyes widened but before you could say or do anything— Sevika’s voice filled the kitchen area.
“Mira.”
Mira stilled, let go of your blouse and turned her little head to face Sevika— licking her lips, staring innocently.
“Oh, she listens to you.” You said, wishing you had an ounce of Sevika’s authority.
“She listens when she feels like it.” Sevika closed the fridge door.
Mira pressed her forehead against your chest, tiny fingers curling into your collar. You couldn’t help it— you melted. “It’s okay…”
Sevika wasn’t convinced it was though— she knew her daughter better than anyone. Knew her fully well to expect—
“Mira! Sweetheart! Sitting— sitting is good,” you tried to make her sit back but Mira decided that standing right there on your hip would be more suited to her caliber.
“She does this… a lot. She thinks she’s immortal.”
Mira squealed so loud you swore you went deaf in one ear, “up! High!”
Sevika was going to intervene but then your hands hooked under Mira’s tiny underarms, you secured your hold and then swept her tiny body through the open space, lifting her high up— Mira giggled and squirmed, kicking her feet but she was clearly enjoying this.
“Little menace, aren’t you? Hmm?” You twirled her, lifting her high up once again.
Mira squealed, “again, again!” She blabbered.
Sevika just stared. “Damn, you’re good.”
You settled Mira down against your chest again, smiling, cheeks flushed a little from the sudden exertion.
Sevika leaned against the kitchen counter, uncapping a water bottle to take a sip, “usually she cries and throws herself on the floor when someone new picks her up, but with you— I’ve gotta give it to you, you’ve got a gift for charming people.”
You smiled in the moment— not catching how she said “people” instead of just “kids”. Mira beamed at you as if she’d already decided you were her new favourite human being. Sevika put the half empty water bottle down.
“I’m gonna head out for work. You call me if you need anything. Anything at all.” Sevika grabbed her blazer off the chair’s back, “you be good, okay, baby?” Sevika kissed Mira’s head, and waved.
“Bye bye, mama!” Mira giggled, buzzing with energy.
“Bye, sweetheart.” Sevika gave her a last smile before she was out the door.
“Guess it’s just you and me now.” You told Mira.
Mira grinned— no, she fucking smirked. “’gain.” She stomped on your hip.
By the time Sevika got back home, the place was so quiet she had to take a step back and check the plate on the door to make sure it was still hers. When she stepped inside, she saw you washing Mira’s little bowl in the sink, everything was so tidy…
“Oh, welcome home.” You greeted, putting the bowl away.
“She asleep?”
“Mhm…”
She stepped inside cautiously, loosening the knot of her tie with two fingers. She closed the door behind herself and walked to you, stopping a few feet away.
You glanced a little.
“She’s deep asleep,” you reassured. “She told me decided my shoulder was squishy and she fell asleep.”
“She likes you.”
“I hope that’s not a problem— many moms don’t like it when—”
“It’s not a problem. I’m glad actually.”
You smiled, nodding slowly. Sevika looked so awfully pretty in this lighting. You couldn’t even help it.
“You look… you look pretty.”
“What?”
“Tired!— I said tired.”
Sevika stepped closer. “I heard you the first time. Just never been called that a lot.”
Your cheeks reddened, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. “We shouldn’t— umm—...”
“Yeah, it’s a cliché trope, ain’t it?” Sevika chuckled, her nose already brushing yours.
You couldn’t help grinning. “You really read those shitty romance books?”
“Maybe… One or two.”
The rest of the conversation melted away when she kissed you and you didn’t push her away. You kissed her back ten times harder, pushing her against the kitchen counter, hands on the broad expanse of her chest.
“You’re really pretty.” You breathed out softly.
Sevika’s hand held your waist. “You’re—...”
“It’s okay… look at me.”
She did. She lost herself again. Sevika grunted, grabbing the undersides of your thighs with both hands as she pushed you to sit on the kitchen counter as she kissed you deeper.
“Y’know this shouldn’t happen.” Sevika sighed softly.
“Says who?”
Sevika blinked before she just tossed you over one shoulder, marching off to her bedroom.
“Oh my goodness, you’re so strong, it’s almost humiliating.” You murmured.
The door closed behind you both and you swore something changed.
Sevika pinned you to the mattress, her breath hot against your face as she rubbed your pussy over your panties, smirking when she heard your little whine of feeble protest that was only a part of the foreplay you both had been engaging in.
“Do you want me to take out the strap or do you want these fingers?” Sevika asked, her pointer and middle finger searching for your clit over the fabric.
Once she did find it, she pressed it and rubbed a firm circle around it making you squeak out an answer, “the strap, please…”
Sevika got off your body and walked to the drawer, which opened to reveal several straps inside of different colours and shapes and… textures?
“Oh, boy, you must have an active sex life.” You watched her strip her body of clothes and put the harness on.
“Eh,” Sevika fixed it in place, “it’s been quite inactive since Mira was born, y’know? Could barely put the kid to sleep let alone bang someone in peace.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” You made room for her on the bed once she climbed back on, strap glistening with lube she’d generously smeared over the shaft. “C’mere, babydoll.”
“Oh, oh, Sevika… we shouldn’t even be doing this. What if Mira wakes up?” You parted your legs either way.
Sevika positioned herself as she grunted out an answer, “then we deal with it,” slowly, she pushed inside, filling your tight pussy up, “guess you just gotta keep quiet, ain’t that right, mama?”
Sevika’s elbows rested against the mattress making it dip at your sides, her nose was almost brushing yours— that’s how close she was. Your hands were wrapped around her body, her broad back and muscles making you feel much smaller in comparison although you were not that. Sevika chuckled as she saw your expression, your awe at her perfectly sculpted physique.
“Not the first time a pretty lady’s been mesmerised seein’ me.” Sevika told you.
You tried to roll your eyes playfully and scoff, “sure, sure. You’re so humble.” You said dryly making Sevika laugh before she pulled away from your face.
You didn’t like how addictive her presence had become. The moment she pulled away, you couldn’t help craving more and wishing she’d been cradling you closer. You didn’t want to seem needy though.
This was just one of those heat of the moment things— that’s what you told yourself.
Every thrust made you see heaven itself. The bed creaked under you both and the feelings were all mushed up, and you were so confused actually. Your hand searched for hers blindly, your eyes closed, lips parted just enough for her to know just how good her strap game was.
Sevika leaned down slowly, her grey eyes fixed on you as she captured one of your nipples in her mouth— slowly sucking it, flattening her tongue just right and dragging it around the nub to make it tingle just perfectly.
Your right hand went in her hair, messing it up, fingers tangling. “Shit— oh, oh, Sevika, you’re good at this. You’re really…” you panted for air, “... Good at this…”
Sevika smirked, flicking your nipple with her tongue and the strap slammed deeper. “Think you can fold for me, baby?” Sevika asked.
You nodded, “make me.”
Sevika’s eyes darkened with lust, one big hand of hers grabbing your ankles together and she folded you with ease— knees against your chest. Your pussy squeezed around the strap which felt bigger in this position.
“Fuck! Sevika!” You moaned her name.
She grunted, adjusting her position— and set out a brutal pace. You could only gasp for air as you let her use you however she pleased.
It didn’t take too long before a spurt of squirt left you. “Shit. You’re a squirter.” Sevika let go of your ankles. “That’s hot.” She pulled you in for a kiss again, leaning down closer to you.
You kissed her back, “mmm… fuck, Sevika… this isn’t right.”
“Hmm?”
“I work for you.”
“Why can’t we just do both?” Sevika’s eyes flickered to your lips again, like she was tempted to kiss you again, “it’s just us— us who call the shots.”
“You. It’s you who calls the shots.”
“No, ma’am, you’ve got free will and consent.” Sevika said with a little smirk.
You licked your lips. “Ma’am, hmm? You tryna get another round of this now?”
Sevika didn’t answer— she smirked and pulled you in for another heated, wet kiss instead.
Drabble: Captain!Ambessa helping Lieutenant!Reader after you've been hit with some sort of aphrodisiac on a mission...
Warnings: power-balance relationship, thigh riding + humping, dub con as reader is technically under the influence of a drug, praise kink.
Mission failed. Absolutely, 1000% failed. After being surrounded and backed into a corner Ambessa called it, deciding to retreat going against every fighting instinct she had- for one reason and one reason only... you'd been shot. Hit with something unknown and she needed to know what it was.
After commanding the rest of the soldiers into a truck she carried you into another, banging on the partition separating the cab and the back of the truck. "Bessa please-"
Before her brain had time to react you were straddled on one of her thick thighs, rolling and grinding you hips desperately. Naturally her hands find you hips, trying to stop your provocative movements. "Soldier stop. What the hell has gotten into you?-"
"Need... I need you please you gotta help me please-" Then she spots it. The small tranquilizing bullet lodged into the thick of your thigh penetrating through your cargos.
Ambessa knows what it is, or at least she thinks she does with the way you're reacting. And it would be wrong, extremely unprofessional to let you keep going... but she knew nothing else would help. Nothing else would stop this feeling gnawing away deep inside you.
So she helps you.
"Okay. Hump my thigh- that's it. I'm not touching you."
The pleasure fogging you brain only heightened when you were granted permission, it was all you needed and you were off. Humping and rutting your soaked cunt against her thigh felt like actual heaven though it still wasn't enough. The roughness of your own cargos brushing against your throbbing clit wasn't enough. No you needed to be full, be fucked to death until you couldn't do anything but take it.
Ambessa knew this small permission granted was nothing close to what you needed... but it would do until she got you back to base and in her barracks where she could properly, throughly take care of you.
The wetness of you pussy was seeping through your cargos and onto hers, warming her thigh in the dirtiest way possible. Ambessa's hands tighten on your rutting hips, trying to help you find a rhythm from the uncoordinated, sloppy humping you're currently doing. "Just like that, nice and slow. I'm right here."
Even though you were literally shaking with horniness, desperate and crying with need -literally- tears rolled down your cheeks, fat and heavy dripping off your chin, sniffling along with your pathetic, adorable whines.
After finding a rhythm Ambessa helps guide your movements, fighting her own self control to rip off your clothes and take you right there- your need was worse and you were... behaving. Kind of.
"Good girl... doing so good for me-" the minute the praise slips from Ambessa's lips your cries grow louder, needier, messier as you let go, hips twitching and rolling beneath her hands. The gush of arousal soaks Ambessa's thigh seeping through to her own skin, the smell undeniably musky in the back of the truck.
"Fuck... okay baby okay I've got you." Her hands slide up your sides and barely ghost over your breasts before her palms are cupping your cheeks, forcing your eyes onto hers. Your pupils are blown wide with need, eyelids drooping, hazy with need. "I promise. I promise when we get back to base I'll make it all go away, okay?"
This wasn't quite what Ambessa signed up for when becoming a captain in a battle of chemical warfare... but it could be worse.
just imagine a femme so fucking needy and horny that shes riding my strap and fucking herself so hard and deep right on top of me. to the point where im trying to take back control but she holds me down and keeps fucking herself faster and deeper. she’s basically fucking herself on me, rolling her hips and all you can hear are the messy slaps with every thrust. she’s taken full advantage of me for her own fix and getting exactly what she came for
Synopsis: After weeks of being on the road with Sevika you knew your time was coming to an end... after the break up and everything that has happened after, all you wanted to do was leave, move far away and forget everything. People in your own town already thought you'd left, little did they know the situation you found yourself trapped in.
Wc: 1.6k
Warnings: G!p Sevika, she is absolutely unhinged and deranged, kidnapping + being knocked out, restraints, begging, masturbation, praise, dacryphilia, mocking, oral (s!receiving), hair pulling, choking, knife play (for Sevika, it's not 'play' for reader).
It wasn't a great plan, not by a long shot but it was your only option. You'd only originally agreed to go with Sevika that very first night because you were exhausted, cold, tired and heartbroken. Not thinking about the long term and now you were stuck with her.
Sevika had gotten slightly better, she showers at least once a fortnight now which was better than the state she was in when you met her, though her musky, sweaty smell was always lingering and no matter how well she cleaned under those fingernails they grew black every single time.
At the next truck stop you'd run. No stopping to call somebody -anybody- for help. You would run, keep running until you were far away with a headstart while she was inside picking up supplies. Like you thought... not a great plan, but it was a plan.
As expected, it didn't go to plan... in fact Sevika had some sort of sixth sense apparently, foreseeing you trying to run away from her- and she wasn't having that.
In the sandals a size too big for you that Sevika had so kindly gotten you… you take off the minute she opens the store door. First mistake. Too early. With your shoes flopping about and your feet slipping out of them it slowed you down, on top of the fact Sevika was giant and each three steps of yours were one of hers... you didn't make it out of the gas station before she hauled you back against her, one greasy, oil slicked hand over your nose and mouth.
"Bad girl... think you can run away from me hm? Think you can get rid of me? No no no dollface... you're mine now. I thought I made that clear- but don't you worry that pretty little head. I'll help you understand." She tuts as she drags you back to the truck, silencing you with her hand.
Another trucker, an older gentleman sees the struggle and rightly comments on it. "You alright there, miss?"
Sevika answers for you over your muffled cries for help. "It's our dynamic. She loves me chasing her- she'll get a real good pounding when we're home."
The man being a man takes Sevika's words at face value, shrugs, and walks away back to his truck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It was over. She was going to kill you or even worse... you didn't know what the worse option was but you'd surely find out after this little stunt.
After fighting you and getting you into the truck and forcing you back into the sleeper Sevika sighs. Heavy. Disappointed. "Why'd you ruin that doll? I didn't want to have to do this to you..."
The heavy blow to your head hurt only for a millisecond before everything went black.
⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•₊˚⊹
Before you even open your eyes the ache in your head and shoulders forces a pained groan from your lips. And your knees... Everything hurt. As your groggy eyes adjust to the light you realise you have no idea where you are. It looks like some sort of... basement? Though it's kind of nice, with stylish wooden beams along the ceiling, it was almost giving 'cabin in the woods' without the big windows looking out into miles of trees.
Only when you go to rub your eyes do you realise you can't move your arms, let alone your hands. The ache in your shoulders that you'd briefly forgotten about came back with full force. With your arms up in the air, chains were connected to your cuffs, the chains tied to one of the ceiling beams keeping your arms imprisoned above your head. And your knees were barely touching the ground, keeping your torso stretched.
The weak attempts of pulling and tugging at the chains were useless, not to mention painful. "Keep trying to escape, dollface. It's gettin' me off." Sevika. Right... you tried and failed to run.
"Sevika pl-please... let me go please..." With your eyes adjusting to the light, you make out her silhouette in the corner, slumped lazily in a plush armchair.
"Now why would I do that? Where are you going to go, love? Home? You're already a missing person and I hate to break it to you sweetheart but no one is coming for you. Nobody knows where you are." The sharp, grinding sound was unmistakably a knife being sharpened, with each flick of her wrist the rough sound filled the deafening silence.
This was it. She was going to kill you and you couldn't do anything about it.
In a last, desperate attempt to save your own life you pull and thrash at the chains keeping your arms bound above your head and to no avail you make no progress, only further hurting your own shoulders and back. Broken sobs escape you finally, loud, broken wails that did something to Sevika deep down.
The sharpening of her knife stopped as your wails continued. "Beg for me to let you go, dollface."
Without inhibition the words spill from your mouth, sounding almost unrecognisable. "Pl-please! Please just let m-me go h-home! Don't... don't hurt me please I'll stay! I'll stay, I'll be good I promise please just don't h-hurt me!"
The familiar sound of her pants being unbuckled and pulled down goes completely over you as you beg for your life, for your freedom. Wrapping a hand around her angry, leaking shaft Sevika tugs and fists it, hips bucking up as she listens to you promise to be a good girl, to do exactly as she says.
"-anything! Anything you w-want! I'll take it, I'll do it just please... please don't hurt m-me..." your head drops until your chin meets your chest, drool, snot and tears spilling onto the bare skin- because of course Sevika had you chained up naked.
"Easy girl, that's it... begging so pretty for me. You'll do anything, hm?" Her fingers tighten around her shaft, hips fucking her cock up into her hand as she watches you break into a million pieces. Begging for her. Of course you've realised this is where you want to be. Those were definitely tears of shame for trying to run away- Sevika couldn't understand why else you'd be crying.
"A-anything..." your words come out as a broken whisper, throat raw and scratchy. Her heavy footstep growing closer drew your head up, finally meeting her eyes as she stepped into the lights, cock hanging heavy, looking as red and angry as you felt inside. "Open up, dollface. Prove to me how far you'll go to stay with me."
Gripping your chin in her hand she pulls on your lower lip with her thumb, encouraging you to open up and prove your love and loyalty to her. Unable to do anything else you obey, parting your lips and letting your tongue loll out. Sevika slaps the tip of her cock on your tongue a few times, letting you taste the bitter, nasty taste of her pre before her hips thrust forward, stuffing your throat full. "Goddddamn baby- that's it. Good girl."
Both hands move to the back of your head, fisting her hands in your hair as she start to fuck your throat as if it's nothing but a warm hole for her enjoyment. With every thrust of her hips she pulled on your hair, bringing your head down right to her pelvis, nose in her pubic hairs- pulling on your neck and shoulder muscles as they were still chained above your head and now straining against the unnatural movement.
Every cry of pain tightened up your throat, pulsing around her length, teasing Sevika further. "So fucking pretty like this- maybe I'll keep you chained up. You're a lot more obedient this way." The bitter taste of her pre-cum leaking down your throat only made your throat tighten even more as you drool and gag around her shaft.
Controlling your head, Sevika grips your hair harder, keeping you still as she really starts to pound your throat. It was so wet, tight and warm she was ready to let go- on top of watching you cry so sweet and beg for your life so prettily... she could afford to let go. It's not like it was a one and done job, she had you forever now.
Sevika holds your head down, suffocating you in the musky scent of her bush as she spills down your throat, giving you no choice to swallow it or choke. Not wanting to choke you do swallow, as much as you can anyway. When she pulls out the remaining cum you hadn't managed to get down leaks down your chin, creating a beautiful mess- at least in Sevika's eyes.
"Perfect. My obedient girl hm? I knew you could behave, just needed a little encouragement." She pats your cheek condescendingly before sitting back down in her plush, comfy armchair. A stark contrast to the uncomfortable, severely painful position you were in.
Sevika doesn't clean you up, instead opting to walk back over with her knife in hand, crouching down in front of you. "Be good for me. I'm gonna make sure you know exactly where you belong. If you keep on being such a sweet girl for me I'll get you some water, yeah? Your throat must be so sore, dollface."
She tips up your chin with the tip of her knife, demanding eye contact. The look in her eye commanded obedience, there was no other option. "O-okay... I'll be good, I promise I'll be good..."
Sevika smirks, dragging the tip of her knife down your throat and to your chest. The cuts weren't deep, only deep enough for blood to bead at the surface... it still hurt, you still whimpered. Yet you remain still because there is no other option... not if you wanted to make it out alive.
summary — the first test of your relationship is upon you — a fourth of july party combining both wanda and natasha’s friend group since their breakup years before. something you’d once felt nothing but excitement for rattles your bones now, but wanda and natasha are always up for some not so innocent monkey business if it means calming your nerves
warning(s) — established relationship(s), alternate universe, messy wandanat, polyamorous relationships, threesomes, switch!wanda, implied anxiety disorders, punishment, maybe littlespace, kissing, sexual advances, teasing, domestic dominance, stuffed animals, domestic fluff, useless lesbians, daddy kink, mommy kink, kind of ageplay/kind of not, inspection kink, humiliation, threat of restraint, implied size kink, showering, vaginal fingering, scoldings, shower sex, orgasm denial, barbecues, natasha in a bikini top and trunks, exhibitionism, ass groping, swimming, temperature play, slight/alludes to piss kink + holding kink, beefy!nat, degradation kink, praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, nipple teasing, campfire cuddling, light subspace, perhaps a little voyeurism, pussy slap (singular), whining, dirty talk (like a lot), innocent!reader, hickeys, smut, consent is always implied, there’s more, but you get the hint, men/minors dni
authors note — hi, so, uh… i decided that throwing you into this au was the best course of action, so we’re officially just flying by the seat of our pants here. first ride back on the saddle, so this one got a little bit away from me… as in… it was not supposed to be this horny (or long), but i’d love to know what you thought!
wc — 21.1k
“I don’t think Natty will mind just one missing.”
Wanda has always been entranced by how softly you exist. The windows are open throughout the house; Natasha has the air-conditioning off everywhere besides the recently refinished basement permissively. The heatwave that had settled over New York for the last two weeks had cleared abruptly last night for the forecast today, and you’d all been in agreement to take advantage of the breeze that drifted through the branches. Your hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail preemptively, though your cheeks were flush regardless of the attempt to stay cool. The kitchen counter was your chosen sanctuary from the heat — you’re learning that your medication hates anything above seventy-eight degrees fahrenheit. You’re going to ask Natasha for two french braids later, you’ve already told Wanda all about it, but for now you sit on the counter sporting a messy ponytail and baby hairs that cling to your temple, naked feet swinging against the white oak cabinets creating hollow thumps with an undeniable rhythm to them. You look soft as Wanda looks up from her cutting board to assess your seriousness. It takes her back a breath; leads you to believe you’d gotten somewhere.
“See, and I think she will.” Wanda waves her knife around with a kind of finesse you’ve only seen exaggerated by Mother Gothel in the tower. If her hips weren’t concealed by the island she leaned against, you’d be sure they were swaying with a seductive taunt.
She’s cutting up strawberries for the fruit salad Yelena requested. It’s the last fruit before she’s done. She’s placed you in charge of making sure no flies sneak into the big mixing bowl before she can put the lid on and stick it in the refrigerator. Yelena will know if a fly has touched even one diced peach.
Your clammy cheeks fill with air. The glittery lipgloss you’d lathered on thick settles into the wrinkles of your lips as you purse them petulantly. Your eyebrows that she’d plucked meticulously last night furrow downward cutely, though she supposes they're meant to convey your anger; dejection clear as day on your porcelain features. Wanda Maximoff envies your complexion. The sun bounces off your high points angelically, the sheen of heat that tints you pink effortless and charming. “I’ll take a cherry one!” It’s a good tactic. Nobody likes the cherry one. But Wanda’s not in the business of breaking to you.
Her eyes cool. The delicious green that reminds you of the center of a fresh and perfectly ripe kiwi becomes emerald; dark, captivating, albeit chilling. The pucker of your lips becomes a pout as your shoulders sink beneath the weight of her gaze becoming a stare. “What did Natty tell you?”
Your arms cross over your belly. The only tell that it's an act of protection and not defiance is the way your open palms wrap around your midsection, nervous fingernails digging into soft flesh that pools over white-knuckle digits from the pressure. What is an act of defiance is the way your heels kick harder into the cabinets off rhythm. The thumps are less hollow now, but they fail to deliver the attitude you’re suddenly convinced you can emulate. Wanda wants to laugh. She will laugh later. Just not right now.
“Do that again and you’re off my counter.” It’s not a threat but a promise. Your chest swells with something tight and convincing. It wants to act. To lash out. It’s warm and you hate it but it feels like you have to listen to it. “What did Natty tell you about the popsicles?” She can see the frustration welling up inside of you like helium filling a cheap latex balloon. She chooses to take pity on you as your nails dig harder into your sides, a habit they’d both tried every method in the book to try to help you stop.
“That I had to wait until the party because there wasn’t anymore of the kind that I like at the store if I ran out before the end of the night.” Somehow, you’ve found a way to keep the air in your cheeks as you answer her, and Wanda doesn’t try to fight the wrinkle of amusement that tugs at the corner of her lips as she watches you try to figure out how you can control this situation, still not entirely willing to just let her be the one to think.
Wanda hums, looking back down at her strawberries. Yelena really is lucky she loves her. There’s at least five pounds of hand diced fruit sitting between both counters in the kitchen now. “And the last time we didn’t have any during a pool day, you passed out in the pool. So having one right now is not an option no matter how cute you look all grumpy.”
Wanda notices the way your eyes roll, but she chooses to let you think you’ve gotten away with your attitude as she uses the back of the knife to clear more space on her board for the last handful of strawberries. Natasha had done an impeccable job picking them out at the store. Years of heated lecturing had seemed to finally pay off.
The grey shorts you’d chosen to throw over your bathing suit gap around your thighs as you sit on the kitchen counter, occasionally glancing down at the large glass bowl. Your hands shoved a couple of flies away in the time you’d been sitting out here with Wanda, but nothing extensive or stimulating. Wanda peaks at the ties of your bikini bottoms poking out from between the fabric, the festive color scheme you’d chosen perfect for the holiday ahead of you. Your attention is waning as the minutes seem to take longer to pass the more your mind thinks about how your head is spinning and your face is hot and a popsicle would taste so good right now. They’re some fancy kind that Natasha buys at this specific shoppe in Manhattan. She’d introduced you to them the first week of summer, just six weeks after you’d started medication. They’re the only popsicles you’ll eat, and the only cold treat you can stomach when heatstroke is beginning to claim you as a victim. Their avoidance of you having one isn’t malicious. It’s tactical. But you’ve been nervous about this party for weeks. It’s the first time you’re throwing a party as a couple. It’s the first time they’re throwing a party for all of their individual and combined friend groups since getting back together. They’re convinced there’s nothing to prove by keeping appearances up, but you’ve been overworked for days just thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.
“Get your little fingers out of my fruit.” Wanda chastises without even glancing up. Her knife slices through the last strawberry top just as your foot kicks the cabinet beneath you. Your cheeks fill with air again, but this time anger is portrayed clearly across your face, as is a glint of something innocent and traumatized beneath your eyes. Wanda wants to kill all the people who made you into this, even if it heals something inside of her that’s broken at the hands of similar treatment. “You’re all done. Go sit on the couch and wait for Natty to come inside and braid your hair.”
“But I was just—” You try to argue, panic rising in your chest as Wanda sends you away. Natasha’s out in the backyard fixing the last of the tents she’d dug out of storage. Apparently, there was once a time her company hosted a lot of barbecues for the families. Regardless of why she has them, assembly had taken almost the entirety of the morning, her appearances within the house coming few and far between
“Testing limits that you know won’t budge.” Wanda cuts you off, setting her knife down on the cutting board and pressing flat palms into the island. It’s a move of subtle dominance. Her chin twists as she tilts her gaze at you, almost daring you to tell her she's wrong. “Go wash your hands and wait on the couch.”
“Can I go sit with Natty?” You shrink into yourself as your hands grab the edge of the counter, tears feeling like they want to well up in your eyes as you stare back at Wanda with an innocent hopelessness. You’re almost there. Almost past the verge of trying so hard to protect yourself from emotions you just need the space to feel and let pass.
She shakes her head. Her hair is in a bun at the top of her head. There are a couple curly strands that fall to frame her face and cover the single studded piercings she has in her lobes. She wears a button up as a coverup, and it’s splashed with pineapple juice that exists with a yellow-hue, but she still looks perfect. “Where did I tell you to go?”
“B-But—”
“You do not want to bring butts into this, Sunshine. Yours will be mighty pink if that's the route you want to take.” Wanda warns and your cheeks redden from heat, but not the kind brought by the brightness of the sun that shines without clouds to cover its rays. Butterflies bloom in your belly and up through your chest, a soft and sweet whine crawling up your throat as you shake your head.
“No.” You whisper, plead. Your soft eyes match Wanda’s stare, teary and bright as they glisten from across the room. Wanda has no intentions of spanking you. She’s never laid a hand on you in this state. But you’ve expressed that it’s not a hard no. That you trust them both enough to decide when you’re showing signs of needing something more than your brain can handle giving you alone. “No please.” She can see the panic becoming desperation, but she can’t get the words out fast enough. You’re dissolving into a headspace that she cherishes, but knows you need guidance to see through, otherwise it gets messy, and it takes days for you to pull yourself out of a darkness that consumes your soul miserably.
She smiles softly, nodding her head toward the living room with a look that you’ve been yearning for since you started pushing buttons. “Then get that little butt on the couch and take a couple of minutes to breathe with Monkey.”
“Okay.” You whisper, sliding off the counter with your head pointed toward the floor. God, Wanda loves you more than words can even describe.
“Come give me a kiss first.” She commands and you don’t have to be told twice, making a b-line for her warm body that’s standing between the kitchen and the living room. Her body is warm as you wrap your arms around her waist and lean into her chest. She holds you up as you collapse into her, possessive hands feeling the muscles and soft skin on your back. Her lips are warm and void of any kind of chapstick as they press into yours. She tastes only of coffee, but unlike Natasha, her cups always swirled with sugar and half-and-half. She tastes sweet. “Good girls don’t need to be told more than once, right?” She questions inches from your lips, her warm breath fanning across your face as she pulls away from the kiss. You can only manage a nod, your doe eyes blinking up at Wanda lazily. “Natty’ll come get you when she’s ready. Go show me you can be good.”
“Okay.” You whisper, dazed.
Wanda smiles, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “Okay.” She repeats.
-
Natasha comes inside half-an-hour later. You’ve forgotten that you were supposed to be waiting for her by the time she stumbles inside, red faced, braids frizzy, skin gleaming. Your fingers comb through the soft fur of your companion, eyes fixated on a television screen that plays a movie from the early two-thousands you haven’t seen in a couple of years. Your legs are curled up to your body, thighs damp with sweat that continues to build as you produce and subsequently trap more and more heat.
Natasha’s filthy. There’s dirt caked beneath her nails, mulch clinging to flyaways at the nape of her neck, and something suspiciously green around her left kneecap. Wanda’s almost twitching from the kitchen where she watches you fondly as she preps another jug of lemonade; this request per Kate Bishop, but she pauses to acknowledge the recognition that washes across Natasha’s features as she takes in the sight of you so anxiously perched on the couch.
They’ve told you a million times this party isn’t as big a deal as your brain has made it out to be, but it seems you’re failing to ground yourself in that comfort even still.
“Ona boretsya s etim. Izo vsekh sil. (She’s fighting it. Hard.)” Wanda informs. Natasha frowns as the lick of russian wets her ears and provokes goosebumps across her clammy skin abruptly. Her attention bounces to Wanda, an understanding heaviness settling in her almost-blue almost-green eyes.
They’ve gone down this road with you before. The road that is watching as past traumas haunt you even decades later. They’ve equally and individually learned how fear will sometimes freeze you like a baby deer in headlights — fawn and freeze; at the same time. They know you want to believe them about this party and its casualty, but your brain won’t let you without help.
“What’re we watching?” There’s a slight pant to Natasha’s smooth tone. Wanda catches it from across the house, but you’re indifferent to her exhaustion as your eyes stay fixated on the screen.
“I dunno.” Your shoulders shrug on their own. It’s a nervous habit you’ve said you acquired in middle school. You settle farther into the couch cushions with the unintentional movement, and subconsciously you bring your nail to your lips.
Natasha watches you fondly, wanting so desperately to stay here a while longer in the sunlight, but a bead of sweat falling down her spine dismantles the image she romanticizes. “You don’t know, huh?” Still she taunts you gently, a mischievous twinge to her thin voice. She needs water and a cold shower desperately, and by the flush in your cheeks she can tell you wouldn’t mind one either.
You don’t answer her immediately, eyes locked on the television screen, one hand brushing through the fur of your stuffed companion, and the other at your mouth, remnants of an unpainted nail chipping onto your tongue. Natasha waits patiently. Wanda puts the lemonade in the fridge and begins conquering the dishes that piled up in the sink. You never end up answering. Wanda lets Natasha be the one to tackle that.
Natasha clicks her tongue against her teeth as she watches you melt farther and farther into the couch cushions, your grip on your stuffed animal getting tighter and tighter as your focus narrows. “I asked you a question, Sunshine.”
“Mhmm.” You nod, humming sweetly around your thumb as your eyes blink. You don’t notice the bead of sweat that drips from your hairline. Natasha does.
“Three. Two—”
Your eyes widen, bottom lip quivering as your eyes snap to find Natasha’s figure in the room as the second number registers in your brain. “—No! Why! I wasn’t even doing anything!” Your voice is high, whiny. Wanda quirks an eyebrow at the sink but keeps her eyes on the dishes that sud beneath the water pressure.
Natasha shifts her stance, her hips swaying as she turns her head at you. “That’s the problem, solnechnyy svet. (Sunshine.) I asked you a question.”
“Oh.” You frown, biting harder on your thumb as your cheeks flush with defeat, your eyes glancing down at your tight hold on the monkey in your lap.
“Fingers out of your mouth.” Natasha chastises. She expects you to whine, but instead you comply with a pout she’ll allow, resuming your nervous fiddling with both hands now. “Turn your movie off and come take a shower with me. You feeling like you need a snack?” She’s hoping to soften the blow of redirection with the promise of a snack, and it works enough to get the television off but not your butt off the white cushions.
“Popsicles?” You question, eyes bright, so innocent as they blink spritely.
“I already told you to wait for once we get outside, right? It’s going to be a hot day today. You don’t want to have to eat Wanda’s yucky healthy ones later, do you?” Natasha makes a face of disgust that’s meant to appease your sadness, but her eyes snap back to Wanda across the kitchen when the sokovian can’t keep her commentary to herself any longer.
“Mommy also just told you no. Twice.” Her voice is sharp. The title rolls off her tongue heavily. Your core clenches, heat burns in your belly, your cheeks flush with something you can’t quite name or explain, just feel. And oh, do you feel it. Your eyes drop to your lap. Natasha’s silly expression settles into stone.
“Up the stairs. Now.” She demands strictly, leaving no room for argument in her tone as she points a finger toward the large wooden staircase. Your heart sinks into your belly at the harshness. “Bring Monkey.” She adds when you stand without the companion, fingers curled into nervous balls at your sides.
“Monkey.” You repeat softly, unconsciously. Your hand juts out to grab Monkey, shaky fingers curling around a plush tail instead. Wanda watches from the kitchen. Natasha watches from the stairs. They both shake their heads at your insistence to carry him by his tail. Natasha’s already sewn it back on twice.
“Hold him nicely.” She corrects. Clearly they’ve allowed you too much control. If you’re going to show them you can’t handle it anymore, she’s happy to take it back. There’s nothing she loves more than filling this role for you; with you. It heals something in her too to be the one that teaches emotional regulation. To be the one that's chosen when somebody else is dysregulated.
You hold his arm, specifically the left one, the one that looks like it’s going to be the next limb to fall off the decades old stuffed monkey. Natasha exhales, “Hold him nicely, or Daddy will hold him.”
Your brows furrow as you adjust your hold for the third time, squeezing Monkey’s brown body to your chest instead. “Thank you.” Natasha doesn’t emphasize her appreciation like she typically would, and she watches how your bottom lip pouts just the slightest bit as you stand beneath her fiery eyes. “Our bathroom. Let’s go, we’re running out of time if you want two braids.”
Natasha waits for you to step in front of her before she begins climbing the stairs, shooting Wanda one last look over her shoulder before her attention narrowed solely to you. She wants to laugh at how you walk aimlessly up the stairs, the muscles in your biceps bulging as you distract yourself with Monkey’s matting fur. You’ve either completely forgotten where she’s asked you to go, or you’re not paying attention to the surrounding areas because you stumble past the bedroom with a dazed indifference that makes Natasha question where you’d end up going if she let you continue on.
“Our bathroom is this way.” Natasha quips sharply, her voice echoing through the quiet upstairs hallways. A couple of doors are open — the guest bedroom, both bathrooms, and the laundry room — but the ones that are closed shoot her strict tone right back into your little ears.
You scamper back to her, cheeks red, eyes glassy and dazed. Monkey looks like he’s suffocating in your tight, anxious hold. Natasha’s heart breaks at the sight of you so worked up over something you’d once thought was going to be so much fun. You’re almost there. Almost drowning in the trust you’ve spent years establishing with them — with her. But it seems she still needs to play her hand harder. Still needs to remind you how deeply you’ve accepted the purity and genuinity of their intentions.
Her hands grab your face without warning. Your eyes widen, starry and glossy as you look up at her. Her thumbs holding your cheeks force your lips to pucker and separate the slightest bit. You look delicious between her touch. Your tongue sweeps against your bottom lip. The muscle is wet, pink. Natasha waits to speak for a moment. She lets silence sit between your bodies as she watches you try to keep yourself together miserably. Your shoulders relax and then tense. Your eyebrows furrow and then ease. You’re fighting yourself, not her. She takes a moment to ground herself in that quiet confirmation.
“Be a good girl.” It’s all she says. All she expects from you right now. It weighs a ton. Maybe two. It hits your lungs like a bullet. Air seems to seep from your lips like a punctured balloon. You deflate in Natasha’s hold.
Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip as she changes the way she holds your face. It’s strong still, but less controlling, more passionate, dominating. Your tongue juts out to taste the pad of her digit as she teases your mouth, pushing in just slightly enough to bring saliva down into the cracks in your lower lip. She pulls her touch away before skin makes contact with muscle. Her hands leave your face all together.
“Go put Monkey to bed. We don’t want Lucky getting him. Again” Natasha adds beneath her breath as you already begin to dip into the room, antsy to obey, to see where being good takes you now that she’s persuaded you with something you want. She knows how you work, how your body best responds; how to get what she wants from you without saying a word.
“Lucky only got him because Kate—” You gasp softly when Natasha pins you to the bed, walking up behind you with those stealthily quiet footsteps she knows you hate. You like hearing who's coming, when they’re coming. Monkey-Monkey falls out of your hands when her fingers squeeze your hips, guiding you to turn back toward her.
“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to let me check the state of those bottoms you’ve got on?” Natasha tsks, unimpressed with your rebuttal that fell so quickly off your lips she thinks it was almost planned. You just can’t seem to help yourself today.
You swallow dryly, eyes glassing over more if that were in any way possible. Your lips part to answer but no words make it out. They close again loosely, eager eyes watching Natasha desperately, full of innocent anticipation.
“Tell me what you want.” Natasha demands evenly, not bending, not even so much as wavering beneath your doe-eyed stare. She never had. She never will. But it tempts her every time you bestow it upon her pent up form. ”What you’re going to let me do to you.”
“Let m- you— Let you check.” You stumble over your words, trying simply to reiterate them back to her before you realize the grammatical errors in that approach. Your cheeks flame as she laughs at you. It’s not a sweet laugh. Not a laugh that adores and cherishes you. It’s a laugh that demeans. A laugh that taunts. You wiggle on your naked feet. Thighs pressing together needily.
“Can’t even get the words out, can you? That embarrassed already?” She pauses for a moment if only to let you sit with the acknowledgement that she knows you’re embarrassed; with the confirmation that you should have something to be embarrassed about. “What do you need me to check, sunshine? What can’t Daddy trust you to take care of yourself?”
“My… my kitty.” Your cheeks flame brighter, hotter. Natasha’s eyes have a cruel sheen to them as her brown hair sticks to the drying sweat on her forehead, slowly beginning to peel away from her wrinkled skin that looks at you harshly, hotly, but not quite succeeding. Your voice cracks at the end of the admission, a shyness overcoming you that makes you quiet, softer. Natasha wants to take pity on you, her sunshine girl, but you know better than to fight it— them — like this.
“Say it like a big girl.” She insists, chin raising, veins and esophagus bobbing with the motion. Her clavicle pops, the muscles in her biceps flex. “Daddy wants to hear you say it like a big girl.”
“My pussy.” You whisper, eyes casting downward. Wanda needs to vacuum the rug. It’s losing its lines and stiffness. You know she’s been thinking about throwing it out anyways. It’s more upkeep than payoff anymore, she says.
“Put it together now.” Natasha’s unrelenting. Your thighs squeeze together harder, your cheeks burn hotter.
“I-I’m gonna let you touch my-my pussy.” You kick at the floor sheepishly, feeling small beneath her strong gaze, so small. She’s not all that tall. Wanda’s taller. But she’s big, defined, sure of herself.
Wanda shaved your pussy preemptively last night, and while bearing a bald cunt isn’t abnormal to you, it’s been a while since you’ve been so smooth you can feel every trickle of arousal as it leaves your clenching, pulsing, aching, empty hole. Your bottoms are soiled.
“Who am I?” Natasha croons, eyes evil. You whine, wiggling in your place. You shake your head, pleading with her to take mercy on you. She won’t. “Who am I, sunshine? What’s my name?”
“Daddy.” You answer, eyes finally looking up to meet hers again.
“Good girl.” Natasha concedes, giving you the briefest glimpse of genuine adoration as her eyes soften just the slightest and her posture becomes less tense; dominating. “On your back, knees to your chest.”
Goosebumps roll up your spine, you shiver with anticipation. It’s been a while since she’s pulled this card. Reminded you of your place so thickly.
The bedding is expensive, and it feels as such beneath your body as you ease your back into the center of the bed. Your bones shake as you reach for your knees, pulling them up to your chest with a flush to your cheeks and your bottom lip bitten in utter embarrassment. This position never gets any less humiliating. Her eyes on you like this never get any less unnerving. Your shorts that had been giving Wanda a show all morning do the same now, but gravity aids this time, and the draft that comes in from the central air provokes goosebumps across the innards of your thighs.
You keep your thighs together initially, but Natasha doesn’t let you seek comfort where it's not been permitted for long. She pries your thighs apart with a cruelness that weakens you, another pathetic whine slipping off of your lips and tongue as you writhe on the bed, entirely untouched aside from her fingertips dancing around your kneecaps.
“Don’t hide yourself from me.” She chastises, disapprovement clear in her eyes. “Little girls who don’t listen to their Daddy’s or their Mommy’s do not get to hide how slutty and misbehaved their little pussys are.” Her hand slaps down onto your cunt, your aching, quivering pussy before you can even register she’s let her attention fall away from your knees that bare the faintest scars from childhood.
Your hands jump to cover your core despite the layers of clothing that dampen the hit. Natasha tsks, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, hovering over your quivering frame with a quiet stillness that speaks enough before words catch up to her.
“Try that again and Daddy’ll tell everyone when they get here that you’re finishing up a work call and we’ll see how long it takes you to remember you don’t touch what's mine unless I give you permission. I think we could get away with it for what? Thirty? Forty minutes?” Natasha drones on cynically, sadistically. “And the party doesn’t start for another hour. So that’s what? Over an hour and a half with your little pussy filled with Mommy’s red rabbit and your hands bound to the headboard? Wanna try that instead of what Daddy’s planning on doing to you now?”
Your head shakes, tears welling up in your eyes as your belly does a flip, so impossibly tight you can’t help but squirm beneath her, trying so hard to find friction for your aching clit.
“Words.” She’s relentless.
“No.” You stamper to respond, a single tear leaking out from your left eye as you shake your head in time with the trembling of your bones beneath Natasha’s hot grip. “No please.” It’s a desperate beg, a beg that quivers your voice and finally breaks Natasha’s reserve the slightest bit.
“I didn’t think so.” She tuts, standing up again to peer down at you. You look so beautiful like this, spread out on your back, your pussy and asshole only hidden by thin layers she’s about to strip. “Lift your hips.” She taps your hipbone gently, guiding you out of the shorts you’d slipped on sleepily that morning with Wanda. It’s no loss to you to be losing them, but you feel the slightest wave of upset crash over you as Natasha hums at the sight of your pussy beneath its bathing suit for the day, knowing you’re about to lose this too.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you had an accident, malen'koye solntse. (Little sun.)” She tsks, trailing a finger over the center of your bathing suit bottoms. She doesn’t apply any pressure at all, just lets her finger slide against the dampness of your bathing suit that looks like it's already taken a dip in the pool.
If you weren’t already embarrassed that would’ve done you all the way in. You whine pathetically, thighs trembling to close around her hand but she stops you with her body that she angles over top of you dominatingly — challengingly.
“Is that what this is, sunshine? Did you have an accident? Did Mommy not ask if you needed to go potty before she started cutting up fruit for Yelena’s salad?” Natasha’s faux sympathy fills you with something deliciously sweet and unbearable. You wiggle on the bed, eyes desperate, pleading. Your belly is so warm it feels like you’re going to explode. The hands that she’d pinned above your head race to cover your eyes, pathetic whines falling into the air. “Use your words.”
“I didn’t.” You whine, unable to help yourself, unable to stop it as you writhe on the bed, still untouched, only further achy and sore now. The slap still rings in your mind, and thus, your pussy still burns with the memory
“You didn’t what?”
Your little leg kicks petulantly, tears so pathetically close to falling brimming in your waterline as your breath hitches, your red cheeks filling with air the same way they had toward Wanda in the kitchen. Oh you need this, bad. “I didn’t have an accident!” You bellow, sounding so close to sobs Natasha wants to concede, but she doesn’t. She won’t.
“I don’t know who you think you’re raising your voice at, little girl, but it’s not going to be me.” She says instead of scooping you up into her arms and soothing the ache in your pussy that’s causing half of this fussiness from you. She’s not about to give in. You’d only be brattier if she gave in. You don’t want her to give in. You love every second of this. “Get up. Go to the bathroom. We don’t have much time anymore because someone’s wanted to make this difficult.”
Your belly sinks even further. Natasha meant for it to. She’s got twenty more minutes to get you down as deep as she can safely attain, and the rest is on you to choose what gets maintained, or how far you end up floating upward by the start of the party. She’s going to make the most of it while she can have you anyway she pleases. It’s not just your vulnerability on the line with this. It’s hers, it’s Wanda's.
“You come.” You croak, your lips pulling downward into the saddest pout Natasha’s ever seen
Her heart softens just a little, her lips pulling upward. “I’m coming. But we both need new bathing suits. Daddy’s not gonna let you walk around in those sticky bottoms.” She reassures, seeing the worry that comes from something deeper than just getting laid beneath your eyes that almost look through her from across the room. Your hands twitch at your sides. Your brain is working slow, hardly at all, the actions come before the sentences do. Natasha’s not needed the latter for a while though. “I know you wanted to wear that one, sunny.” She coos softly, knowing that yet another change and element of lost control wouldn’t be helpful, but genuinely trying to look out for you. Wanda had just shaved you clean, staying in wet fabric all day could only result in what Natasha would call diaper rash. “But, that leaky pussy of yours had other plans. So daddy’s going to pick out the red one that Mommy likes so much, and it’s going to be fine. Just a little hiccup. Blame your pussy.”
“I don’t want to blame my pussy.”
Natasha took it too far. She knew she did the minute she started teasing you lightly, humorously. Your brain is working overtime to catch up on the jokes, the changes, the lightness in the air. You’re so spaced out but coming to the light at the same time, and that’s the opposite of what she wants right now; what you need right now.
“If we’re going to start getting mouthy again, I can try my best to match your pussy to your suit. Do you want to start the part with a red, puffy, spanked pussy, sunshine?” Natasha snaps suddenly and she wishes she had a camera to capture how your whole body flinches with delight at her tone, looking like it's been sparked by a firework nobody knew had been set.
“No, Daddy.” You whisper, cunt clenching around nothing, more arousal leaking out, trailing between your pussy lips that glisten with what's already formed and only been made worse by pressing fingers.
“Naked by the time I get in there. Otherwise we’ll just have to test that theory anyway.” Natasha wants to see how you react, but she knows it’ll drive you crazy if she pretends not to care, so instead, she spins on her heels, finally taking off to look for the bathing suit she intends to wear, and the one she intends to dress you in. It’s a shame. The one you liked had been cute, but she’s not all that perturbed about the arrangements that led to this wardrobe change.
It’s cold in the bathroom, but your perception of time and fine motor skills are so out of whack at the moment that it takes you as long to strip as it does for Natasha to find the bathing suits she wants. Your ass is fully exposed when she comes in, your body bent in half as you carefully step out of the drawstring bottoms she’d preferred if you'd of pulled off that way. She doesn’t say anything about it, just takes in the sight of your ass presented so innocently, so unknowingly. Your pussy drips too. All the way down your thighs. You don’t realize that there’s a string of arousal leaking from your pulsing hole, too concerned about staying upright on your feet as you undress, but Natasha focuses on how it gets lower and lower to the floor, staying strong, unbreaking.
Her hand catches the middle of your back before you can stand up. You gasp, surprised by her presence again. Her hands are warm, soothing, dominating.
“Arch your back for me a little bit, sunshine.” She doesn’t tell you what she’s doing, doesn’t tell you that your pussy is so wet, there’s a string of wetness dripping from between the gap in your thighs. If she does, she knows your body will ruin it without meaning to. She knows the second she comments about how filthy her little girl's pussy is, you're going to flinch, tense, jerk, and your pretty thighs are going to smother that creamy string of arousal before she can see its limits. You don’t need to know. It may be your body, but it is her pussy. “Just like that, oh fuck, good girl. Good fucking good.” She moans when your skin curves away from her hand before her pressure follows you down, your ass pushes upward, your pussy flipping more toward the light, catching a draft that the simple motion of your body creates.
Natasha moans when it continues, growing longer and thinner as it leaks from your hole. Your body acts like nobody has touched you, like Wanda’s strap wasn’t buried to the hilt in your core last night. It marvels Natasha how you still act like it's the first time every time they touch you.
You whine when she continues to remain silent, just watching, not telling you anything nor allowing you to move. She shushes you, taking her hands and spreading the globes of your ass apart. It’s a subtle flex of ownership, established control. Your hole clenches, and this time, Natasha sees its tightness in all its glory, translucent arousal leaking from you mixed with that creamy delightfulness she’s watching bounce between your shaking thighs.
“Stay still.” She warns, unimpressed by the growing strength of your quivering. One wrong knock of your knees and her show is over prematurely. She spreads your ass farther, puckered hole opening just the slightest bit, round globes becoming white beneath the press of her fingers into your skin, like they’re searching for muscle, or maybe bone. She hums when it finally falls, landing on the floor with the soft splat that catches your attention and makes your cheeks burn brighter. Natasha smirks, satisfied with herself. “You’re so wet, sunshine.” She teases, letting go of your ass to dip her fingers into your pussy instead, scissoring them open just once before she curls them deep, keeping them scooped as she pulls out, leaving you with only a taste of what you could’ve had.
Natasha stands in front of you, sunlight cascading upon her and the slick that coats her fingers as she holds them up to the light, scissoring them open as she watches them fondly, hungrily.
“Such a messy girl.” She chastises, rubbing her fingers together. She leans forward finally, letting your body go, and reaches for the faucet, letting the water start running as she undresses carelessly, not sparing any careful consideration before spreading her cum covered fingers all over her shirt.
Your eyes watch as they join yours in a pile on the floor, but your attention is quickly brought back to Natasha as she guides you into the tub before the water fully warms. You whine, shivering as you step closer to her instinctively, shuddering as the lukewarm bursts paint you frigid. She giggles softly, not because she’d meant to startle you, but because she forgets not everyone grew up without access to hot water all the time. She still forgets it's okay to abuse that privilege now that she has it.
“Sorry, sweet girl. It’ll warm up soon. Let Daddy take your hair down while we wait, hm. Turn around for me.” Natasha coaxes you to face the wall, her damp hands easing the elastic out of your hair. It falls heavily, and she wastes no second to bury her fingers into your scalp, massaging away the tension that’d formed since early morning.
She eases you into washing your hair, and then conditioning it, lathering it thick with a hair mask she swears will keep it nice even with the salt water exposure. You don’t really pay attention much, taken away by the feeling of her fingers pulling and tugging at your hair, sometimes harder than they necessarily need to.
“Doing such a good job for me, angel. Such a good job, sunshine. Daddy’s just gonna wash your body now, okay? Stay facing the wall, don’t want any soap to get into your eyes.” Manipulating you into doing what she wants is so easy, especially when you’re like this. You don’t question that she’s already washed the shampoo out of your hair and the highest she’ll drag the wash cloth is your shoulders, just stay facing the wall as she reaches beside your head for the soap Wanda bought that smells like coconut and raspberries.
You gasp when you realize it's not a wash cloth she’s lathering your body with but the palm of her hand, her own body scrubbed to shit with her red loofa that hands besides Wanda’s black, though yours doesn’t receive the same treatment. Even though there's a yellow one of the same variety hanging beside theres, even though there’s a washcloth draped over the shower bar.
She pinches your nipples with a teasing disinterest, and your chest rises to meet her touch until she pulls away too soon. Too dreadfully soon. She leaves your nipples, now pebbled and aching, to smooth her touch beneath your breasts and down the valley of your tummy. Your breath hitches when her hand dips between your legs, massaging your wetness with explicit softness that turns your belly and warms your cheeks — both sets; every part of your body is alight with sparking light as Natasha pries your lips apart and massages her soapy hands into your core. She runs them down your thighs like nothing happens, and then back up to your cunt that weeps so pitifully. She tsks quietly, allowing the water the privilege of washing the soap and your arousal off of her hands and digits before she urges for your thighs to be spread wider again.
Her fingers are almost hot as they pinch and roll your clit with delicate interest. Your hips twitch when the rough palm of her hand catches it as she sinks the tip of her pointer finger into your cunt, twirling it around before pulling it out and repeating the process. “Shh, stay still baby. Stay still. Daddy’s gotta clean you up before we can get you ready for the pool.”
Your mind is too fuzzy to comprehend what she could mean by that, or what she could intend to be doing with her fingers between your legs that are only creating more wetness, but before you can ask, or even begin to formulate your own wild fantasies, Natasha walks you into the corner until your tits meet the cold tile, your hands bracing against the wall in shock as she wrestles the showerhead between your thighs she’d directed you to spread just moments ago. That makes sense now. It all makes sense now. As much as it can anyways.
Your hips thrash wildly the second she places the showerhead onto your clit, the jet set stream like a bullet shooting through you at full force with no mercy. Her chest keeps you still for the most part, her breasts, so full yet perfectly round on her chest, small enough to look flat beneath her button ups when she wears those bras from Nike, but plump enough for you to feel every raised bump and spec on her similarly puckered areolas that are pressing into your spin demandingly.
“Someone’s feeling jumpy, huh?” Natasha teases, directing the stream of water to your hole for only a moment, but enough of a moment to have you desperately pulling at her grip, arching away from her boobs as you whine and whimper at the sensations she’s causing while actively clearing away any traces of arousal — for now. “Oh, are you close, sunshine? Is Daddy getting you all nice and clean turning you on? Naughty girl. So naughty getting off to this. It feels good doesn’t it? Oh I know, sweet thing. I know it does. That little head doesn’t need to think about anything, it just needs to feel what Daddy’s doing. There you go, there you go.” Natasha drops her head into the crook of your neck, desperately sucking a decent sized hickey into your skin in a place that no bathing suit or photo angle would cover unless it was miraculously taken from the complete opposite angel in the dark.
“N-No! No p-please!” Your voice is quiet and dismayed as your hips cant to chase the showerhead she pulls away at the very last moment before an orgasm tears through your body. You were quivering before, you’re trembling now. The lick of sadistic enjoyment that filters through Natasha as she holds your denied body between her hands and smirks against the soft skin of your damp and sweet smelling neck.
“I told you, sunshine. We were just cleaning you up before the party starts. Did you forget?” Natasha mocks pitilessly, nipping your neck before she pulls away, turning the shower off too soon. “Silly girl.”
It gets cold immediately, like a blanket being torn from your body in the middle of a fall morning. You shiver, immediately turning on your heels and stammering to step closer to her again — magnetized to her warmth in every sense that she delivers it upon you, even in denial.
“Only good girls get to cum, sunshine, and you haven’t listened to Daddy one bit this morning. Let’s see if we can turn that around this afternoon, hm? See if that pussy deserves a reward or if it’s gonna be left all achy and empty until tomorrow.” There’s a finality in Natasha’s tone that brings the tears back to your eyes, but they blend into the droplets of water that drip down your face from your hair as she helps you out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around your still trembling body. “So reactive.” Natasha hums when she brushes over your nipples as she tucks the corner of the towel in between your breasts, changing her approach to something soft, wistful as she handles you. She has you where she wants you now, there’s no reason to overplay her hand when you’re so willfully pliant.
“Braids. Two.” You remind Natasha dazily, blinking at her slowly, sweetly. The demand you utter isn’t meant to be harsh, controlling. You’re just thinking in blocks, choppy thoughts appearing in blurbs that Natasha finds quite charming.
You’ve always been quiet. Since the day you started with her, to this very moment, the silence that passes between you two isn’t unfamiliar, but it holds a certain warmth to it that Natasha wants to frame and put on the bedroom wall every time she feels it.
She laughs softly, shaking her head as she reaches for your pile of clothes on the floor. “I know you want braids, sunshine. I’m getting to that, we’ve gotta get you dressed first.”
“Dressed first.” You repeat back, a soft parrot between Natasha’s fingertips as she dresses you innocently, her fingertips only scraping upwards against your skin as often as necessary. You welcome it fondly, sinking into her warmth, her presence, her promise to stay. Ever so slowly, excitement toward this party begins to bubble in your belly again alongside the arousal Natasha’s amplified since dragging you upstairs, and she can tell as her fingers fix the strap of your bathing suit top that's twisted over itself.
“Do you want to wear your shorts now, or are you going to go hop in the pool the second I let you go?” Natasha questions with an amused smirk, wet brown hair dripping down her shoulders and between her freckled back bones.
“It’s ready?” You question with shy anticipation, giving Natasha enough of an answer to know wrangling you into a pair of shorts isn’t worth her breath right now.
Either way, she smiles at you fondly, nodding her head in quiet confirmation. “Everything’s ready. I’ve got the campfire all set up, and the floats are inflated and in the pool, and all your favorite drinks are in the cooler by Fanny’s water bowl.” Natasha kisses your head before she breaks away, stepping farther back than she’s been for a while. You whine at the loss of warmth radiating off of her skin and onto yours, but she shushes you with fond exasperation, rolling her eyes as she steps into a pair of black swim trumps and a white sports bra looking top. It’s not her most festive attire, but you know that her, amongst a handful of the guests attending, are majorly rioting against the American government. Your festivities only reside in the color palette and aesthetic, but you know this is something personal for Natasha; something like a wound that’s never healed.
“No shorts.” You decide with finality as she fixes the last of her hair that was caught beneath the band of the bathing suit top. Natasha’s smirk seems to broaden if possible, her eyes filled with a lightness you hadn’t seen so unearthed across her features in a while.
She chortles shortly, shaking her head. “I figured that, sunny.” She assures, making you blush in embarrassment she cherishes to witness. “Come stand in front of the sink. If you’re going to beat Yelena into the pool, then we only have a couple of minutes.” Natasha redirects and you allow her to, letting your body be guided toward the countertop that holds every hair utensil you could think of. Knowing Natasha, the woman who likes you in the slickest braid known to man, she’s going to use every instrument in the room until she’s satisfied. It’s a miracle nobody beneath the roof is balding yet. Her fingers are beautiful things, but they’re also dangerous weapons.
You’re not paying attention to how she parts and pulls and tugs at your hair, only whining when something is too harsh or you’re just missing the sound of her voice coaxing you through the momentary, and entirely worthwhile, pain. You never regret the end result — or the fact that Wanda will forgo making you shower and restyle your hair before bedtime when they’re in.
“All done.” Natasha smiles proudly after a few moments, tapping your hip as she reaches behind her to begin her own hair in a hurry, not too fussed about making her own style perfect, just manageable for the activities at hand.
“Said two.” You frown when your eyes focus on your reflection in the mirror and catch sight of the singular french braid that runs down the center of your head. This is not what you asked for; not what you wanted. Natasha knows you only let her braid your hair like this before bed. She knows that for some reason, you like two braids better. You know that she knows. She knows that you know that she knows.
That doesn’t change the fact that your hair is still only braided in one slicked and tight french braid, secured by a little red elastic she’d laid out on the counter between spraying your hair with a leave-in conditioner and pulling the first sections taut.
Natasha chuckles as if something is funny, dropping her hands from her hair once she’s satisfied with the bun tied up toward the middle of her head. “And Daddy said no popsicles. Seems like we both forgot to listen, and we’ll both live through the disappointment.”
“I wanted two.” Your shoulders drop in dejection, eyes staring at your reflection in the still somewhat steamy mirror.
“And I wanted you to make a good choice.” Natasha isn’t settling, but she meant what she said about not needing to overplay her hand anymore, so she nods toward the door with an ever so gradually lightening expression. Her eyes flicker to the small, gold analog clock Wanda insisted on putting in the corner at the end of the countertop that runs across the side of this wall. Fifteen minutes or less until Yelena barges through the back gate with Fanny on a leash, Kate and Lucky tumbling in behind her flush faced and disheveled. You’re running out of time if you really have a goal of being the first in the pool. She takes one more moment to look at you though; really look. Your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, your eyes are wide, doe-like and glassy as they peer back at her with a sort of cluelessness behind them. Your shoulders look gentle, your skin soft as evaporating water allows them to glisten naturally. You look so little. So soft. “Go tell Wands you’re getting in the pool.”
Your eyes brighten at the reminder of pool time, and you don’t waste a second scrambling out of the bathroom with a bounce. Natasha watches you for a moment, shaking her head as she watches your eyes flicker between Monkey and the door as you slow down just slightly in your descent to Wanda who's still in the kitchen. You can hear her doing something now that you’re out of the bathroom.
“Uh.” Natasha scolds with a glimmer in her eyes, no real malice in her tone. “Leave Monkey-Monkey. He’ll be here waiting for you when you come back.”
“Okay.” You whisper softly, continuing down to Wanda. It takes you until the third step to forget about your upset, Natasha can tell as she listens to the growing prance in your footsteps as you regain your speed, your little voice calling out to Wanda before you round the corner of the kitchen.
“Wands, I’m all ready for the pool!”
Your feet carry you across the floorboards quickly, still naked, but padding audibly against the hardwood that Wanda had meticulously mopped three days ago while Natasha dusted every shutter and baseboard in the house. You can’t remember what they’d had you doing, maybe the dishes or folding the laundry, but either way, the floor feels squeaky clean and polished beneath your feet.
Wanda’s putting away the last of the dishes in the kitchen, all the food spread out between the kitchen island and the dining room table as you peer around the corner as you stalk closer to her body. She takes up so much room, so much space, her presence is so large, but she’s really not all that big. She’s still taller than you, more commanding than you.
“We’re in a better mood.” Wanda notes, and though you’re dazed, utterly delicate in front of her, you catch the way her eyes rake up your body, assuring every curve and inch of exposed skin gets the heat of her stare cast upon it at least once. That burning sensation spreads through your clit and belly again, your cheeks hot as you look down at your painted toes, feeling shy; so shy. “Natty changed you too, hm? What happened there?”
Natasha might’ve conceded about overplaying her card, but Wanda had barely had a chance to sink her teeth into you and she wasn’t feeling so kind. You knew better than to ignore what she tells you and expects from you.
Your cheeks blush and your feet kick at the floor again, desperately hoping for it to swallow you whole and save you from this encounter. Wanda wants the full truth. If she asks Natasha later and she finds out you held something back, you’re only in for more.
“Was too wet.” You admit sheepishly, your voice quiet. “U-Um, looked like I had an accident.”
Wanda hums, satisfied with your answer though she knows you could’ve been more descriptive. She knows a hell of a lot more than that happened upstairs. She lets it go for now. If only because the choppy manner of your sentences tells her Natasha’s already completely dismantled every panic setting in your little brain, and with it, the right headspace for making you verbally humiliate yourself descriptively.
“You looked like you had an accident, huh?” Wanda tsks, shaking her head as she turns her chin to glance at the counter, content to find the sunscreen she’d brought down from the bathroom still in its place from last night. “Oh, sunshine, do I have to start taking you to go potty myself. Is my little girl too lost in that pretty head to do it herself?” She teases smugly, knowing that her condescension is only further smothering you into the headspace Natasha’s created in private.
“I didn’t!” You argue weakly, desperate for her to believe you, for somebody to believe you, because you’re not entirely convinced that Natasha does. “Didn’t have an accident! Mo-Wands I didn’t!”
“You didn’t, what? Tell me sunshine, what didn’t you do.” Wanda backs you into a corner before you even realize you’re caged in, and if your cheeks weren’t already positively glowing, Wanda knows they’d have turned this shade a pink in a moment now that you’ve been tasked with the obligation of clarifying yourself to her; she’s sure Natasha’s made you say it too. She’s certain if she strapped you to an MRI machine, they’d find a million little butterflies all fluttering wildly inside your belly and bones.
“Ididn’thaveanaccident.” You grumble in one breath, eyebrows innocently furrowed in dismay as you sink your gaze to the floor, still wishing for it to swallow you whole, still absolutely buzzing from every nerve within your body.
“Slower. And louder. You know better than that.” Wanda chastises with a look of disbelief on her face, your belly sinks to your knees, your legs knock together as you tremble beneath her domineering glare. She’s entirely unimpressed with you this morning. You may have wormed your way back into Natasha’s good graces, but you’re only digging a deeper hole with her. It’s truly a wonder how she hasn’t lost all self control and bent you over the counter until your ass matched the swimsuit Natasha picked out tediously. “If I have to repeat myself you will tell Maria explicitly how you’ve disobeyed both your Mommy and your Daddy in the four hours that your pretty eyes have been open. Do you need to be reminded how much Masha likes to see you cry? Have you forgotten how sweet she sounds as she convinces Mommy to spank that little cunt harder just one more time.” She’s playing mean now. If Natasha were in the room to see how she steps closer to you, impeding on your personal space with a cruelness that would shake a seasoned battle warrior, she’s drag Wanda away by her hand, telling her she’s playing a dangerous game, that this wasn’t supposed to become an all day scene, but Wanda likes danger. And she likes reminding Natasha that they’ve agreed to let her take the reins every so often and today, she’s decided it's everyone at her mercy.
“N-No!” The way your body reacts before your brain is so pleasing to see. Wanda preens as she watches you break, the one final straw snapping like it's been dry rotted for a decade coming undone completely as you stamp your feet into the ground, body bouncing with so much pent up dismay the vibrations tickle your clit. You sob gutterally, tears sinking down your cheeks as the last of your reserve crumbles, your ability to hide even the slightest reaction from them entirely gone now; probably not to come back until at least the early hours of the morning.
Good, Wanda thinks, still just watching you have your meltdown, your lips wet with saliva as you blubber nonsensically. There’s no stopping your meltdown without intervention at this point, but she’s content to let you get out at least a couple of the tears she knows you’ve been fighting all morning. You need this. She knows that you need this. The old saying from her childhood sneaks up on her like a paranormal chill. ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you’. It hadn’t been true back then, she’s not so sure its really true now, she knows that this crying helps, heals, highlights all the trust that’s been shared and built, but there’s a twinge deep in her heart that knows just how much trauma and pain it’s taken to get you to this point of emotional regulation and protection.
“So tell me again. Nicely.” She finally decides to take pity on you when snot bubbles from your nose. You’re quick to use the back of your hand to wipe it away, a whine that’s fully embarrassed tumbling from your lips as you visibly try to sink into the floor. It’s officially surpassed fun and healing for both parties. She knows that you need softness now. That her hand has been played as hard as it needed to be.
“I-I didn’t have an acc— Mommy I didn’t have an accident!” You sob, your hands coming up to cover your face as you can’t handle the heat of her eyes on you. They’re so soft now, so comforting, so patient. You’re running out of time to get in the pool, but Wanda’s willing to yell at Yelena to wait if it really comes down to it now. You’ve been good enough. She’ll see to it that you get a reward. At least partially.
“I know, moya milaya, luchezarnaya devochka. (My sweet sunshine girl.) I know.” Wanda pries your hands away from your face gently, the pads of her thumbs that are soft from the pounds of fruit juice she’s squished between her digits wipe away your tears tenderly before her lips kiss your slightly damp cheeks. “Enough of the tears. That’s enough, sweetheart.” She coaxes gently, smiling warmly at you when your eyes blink drearily, your lashes heavy and wet. “Did Natty put sunscreen on you?” She tries to pull you back up a little bit, if only because she knows neither you or Natasha would appreciate outing your mutual Daddy kink so vulnerably. Wanda’s pretty sure everyone knows about her Mommy kinky to some extent, but you and Natasha, you keep things close to your heart in ways she both adores and pities. She wishes the both of you could just love yourselves as openly and encouragingly as she’s learned to love herself.
“No.” You mumble, trying to shake your head that’s still being held between her hands. Wanda smiles sweetly at you, her green eyes sparkling.
Wanda rolls her eyes, smile gleaming. “Of course she didn’t. Natty’s silly.” Wanda’s proud of herself the second she recognizes the soft giggle that fills her ears at the reprimand of your mutual partner. If one thing always works with you, its using Natasha as the brunt of the joke, if only because outside of this relationship, this opportunity to be wrong and messy and stupid, she’d picture perfect. “We’ll get you all lathered up and then I’ll stop keeping you from the pool, alright, sunshine?”
“Yours.” You demand weakly, your little voice sounding oh so croaky as you bring a fist up to rub at your eyes. With or without the sunlight that beams down brightly on the backyard, unhidden by clouds that obidently roll around it, you’re going to crash tonight. Wanda can’t remember the last time you let yourself feel and express so freely; that always tends to wear you out. She remembers what it was like to first start feeling and getting in touch with her emotions. She knows how much of a weight it is to constantly be feeling and processing things you haven’t before. Selfishly, empathetically, she can’t wait for the cuddles that are to come when the house finally clears out.
“I know you want mine, sweet thing.” Wanda laughs, reaching for the sunbum lotion she’d brought down from the bathroom last night. “Always want mine, huh? My body wash, my shampoo, my suntan lotion. You smell like a little version of me!” She teases fondly, opening the cap and squirting a generous amount into her palms. She took her rings off when she started cutting up the fruit, and you’re thankful for thier absence now as she drags her hands down your arms adn across your chest, making a point to almost finger the dips in your clavicle as she works the white lotion clear into your expose skin.
You giggle when she dips her fingertips beneath the hem of the bathing suit top, coating just the slightest bit more of your boobs before she asks you to turn around, lathering your back and your neck and the backs of your legs with meticulous pressure and gentleness combined.
“Does that tickle?” Wanda hums fondly as she finishes rubbing in the last of the sunscreen around your ankles, not bothering with your feet now if only because she plans to spray you down every two hours with the spray version she has. “We’re almost done, sweet girl. Just let me get the front of your legs.”
You don’t question why she saved the front of your legs for last, you should, but you don’t, mindlessly turning around in her grip again, your eyes fixated on the pool that drifts and ripples with the warm breeze that travels in through the open doors and windows.
You hum when her thumbs press into the muscles of your upper thighs, her fingers really working the lotion in harder than she had been now. She travels high and then low, but your attention is particularly peaked when she reaches the crevices of your thighs, her slickened palms and fingertips continuing to explore your body more than protect it with sunscreen now.
You squeak when her fingertips breach the sides of your bottoms, her fingers that are barely covered in anything anymore brushed against your lips and then your clit before they dare to dip inside, finding a puddle of wetness that leaks against this swimsuit now too right beneath your pulsating hole. She laughs cynically, plunging a finger inside with interest, working it into an arch and then straightening it out again.
“Oh.” You gasp, not expecting the intrusion or permissive pleasure you’re receiving. Wanda smirks, setting another hand on your hip.
“Stay still, baby. I’m just making sure everywhere is nice and covered.” She tells you deceitfully. She pulls her finger out and away too soon, and your face flushes when she adds more sunscreen to her dirtied hand, rubbing that into your stomach before she hums, satisfied with herself. “Natty didn’t let you cum, did she?” Wanda asks eventually, not even daring to bring up how she’d just rubbed your arousal into your belly with the remnants of her sunscreen and your shower water.
You shake your head, words hard, your eyes reflecting your silence as they glimmer and gleam.
“I can tell. That little pussy was just clenching on my fingers so tight. And it’s still making such a mess. Better go get in the pool before Natty wants to check for herself again. I don’t think you want to have her pick out another bathing suit when Yelena and Kate are going to be here any minute.” Wanda teasingly redirects, but you’re too oblivious to realize she’d very pointedly just taken your mind off of the second edge of the day.
“Bye-bye.” You blink at her before you turn, both clumsily and frantically scrambling out of the door. Wanda watches you, almost certain you’re going to bust your ass before you make it into the heated pool, but by some miracle you avoid tripping over your own two feet or the chairs Natasha’s fixed out with towels. She watches you dive in with a splash, grateful that your attitudes already seemed to improved already. She wants this to be a good day. She knows that its going to be.
-
Wanda’s been watching you for a while now. The sun has tarnished your skin already, the salt water has tugged pieces of your braid free, but your eyes gleam with a lightness she hasn’t seen so exposed in a while. Your earlier frustration and arousal has been clearly forgotten, your little mind too occupied with the game of chicken going on between you, Kate, Yelena, and Sharon. Nobody’s really sure who invited Sharon, it definitely wasn’t Natasha or herself, but she hasn’t perturbed the vibe, so nobody’s asked her to leave.
Your cheeks are pink now from a delicate burn thats going to burn and tighten your skin within the next handful of hours. You’ve got a dark crisp across the bridge of your nose from where the suns hit you most, a telltale sign of the laughter you’ve let bubble from your chest as Yelena throws countless quips at Natasha from the water. She hasn’t left the pool since she arrived, demanding drinks and plates of food from the sloshing waters that she’s crawled so deep into they lick at her collarbones.
It seems Natasha’s been bringing you drinks as well each time she’s been beckoned over by her excitable little sister finally getting the chance to live out a little bit of her childhood dream if the empty cans of tequila seltzers are any indication. Natasha’s shared a considerable amount about Yelena’s childhood with the both of you, but Wanda especially. They both still have their secrets, neither you nor Wanda confidently know the majority of their most tragic events, but Wanda knows how desperately Yelena had wanted a pool as a child. Wanda knows how many times Yelena had been waterboarded by a drunken Alexei when she’d hopefully asked, never quite getting the hint that the no wasn’t due to money, but willingness.
Wanda almost feels bad pulling you away from the game thats happening, but unlike everyone else in the pool, they’ve all gotten out to periodically hide from the sun, or in Yelena’s case, at the very least sprayed the top half of their bodies. Wanda knows you won’t want everyone seeing her lather you up, but she’s not quite willing to let you do it by yourself yet, even if you’ve floated up from the very bottom of a soft headspace the slightest bit since fleeing the kitchen and her controlling grip.
“You gonna bring her in?” Natasha stalks up beside Wanda quietly, but there’s a stagger to her steps that give hints of how much she’s had to drink already, or how little she’s had to eat. Wanda can only have her eye on so many people at once, and you take precedence over your girlfriend who wouldn’t let anything happen to her even shitfaced. Natasha has the skills to defend herself. Wanda fears every day that somebodys going to kidnap you.
Wanda hums, glancing down at the beer in Natasha’s hand. “She’s a lobster.” She comments, slightly amused, slightly horrified. It hadn’t been this bright of a day in a while. She takes the long neck bottle from Natasha’s loose grip, gulping down a mouthful that she realizes is lukewarm too late. “That’s fucking putrid.” Wanda’s nose wrinkles, and she shoves it back into Natasha’s grip with disgust. “It’s piss warm, Natalia.”
“Yeah well, I haven’t really had time to drink it between watching her boobs bounce every time she falls into the water and being Yelena’s little bitch. I’m one beer away from making her get her own damn drinks.” Natasha takes a gulp of the beer if only to further defend her frustration and Wanda rolls her eyes, not sure why the brunette questions where your attitude is coming from when this is how she acts. “I think she’s just hot. You know how she gets now that she’s upped her meds.” Natasha reasons, watching you fondly for a moment as Kate pushes you back into the water off of Yelena’s shoulders.
You know Sharon’s not allowed to pick you up. She’s been respecting that rule so far, maybe because both Kate and Yelena have claimed you as quick as the waves of the pool let you find your footing after a spill.
“She’s going to be pissed when I tell her she can’t take the trazadone tonight.” Natasha comments out of second thought, thinking about the pill bottle you’d rhinestoned blue just a few months back.
Wanda scoffs, “You should’ve thought about that before you started feeding her, what even are those, Sun Crusiers or High Noons?” She squints her eyes, trying to determine what Natasha’s even been feeding you in the few moments she looks away to socialize with everyone else. Pepper’s done a good job at keeping her busy, the strawberry blonde unable to ever end a conversation after one topic.
“Sun Crusiers.” Natasha hums, “She gave me the eyes. What was I supposed to do?” She throws her hands up, looking like the depiction of a useless lesbian as her eyes bounce between Wanda and your breasts that bob with the current of the water that drags and pulls you as you try to swim away from Kate, shrieking with glee. Somewhere along the lines, the game of chicken you’d been playing had turned into something else, and neither Wanda nor Natasha know what that games supposed to be.
“Say no.” Wanda mutters dryly, but her attention isn’t really on Natasha anymore. She watches as Sharon lunges forward in the pool, her fingers just slightly catching your waist though its clear your body wasn’t her intention. It’s enough to encourage Wanda to beacon you over to her though, not willing to take any chances with you. Not with Sharon. Half the people at this party could tell you why she’s a bad idea. “Sunny!” Wanda’s voice reaches across the backyard somehow, startling your attention away from Yelena who’d finally managed to grab your shoulders and onto her. You look at her like she’s hung the stars for you in every lifetime that you’ve lived. It takes her breath away every time. “Come help me!” She nods inside, looking almost mischievous as if that will help to ease you out of the pool without a fit or dramaticized pout.
She watches your mouth move as you say something to Yelena, and she can almost guarantee the blonde mocks your obidence because your cheeks flush and your head tilts downward as you climb the steps of the pool, shyly throwing your soaking wet braid off of your shoulder.
“Get me a beer and meet us in the kitchen?” Wanda asks as she moves to grab your towel that she’s left sprawled out across a chair in the sun, but it’s not really a question at all. Natasha rolls her eyes at the demand, but leans forward to press a kiss into the Sokovians temple before she stalks away, chucking her lukewarm beer into the garbage as she moves with stealth.
“Having fun out there, my little fish?” Wanda asks queerly when you’re close enough for the question to reach only your ears. You don’t answer, choosing instead to stumble into her open and outstretched arms, letting her wrap you up tightly in your sun warmed towel. Your head buries itself in her chest, inhaling the ebbing scent of her perfume that disintergrates as she sweats and moves beneath the suns beams. Her fingers brush flyaways away from your face as she guides your eyes up to hers, still finding that hazy softness swimming in your stare when she looks at you. How far you’ve come to trust these people with this part of you. How far you’ve come to understand at all that Wanda and Natasha will only ever have you around people they know will accept you fully and with flaws. Sharon may be a horrible girlfriend and a wicked flirt, but she’s one of the most accepting people Wanda’s ever had the displeasure of calling a friend. Still, she wants to hide this part of you. She wants to keep your softness to herself for a while. “Lets get you inside, my sun. I’m sure a popsicle would make swimming even better.”
Your eyes brighten at the promise of a popsicle. You’ve been waiting all day, and while you’ve found patience much to Wanda’s enjoyment, it had slowly been killing you as the sun, water, and alcohol wore away at your energy.
“Popsicle time?” You question bubbly, pulling away from her chest to stand fully on your own two feet, sunburnt cheeks bright and squeezable.
Wanda nods, “Popsicle time. And sunscreen time. You’re gonna be as pink as a poppy by the time we get you all wrapped up in bed tonight.” She teases, guiding you into the house with a wave at Maria over her shoulder, silently telling the brunette woman to give her a minute. Maria understand more than most at the party do, and she smirks cruelly back at Wanda and sips her cup of… whatever has been created from the open bottles in the kitchen. “Careful. One of these days I’m going to wrap you in bubble wrap for real.” She teases as you trip over the end of the towel just feet away from your destination. Wanda really questions why Natasha thought it was a good idea to fill you up with alcohol when you’re already incoherent on your feet, stumbling and falling about in the pool like you have no idea how your center of gravity works.
“Not my fault.” You mutter cheekily, a shy blush crawling up the back of your neck as you spin to look at Wanda.
“And whose fault was it?” Wanda quirks an eyebrow, her chin lulling to the side as she stares at you.
“Natty’s.” You say, evidence of how much time you’ve spent unsupervised with Yelena. Wanda wants to laugh, she really, really does, you look so cute with your little head titled back at her, your eyes sparkling as you know full and well you shouldn’t be blaming Natasha for things she’s not even around to see or find her own humor in.
“Don’t start lying again now, little girl. I’m still quite interested to see if Natty could really get that pussy the same shade as your suit.” You didn’t know Wanda knew Natasha had said that upstairs while you’d been getting ready, you’d forgotten all about it yourself, but the heat of your pent up and continuously denied arousal comes back quick and at full force. Wanda can see the sheen of heat that comes over you the moment it crashes, and she smirks knowingly, silently adding another talley to her list of wins.
“Sorry.” You avert your eyes bashfully, holding onto the edges of the towel tighter.
Wanda smiles at you softly, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen she’d left on the counter. She was just going to spray you down, but she doesn’t trust that enough now that she’s seen how easily you’re showing evidence of your time outside right now. She doesn’t aim to tease this time though, working your body over rather roughly as she just tries to do the best job she can. There’s a white cast to your cheeks when she’s finished with you, but at the very least, she hopes you wont burn any further. The UV should be dwindling soon, the summer sky beginning to change hues as the day ages quicker than anyone wants or can notice. Burning is only going to be a risk for another hour or so more, but you’re her baby, and quite honestly, she doesn’t want the three am waking when your brain clears and you realize how badly you hurt.
“That’s alright, sunshine.” She promises quietly as she sets the sunscreen back on the counter, turning to look at the fridge just as Natasha comes inside with three drinks. The neck of Wanda’s beer is between Natsha’s pointer finger and middle finger, and somehow she balances two solo cups in the other hand, her pinky and index finger supporting a lottery ticket Wanda has no idea where she got, or who she got it from.
“Alright, I have your beer. Maria poured me a 3 finger of whiskey, and for you, baby love, we have a red hawaiian punch.” Natasha plays up her delivery, hoping she’ll be able to sell you the drink despite its lack of alcohol. You take the bait, reaching for it out of her hands with an excited smile. You chug mindlessly, finally aware of how thirsty you were for something not carbinated. “I can’t believe Clint stayed back with the kids. We have two gallons of hawaiian punch we have nothing to do with.” Natasha adds as a second thought once she’s sure you’re content with your drink, following Wanda over to the freezer as she searches for a popsicle for you.
“Just tell Laura to take them with her when she goes. You know she never turns down food for those kids. They’re worse than you and Clint.” Wanda muses with an amused scoff, and Natasha makes a sound that insinuates she hadn’t thought of that solution of her own. “Alright, a popsicle for you, my little lady.” Wanda turns around with a bright smile, handing you an already open popsicle with the tips of her careful fingers. You grab it with your fist, lapping at it with a pink tongue that they both can’t help but watch. You don’t know what your’e doing, too enthralled by the flavor that melts across your tongue, but they watch you the whole time, even as you teeth bite down and break off half of the frozen treat in one go.
Natasha has to swallow a moan when your tongue pokes out to lick up a trail of juice that spills from your lips, and she really almost loses it when you miss, only smearing the red-pink evidence across your face a little bit more.
You finish the popsicle in record time, evidence of your inebriation and need of real sustiencence as the heat and your medication begin to make a real effect on you.
“Come here, let me fix your bathing suit messy girl.” Natasha tsks. Wanda doesn’t comment that theres nothing wrong with your suit, or that Natasha’s pupils are entirely blown with lust, just watches silently, wondering how this is going to play out for the both of you who are still beneath her thumb. You move when she wants you to move, and she hasn’t given either one of you permission to dive into the deep end yet again.
The tips of Natasha’s fingers are still white from digging around in the coolers outside for a beer. It takes only four second for Wanda to realize the russians intentions, but your brain doesn’t catch up until Natasha is worming her touch beneath the fabric of your tankini cups and pinching your nipples between her fingers. You jump, and Wanda’s not sure if its a reaction to the sudden cold or pain, but she enjoys the sight of you straining away from both sensations on your tippy toes, failing miserably to truly relieve the ache or temperature.
You splutter on a cough when Natasha pulls her hands away, smirking posessively as you as she glances toward the window, her eyes locking on a blue eyed individual who bears a smirk of sheer enjoyment, still stocily sipping whatever drink she’s mixed together. Your eyes find Maria’s after a moment, and you only cough again, cheeks flushing as you choke on air and saliva.
“Take a drink.” Natasha giggles, not all that concerned as she turns back to Wanda, letting you sit in the embarrassment of her disinterest. She’s very interested, but this is as far as Wanda’s letting her extend her hand right now, so she’s taking full advantage of the inches she has access too — even if she wants the miles Wanda has and hasn’t touched.
Neither one pay attention as your hand reaches for the cups on the counter, mindlessly thinking you were grabbing your hawaiian punch as you splutter for relief from the combined ache, burn, and scratch in your throat as your eyes water. Your nipples are pebbled beneath the ribbed fabric of your tankini’s cups, and they poke out proudly, unwilling to stay hidden for your modesty or mindset.
You’re still not paying attention as you raise the cup to your lips, taking a big sip that tastes nothing like you expect. You choke even more, not expecting the bitter taste that coats your throat with a persistent lingering. It takes only a moment, a single second for your brain to catch up to what you’ve just drank, and when it does, when you realize that its whisky, a smile tugs at your lips, your coughing and spluttering subsiding as you go in for another gulp before either Wanda or Natasha can reach across the island to snatch the cup from you.
The second wash of whisky against your throat is kinder than the last, but it still burns, it still twinges your insides, still forces you to swallow thickly a second time after it falls down your throat, but you anticipate it, expect it. Even if its not really, it feels like something you can control now; pain that you can limit and amplify at your own means.
Natasha catches your wrist in the middle of your third swig, your eyes watering as a few drops splash against your uvula and the roof of your mouth. You can feel it in your nose as you swallow, whining pitifully as she drags your hand away from your mouth. “I meant, take a drink from your juice.”
“Thought it was that one.” You shrug, pulling your wrist out of her grip if only to actually grab your juice and dunk the remnants of your popsicle into it, a truly adorable grin taking over your features as the different hues of color blend and swirl together. Natasha’s only a little bit bothered that she didn’t get to steal a bite before you submerged it.
“And it took you two more tries to make sure, huh?” She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes, not truly perturbed but willing to take a few seconds to scold you anyways, adoring the way you seem to wiggle in your skin beneath her attention. “You’re going to have quite the headache tomorrow morning, little lady. Might even be glad I did your hair in one braid when you don’t have to hold it back as your puking over the toilet.” She sings in a teasing tone, taking the last bits of her whisky down in one go as she finishes her taunt.
“I can go play with Yelena again?” You question with indifference to her droning, not in the appropriate headspace in any capacity to comprehend or play into her taunting. Wanda chuckles into her hand as she raises the neck of her beer to her lips, always amused with the bantering that ensues between the both of you. She wonders what it had been like in the beginning, when you’d just been a secretary and Natasha couldn’t be so brazen in her flirting. She’d heard the stories from both of your perspectives a few hundred times, sometimes at two pm, sometimes at three am, but nothing would compare to getting to see the way she’s sure you blushed and Natasha twitched with concealed nervousness with her own two eyes. Neither one of you know how beautiful she finds you. Neither one of you know the things she truly cares about within those moments that you both let slip by unnoticed. There’s no way to make it happen, to rewind time and let her witness whats now history, your personal, intimate history, but she hopes, and that’s always gotten her through.
“You can go play with Yelena, but Natty’s gonna start grilling soon and then we’re going to put some clothes on and sit by the fire. No whining when I tell you it’s time to get out, right?” Wanda takes the opportunity to remind you of your place, your role, their expections and perception of you. Your cheeks flush at the display of dominance that’s uttered so sternly, your heart skipping just a single beat as you nod your head obediently, unsure of what has butterflies roaring in your belly so horridly.
“Cheeseburger.” You nod decicively, letting you gaze flicker to Natasha who watches you and Wanda fondly. You’ve concluded a long time ago that all this relationship can really be chalked up to is taking turns admiring each other. Someone is always staring, always memorizing new features they’d never noticed before. It’s sweet, but in times like these, it reminds you of how expode you are now, how unhidden you’ve made yourself. After years of builiding a repore within your small town, the quiet girl, the lonely girl, the abandoned girl, it would never quite feel right to have nowhere to hide when you’re with them.
Natasha’s head lulls to the side as she laughs, muscles in her abs flexing as her trunks slip lower and lower on her hips. Your eyes watch her skin as it ripples like the water in the pool, taken away from your mental rabbit hole by her undeniable (and unintentional) hotness. It’s almost annoying that she can look so good so easily, so carelessly.
“Yes, I know you want a cheeseburger. You always want a cheeseburger.” Natasha coos fondly, pulling open the cabinet beneath the center of the island for the trash can. She tosses her cup in mindlessly, using her hip to give it just enough momentum to propel closed without her fingertips. She takes full advantage of her free hands that are still kind of cold, colder than your skin at least, and settles them onto your hips, letting her fingers press into your ass beneath the waistband of your bottoms. “Are you having a good time with Yelena and Kate?” She asks quietly, dropping her forehead onto yours, slotting your noses together; taking a moment to just appreciate and hold you, something she hasn’t really done all day, even in the moments she’d had you all to herself. There’d been a mission then, a time constraint.
You nod your head softly, forgetting its against hers, and grin shyly when your foreheads bonk, her eyes closing in a soft moment of gentle exasperated humor as her shoulders shake with chortled laughter. “Yes.” You whisper decisively, and Natasha’s heart skips a beat knowing she and Wanda are the reason your autopilot setting is blunt responses. They don’t care for the cushions when you’re like this, like putty between their fingers, they just care that you’re able to express what you need and how you feel. They’ve taught you well; you’ve learned well.
“That’s good, sunshine.” Natasha pecks your lips sweetly, letting you taste the whisky on her lips and selfishly tasting the ice pop and juice spread against you. You’re sweet, like you always are, but you have your own edge to your tongue now as she taste the whisky hidden beneath your misleading invitation of cherry and strawberry. “Get back out there before it’s too late.”
“One more. Please.” You bargain, eyes fluttering as you lean in close to chase Natasha’s warmth as she backs away. You don’t need to clarify what you need from her, and she doesn’t make you ask a second time as she steps up to you fully and captures your lips in a real kiss now, pressing herself against you as harshly as she can without losing balance, not caring about the wet impression you leave against her or the fact that until now, she’d been perfectly dry by choice. She’d never deny you a kiss like this, not when she knows you’ll wrap around her like a monkey without shame, falling into a tunnel of black as the only light shines on her. You don’t disappoint now as you wrap your arms around her neck and attempt to make it seem like you have any power over her, it’s not intentional, but its still a subtle move of possession, one that has Natasha grinning against your lips like an idiot, effectively breaking suction for the first time.
You gasp for breath with raspberry cheeks, not red, not pink, wiping damp baby hairs out of your face with childish discordination. Your eyes sparkle with a few million stars, and Natasha takes a few seconds to try and count each one, matching constellations that feel like home to her after all this time, all this closeness.
“We agreed on one more.” Natasha pets your hair back affectionately, smothering your face akin to the way an aunt would a small, squishable child. “Go kick Yelena’s ass for me, kay?” She encourages, eyes sparkling with mischief that races through your veins at lightening speed with the assistance of alcohol in your system. You’re utterly fucked for tomorrow, that’s absolutely certain, but for now, you’ve never felt lighter.
“Okay.” You whisper, leaning in close and rising up on your tippy-toes to sneak attack her with a kiss before you skip away, eyelashes batting as you make eye contact with Wanda who smirks teasingly.
“No kiss for me?” She preens, jutting her hip out with a teasing attitude that makes you giggle with schoolgirl kind of charisma. “Go have fun, baby girl.” Wanda hums when you’re close enough to grab, linking an arm around your hips with one possessive grip as she balances her beer in the other hand, keeping it just out of your reach before your little drunk mind can lead you to anymore creative ideas. “Listening ears on when I tell you its time to get out, right?” She repeats again, her eye contact heavy and suffocating as you get lost in the vibrant green of her stare. Her eyes get so much lighter when she spends time in the sun.
Your head bobs, just like it did the first time she asked, but she shakes her head, clicking her tongue against her pearly white front teeth. “Words, detka.” She corrects, strictness settling into her gaze that reminds you silliness is only permitted occasionally.
Your expression sobers, your belly shrinking inside of you again. “Right.”
“Good girl.” Wanda’s eyes sparkle, a delicacy refilling the emerald voids. Right now, you don’t know why you were ever nervous about tonight. You don’t want it to end, you’re not ready for it in the slightest. If you could, you would stay in this afternoon forever, replaying every small moment — even the torturous ones.
-
The fire crackles. Ambient orange and yellow light licks at the air and your back. Natasha’s fingers trail up and down your spine. Goosebumps. Beads of sweat. Warmth. There are so many sensations captivating your focus, but what you choose to settle on is the tickle of her nails scratching at your skin beneath the flowy fabric of your tankini top. You’re not sure you can even call it that really, it dawns on you now, with your head against her collarbone and your legs straddling her waist in front of all of her friends. You can’t remember how you got into this position — how your legs ended up no either side of hers or your how your head was tucked into her neck like it had always belonged here, but you don’t pull away from its warmth and weight, even as you feel stares on your back that spark warmth somehow hotter than the fire that licks at you.
You don’t think this top counts as a tankini. It doesn’t really cover your belly at all. All it does is flow around your curves, concealing the figure that Wanda and Natasha love so much until you shift just right or the wind blows. It’s a lace-like mesh, a thin flowy detail that brings femininity to the otherwise just red bikini, and it brings you confidence, but your not so sure you have its classification in your wardrobe right.
“It was Wentworth, Yelena.” Natasha rolls her eyes, stilling her scratching of your spine to shoot a deep glare at her little sister who sits across the fire holding an empty leash.
Fanny and Lucky had been put inside hours ago, sometime before the sun had fully set beneath the trees and nightfall coated the sky thick and black. Sparklers have already begun being shot off and burned in the distance, and while no big fireworks have been shot off yet, you think Kate’s insistence to get it done ahead of time was a good call. You remember the dogs from your childhood always freaking out, and while these are city dogs, ones that are used to the constant chatter and noise of the city, you don’t think they’ll take kindly to the rapid and consecutive exploding still.
Despite the dogs being inside, probably in the kitchen lapping frantically at their water bowls making a mess, or lounging on the couch in the living room like they love to do, Yelena hasn’t relinquished her grip on the leash since she’d climbed out of the pool soggy and soaking, stretching her legs on land for the first time since she and Kate had turned up to the party ten minutes early.
You turn your face farther into Natasha’s chest, muffling the sound of your whine as it crawls up your throat, but directing the vibrations directly into her body. You wiggle in her lap, arching your back just enough for her to get the hint that you’re not pleased about the lull in attention to the notches in your vertebrae. Natasha doesn’t draw attention to your action, but her hand starts scratching your back again, her eyes never leaving Yelena’s sprawled out form.
The blonde sits on a camping chair dug out from the shed in the back of the yard. Natasha had spent the better half of an hour pulling all the appropriate fire pit chairs out from storage that morning, but Yelena had been insistent on wanting one particular army green chair that she swears Natasha initially inherited from her back in college. She throws her right leg over the armrest, reclining her spine partly over the back and edge of the chair as her hips cant with an upright angle. The position looks both incredibly comfortable and like something a prisoner in a straight jacket would be made to occupy for cruel and unusual punishment.
Natasha’s not finished ragging on her sister who she finally has an opportunity to get back at after all that bitchign and bossing around by the pool. She takes a swig of the beer in her hands, coating the back of her throat before she opens her mouth to groan again. “Why are you always so insistent on telling this story? You never remember her name.”
“Because I find it very funny, sister. It is comical to me that you would react so passionately to a high school basketball game. Remind me again, how long was it you were on that team?” Yelena, unfortunately, is not easily bested by her older sister, though Natasha, who remembers her as a gullible little bright eyed seven year old, can never seem to get that straight until she’s staring her straight into the eyes challenigly, willing her to keep going.
“Three weeks.” She grits out, unwilling to let Yelena walk away victorious. She wants Natasha to falter, to admit that she’s done something impulsively or embarassingly. Natasha isn’t fond of the anger she was quick to as a teenager, she isn’t fond of the lack of commitment to teams and extracurricular, buts she’s even less fond of allowing Yelena to feel like she’s won something she started. “And how long we’re you on the swim team, ‘Lena? How long did you have a crush on Antonia—”
”Geez! Alright, alright, alright, you mention one funny story and suddenly it is a full blown war.” Yelena sinks into her camping chair, taking a swing from the beer she’s been nursing since Kate brought her one on her way back from the bathroom and checking on the dogs.
“Antonia, huh? Who’s Antonia?” Kate questions, leaning forward in her chair thats far more comfortable than the one Yelena’s dug out thats probably littered with cobwebs and spiders. She takes a sip from her solo cup indifferently, arching a single perfect brow over the rim at her girlfriend of seven months. Apparently they’ve known each other since college, but Natasha says it took them both forever to get over themselves and actually go out on a date. They’re two of the most brazen, stubborn, head strong women you know. And yet somehow, that makes perfect sense for the trajectory of their lives as you know them.
“Oh, it is nothing. I do not even think I remember an Antonia from high school. Definitely not. Deidre Wentworth though, I remember her. And how Natasha punched her in the nose because she missed a three-pointer—”
“—it was a two-pointer, I really don’t know why you’re always so insistent to tell this story, and I really don’t think that’s going to save you right now.” Natasha gestures toward the pointedly curious brunette beside her sister, Kate’s bright blue eyes stormy and interested as she leans on the edge of her seat, the cushion beneath her ass providing little support as she neglects to use it appropriately now that Yelena has her so wound up. Her refusal to just answer the question that had stared as simple teasing was only working an emotional drunk Kate up more, her grip on the solo cup tightening to something crushing, the plastic looking like it threatened to give way between her white-knuckle fingers.
“It’s not.” Kate’s jaw clenches, a sheen of intimation coming across her features that you haven’t seen so genuinely before. You peak out from Natasha’s chest to catch the encounter, curious little eyes so hazy from alcohol and submission watching the scene with a grimace of curiosity. Your little heart clenches at the hostility, the tension, but your mind loves the drama that you know will spill in through a series of texts from Yelena once she, and Kate, sober up in the morningtime. “Who’s Antonia, Yelena?”
“Don’t look at me. I’m certainly not going to save you.” Maria scoffs, shaking her head when Yelena’s gaze falls upon her similar to that of a begging puppy. You wonder if she picked up the habit from Fanny. It would be just like her.
“Maria’s more of a sadist than your sister.” Wanda laughs, shaking her head in amusement.
Yelena grimaces, expression sobering. “Okay I did not need to hear that about my sister even if I did already know she is a bitch and a sadist.”
“Oi.” Natasha scolds, suddenly harsh, suddenly cold. You whine in her lap, turning your head back into her chest as her reprimand turns your bones cold, so used to being the only one on the receiving end of that tone. Everyone gathered around the campfire is too enthralled with Yelena and Kate to notice the bristle of immediate submission and sorrow in your reaction, but Natasha feels it in her lap — how you get heavy and tense on her skin. She drags her nails down your back with firmer pressure, reaffirming that you’re not the one in trouble. This time. Though for such a good girl, you’ve found quite the bit of trouble on your own today. “Watch yourself, Yelena. YA naderu tebe zadnitsu.” You don’t know what that means, Natasha’s never said it to you, nor has Wanda ever taught you, but it brings comfort to know that she’s really not addressing you. Her scratching nails hadn’t been enough.
“You’re not getting out of this now.” Kate kicks her leg out, tapping Yelena’s shin with more force than necessary. The blonde frowns, groaning as she lowers a hand to nurse the ache.
The Russian, who you’re learning is the epitome of a dumb blonde despite her gruff and edgy outer appearance each time you see her, looks at her girlfriend with eyes filled with betrayal. “My shin.”
“Not helping.” Pepper groans, dropping her arm to the side of her chair, wine sloshing out of the solo cup she’d poured it into.
Sharon scoffs, seemingly knowing that the response Yelena chose was a bad call even with her track record with women and dating in general. “Yelena. Really?” She scolds, shaking her head in disappointment as she bites off the end of a hotdog she’d been holding over the flames of the campfire.
Kate kicks her again. Harder. The orange flames lick brighter and higher as Wanda throws more firewood in from her seat, losing interest in the arguement as her eyes turn to watch you instead. You’re entirely unaware, lost in the comfort and presence of Natasha as your heavy eyelids remain closed and exactly as stated; heavy. She can see the effects of the alcohol and the sun combined on your features, but you’re not ready to call it quits yet, you’re not ready to crawl up to bed alone, without them.
“Antonia Dreykov.” Yelena admits with a reluctant scowl, and you’ve offically lost interest in the story now, familiar with how much of a villain she (and her father) had become in Natasha and Yelena’s lives. You’re glad they can talk about her, and him, with ease now, but it lights a fire beneath both you and Natasha on their behalf each time.
You don’t want to listen, too drunk, too sleepy, too emotional. Your fingers tap Natasha’s wrist, dizzy eyes finding hers with a timidness that stops the world around her for a moment. She smiles at you with her own drunken charm, her skin tinted with evidence of her inebriation now as the fire glows against her skin. She’s always warm. She’s warmer now.
“Hi sunshine.” She whispers, leaning down to peck your lips softly as she shares a moment with you and only you, though she’s acutely aware of Wanda’s eyes on the both of you from across the firepit. You’re not sure why she chose a seat so far away, but Natasha knows it has everything to do with her testing the bounds of her control, willing to see how well Natasha can handle herself as she gets you all cuddly and to herself by the fire. It’s a dangerous game you don’t even know you’re apart of, but if she fails, you’ll know. Oh, you’ll know.
“Sip.” You request sluggishly, blinking at her with innocent wonder. She wonders how you can handle the weight of your eyelashes. They look so full and heavy as you bat your gaze at her.
“Mommy’s going to kill me for getting you so drunk.” She whispers against your lips, too drunk to be phased by your quiet, bossy demand, too captivated by you to realize she’s the one slipping farther down into a quiet, fuzzy headspace now. The world gets so quiet when she has you like this; when she gets to act and assert control like this. “You’re going to be such a little nightmare in the morning.” She continues to talk about you and you’re none the wiser, fixated on the beer that sloshes around the bottle as she condescends you with affection.
“Sip.” You repeat, tugging on her wrist now as your slim little fingers wrap around her wrist, fingertips not even touching each other as you attempt to pull her close.
“Yeah, yeah. Sip, I know.” She breaths through her mouth before she uses her free hand to tilt your chin upward, holding your jaw between careful fingertips as she pours the beer straight into your mouth. You gulp with an urge, letting your throat bob tantalizingly as Natasha watches. The drips that leak from your lips when she pulls the bottle back catch her eye just like the juice from the popsicle had, but Wanda clears her throat from across the fire, stealing her attention before she can forget the instructions given to her.
Things had definately changed since Wanda and Natasha’s go at this. Maria can tell as she watches them watch you and each other wordlessly.
“All done.” She tells you firmly. You shake your head, trying to pull her wrist back to you. “Yes, we’re all done. You’ve had enough. Just relax against me now. Just close your eyes again and let me rub your back.” Natasha chastises with a gentle guidance, lowering your head back into the dark pocket of her neck. You want to fight, you try to fight as its happening, but the second your heavy head finds a place to rest again, your brain realizes how good it feels to just be heavy against her body. “Good girl, there you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it? No. No, it wasn’t. You just like to give Daddy a hard time, just like to be reminded that she cares. It’s alright, sunshine. Daddy cares. Daddy will always remind you she cares.” Natasha buries her face in your head as she drops the bottle beside her, knowing she’s going to have to come back here with a garbage back tomorrow afternoon anyways. One more bottle isn’t going to hurt anything besides her landscaping as beer sloshes onto the grass, but she thinks her fates already been sealed anyways.
Her hands continue to rub and scratch at your back at first, getting higher and lower, lighter and firmer. She takes you away from the conversation happening around you. You don’t hear Yelena droning on and on, not helping herself with Kate as she explains the slow burn of her relationship with Antonia in a way that could make even the most composed women shake — Kate Bishop is not a composed women, she never stood a chance at staying in her camping chair as Yelena admits to sharing her very first kiss with the scar-faced blonde beneath the chlorinated water of the high school pool. You miss the way the brunette stands and drags the blonde away from the fire, huffing and puffing something about ‘thinking B was the only love affair’ on her way to the house. The sliding glass door slammed closed so hard Wanda felt the vibration in the ground beneath her chair, but you remained passively indifferent, only making faint cooing and humming sounds as Natasha works your skin warm.
Her trailing gets bolder without your noticing, her hands that once started on your back innocently scratching skin trailed down to your thighs before they staked claim where they really wanted to be on your ass. Natasha massages the globes between her palms, still humming along to the conversation, vibrating your cheeks as she pipes in from time to time, but paying the most attention to the way the muscles in your ass twitch and jump in response to her kneading and prodding.
Pepper is in the middle of a story pertaining to something about Stark Industries when Natasha dares to dip her fingers beneath the fabric of your shorts and bottoms, Her fingers are only slightly warm, the chill of the beer keeping them from truly absorbing the warmth of the fire as she sits closer to the flames than anyone else around your small but plentiful circle. You whine into her neck, being shushes carefully moments later.
She doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and certain that if she goes on any longer, she’s either going to finger you right there, or Wanda’s going to leap out of her chair and drag you both up the stairs and to the bedroom without so much as a word to the guests slowly losing their energy around the fire. But, even when she retreats, she jostles her thigh just enough to brush your core with the fabric of her trunks, never letting herself be perceived as anything less than a menace.
The party doesn’t drag on much longer. Sharon clears out, then Pepper. Maria offers to stick around and clean up a little bit, but Wanda brushes her off with a well hidden urgency, just wanting to strip herself and fall into bed with you and Natasha for the night. Her emerald eyes are pink with exhaustion around the edges, the days events and emotions finally catching up to her as the first pop of fireworks shoot off from the distance.
Maria promises to send pictures of the ones she sees on her uber ride home, and Wanda thanks her as Natasha coerces you out of her grip and into Wanda’s, telling her girlfriend softly that she’s going to fish out a pair of pajamas for you before they lose you to the calling of sleep that’s going to ring as soon as you make eye contact with your bed.
“Did you have a good night?” Wanda asks quietly once it’s just the two of you in the backyard, the sound of Maria climbing into an uber at the end of the driveway in time with the fireworks in the background confirming your completion of the event and the day.
You nod against Wanda like a sack of potatoes, your arms wrapped around her waist as you seek every bit of warmth and support she’s willing to give you. Your head is heavy, spinning. Your belly doesn’t quiet feel right. You’re running on fumes, well past the point of no return.
“That’s good, my little sun.” Wanda hums, dropping her forehead to the crown of your head, inhaling the mixed scent of her shampoo, your sweat, saltwater, and the sunscreen she’d lathered you in once more before settling around the fire just for precautions. “I’m so glad to hear you had a good time. Maybe next time we won’t have to be so scared abuot it first.”
It takes so much, but somehow, you find the strength to lift you head and find Wanda’s eye, grinning at her bashfully, drunkenly. “Maybe.” You parrot, blinking slowly. If she stands out here with you any longer, she’s almost certain you’ll fall asleep standing up.
“Come on, my love. Let’s get you into your jammies and all cozied up in bed.”
-
Natasha sighs when she makes it through the sliding glass door, the mask she’s worn for the crowd all night finally dropping as she takes her hair down, assessing the damage of the kitchen for a moment with tired eyes. She massages the center of her scalp where the hairtie pulled pieces of her hair the tautest, a shudder shaking her shoulders as the delicious pressure she applies tickles her nerves.
The platters of food Wanda prepared have been destroyed. The salami and bologna she’d laid out in spirals that resembled roses looked like mutiliated blobs on the wooden charcuterie board now, browning and wilted as they sat in two lonely little balls, the surrounding cheese and crackers eaten to crumbs. The fruit salad was lacking too, only a scoop or two left out of the entire bowl Wanda had filled with tender love and affection. Natasha’s glad it got eaten, but she hopes Yelena had gotten her fix, because she can only remember brining a cup of fruit salad out to her twice, and she doubts the blonde had remembered to grab a container for herself whenever she’d left with Kate.
She had to of left, Natasha thinks, suddenly unsure about whether or not Kate and Yelena still linger in the halls or guest bedrooms of the home. It wouldn’t be the first time they stayed behind to release some pent up frustration or sleep over a hangover, but the dogs are eerily quiet too if they remain inside, and the booming of fireworks she tastefully tunes out is incessant enough to at least set Lucky off; he’s always been the least tolerant of the two, but Natasha firmly stands on the belief that it has everything to do with Kate Bishop being the most permissive pet parent she’s ever encountered despite the interest in archery and black belt karate status. For a woman that knows a thing or two about discipline, she has no knack for implementing it in any category of her life.
She drops her hands, more concerned about taking adequate count of the heads in her house than assessing the damage of the party anymore. Her footsteps aren’t as quiet as they had been in the morning, her exhaustion and inebriation corrupting her learned reflexes that remind Wanda so much of a spider.
“Yelena?” She calls out, stepping farther into the kitchen only to stick her head between the opening in the wall and direct her tone toward the staircase upstairs. Nobody’s in the living room, and the hallway leading toward the outdoor linen closet is dark, but her doubt isn’t gone yet as she turns on her heels and walks back toward the dining room, thinking about how Kate prefers the water pressure from that wing of the houses half bath for some reason.
The floorboards creak beneath her clumsy step, but she’s coherent enough to look out for any signs of Lucky or Fanny barreling toward her at the sound. “Kate?” She shouts, rounding the corner into the dining room. She reaches for the light switch, almost certain that she’d left them on to begin with, but only knowing that now, they’re off and the room is painted in darkness that extends until it reaches the bathroom through the room and down the hall.
“Lu—” Natasha’s in the middle of trying to call for the dogs themselves when she catches something she least expects on the table. “Fuck.” She curses, rushing toward it with intention. She can tell from across the room that something’s not right with Monkey-Monkey as he sits on the dining room table slumped over. The last time she’d seen him was in the bedroom, propped up nice and high overtop of the covers. The shadow of his tail seems too far away from his body, and when she gets close enough to understand why, her heart sinks to her feet.
‘The girls must’ve found this in the toy box.
Sorry for the tragedy.
Went home. Grabbed salad.
Suka’
”If anyone’s a bitch it’s fucking you.” Natasha shakes her head as she throws the note she’d found on the table beside your beloved stuffed animal to the floor, trying her hardest to retrace the last place she’d seen her needle and thread. It wasn’t the first time Monkey-Monkey had suffered a tragedy, that was for sure, but tonight was not a night that Natasha wanted to test your ability to regulate your emotions without your fuzzy friend. “I swear, that kids broken everything she’s touched si—”
“Daddy?” Natasha jumps at the call of your voice, and Wanda knows something is wrong before she even sees the ball of matted browns in her girlfriend hands. Her breath hitches when she makes eyes with it though, knowing immediately what had distracted her always alert girlfriend so direly without needing to ask. You giggle, blinking sleepily at Natasha from the doorway of the dining room, swaying on your feet a bit as you stand away form Wanda’s body. “What’re you— Monkey-Monkey. Oh.” Your soft eyes flicker between Natsaha’s face and the stuffed monkey in her hands. It takes only a moment, a single moment, for your face to crumble, pitiful and soft sobs shattering the silence Natasha had once been seeking comfort in.
“This isn’t quite the way you left him, huh.” Natasha doesn’t know what else to do, how else to approach you, this was most definately not on her long list of things that she had mentally prepared for going into today. She’d told you to leave it in the bedroom explicitly so this didn’t happen. She thought she closed the door behind her when she walked out. She thought she did. She was almost certain she’d closed that door, they always close that door. Apparently she didn’t. The evidence is in two pieces in her hands.
He’s relatively unscathed beside the detached tail, that thankfully is its own seperate seam, no stuffing exploding from his butt, but relatively unscathed isn’t what you want to hear right now as Wanda sweeps you up into her arms and tries to console you softly.
“We’ll get him fixed up, sunshine.” Wanda assures, pressing her lips to your temple thats warm from the proximity of the fire even with your face turned away from the flames into Natasha. “We’ll fix him.”
“B-Bedtime!” You sob into the Sokovians chest, reminding her of your routine that hadn’t changed since before you’d even offically moved in with Natasha way back when. One of them always tucks you into bed, then puts Monkey in your arms, and then crawls in after you if work constraints allow. They’ve never dared to mess with that routine. Not while visiting Clint and Laura on the farm they have in Ohio, not while on work trips to LA, or Montana. Never once have either of them ever dared to get you to rest those eyes without the fourth member of your california king sized bed.
“We will have him by bedtime. Nobody is going to make you close those pretty eyes without Monkey. Can you tell me him full name? Huh, can you remind me of what it is?” Wanda remembers it fully, if only because she can’t help but giggle at what was once your imagination when you’d first received the cuddly toy.
You sniffle, glancing up at her with teary, bright red eyes. “M-Monkey-Monkey Ophelia Plum.” You stutter, but the words make you think, make you breathe, and Wanda uses the distraction to usher you up the stairs, leading her questioning into that of what pajamas you want to pick out for yourself tonight, and whether or not you want the fan pointed at you again, or more toward her.
You want the pink pair with the scallops on the sleeves, and you don’t want the fan on you again. Wanda doesn’t fight. She doesn’t argue over the pair of jammies that she helps you into even though you get frustrated with the way the tags rub against your neck in the middle of the night but won’t let be cut out, nor does she remind you that the heatwave is meant to strike again tomorrow, and the humidity is known for sneaking in through the gaps in the windows. She lets you have your way. She lets you whine, and boss, and demand, and she lets you pucker your lips and beg for kisses wordlessly, if only to stall, to make time for Natsaha to pull off a miracle downstairs.
“You did so good today. So good for me and Dady.” Wanda coaxes gently as she drags a wipe between your legs, shushing you softly when you whine at the cold. “Mommy’s gotta clean this little kitty up, sunshine. It’s been so leaky all day. Mommy just wants to make sure her little girl goes to bed nice and clean. You might be too drunk to understand me right now, but you’ll thank me for sparing you from the rash that would’ve happened.” Wanda talks to you in a manner that only dumbs you further, your eyes blinking closed and not opening as you lounge on the bed, spread out and pampered.
Wanda tries not to moan as she wipes down your core one last time, a string of arousal clinging to the wipe and your cunt before it breaks and you’re deemed as clean as she can get you. She wiggles your shorts back up your thighs, thanks her lucky stars that she’d coached you through brushing your teeth and washing your face before she’d undressed you and gotten you changed, and somehow manages you get your heavy, deadweight body beneath the covers just as Natasha creeps into the room holding a companion thats seen better days.
“He’s not perfect. I can make him better tomorrow.” She starts warningly, and your little eyes blink open, the last of your concieousness given to her in this moment. “But, I have someone here who wants to say goodnight to you.”
“Mmm.” You try to hum, and your fingers wiggle against the mattress as you attempt to reach for him, but you’re unsuccessful and Natasha can only laugh endearingly as she stalks closer to the edge of the bed, more than happy to hand him over to you.
She leans forward and kisses your forehead softly, her hair falling forward and tickling your skin slightly. You’d giggle if you could but instead you groan, suddenly very aware of how sick you feel despite the advil Wanda made you choke down with some water in the bathroom. The bathroom. You’re drunk, but you remember all that had gone down in there this morning, and you whine as you wiggle in bed. Natasha shushes you, smoothing her hand down your back.
“Nigh nigh time for you, my sweet girl. Close those pretty eyes. Go to sleep with Monkey.” She’s talking to a wall by the time she finishes coaxing you, your breaths even and soft as she continues to pet your head, running her palm over your messy braid. She’ll give you two tomorrow if you still want them.
Wanda throws a t-shirt and a pair of boxers at her from across the room, already naked and rummaging through her own drawer searching for good enough pajamas. Natasha doesn’t grumble at the old t-shirt or holey boxers she’d been intending to throw away for the last three wash cycles, just glad to have something different and less constrictive on her body after so long in the sun and humid heat. She’s sure she smells. She can feel the thickness on her skin of perspiration thats dried and remelted and dried again, but her and Wanda seem to both be on the same page as they knock elbows while brushing their teeth, both forgoing showers in favor of just crawling into bed with you and each other.
“Lock up and I’ll fix that fan and see if I can get her into another shirt. We’re going to have enough meltdowns tomorrow.” Wanda yawns, rubbing her eyes as she flicks the bathroom light off behind her.
“Come ‘ere first. Barely got to hold you all day.” Natasha grumbles, closing the space between her body and Wanda’s as they share a kiss just feet away from your peaceful sleeping frame. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I never stopped loving you.” She whispers, meaning every word.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you. Or her. I love the both of you so much that it hurts.”
i get so emotional every time i think about fanfic culture. it's just so beautiful that people are writing and anonymously posting these thousand-word stories about characters we all love and not even getting any money or public fame from it. it's literally just for the love of the game.
shout out to everyone who participates in fanfic culture, be it reading or writing fanfics. you are contributing to such a lovely thing <3
Summary: What if Wanda was essentially Dracula, but not a vampire, more like a demon.. Wanda lived alone for centuries before she found you, then she lost you and let the rest of her goodness bleed away until finally the universe gave you to her again. Only so much time has gone by, she's so much older now, and any humanity she has left is hanging by a thread.
Warnings: dark!fic, murder, reader death, torture, violence, stalker!Wanda, controlling!Wanda, top!Wanda, bottom!R, magic strap, dubious (and I mean really dubious) consent, rough sex, oral, multiple orgasms, biting, hair pulling, size: large, I think I'm missing like five things....
A/N: Hi hi so sorry that this is 30 minutes before Pride Month is over (at least in my time zone) also sorry for the break. I just ran into such a big problem with trying to FINISH the fics I started. I still have an Emily one that I am determined to write the end for and post by the end of this week, I just have been stuck with how to craft endings lately lol
(gif not mine, credit to emcu7o, and also sorry for the ping)
When she saw you her world, forever bleak and meaningless, suddenly burst with color. Her heart, which felt as if it had been dead and dormant in her chest for centuries, finally squeezed. When she saw you, she didn’t even have to be sure–no matter the time that had passed–because she knew. Oh, how Wanda knew, as if it was a curse imprinted into her brain, exactly how your eyes shown, how your lips twitched up in the softest smile, how the flush of your cheeks looked when you felt shy. And when she saw you, passing through a small town in the back country of Switzerland, not even that far from the fateful day she lost you, that’s when she realized right away that you were back and that her world finally restarted.
Wanda wondered, truly, if you knew exactly who you were to her in the first few days of seeing you again. If there was some part of yourself deep down that had felt the longing for her the same way she learned to live with it’s home deep in her chest for over half a millennia. She had never forgotten a moment with you, and she felt with deep despair, every single moment without. She held onto those memories as if they were the most precious possession she had. When she had you, that was her most cherished thing. When she lost you, she realized quickly, being what she was, she did not age and she never could forget. No memory ever dulled, not even the worst ones.
At times, when the centuries turned, she would wish she could forget you. Then, the pain wouldn’t be as all consuming. Perhaps, if she tried, she could find a new lover to take and enjoy without feeling the ghost of your touch and your taste. Yet, you still haunted her. In her dreams that was where she would find you, but it was never a good thing when she did. Not when they were just reimaginings of the lowest part of her existence.
When she first found you, times were so much different. Wanda still counted the years, because she had lived long enough for days, weeks, months even, to be meaningless. But it had been 597 years since she last had you in her arms. She had nearly six-hundred years to process your loss, yet she still couldn’t heal.
The woman she was when you had come to her, fleeing from a would-be arranged marriage with a vile man, was much different than the woman she is now. Her soul was so old now. But back then she thought she had some kindness, she thought she would like to help the humans around her at least to an extent. She would never think for a second to do that again.
In those times, you were just a young woman trying to do whatever you could do to avoid a horrendous situation. The man you were promised to was over twice your age and he had a history of his wives going missing or falling ill rather conveniently. Your father was poor, your brother was useless, your mother was gone. Your family had essentially sold you and sealed your fate. When you had fled, Wanda had known before you even reached her doorstep, that you were destined to find her. She felt your longing for a better life, the kindness and hope you still had in your heart that she of all people could do something to fix your family’s situation. The gentle soul you had radiated off your body as you ran through her woods until you finally stumbled onto her path and pleaded your case.
Wanda was taken aback at the time when you made your request. You didn’t ask for your salvation from a family that did not deserve you. No, you asked for prosperity for your family so they would hold off on selling you. That’s not what caught Wanda’s attention, though it was the one thing that made her instantly understand your nature. What caused Wanda to pause was your reaction to meeting her. She knew the villages would whisper, she knew they were afraid. A woman living in the woods, able to sustain herself, younger in appearance than her age would suggest. People had a word for her they never dared utter, not when she would help if asked and proposed the right bargain. But the people who did come to her never looked her in the eye. They would recoil at her touch, as if her nature was contagious and corruptible. She knew there were whispers and words thrown around, words that she could easily be labeled with. She knew the witch was a monster these people were beginning to fear rather than rely on. You should’ve been like them, stumbling over your words and shaking where you stood. Instead you held your chin up and met her gaze, unwavering.
You didn’t look at her with false pride to hide the fear some tried to suppress when they were in Wanda’s presence. The look you gave Wanda was nothing but sincere. Wanda looked at you with the same wonder that you looked back at her with.
She can still hear the first words that came out of your mouth that day, echoing through her entire being with such a longing to go back to that day.
“Well, you came all this way,” Wanda had said then, staring back at you when you had stood in front of her for a long pause, just gawking. “Aren’t you going to make your request?”
“I apologize,” you had bowed, finally breaking the gaze you had held so fiercely. “I just did not expect you to be so beautiful.”
Wanda remembers the equal shock the both of you had, when your mind finally caught up with your mouth and your eyes flew open, your cheeks pinker than the flowers you had brought to appease her. She remembers how wide her own eyes grew at the blunt admission and how she had to bite her lip to keep her own surprised smile at bay.
It was all so fast from there. You had made your request, asked for the salvation of your family, and quickly Wanda had decided that would not be true salvation for you. Instead she posed another proposition, one she would never think to ask of anyone else who had come seeking her aid. She told you she’d teach you, she told you you could be her apprentice, she promised you a way to save you family yourself, but in reality she knew this would be a means to keep you far from the fate they damned you to while also giving you the tools to be as strong as you needed to for the rest of your life. Wanda wanted to make you like her. She knew it would take time, she knew she would have to search every book to find a way to make you just as capable of magic, to make sure you no longer aged the same way she did, she knew she was asking from the universe a way to not only understand what she was–her creator, who held all the answers, long gone in the centuries she had already lived through–but to create another like her. She thought she had time to find those answers, but her time with you was cut shorter than she had ever expected.
In the short time that you had been her apprentice, it wasn’t long for her to realize this fascination with you was much more than curiosity and a cure for her loneliness. Her feelings had grown and yours had too. Soon what had begun as an innocent friendship, turned into a deep love and adoration between the two of you. Wanda could remember the first nervous kiss you tried to steal from her. The way your lips brushed, feather light against her own, before she took the step forward she needed to envelop your mouth with hers and seal the unspoken feelings between the two of you.
After that kiss, Wanda had sworn her devotion to you by mapping every inch of your body with her kiss; by learning every way to make you sigh with her touch. And she would lie awake for centuries, tormented by the longing to trace her favorite edges of you with her fingers, only to know she remains with the ghost of you in her mind.
It was only five winters that she was able to love you with all of her being. For a creature that had lived for nearly two-hundred years prior and showed no signs of aging, those five years were meager seconds of happiness in what was otherwise a bleak existence. She had done her research, she had felt like she was close to a lead on how to create more like her; how to make you like her. But she had to leave. She knew travel would take a season, but conditions in the neighboring villages were changing. Times were changing.
The people of the area no longer whispered the word witch in fear of them. They spat the word with venom and dragged the innocent into the streets to be tortured, tried, and slain in the name of ending them. Wanda had foolishly thought that these witch hunts weren’t looking for the real magical beings, just people within their community that might be unlucky enough to earn their neighbors’ scorn. How wrong she was.
In 200 years of living at the time, she should’ve known to not underestimate the audacity, the selfishness, and the cruelty of humankind. She has been paying for that naivety ever since.
She was mere days away from the answer she had been grasping for when she felt as if something was wrong. She can still remember the nightmares that had plagued her when she was away from you for those few months. Those nightmares of your screaming before weren’t a reality, they were a “what if” back then. Now the nightmares of you screaming weren’t distorted, they weren’t a possibility that could happen. Now her nightmares of your anguish are crystal clear. They’re not the imaginings of her anxiety, they’re the reality of her memories.
Yet, when she began to have them she thought she could take a couple days. She thought they were her anxiety manifesting in her dreams. It wasn’t until the third night of them she realized it was an omen and changed course. It still took her way too long to return to you. And when she finally did, just as she was so close to reaching her goal of making you hers until the end of time, she was that much closer to saving your mortal body.
But she didn’t. She was so obsessed with finding a way to avoid her biggest fears–your humanness, your mortality–that she lost you to it much earlier than she ever should have.
In the time she had left, the village quickly learned that you were unguarded. Your family was scorned, your would-be husband held his anger over his rejection by you. They came as a mob as soon as they had the excuse.
The town cited that it was because your garden flourished when their crops were blighted. Their people starved and they pointed the finger to you, an accused witch living in sin with one even worse than yourself according to them. In the time Wanda was gone, you had been starved for weeks, locked away and awaiting trial.
No amount of pleading, no amount of proving the good you had given the town through Wanda’s help and guidance would’ve been enough to come out the victor of your trial. Your fate had been sealed the second Wanda left your side.
Not a day goes by that the image of your end–body bound to a post, face twisted in pain, your body emaciated and trembling as the flames took and took and took from what was left of you–failed to flash in Wanda’s mind. The trial of you was truly her own. She was found guilty of wanting to take you from your world, and her punishment was to be met with the aftermath of selfishly loving you and never for a single second of her existence, would she ever be allowed to forget it.
She returned to her cottage that day to find it empty. It was the same hour that they had begun to light the flames.
When she ran through the woods into the village you had once lived, it was the smell of your burning flesh that told her she was too late. And when she had finally arrived at the town square, you were mere seconds from death, your screams piercing through the crowd. Wanda remembered the way she was sick when she heard the people around your cheer. She remembered the way tears stung her eyes, as in your dying words you begged–not for yourself, but for them. For her to show mercy.
She does not regret that she denied this final request.
Wanda watched from the shadows as your body went limp, the last of your life leaving you, the remnants of you unrecognizable. And then she waited. She remembers whispering to the air a plea of forgiveness, for she could not grant you this last request. Not when these people damned her to a worse fate than your own. Your last moments were gruesome, yes, but at least you had freedom from your pain in the end. Wanda never would.
So she waited until the moment it seemed like the town would disperse and she began.
When she was done, not one single living soul remained in that village. She allowed for children to flee, but the rest died by her hands that night.
After that she spent century after century alone. Plagued by the sounds of your screams, she would try to fill it with retribution to mankind that she thought they deserved. She no longer held any value for human life. She took when she needed to, she punished those who hunted for others like they had you, and she decimated populations in a way that history books would label as plague or natural disaster. But after a century or so of that, the rage shifted to numbness and in her boredom and isolation she decided to learn more about her own nature. Up until this point in time she had spent the rest of the centuries becoming stronger.
Somewhere along the way she found the answer she had been searching for all those years ago when she had mistakenly left you alone. In the bitter irony of finally getting the one thing she had wanted at the time, she had come to the conclusion that she didn’t need this answer anymore, not when another interesting question had finally posed in her mind. If she can become more than human, if she can bend the elements, manipulate reality, and have mortality bow to her, why can’t she defy death in a different way? Why can’t she bring back the one soul that ever held significance to her?
She didn’t know how plausible this new purpose was. She was so old now, her magic so powerful she could encompass the world and bend it to her will if she so chose–So to force a soul to come back into the realm of the living, to rip a soul from wherever it rested and bring it to her reality again, she had to believe it wasn’t impossible.
Decades ago, she had thought she came close. She had felt something in her search to resurrect you. She just wasn’t sure what. But when she searched for you in the world. When she tried and tried to find your face all around the world, she found nothing. And then after about 10 years, she had given up and decided another method was needed.
She was years deep into following this new lead into resurrecting a soul when she was drawn to an area she hadn’t felt the need to return to in the near 600 years since losing you.
To her, it had felt like the smallest shift in the atmosphere, but Wanda was not used to feeling anything at all. So, she followed that shift. She found herself traveling straight to where her old cottage used to be, the building long gone with the woods as well. Now, it was a small town, with cobblestone streets, small houses, stores, and a university not far from the very place you had lost your life.
Wanda felt like she had double vision as she walked the streets, trying to find a reason for why her intuition had taken her here and not closer to the research she was currently working on. As she walked the streets she saw flashes of how it once was while simultaneously taking in the drastic changes of what it is now.
She couldn’t help but flinch when she realized she stood at the very spot you took your last breath, not even a single speck of dust or dirt the same as it once was.
And then she kept walking, wandering through the streets, trying to shush the inner turmoil in her mind as your screams replayed in her memory with cruel clarity. But just as they worsened and her chest tightened, her anger flaring and thoughts spiraling, everything suddenly went silent.
Then there you were, fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, a small smile playing on your lips as you sat on the other side of the window, enjoying a book alone at a local cafe.
Wanda could’ve fallen to her knees.
You looked the same. Your clothes were modern, your hair was longer, but all in all you looked the exact same. Wanda didn’t have to second guess if it was you, she felt it in her soul in the same way, she realized, that she had felt when you fled to her that first day. It was finally you.
She wasn’t sure what worked or how it worked. She didn’t, in all honesty, care when it meant she had you back. But Wanda wasn’t sure what you could remember; if you could remember anything of her at all.
It was very obvious very quickly that you remembered nothing.
Wanda followed you for a few days, staying a few steps behind and trying to gather what exactly your life was like now in this wretched town.
She learned quite quickly you weren’t from here, but as you told someone in a dialect of German that was very different from any of the locals, you had always felt drawn to this place and were researching its past–specifically, the historic witch trials of the 1400s.
Wanda flinched when she heard you say that. She wondered if you had a specific reason or if it was cosmic fate that made you want to pursue this. She pieced together very quickly that she hadn’t ripped your soul from its resting place to resume right where the two of you had left off. No, you had been reborn and the universe gifted you back to Wanda when you were exactly the age she had lost you. It was like the fates had unpaused her love story with you, even if you were absolutely oblivious to the significance of your existence.
Even if Wanda figured out that you had a new history, a new family, a new upbringing, she wanted to see if you knew her.
She followed your patterns closely, watching as you would work in the same cafe every weekend and that’s when she began her first test.
Living for nearly a millennia did not stop Wanda from feeling the nervous anticipation for the moment she would meet your gaze again. She sat across the cafe from you, waiting a respectable amount of time so she could feign curiosity for the book you were reading.
“Excuse me,” Wanda faked an innocent smile as she stood behind the empty chair across from you. “I was curious about the book you’ve been reading.”
“Oh!” You jumped at Wanda’s approach and she had realized in that instant she had been away from human society a bit too long and forgot how quiet she could be without needing to.
“I’m sorry to startle–”
“No no, I was just in my own little world.” You had laughed and finally peaked your head over the book to meet Wanda’s eyes and in that moment Wanda’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest.
To hear your laugh again, outside of her own memories, was like hearing the first birds sing at the end of the long winter. And to see your eyes shine as you smiled–Oh, how Wanda had longed for that exact image to be back in front of her again–Wanda could’ve wept at that table.
But she wouldn’t, not when she had to make you hers again. She wouldn’t waste much time this time, not when she needed to fix you too. This time she would make sure nothing could take you from her, she would make you like her. She knew how and she refused to be alone a second longer when the love of her existence was sitting right in front of her again.
Only, to make you hers before was so effortless. You were so kindhearted, so easily willing to give to a much younger Wanda what she so desperately craved. Now Wanda was different. Now whatever humanity she had left when she loved you the first time had seeped out of her like a wound. As Wanda grew more powerful so too did she grow more cruel and callous. She seriously doubted if you could see the same goodness in Wanda you once had.
But it did not matter to Wanda at this moment. She didn’t think it ever would matter again. She was done fulfilling your wishes when your final was a plea of mercy for your murderers. Now, whatever you wished would only be granted after Wanda had ensured that you were hers for all eternity.
“It’s um, a book on the historical timeline of the Valias Witch Trials,” you finally answered, a blush creeping over your cheeks at the intensity of Wanda’s stare.
Wanda blinked once, trying to shake off the euphoria of seeing your face again before she could slip back into character.
“A little bit of a dark topic to be reading for fun, don’t you think?” Wanda leaned forward, flashing a wide smile.
“Oh, it’s not for fun,” you replied, finally placing the book down on the table. “I work for the university, I’m trying to do research on the local history here. We’re a little bit outside of the area for the Valais Trials but I was hoping some of the research on that would lead me to more information on this town.”
“Has it?”
“Er… No, not yet.” When Wanda saw the way your nose scrunched in frustration, if she had any doubts before, they were definitely long gone now. Everything was exactly how she remembered. Your mannerisms, the way you talked, everything about you was a carbon copy of how you were once before.
“You know,” Wanda pulled the chair out from the other side of the table, not waiting for your invitation and sitting regardless. “I’ve seen you here for a while, reading those history books. I’m a bit of a history fan myself and I’ve done a lot of research on this subject.”
Your eyebrows shot up, but you leaned forward in interest. “Really?” When you bit your lip, Wanda’s eyes flicked to them in a flash, taking in a sight she missed so much, but trying not to break the facade she was carefully crafting.
“Yeah,” Wanda smiled, “and I don’t think you’ll find your answers in those books.”
“Oh,” the way your face immediately fell into a dour frown made Wanda do something she hadn’t done in centuries–she let out a genuine laugh.
“No, definitely not in those books,” Wanda continued. “You need to get your hands on historical records. Old journals and written law. It will tell you about the history of the area better than those will.”
Your frown only worsened and Wanda could’ve sworn she was seeing you pouting now. It felt more endearing than it ever had all those years ago.
“Those don’t really exist for this town,” you were trying so hard to keep a normal tone, but Wanda could see the frustration in the scrunch of your eyebrows. “Most of the records got destroyed before the town was rebuilt nearly a century after the locals burned it down in an effort to stop a plague.”
To hear this filtered version of your own history nagged at Wanda. Her jaw clenched as she listened to you regurgitate a version of history that erased your own suffering and torture without even knowing any better. Her hands moved to her lap and she dug her nails into her knees with bruising force as she tried to keep her polite smile plastered on.
“Not necessarily,” Wanda offered. “You just have to know where to look.”
“Everywhere I’ve looked is a dead end,” you muttered more to yourself than to Wanda.
“You haven’t looked with me yet.”
The look you gave Wanda mirrored the same confused look you had given her when she had first asked you to stay with her as an apprentice. It was innocent and curious, but Wanda could tell you were trying to turn her every word around in your mind to figure out her hidden meaning.
“I don’t think I know what you mean…” you mumbled, your eyes searching earnestly for an answer in Wanda’s
“I’m sorry,” Wanda breathed out an easy chuckle. “I should explain first. I own a collection of journals that detail the history of the area and the town before it was rebuilt. I’m somewhat of a private collector.”
You blinked at Wanda and she knew you were trying to figure out how one person could have a private collection of historical documents when the town was reduced to ash by her very own hands. Lucky for Wanda, she was being truthful. There was one surviving record, her own record, and she kept them. She kept journals that span back centuries, before she met you even. But she held onto every one of them, just in case they held answers she would need. Never did she think the answers they held would be how to get you closer to her.
“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I’ve been hoping for a scholar of sorts to take a look at them,” Wanda continued, her smile growing wider. “Seeing as you’ve been researching these topics and you said you work for the university… would you be willing to take a look?”
Your eyes grew wide and you leaned back. Wanda wondered if she was pushing it, but as you looked between her and the book that was so far causing you way more frustration and disappointment than you anticipated, she knew she was winning the silent debate in your mind.
“What exactly are you hoping for if I do look at them?”
You were skeptical, that was to be expected.
“Just someone to verify authenticity.”
You nodded slowly, still yet to say yes.
“Of course,” Wanda added, “you’ll have to come to where I have them stored, so that I’m sure they’re safe. These journals are quite pricy…” priceless actually, Wanda thought. “But I think if you can verify their authenticity it will greatly add to your research and it may even change the way we understand the past of this innocent little town.” She tried not to grit her teeth at the choice of adjective she used.
You paused for a moment, your eyes searching Wanda for any sign of insincerity and part of Wanda hoped you were naive enough to not second guess her, but the other part of her knew she would have to do more to teach you to be more careful of those you trusted. Obviously, you have had two lifetimes worth of bad choices when it came to who you put your trust in.
“Okay, yeah,” you began to nod your head faster. “I think I’d like to take a look at these journals.”
“Excellent,” Wanda purred. She stretched her hand out to you. “I’m Wanda by the way.”
And when you took her hand she swore you felt the same spark of electricity that she did.
From there Wanda was able to convince you to set a regular schedule with her. She had met you a couple more times at the cafe to talk about logistics and more details on the journals, as well as providing you pictures of them for proof so you wouldn’t think you were just being lured into a stranger's home for no reason.
When it came time to have you in her home, Wanda had set up a modest house on the outskirts of town and arranged for her collection to be shipped from one of the various locations she had globally. It came in record time and within a week she had a home that looked like she lived in it.
Wanda waited anxiously for the day you were meant to show up at her doorstep and again, just like the first moments she saw you again, she felt like she was seeing two lifetimes all at once. The way you knocked on her door, your eyes meeting hers with confidence rather than fear as you asked her questions about the journals while you followed her to the room she had them carefully stored.
Humans over the years after she had lost you all seemed to know to stay away from her. People would be visibly uncomfortable under her gaze or tend not to linger long in her presence. But, just like her first meeting with you, you seemed at total ease standing next to her. The only hint that her gaze got to you was the pink tinge of your skin when she locked eyes with you too long or leaned too close.
When you first saw Wanda’s collections of her own journals, she had feared you would question them. However, nowhere in them did she mention her own name, so in that regard she knew she was safe. And as you did your first readings of a couple of them, she knew you trusted their authenticity just by the material used and the way in which language had differed back then. Being a history scholar like you had explained to Wanda, she knew this was going to be the find of your career. The only thing was, once Wanda made you remember your significance to each other, there would be no room for a career. Not with the life the two of you would have to lead as beings outside of mortal society.
She thought she would feel a little guilt for that and for the idea that she would be ripping you away from a life that seemed to be treating you much better than your first one. But she felt no guilt at all. Only impatient anticipation for the moment she could reveal it all to you.
It took months for you to get through just a couple of the journals, and you hadn’t even reached the journal where Wanda would inevitably meet you yet. Wanda had spent careful nights removing parts of the journal that mentioned anything about her that would hint that she was more than human and then blaming it on damage over the centuries. When you finally got to the journal that had the five short years the two of you spent together in your first lifetime, that was when Wanda would unravel all to you.
“This one,” Wanda placed the journal delicately in your waiting hands, “is the one that will change everything for you.”
You looked up with her, your eyes full of excitement as you graciously took the delicate book and began to handle it with care.
Wanda couldn’t help but admire your misplaced aspirations. In the time that you had begun working with Wanda, she felt as if she fell in love all over again with this version of you. She found you were as headstrong as you were back then, but somehow even more kind and patient. You had a deep care for the world around you, something Wanda lost interest for a long time ago. She wanted to give you all of your dreams, but at the same time she knew your dreams would only be of a future with her once you knew. So in the meantime she spent her days with you praising your accomplishments and aspirations.
And all the while, Wanda closed the distance between the two of you slowly. It started with her gaze, then moved on to light touches and finally, after just a few short months, Wanda had you nearly completely comfortable with her.
Often, you’d scan the pages of the journal, making reprints to keep them safe from harm, and sit so close to Wanda as you read them, that the two of you would be nearly touching.
You didn’t jump anymore when Wanda would reach over and tuck your hair, or flinch when she would run her finger tips across your arm to get your attention. She watched as you effortlessly eased back into her touch and she thought, with how easily this was all going, that taking the final steps would be just as easy too.
As you worked through this next edition of Wanda’s personal records, you were eager to work more often and for longer hours. Wanda had no qualms with this, as it just meant instead of waiting a few months, she would just wait weeks or days even to address the whole truth with you.
After one week went by, you were beginning to react in the way Wanda anticipated you would to the first unedited journal in her collection.
“This one is so different from the last,” you mumbled to yourself as you jotted down some notes. “The author… I think they believed they weren’t human. They may even consider themselves a witch too.”
“Hmm,” Wanda hummed as she sat across from you, pretending to pay attention to a book when really she was observing your every reaction to the words in front of you. “In those times, would someone like that call themselves a witch? That used to be the word forced onto the innocent before they were given a death sentence.”
“I suppose you’re right…” you chewed at your bottom lip as you read over the same entry again and again. “But what did they think they were?”
“Maybe they didn’t know,” Wanda’s gaze on you was intense, but you were still too glued to the writing in front of you. “Maybe they didn’t feel a need to know because before the witch trials, magic was revered, not feared.”
“Maybe…” you mumbled and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t think to question her intensity more. Instead, you went back to reading.
After another week, you shared with Wanda what you had read and what you were finding. “I don’t really know why,” you admitted, “but I feel so much anxiety for what must have happened to the author.”
“It’s not her that you have to worry about,” Wanda muttered under her breath as you continued to meticulously absorb every single word you were reading.
It took only one more day for you to be determined to reach the end. Wanda was surprised when you asked to stay overnight so that you could work even later. It was something she was planning to suggest to take full advantage of the situation and have you closer, but she didn’t even need to when you looked up at her with pleading eyes and posed the question yourself.
That night, Wanda noted the way your hands shook as you read the pages Wanda had memorized by heart. All about the life the two of you had, how she had fallen in love with a village girl and attempted to save her from her own family’s cruelty. Wanda wondered if somewhere in you, you knew these words were written about you–that you were re-reading your own life from someone else’s eyes.
That night, when you fell asleep at the desk in Wanda’s study, Wanda effortlessly picked you up and carried you to her own bed. You were too tired to even question the sheer strength of Wanda or where she was moving you. And she sighed in relief when you didn’t stir as she lay next to you, never sleeping, just watching as she finally had you back in her bed.
When you woke up, Wanda had food already prepared for you and was eagerly anticipating the moment that she knew would inevitably come later that day for you to discover the full truth. She knew what pages you had left. She knew there was a gap in this account, as she had used a separate journal to document her finds to cure you of your mortality. She knew you’d get to the last words, her last moments with you alive, and then you’d move on to her anger and sorrow from there.
She was ready to reveal it all.
You ate breakfast happily and even spent a little time walking with Wanda in the garden on her property. As Wanda walked with you, she saw the version of you that walked the garden outside her modest cottage and she silently promised herself that wherever the two of you stayed after this, she would make sure she had a garden for you to enjoy. Your childlike wonder for the beauty of nature was never something that grew old to Wanda then, and she thought she could spend the rest of eternity feeling the same now.
When you returned to pouring over her journals with care and scrutiny, Wanda sat anxiously and waited until you finally reached the conclusion of your own story.
Her heart pounded in her head as she watched the anguish wash over your face. When tears began to well in your eyes, you rubbed at them with frustration and nervously mumbled an apology. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I’ve read so many other accounts of these trials, but this one is getting to me I guess.”
“It’s okay,” Wanda reassured as she stood and crossed the room to where you sat. She knelt down by your chair and brushed a tear from your cheek. “I’m sure no account you’ve read has been as intimate as this personal journal. And there’s pain in these pages that one can only imagine how unbearable it was to live through.” She thought to herself of all the things she had done since losing you in that moment. All the pain that left a gaping wound in her heart that never healed, only festered. She could never fix the humanity she lost when you left, she had hardened and changed, but she could get rid of the pain by having you again. She could soften a little, even if it was nowhere near how she had softened in her first life with you, it was something. It was proof that her love for you stayed just as strong as the pain throughout the centuries. “Keep reading,” she urged.
Wanda pulled up a chair and sat next to you, patiently waiting as the hours ticked by and you went through the last pages of her first life with you. She knew when you got to the point where she had denied the nightmares of your death and Wanda had to reach out and place your own trembling hand in hers as you turned the next page to finally learn of your own fate.
When you set down the scan of the last page, your eyes were red rimmed with tears you were trying so hard to suppress. The silence in the room felt suffocating to Wanda.
She held your hand tight for a moment, knowing she had to break the silence, wondering if you were still trying to understand the visceral reaction you were having to reading your death described in detail by the woman who loved you so fiercely she then tore apart every living soul who dared to hurt you with her own bare hands.
“Forgive me, my love,” Wanda finally broke the silence, her voice thick with emotion, speaking in the original form of the language from the text. “For mercy is a plight too great for the very monster these men have borne.”
Those were the last words of that journal and Wanda knew them by heart. The chapter closed on the only time in Wanda’s immortal life where she had felt happy before all had fallen apart. She believed that the monster in her lie dormant until your murders were forced to awaken it. And when they did she drowned in the horrifying capabilities of her power, learning ways to cause pain that she didn’t know she was capable of; ways that barely scratched the surface of her own anguish.
When Wanda spoke those words, she did not translate, she uttered them effortlessly in the same way the language once was nearly 600 years ago. You looked up with surprise, your free hand rubbing at your teary eyes. “You know what that means?” You whispered.
“Of course,” Wanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I wrote it.”
“That’s not funny,” you tried to withdraw your hand from Wanda’s slowly, but she gripped you suddenly.
“I’m not joking.”
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head before looking at Wanda with confusion rather than accusation like she had expected. “That would mean all these are falsified, but the way the language evolves between the journals… you’d have to be better than the best scholars to write all of this. Even I can barely understand them.”
“They’re not falsified.” Wanda’s eyes were stern, unwavering.
“Then I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It’s what I said,” Wanda leaned forward at the same moment you leaned back. “I wrote it.”
“Be serious,” you yanked at your hand, but Wanda held tight. “You couldn’t have possibly–”
“I did,” Wanda’s hand tightened on your wrist. “I wrote all of them. They all document my life. And the one you just read documents yours as well.”
The scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor as you flew from your seat felt deafening in the otherwise tensely silent room. Wanda followed you up, her hand never leaving your wrist as the both of you stood. “What the hell are you doing?” You demanded, trying to put some distance between you and the woman currently holding you tight with little effort, despite how hard you were trying to pull away.
“I’m telling you the truth,” Wanda gave you a pitiful smile, but the look in her eyes was beginning to become unnerving. “I wrote that journal. I wrote every single moment from the time before we met to the time I first lost you. Can you not see that? Do you not feel the connection we had–and still have.”
“I– I felt sad for the person who wrote this but–” you were trying so hard to back up, but with Wanda’s hand on your wrist, each step you took back she just took a bigger one forward.
“You felt my pain,” Wanda insisted. “You shed tears at my loss. It was my loss of you.”
“If you wrote this… then you’re hundreds of years old. You’re not human.”
Wanda’s lips formed a harsh line as she stared back at you, trying to will you to believe that she was serious and that you were right about every unbelievable conclusion you were coming to.
“This isn’t happening,” you shook your head, “you’re just fucking with me.”
Wanda didn’t want to scare you, but she also didn’t have the patience for your disbelief. Not when she wanted to finally reach the moment when you were back to being hers. She wanted your eyes to look at her with love rather than the unfamiliarity she has had to settle for the past few months.
“I promise you, my love,” Wanda’s voice was low, sending a shiver down your spine. “I am being honest. But I will show you, so you believe.”
Wanda let go of your wrist finally, and you snatched it to your chest as if her touch had burned you. Her heart twisted in pain when she saw that, but she shook it off. She knew having you love her as she is now would be more difficult. This was to be expected, but she would still succeed. She had to.
“Do not leave.” she warned as you took another step back from her towards the wall. This time she did not step forward, instead she took a deep breath after she was sure you wouldn’t make a run for it to the door.
In an instant, she did the one thing she had wished she wouldn’t have to do in front of your eyes just yet. She let you see just how monstrous she had become since the day you perished.
Using magic to hide the physical indicators of her sins had become second nature to her in the centuries she had to blend in whenever she needed to travel through mortal society. But to shake off this small trick took time.
You watched in confusion and then terror as vibrant skin chipped away like paint. First, from her finger tips and then past her arms to reveal ink black skin, as if they had charred over a fire. Her eyes, which you knew to be a beautiful green, began to shift, filling with red as if a drop of blood was tainting the original color. Her skin, where the ink black did not reach, was different too. The color from it drained, growing paler. Her cheek bones changing and growing sharper and all at once her height, her muscle growing larger until it felt as if you were cowering her shadow.
She did not look human. She didn’t look not human either. It was the kind of almost human that brought a primal fear in others. It elicited the feeling that said something was wrong, but one might only recognized the wrongness when it was too late.
Your feet stumbled back until you hit the bookshelf behind you and your eyes shot to the door, trying to plot out an escape. But this time Wanda stepped forward, her ink black hands reaching for you as she did.
“What do you want from me?” Your voice shook as your eyes took in the change in the being before you.
Wanda scoffed, a sarcastic smile of disbelief playing at her lips as her hands slowly grabbed onto your waist. “Isn’t it obvious?”
You shook your head vehemently.
“I want you by my side again,” Wanda’s voice was sweet but her demeanor was entirely different. No longer was she the gentle woman you had come to know these past few months. Instead, what stood in front of you was a version of her that dripped with danger. Every alarm bell in your head told you to run, but Wanda would not let you. She would never let you go again. She had finally learned from past mistakes.
“You think…” your mind was trying to piece together everything that was happening much too fast. “You think I’m her?”
Wanda shook her head before leaning forward, you had nowhere to go in Wanda’s grip. You were forced to tremble under her touch as she pressed her forehead to yours. “I know you are her.”
Her lips trailed your cheek and you felt sick as you finally realized her touch felt colder than a human’s should.
“I’m not,” you insisted. “That’s impossible.”
“My very existence is an impossibility to the human world, so why would your soul returning to me be any different?” Wanda used her hands to pull your body flush to hers. “Surely, you feel our connection like I do.”
You shook your head, wriggling in her embrace. Wanda’s patience was beginning to wear thin, especially when you denied what she knew that just hours ago you had felt.
Wanda pulled back, her hands moving to hold either side of your face in a near bruising grip. “You cannot lie to me, my love.” As she warned you swore you watched the red swirling in her eyes begin to turn black.
“No, no,” you pleaded. “I’m not her. We are not the same person!”
Wanda’s grips on your face tightened and her eyes grew frantic. You saw, maybe just for a moment, a glimmer of clarity, but it was soon replaced with anger and a stubborn determination that she had been holding onto for centuries. She would make you see, she would never hear you deny your feelings for her again. She just had to push harder
“Yes, you are,” her voice was low. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. At your core, you’re her. You’re mine.”
“But how can you know that? Wanda I- I do not know you. Even if it’s true, the me from hundreds of years ago– that girl that was with you is not the same as me today,..” Your hand reached up, trembling as it did, to touch her cheek too. Your eyes searched hers, imploring her to understand where you were coming from. “I’m so sorry, Wanda. I know how painful it must be to accept this. I know you have waited countless life times and you must be so lonely, but she is gone. Maybe I remind you of her, maybe we have similarities, but I could never be the girl you once loved.”
Wanda’s eyes blurred, tears threatening the edge of her lids. You watched with bated breath, hoping she would accept your response.
“Of course,” Wanda sighed and you exhaled the breath you had been holding.
“I’m sorry to—“
“Of course, you would comfort me even now. Just as you would’ve then.” Your blood ran cold. “Trying to comfort me, in my loss of you, when you are right in front of me…” She chuckled to herself breathlessly. “You think your soul has changed, but I assure you it has not. How do you not see?”
Wanda let go of your face to grab your hands and press them to her chest, to feel her beating heart. “I have looked for you in every room, in every person, for centuries. If I had decided to settle for a false memory of you in another person, don’t you think I would’ve done that earlier? Instead, I waited centuries to have you again. There has only been one soul I have loved in my immortality and it is yours. I would know you from anyone, whether we were apart for 600 years or 6000, I will always find you. I will always love you and you will always be mine.”
“That is not how this works, Wanda,” you begged but she just shook her head. “I still don’t know you. If I were her, wouldn’t I feel the same?”
“Don’t lie to me about your own feelings for me!” Wanda snapped, her nails digging into your skin as she held you still against her chest. “Do you think I don’t know how you feel? Do you think I don’t know the way your pulse quickens whenever I am near? Before you even realized who I was to you, your heart was already mine.” Wanda pulled your arms to her chest before wrapping her own around you in a tight embrace–as if to cage you in with her arms. “No matter the version of you, no matter the time that has passed, you are always going to be mine in every lifetime. I felt you the first time you ran to me then and I felt you the first time you were destined to find me now. I had to wait so long in between and I refuse to wait any longer.”
With one strong arm folded around you like an iron bar, the other reached for your chin. She tilted it up, her body bent down, shielding you, your senses, from anything other than Wanda as she’s towering over you. “You do not understand,” her voice is barely above a whisper, yet her eyes are still just as fierce. “The love that we have, it transcends time. You don’t know now, you have yet to learn in this lifetime, but you will. I will show you.”
Her lips pressed to yours then with a fierceness you did not expect, even as her anger dripped off her like poison. Yet, when her lips did meet yours, you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. With inky black fingers spread across your cheek, nails pressing into your skin just enough to leave faint marks, you squeezed your eyes shut as Wanda’s lips moved against yours with force.
The worst part was, as her tongue trailed against your own lips, there was a familiarity in her taste. Something deep inside of you that knew the way this should have felt. Yet in the back of your mind, you knew that even if you were her, the Wanda in front of you was not the one your soul may have known. This Wanda’s touch, as she pushed your lips to part with her own, held no ounce of familiarity. Yet her scent held a nostalgic feeling that touched something deeper inside you, a feeling you didn’t know you even could have.
She pressed her body to you in a way that both made you want more and made you want to recoil. She made you feel like you were coming home. A feeling that caused visceral fear that Wanda was right about your supposed reincarnation. Yet, the way in which her knee slotted between yours, her unnervingly cold body making its own space to press against every inch of you also made you feel like the only natural thing to do was to flee. It made you feel like your sense of security was a false one. Your instincts were fighting with your heart and your head, trying to scream at you to run.
She pulled away for just a moment, head pressing against yours again. The iron grip around you was finally released and instead her hands were tangled in your hair as she tried to catch her own breath. “See?” She breathed with a gravely voice. “I know what you are feeling. I know what’s inside your head.”
Wanda was admitting more than she probably should, but she was so drunk on the slightest taste of you that she didn’t care about repercussions anymore.
“Don’t fight how you feel for me,” Wanda whispered as she turned your head with her grip on your hair in order to trail her lips against your jaw. “We have waited so long to have this moment again.”
Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt her lips move down to the tender skin of your neck.
“Wanda…” your voice came out thicker and lower than you wanted. “Can we at least slow down?”
“I have already taken it slow when I first found you.” Her teeth nipped at your neck. “Do you see now? That you are her?”
You swallowed hard and nodded. “Can we talk about it?” Anything to slow her hands down as her nails dragged down your back, ripping the fabric of your sweater with it.
“What is there to talk about?” She purred against your skin. “We’ve talked for months, my love. Let us finally just enjoy what was taken from us.”
Your mind and body were warring. Half of you wanted to give into the primal terror coursing through your veins and flee. Half of you wanted to melt into the way lips pressed wet kisses against your overheated skin. Either way, it was already too late to fight off Wanda’s touch when she was so much stronger than you. She was so much stronger than any human being really and she proved that by the way she ripped away your sweater like it was paper thin.
Her lips were pressing their way down your collarbone now and you didn’t dare open your eyes to the reality of the version of Wanda in front of you. It was not the Wanda you knew. The fingertips that ghosted up your sides until they reached your breast felt familiar, but you knew if you saw them they’d be the charred black you had been shown before. You knew the eyes watching the way your breath hitched as her teeth sank into the most tender parts of your flesh weren’t the emerald green you were beginning to love, but the blood red that felt like they burned as they bored into you. And you knew the paleness of her face, that looked as if a fresh corpse was reanimated, would haunt you if you saw the way it replaced the vibrance of the woman you so quickly and foolishly trusted.
Yet, as her lips pressed over your now bare chest, as you felt the way she kissed right above your heart, you still felt it jump. Not in fear, not in anger, but in a feeling that you could only ever describe as a sorrowful longing. The type of longing that felt like it would lead to hopeness. It was a sadness then that washed over you. One you didn’t know you held. One you realized, felt older than your body, older than a young soul should understand. In fact, you didn’t understand it, but in that moment–that brief second of Wanda’s gentleness as her ear replaced your head and you felt her take a shuttering sigh at the sound of your own heartbeat–you stopped fighting her.
You were more aware of her body again rather than what she was doing to you and you realized, finally, she was sobbing. Your hands moved on their own, shaking fingers reaching for her red hair. You couldn’t help it. Another force felt like it was guiding your body now as you felt yourself stroke her hair with one hand, and wrap around her shoulders to press her closer with the other.
Wanda let out a watery laugh, her hands dragging down your abdomen as she did. “See?” her voice was different now. Less filled with confidence and more broken, scared even. “I have loved you the same, even in the absence of you. So long, I have wanted you and I know you feel for me the same way. You can’t push me away, my love. You were made for me.”
And she believed that. In all of her time with and without you, she had believed that you were brought to her the first time to bring life to her dimming existence. Like divine intervention trying to prevent–or in her case, prolong–the monster she would become. And now, as her soul darkened to near black, the universe gifted her with you again. As if to the cosmos themselves understood how deep her pain ran and knew that when it inevitably swallowed her, she would swallow the world in response. You were her distraction, her gift for sparing the world.
Her lips began to trail down, your hand never leaving her hair, but gripping a bit harder to it when suddenly she fell to her knees.
Her lips were above the button to your jeans, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the naked skin right by it when you felt the nails that once felt effortlessly sharp as they ripped your sweater from your shoulders, now teasing and delicate as they popped the button from its place. You tried with all your strength to stop the trembling of your entire body. You swallowed hard again, your head falling back, your eyes still not daring to open and see the version of Wanda that was now knelt before you.
When your jeans were pushed down, inch by inch, with agonizing slowness, your underwear came with them. Wanda watched as your chest heaved in anxious anticipation. Part of her felt a pang of guilt for the fear she could feel coursing through your veins, but she also could not deny herself of you for one more second. She could feel the way you warred with yourself, trying to deny all Wanda had presented to you. You just needed one more push. Just one step forward and then perhaps she would have you in the way she had been waiting for.
Her lips pressed a kiss right above where she knew you needed her most, letting her inhale your scent for the first time in over half a millennia. When her lips kissed lower the both of you let out a groan and Wanda swore she was in heaven. She licked the taste of you off her lips and that was when any last rational thought left her and she dove straight in.
The grip on her hair would be bruising for anyone else, but for Wanda it just excited her more. Her tongue lapped at your clit eagerly and your head hit the bookshelf behind you as you pressed one of your hands to your mouth and bit down on your own palm.
Your mind, that was once spinning, was now utterly focused on keeping your eyes shut and trying to envision the Wanda you had known these past months between your legs. Not this version, who’s humanity bled out of her right before your very eyes. But even then, as you feared the monster knelt between your legs, pulling moans of pleasure from your body without your permission, you wouldn’t make her stop. In fact, you pressed her face closer and you felt the rumble of her growl as she drank you in with all the selfish anticipation she has lived with for far too long.
Her hands moved to grab at the back of your thighs, keeping you standing and upright as she shoved them open for her. With her strength you wouldn’t fall, but Wanda needed to make sure you knew that so she could taste you more; drink from you deeper.
When her tongue ran across your opening you bit down harder on your knuckles and your thighs quaked against her head. Wanda breathed you deep before slipping her tongue in, moaning nearly as loudly as you did when she finally was able to taste you from the source.
Wanda’s nails dug into the back of your thighs, her hands moving in a way that forced your own body to buck and ride against her lips. Your attempts to remain quiet were in vain, your hand did nothing to muffle the way your moans filled the room.
But right when you were close to the edge she stopped. In that moment your eyes snapped open and the image before you burned into your mind.
There was Wanda, looking up at you with eyes as black as coal. Her lips, glistening with your own wetness, were parted and panting as she drank in the sight of you. She was terrifying, she was monstrous. But you realized, as afraid as you might be, that she was still just as breathtakingly beautiful.
She stood in front of you then, her charcoal fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your neck, and dragged you forward to meet her lips. Her tongue swept into your mouth and all you could do was whimper as she kissed you so deeply, filling your mouth with the taste of yourself on her own tongue. You felt drunk with want, the fear in you still present, but distant. Dulled.
“I need to feel more of you,” Wanda growled against your lips, her teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip before she released you and allowed you air.
In a blink you weren’t against the shelf anymore. In a haze, you realized you were falling back and then with a soft thud, you were on her bed. You didn’t have time to process the second unbelievable thing to happen in front of your own eyes though, because in an instance you felt the entirety of Wanda’s naked body pressed against yours. She was on top of you, her hands already moving down your body again, her lips kissing down your chest again, this time to your nipples before she could take one in and bite to elicit a pained, but pleasured hiss from you.
Your head met softness when you let it fall back this time, hitting a pillow rather than the hard wood of the shelf.
“Do you know,” Wanda mumbled against your wet, bare skin, “how hard it was to resist you, when you slept so peacefully in my bed?”
You shook your head, your stare never leaving Wanda’s gaze as her own fierce eyes looked up at you from your body.
“My love,” Wanda purred as her fingers moved from your body to trail down her own, “I fear that was the last bit of mercy I could afford you.”
Your eyes followed her hands down, watching in morbid curiosity as you realized they stopped between her legs to grab at a crimson red appendage you hadn’t seen before. When your eyes flicked back to hers, Wanda nearly enjoyed the anxious trepidation written all over your face.
“Wanda,” your voice cracked as your hands moved to brace themselves on her shoulders, her body pressing closer and closer, the feeling of the hard, otherworldly toy pressing closer and closer between your legs. “That will hurt. Please.”
Wanda knew that. It was her magic that formed the shape of it out of thin air. She could set the size, she could’ve been kinder. But she wanted to feel the way you’d writhe under her as you took from her all she could possibly give. She wanted to know the way your body would fit as close as possible against hers. How being inside of you would feel when you opened yourself to make room for Wanda. She wanted to know how you’d endure being broken apart for her and if you’d trust that she would be the one to put you back together.
“Shhh,” Wanda purred, her mouth coming back to your own, moving deep and slow against your own quivering lips. And as she kissed you slowly, you felt it, the moment when Wanda lined the strap up and pressed with force against your opening.
Your hands pushed harder at her shoulders, but she didn’t budge an inch. Instead she dipped your head back more, licking into your mouth and kissing around your cries of pain.
The way the burn of the toy being fully pushed inside your body had your head swimming. Your eyes began to roll back in your head before Wanda even really began. She gave you a moment to adjust, but it was more for her than for you. With her magic, she could feel everything. And the way in which your body fluttered around hers made her feel more powerful than she had in her near 1000 years of life.
It was wonderfully twisted for Wanda to realize that she could decimate whole cities, best the strongest armies, but nothing made her feel more powerful than when she had you beneath her. When the both of you drowned in shared pleasure as she made the two of you fall apart by her own hand, that was when she felt at the height of her power. It was all too much for Wanda. She knew she wasn’t lying when she said she was out of mercy, even for you.
Maybe it wasn't your fault that your mortality led to an early end for you. Maybe once, she loved the gentleness in you that first asked for the mercy of your family and last asked for the mercy of your murders. But that was once and she’s much different now. Now her anguish built in her a need to make you understand her anger. An anger that festered the longer she waited for your return to her arms. An anger that boiled over with each failed attempt to bring you back to her world. How dare you let her become such a hate filled creature, when you could’ve been tending to her soul these past 600 years?
Her thoughts spilled over and she felt that rage in her entire body, and with that her hips drew back and snapped.
Your hands left her shoulders to try to cover the cry of painful pleasure that pierced the room, but Wanda was quicker, grabbing both your wrists and slamming them above your head.
“Don’t hide from me,” she threatened as her body moved against yours with a force that felt like you’d shatter underneath her. “Let me hear you scream. Let me know that you finally feel my pain too.”
“Please, please, please,” you didn’t know if you were begging her to stop or to bring you back to the edge you were just about to fall over moments ago. The feeling of her strap stretching you out from the inside was the strangest mix of pain and pleasure you’d ever experienced. And the feeling of Wanda’s bare body, cooler to the touch than it should be as it slid against yours, was making you struggle to focus on anything other than the sensation of ice–cold against your own overheated body.
You were already worked up from before. So, when Wanda held your wrists with just one hand and moved her other to slide under your body and force you to arch her back into you, her strap hitting an even deeper part of you, you came against her with a broken moan.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you realized that Wanda didn’t slow even for a second. “I want more,” she groaned as her hips kept rolling into you. “I need to have more of you.”
Your head had lulled back, the fight and resistance you had first attempted when Wanda gathered your wrist was all but gone and you were reduced to nothing more than a ball of pleasure, falling apart underneath Wanda’s body.
She sped her hips up and the burn of the stretch was gone and replaced with the hollowing feeling of wanting more mixed with a fear that it would never ever be enough. When Wanda let go of your wrists, no doubt bruised from how tight she was holding them, you found yourself wrapping your arms around Wanda’s neck. This time, when she pressed her hips into you, she reveled in the fact that you chased them with each moment they pulled back. You had finally fallen too far. You let Wanda invade every part of your being now, and all you knew was the pleasure Wanda was pulling from you. All you knew is that this was the feeling you had been waiting for too, even if you didn’t realize it until the very moment Wanda made you fall apart against her the first time.
Your orgasm was building again, but so was Wanda’s. She was moaning on top of you, trying to hold back and make the moment last. Reveling in the way your body squeezed against her magic toy as you came the first time.
Wanda’s head tilted back as she felt her own body shake against yours. She was so close, but she needed this moment. She needed to feel the way your body would be in sync with hers.
“Look at me,” Wanda husked between her own moans, “look at me, please.”
And when you finally forced your eyes open again, for a moment you saw the familiar green looking back at you. Her features softer, her skin more vibrant, the look in her eyes less filled with fear and desperate need, and more filled with the vulnerability of how much this moment meant to her.
She kissed you then. It wasn’t full of possession, it wasn’t with force or bruising passion. It was a kiss filled with the love and despair she felt every single waking moment she was without you. She had stopped punishing your body for having to go without, and now, as her hips moved, she just felt herself sink into the feeling of fulfillment as she finally had the one thing she wanted most of all.
And when you kissed her back it was as if the cosmos moved themselves until everything felt like it slotted together. Timelines converged, feelings sorted, the conflicting versions of you in your head becoming one. You saw two lifetimes in that kiss, as Wanda’s body kept moving against you and her intense love began to replace her suffocating want. You felt the love you once had, the pain it caused you. And, at the same time, you felt the love you began to have again before you knew the truth about your monstrous lover.
Your arms wrapped around Wanda’s neck. You kissed her harder, tears falling from your eyes as you worked your body in time with hers. She took from you at first out of fear, out of a horrible need to erase the pain of not having you for life time after life time. Now she took from you out of necessity. A necessity to accept what she so badly wanted to be given to her and waited centuries to be offered again. And you finally offered her your all.
When Wanda fell apart inside of you, you cried out and came with her. The feeling of your body, stretched to its limit, immediately disappeared as Wanda collapsed against you.
Your eyes fluttered open again, expecting to see that original version of Wanda gone again and replaced with the reality of her. But it wasn’t. Instead, looking back at you was the same Wanda you had known centuries ago. With skin kissed by the sun, eyes shining brighter than emeralds, and fingertips that played with a strand of your hair no longer charred by the evidence of her monstrosity, but perfectly normal.
“I remember now,” you finally said after a moment of letting yourself lay beneath her.
“You do?” Wanda felt you nod beneath her before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your hand still shook as you lifted it to cup Wanda’s cheek. She let you tilt her face up until you could meet her eyes again. “I’m so sorry that you had to endure your pain alone for far longer than you deserved.”
Wanda didn’t answer, she just pressed forward until you willingly met her lips for a gentle kiss.
“You’re here now,” Wanda finally whispered against you.
There was a silence that fell over the two of you and she felt the tension in your body. “But I can’t be forever,” you admitted, your tone holding a gentle seriousness that told Wanda you understood just how far her grief had made her fall. If she lost you once and burned town after town down, what would happen when you inevitably succumbed to your own mortality again?
“Don’t worry,” Wanda’s demeanor shifted again, the warning signs of red returning to her irises. “I’ve found a cure for that.”
You swallowed as the tension that returned to your body felt like it permeated the air now too.
“You’ll be different,” Wanda admitted as her nails dug into the skin of your arms again, as if to hold you still, knowing you again felt that primal fear creep up your spine again. “You’ll be like me.”
You thought back to how you knew Wanda before. How her soul was darkened, but not nearly pitch black as you had been shown today. You could love Wanda this way, you could brighten what was once dimmed. But you still knew, as her mask fell and she fucked you looking like the monster she truly was, that being like her meant kindness was a choice. That care was something she could shed at a whim. You knew that being like her meant the values you held, the ones she supposedly saw shine through you so brightly all those years ago–those would be stripped away.
“When you’re like me,” Wanda broke you from your spiraling thoughts, “you will never demand of me mercy again.” You swallowed, your eyes silently pleading with Wanda to grasp whatever ounce of humanity she could still muster.
Her face twisted into a smile, her soft mask falling away right before your eyes yet again. “When you’re like me,” she repeated, “we’ll watch the world burn for the pain it caused us.”
Maybe the soul you had loved was no longer remotely the same as the one before you now. Maybe you were wrong about being able to love the monster Wanda grew into today. You didn’t know what was destined for you now, as you stared at a different fate, crueler than your first. All you knew was that just as the townspeople before ignored your pleas, just as Wanda ignored your final request then, she meant what she had written. Mercy was a request far too great for her to ever grant you–or anyone for that matter–ever again.
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
The morning of Wanda’s first day, she wakes up three hours early.
Kate stumbles into the kitchen at 6:30, blearily blinking at Wanda and sighing gratefully when a second cup of coffee is shoved into her hands.
“Someone’s excited,” Kate mumbles, taking a long sip of her coffee. She collapses into a kitchen chair, watching Wanda’s flurried movements around the kitchen. A second later, a plate of toast is dropped in front of her.
“I just,” Wanda stops for a moment, setting her own plate down much more gently. “I really want this day to go well.”
Kate snorts. “Of course it will, from what I heard, Agatha is nothing less than thrilled to have you there.”
“Right, but what if I show up and forget what I’m doing and then they all know that I’m a fraud?” Wanda scampers away at the thought, furiously whisking eggs in a bowl. “Do you want scrambled eggs?”
“I- sure, yeah,” Kate blinks again, scrubbing at her eyes. “Listen, you belong there. You’re going to do great, just try not to burden your thoughts with depressing what-if questions, yeah?”
“Right,” Wanda murmurs, pouring the eggs into a frying pan, her fingers tapping on the spatula handle.
“Drink some more coffee,” Kate instructs. “Not too much though, I feel like your heart rate is already through the roof. Why did you set your alarm so early?”
Wanda turns, sheepish. “I set it for 7:30, but…” She gestures helplessly at the kitchen. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep so, here we are.”
Kate just shakes her head, shoving a piece of toast into her mouth.
Wanda does calm down after breakfast, her food settling comfortably despite the nerves churning in her gut. She cleans the dishes while Kate disappears into her bedroom, her roommate declaring herself in charge of Wanda’s outfit.
The dishes have never been done faster. Wanda finally manages to make it to the bathroom, taking a deep breath as she locks eyes with her reflection. “You’ve got this,” she whispers, her reflection nodding as she speaks.
Luckily, she has a short skincare routine, and she applies the barest amount of makeup. A dab of concealer to cover a stubborn acne scar on her chin that just won’t go away, and a small amount of mascara. She would apply eyeshadow, but her fingers are trembling a bit too much for that at the moment.
Her official title and job description had been sent over with other paperwork HR had requested to be filled out. ‘Junior Editor’, it said, and Wanda had squealed in excitement with Kate when the paperwork asked her to fill out the information for her order of business cards.
Her nerves were giving way to excitement, and Wanda suddenly found herself impatient to start the day.
Her phone buzzes, and she caps the mascara tube before dragging a hairbrush through her (fortunately) shiny hair.
Enjoy your first day. Let me know how it goes.
Wanda smiles, fingers hovering over Natasha’s text, when another one appears.
I’m proud of you.
The smile that graces her face is no less than brilliant, and she responds with a quick thank you and a promise to talk after work before making her way to her bedroom.
Kate greets her by holding up a pair of dark brown corduroy pants, a pair of green leather boots in the other.
“Okay, I’m thinking of a forest theme, but professional and cozy at the same time,” Kate says, her words rushed, like she can’t wait to be rid of them. Wanda can tell that her mind is going a thousand miles per minute.
She may have brewed the coffee a little too strong.
“I have that really thin dress shirt that you can layer easily with, and two different sweater options to go on top of it.” Kate points to the bed, one beige sweater and one dark green sweater with a subtle pattern on it laid out. A white dress shirt with a collar is hanging from the doorknob of her closet.
“Put these on,” Kate urges, handing the pants and boots to Wanda before returning to the walk-in closet. “I’m finding you a belt,” she calls, her voice slightly muffled.
Wanda just chuckles, stripping her pajamas off and stepping into the pants. She snags her most comfortable bra, putting it on and tugging the collared shirt over her head. She hated buttons, so she never bothered to undo more than the top one.
“I think I’m gonna go with the green sweater,” Wanda calls, putting it on.
“Good choice,” Kate says, walking out of the closet with a brown belt in her hand. “It’ll go well with the boots. Here, this should match everything.”
Wanda takes the belt, sliding it through her belt loops and resolutely not thinking about the way Natasha had taken a belt to her ass four days ago. That had been a new experience, and not an entirely unpleasant one, either.
“Okay, jewelry.” Kate claps her hands, making her way to Wanda’s wall, where she’d hung up her necklaces on ornate brass pushpins.
Slipping into the boots, Wanda steps in front of her full-length mirror, smoothing out any creases she finds. She looks put together. A bit like an English teacher, but like, a young one.
“You always wear gold rings, so I figured this necklace would do well. We won’t stack today, just keep it simple, yeah?”
Wanda nods, grabbing her rings from the small bowl they go in when she’s not wearing them. Kate had taken a ceramics class once, in their freshman year, and had tried to make a little ashtray.
It did not look like an ashtray.
So Wanda had claimed it, telling her roommate that she was saving her from thrifting a ring bowl. Besides, homemade is always better. Kate had created a much better ashtray a few weeks later, and that one was now sitting out on their porch waiting for use.
Grabbing the necklace, a simple gold star on a thin chain, Wanda puts it on, positioning it under her collar perfectly.
“Hey, you look like a professional editor already,” Kate exclaims, resting her head on Wanda’s shoulder as she assesses herself in the mirror once again.
“Hopefully I feel that way, too.”
“You will,” Kate says, patting her shoulder. “Just give it some time.”
Wanda shuffles her favorite playlist as she drives. Luckily, their apartment was only fifteen minutes away from downtown Seattle, so she didn’t have too much time to get overly nervous. Still, her hands shake slightly when she adjusts her leather messenger bag over one shoulder. She’d thrifted it that weekend with Kate, her roommate telling her it was the perfect vibe for an editor.
Whatever that means.
Traffic isn’t too bad just yet, and Wanda triple-checks the email HR sent that tells her which parking lot to pull into, before turning off her car and taking a few deep breaths.
“You can do this,” she mutters to herself, before shaking her head and smiling. She grabs her bag, nervousness slowly being replaced with excitement.
She has a job. At the one place she was most hoping would hire her. In a big city. With an amazing roommate and a perfect girlfriend. She had nothing to be worried about.
Besides, she’s pretty sure Natasha would love it if she didn’t work and just lived in her apartment full-time. So she’s not too concerned about getting fired. It always helps to have a backup plan.
She knows where to go from her interview, so she presses the button for her office’s floor before standing aside and letting two other women enter the elevator. It’s only a bit awkward, since nobody really says anything, but soon the doors open to Wanda’s office floor.
Stepping out, she catches the eye of the receptionist, who waves her over with a big smile.
“Wanda!” The woman practically gushes. “We are all so excited to have you, I can’t believe it’s already your first day. We’ve all been talking about how much we were looking forward to having you on the team.”
The woman has wrapped her arm around Wanda’s at this point, talking a mile a minute as she leads Wanda further into the office area. There’s one desk that stands out, a small red bow on top of the computer, and a gift bag sitting next to the keyboard.
“I hope it’s not too much, but we always congratulate new hires with a little first-day gift! That’s why we had you fill out that questionnaire about yourself.” The woman halts next to what is apparently Wanda’s desk, smiling widely.
“This is amazing,” Wanda smiles back at her, “You guys didn’t have to do all of this, I’m just so excited to be here.”
“Of course we did,” a new voice sounds out, and Wanda turns to see a tall, muscular blonde man smiling at her from two desks away. “Excuse my lack of manners, I’m Steve. Believe me when I say that everyone here has been so excited to have you start. Your interview was one of the best, or so I’ve heard.”
Wanda doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but she feels her face heating up all the same. She’s saved by Agatha’s voice ringing out from the reception area.
“Is she already here?”
A chorus of people says yes, and a few more of her colleagues stand and make their way towards her desk. There are so many smiling faces around her, and people introducing themselves, that Wanda begins to feel overwhelmed.
“Give the poor girl some space, we all know how exciting a first day can be,” Agatha says, pushing her way through the crowd. There are two coffee cups in her hands, and she hands one to Wanda. “Hiya, hon. Congrats on your first day!” She nods to the coffee cup. “That’s for you, and you’ll find other goodies inside this bag. Get used to your space and familiarize yourself with your computer, one of our IT guys should be down soon to help you get all set up, and then we have our weekly meeting at 11 sharp, in my office.”
Agatha speaks at a mile a minute, and Wanda feels all of her nerves fade away. She’s already feeling like a part of the team, and she hasn’t even done any real work yet.
“We’re pairing you with Steve for the first few weeks, just until you learn the ropes, he’s one of the best mentors we’ve got. I don’t think the man has a limit to his patience.” Agatha winks, returning the easy smile Steve sends her way.
Leaning in, Agatha murmurs, “Let me know if you need anything, alright? No question is too silly, we all want to see you succeed in any way that you can here. Got it?”
Wanda nods, a big smile on her face now, too.
The crowd disperses after a few minutes, all of her colleagues introducing themselves and offering words of encouragement. The excitement doesn’t seem to fade, though. There is plenty of chatter around the office, and Wanda opens her gift bag while waiting for IT.
The office itself is amazing, she notes. The inside is all brick, with large windows letting light stream in. Their floor is one of the higher ones, so she has a pretty decent view of the city. Although the building is older, given the brick, their workspaces are completely modern, with the latest models of computers and sleek keyboards. Most notably, the overhead lights are all off, only a few lamps around the space needed, since the sun provides plenty of light to see.
It’s the perfect work environment, in Wanda’s opinion.
IT finally arrives, another muscular man who introduces himself as Bucky. (What is with everyone working here looking like a Greek god or goddess?) Wanda is pretty sure that’s a nickname. She doesn’t miss the way the man’s eyes keep drifting over to Steve, or the way the blond man can’t seem to keep a soft grin off of his face.
Interesting. Wanda is already figuring out how to subtly mention her girlfriend to Steve. If he was trying to be discreet about his attraction to the weirdly muscular man from IT, he’s failing spectacularly.
Wanda finally manages to get her computer all set up, and the day is a blur from there.
Agatha seems to mostly stay in her office, the space big enough for the whole team to fit inside for their weekly meeting. Wanda brought along a notebook, glancing at others as they scrawled in them as Agatha was speaking. Steve had nudged her, telling her he’d catch her up to speed on what notes to take after the meeting.
Steve was extremely helpful, co-editing a few simple pieces with Wanda. He’d told her that she didn’t need much coaching, and she’d felt a burst of relief and warmth bloom inside her chest. She’d figured out how their workflow went, how different projects were assigned, and who to get a sign-off from.
At one point, a tall brunette with heavy, black eye makeup had waltzed through the door with a paper bag clutched in her intricately designed fingernails. She strode right into Agatha’s office, and Steve had whispered that the woman’s name was Rio. Wanda didn’t need him to tell her that the women were married, not after Rio had planted a huge, slightly obscene kiss on her new boss’s lips.
Agatha seemed all the more cheery after the short visit from her wife, if that was even possible. Realistically, Wanda knew that it was only her first day, but all of her coworkers seemed nice and relatively drama-free, and her boss was easy-going, if not meticulous about details.
Plus, she was really happy about working with queer coworkers. It was somewhat of a relief not to feel the urge to hide her relationship or the pronouns of her partner.
“Feel free to decorate your space,” The receptionist was saying, leaning against Wanda’s desk. The clock was nearing the end of the day, and Wanda still hadn’t figured out the girl’s name. “We all do, some have pictures of their family or pets, and others have their diploma displayed. Have you seen Agatha’s? She’s got a Master’s degree and everything!”
Wanda just blinked and smiled, her mind seeming like it was going a million miles an hour. There was so much to process from the day, but she didn’t mind. This was the most fun she’d had in a while, even going over her bank details for her paycheck with HR seemed interesting.
“I’ll be sure to bring some stuff in, then, thank you…” Wanda winced. “I never really caught your name, sorry. There’s just so much going on today.”
The girl giggled, waving her off. “No worries, Wanda. My name is America, it's not super easily forgettable, right?”
Wanda’s eyebrows rose. “No, it’s not. I’m sure I won’t forget it.” She offered a chuckle of her own. “Thanks for showing me around a bit, that was really nice of you.”
America waves her off again, pushing off from her desk. “It’s no problem at all! I hope you enjoyed your first day, you’re already doing great, I can tell.” She winks at Wanda, before cheerily striding off to the front desk.
Honestly, was everyone who worked here happy all the time? Did anyone have a bad day?
Wanda’s phone buzzes, and she sneaks a glance at it, her smile growing as she reads the text from Natasha.
I hope you’ve had a successful day, I’m positive that you’re doing well already. Do you have evening plans? If not, I’ll make dinner at mine. 6 p.m. sharp.
Quickly, Wanda responds, even knowing her coworkers don’t really care if someone is on their phone. They only seem to care that everyone gets their work done effectively, the exact environment Wanda thrives in.
As long as I get to pick the wine.
After a few seconds, Natasha starts typing.
I will give you two options to decide from.
Wanda smirks. Control freak, that’s what her girlfriend was.
Sounds good, I’ll be there at 6. I can drive, don’t you dare send Nick to pick me up.
She doesn’t wait for a response, hearing her coworkers slowly begin to pack up. There are only ten minutes left in the workday, a few people having left earlier, but mostly the office was filled with chatter now.
Wanda powers down her computer, looking up and smiling at Steve as he gives her a thumbs up.
“You did great today, kid,” he says, zipping up his leather backpack and grabbing his water bottle. “Any fun places to celebrate your first day?”
“Yes, actually,” Wanda remembers the way Steve had eyed the IT guy. “My girlfriend is cooking dinner, so I’m celebrating with her.”
Just as she suspected, Steve didn’t bat an eye. “That’s great! I hope you have a fun time, and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got my own date to get to.” He winks at her, before striding out and waving his goodbye to America.
“Alright team,” Agatha’s voice sounds out, the woman’s coat draped over one arm as she holds her purse. She shuts her office door behind her. “It’s a Monday, so don’t dawdle too much. Great work today, everyone. I look forward to another successful week. And Wanda, we’re all very pleased to have you here.”
Wanda blushes as a few coworkers clap, smiling at the wink Agatha throws her way.
As soon as Agatha leaves, most of her coworkers surge toward the door, chatting as they leave. Wanda follows, still drinking in the fact that she’d just completed her first day at her new job, and she hadn’t failed spectacularly.
She drives home in a state of slight disbelief, excitement from the day still buzzing in her veins. It felt weird to not worry about homework in the evening, her recent graduation still lingering around the edges of her mind.
Wanda could do whatever she wanted, without something hanging over her head. It felt freeing, and she fought a cheesy smile that threatened to take over her face. All she had left to do today was go home and get ready for her date with Natasha.
Ah, fuck. What was she going to wear?
Wanda dialed Kate, knowing she was still at home, her foot pressing slightly harder on the gas. She really was awful at picking out outfits.
—
Natasha had graciously given Wanda a key to her penthouse, so when she stepped out of the elevator and silently rounded the corner, she was greeted with the sight of Natasha in the kitchen.
The woman’s hair was clipped casually in a claw clip, a few strands hanging loosely. She wore dark green linen pants and a slightly oversized, yet boxy white button-up shirt. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she seemed intently focused on whatever she was cooking on the stovetop.
Grateful for the jazz that slowly filled the kitchen, Wanda slid into a seat at the counter, content to just watch her girlfriend. God, she looked hot. Her gaze traveled down the woman’s body, lingering at her hips, before dropping her eyes further and flushing.
Catching a glance of two wine bottles on the counter, unopened, Wanda smiled. At least Natasha was true to her word.
“Wanda?”
Wanda’s eyes moved before she could even register Natasha’s voice, a small smirk appearing on her face at the sight of her girlfriend wielding a wooden spoon.
“Hey,” she chuckled, tilting her head slightly, unable to suppress her amusement.
Natasha blinked, lowering the spoon hastily. “You’re early.”
“And you’re adorable.”
The older woman’s face crinkled slightly, her eyes rolling the barest amount before she turned and resumed stirring something in the frying pan. “Thank you, darling. But you’re still early.” She turned slightly, one of the strands from her claw clip finally escaping to frame her face. “It’ll be a few minutes before the food is ready.”
If Wanda didn’t know Natasha as well as she did, she would have missed the slight worry in the woman’s tone.
“I’m fine with waiting, truly. It gives me more time to decide on which wine to drink,” Wanda murmured, slipping from her seat as Natasha gave a short nod. She rounded the counter as Natasha returned her attention to the stovetop.
Barely even glancing at the wine bottles, Wanda breezed past them until she was directly behind Natasha. Her fingers reached out, almost as if drawn to the older woman’s body like an irresistible magnet, grazing her hips before circling around her waist.
Natasha’s face turned slightly, and Wanda could see a satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.
“I like the bottle with the green design better,” Wanda whispered, pressing herself flush against her girlfriend’s back and resting her chin on the woman’s muscular shoulder.
“That’s a blackberry wine,” Natasha says, her tone giving the impression that she’s not bothered by Wanda’s closeness at all. “I know you like a sweeter wine, so I picked blackberry and raspberry, it’s your choice. They’ll both go well with the dish.”
Aha, she was affected by Wanda’s touch. Natasha was rambling, her movements a little too mechanical as she stirred the already-cooked dish.
“Is the food ready yet?” Wanda whispered, putting her lips near Natasha’s ear. One of her hands came up to brush the wayward strand back into the claw clip. She smirked at the way Natasha’s shoulders tightened slightly, a sign that the woman was solidifying her composure.
“Just about,” Natasha turned again, planting a soft kiss against Wanda’s lips. “Go pour us some wine, I’ll plate the food. Good plan?”
Wanda just nods, feeling her cheeks heat up at the closeness of their lips. She presses forward for a moment, stealing one last kiss before detaching herself from Natasha's wonderful warmth.
Picking up the blackberry wine, she struggles with the cork for a minute before finally popping it out, sneaking a glance over her shoulder to make sure Natasha hadn’t witnessed it. She pours a healthy amount in each wine glass, ignoring what the older woman had taught her about wine decorum. Tonight was a celebration, after all.
The only response she gets from Natasha is a quirk of the eyebrow when she sees the glasses, before a plate of steaming food is set down in front of her. The pasta is cooked perfectly, with little flakes of parmesan cheese sprinkled over it, and a medium-rare steak cut into slices resting in the middle.
“This looks amazing, Nat,” Wanda gushes, too focused on the delicious food in front of her to see Natasha’s small smile at the nickname.
They chat for a while, Natasha listening as Wanda describes her first day, her eyes warily following the fork in her hand as she gestures. Her green eyes barely leave Wanda’s, save to glance at her wine before taking a sip.
Eventually, the conversation reaches its natural end, and Natasha delicately tips her wine glass all the way up, finishing it.
“When you’re finished eating,” she begins, her low voice sending warmth down Wanda’s lower spine, “I want you to grab a pillow from the couch and kneel on it, facing the window. Do you understand?”
Flushing, Wanda nods, glancing over her shoulder at the open concept living room area when Natasha stands to clear her dishes. The windows are floor-to-ceiling and overlook Seattle. Luckily, the penthouse is on the top floor of this building, so she doesn’t have to worry about anyone looking in.
Finishing the last few pieces of steak on her plate, Wanda swallows a healthy mouthful of her wine. She stands, catching Natasha’s gaze.
At the subtle head shake she receives, she slowly puts her wine glass down, leaving it for Natasha to clear from the counter and wash. Feeling a pleasant buzz in her veins, she ambles over to the couch, her limbs feeling slightly weighted.
Grabbing one of the decorative pillows, she sets it down in front of the couch, sinking down to her knees on it. Setting her hands on her thighs, she feels herself relax as she gazes out the window.
Seattle is amazing at night, the lights twinkling softly from lit-up skyscrapers. She can’t see any stars, being in the heart of the city, but she doesn’t mind. The view of the city is even better when she’s up high.
Fuck, she can feel that familiar heat settling in her lower gut, her mind going slightly fuzzy as she waits. She can hear Natasha in the kitchen, water flowing as she rinses the dishes. It settles in the back of her mind like a pleasant hum. She can smell Natasha, her cinnamon perfume floating around her head. She wonders if the woman had sat on the couch earlier today, reading or working on her laptop.
The water stops, and Wanda smiles as Natasha appears in front of her.
“I love it when you look at me like this,” Natasha murmurs, her hand reaching out to cup Wanda’s chin. She gently applies pressure until Wanda’s head is tilted up, those green eyes boring into hers.
Her pupils are dilated, and Wanda watches as her chest swells when she takes a deep, steadying breath.
“Such a good girl for me, Wanda,” Natasha whispers, releasing her chin and moving out of her line of sight. She can see Natasha’s knees on either side of her as the woman sits on the couch, and she resists the urge to lean against one of them. “How are you feeling?”
“So good,” Wanda says, her words slipping into a soft whine as Natasha’s hands come down on her shoulders. The woman pulls her back slightly, until she feels the woman’s strong core against her upper back. Those wonderful thighs tighten around her arms, and Wanda bites her lip.
“Do you want me to make you feel better?” Natasha whispers, her hands firmly massaging Wanda’s shoulders.
“Yes, please,” Wanda sighs, relaxing into the touch. Her hips strain as she keeps still, her clit throbbing as she feels Natasha’s warmth surround her.
“Yes, what?” Natasha asks, her tone slightly firm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good girl,” Natasha bends down to place a soft kiss on the top of Wanda’s head. One of her hands leaves Wanda’s shoulder, and the other decorative pillow is placed in front of her. “Put this between your thighs and hump, baby.”
The moan that escapes Wanda is wanton. She quickly positions the pillow, her back arching as she begins to hump, relieving the pressure that has been steadily building. Her clit throbs roughly, her movements stilted with need.
“You sound amazing, darling,” Natasha husks, her hands moving yet again. Her fingers trail over Wanda’s collarbone, wrapping loosely around her neck, a reminder of her place. “Keep humping for me, show me how badly you want it.”
“Mmm, fuck,” Wanda whimpers, her breath coming out fast and rough. Her hips burn as she grinds herself against the pillow, and she can feel her arousal smearing in her panties.
The hand around her throat squeezes.
“Watch your language,” Natasha commands, the pressure subsiding as Wanda nods. Two fingers gently touch her lips. They dance along her bottom lip, the sensitive nerves sending pleasure straight to her core.
Natasha’s lips graze her ear. “Suck, Wanda.”
The fingers slide into her mouth, her tongue eagerly wrapping around them. Her lips close, and she sucks, a soft moan rumbling in her throat.
“Doesn’t this feel good? Obeying me, letting me take care of you?” Natasha murmurs. “You’re being so good for me, humping my pillow and sucking my fingers. You’re my perfect little slut, baby.”
The fingers in her mouth begin to move, Natasha pulling them almost all the way out before slowly sliding them back in. She pumps her fingers languidly, and Wanda can feel some of her drool escape, sliding down her chin.
“Keep going, Wanda. I want you to cum for me. Fall apart for me, baby.”
Wanda’s clit throbs once, and that’s the only warning she gets before her orgasm overtakes her. God, she hadn’t even realised how close she was, but Natasha’s permission had sent her over the edge almost instantly. Her thighs shake, her muscles seizing as she cums, the movement of her hips against the pillow rough and shaky.
Natasha’s fingers keep idly pumping in and out of her as Wanda’s muffled moans escape. Her other hand rests against her sternum, keeping her pressed into Natasha’s body.
“I love feeling your body tremble when you cum,” Natasha says, her voice rough and low. “You’re so perfect, малышка. So obedient.”
All Wanda can do is nod, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm, sure that the pillow is damp underneath her.
“Keep humping, nice and slow. Let me make you feel good, hm?” Natasha continues. “Let your head go fuzzy for me. I’ll take care of you.”
Nodding, Wanda obeys, slowly grinding against the pillow, nearly frictionless. She resumes sucking the wonderfully long fingers in her mouth, her head filling with only thoughts of Natasha, her body warm from pleasure.
Natasha leans down, kissing Wanda’s damp temple. “Congrats on your first day, Wanda. You’ve made me so proud.”
౨ৎ older!sevika x controversially younger!reader ❜
── ♡ synopsis: the scariest woman of zaun has been leashed by none other than you.
── ♡ cw: big age gap, banter, sevika has tattoo(s) older than reader, sensitive!reader, pwp, insecure!sevika, petnames (sweetheart, babyface, angel, sweetheart), strap usage, biting, nipple play, getting interrupted mid-sex, secret relationship, cuddles post-sex
── ♡ note: looking for author mooties!
discord server.
“You don’t understand.”
You didn’t look away, you just smirked. “I think I do understand.”
“No, you don’t.” Sevika got up, “my tattoo’s older than you,” she said, referring to her forearm.
Your gaze left hers for a second so you could study the tattoo ink draped around her muscular arm—veiny, very strong and looked like she could easily hold you in a chokehold and fuck you crazy style. It made your smirk deepen, and you got up, too.
“That’s supposed to mean somethin’?” You asked, voice soft, but not exactly seductive.
Sevika groaned, “just go away, kiddo.”
“Kiddo—” you scoffed, repeating what sounded like an insult to you, “who are you calling kiddo?”
“You.”
Her reply pissed you off even more.
“Listen here, you—”
Sevika leaned down, her face inches away from yours. That made you stop speaking abruptly, rudely interrupted by her sudden proximity. Your eyes widened, and suddenly you lost all your breath. Your mouth felt like a desert.
It was like you’d swallowed a sack of sand dry.
“Don’t challenge me, sugar, you can’t handle me.”
You didn’t break eye contact as you leaned a little closer too, noses almost touching. Like you were challenging everything she knew.
“But I can.”
“You almost got thrown out until you showed your ID, babyface.”
Your cheeks went bright red.
“And that doesn’t mean anything! A woman can look young, it’s even considered a beautiful trait—”
You saw the way she rolled her silver eyes.
You and Sevika had been at this back and forth for quite some time. She was in her early forties while you were in your early twenties—the numbers made the older woman groan into her glass before she downed it in one go and immediately made the decision that—you and her could never work out.
But you weren’t about to let someone this hot just slip past your fingers like that.
So you pressed, and that’s how you ended up in this debate—
“Age doesn’t define anything. We’re both adults here.” You said, crossing your arms.
Sevika smirked softly, “and yet one of us still lives with her parents—”
You huffed. She continued on;
“—and it ain’t me.”
“Well, at least I don’t belong to the stone age!”
“Yeah, you belong in an ad for a sippy cup.” Sevika replied dryly.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you realise that?” You said, shaking your head.
Sevika snorted into her drink, “sure, sweetheart.”
You sighed, “you’re hopeless.”
You grabbed some cash from your purse and paid your tab, muttering “keep the change” to the bartender. You spared Sevika one last glare before you walked out for the bar, fuming—but at least you looked good.
The night in the Undercity was cold, the clouds gray and sky painted a deep midnight blue color as if the Lord could sense your gloominess. You couldn’t help sighing again. You’d really thought you could somehow convince Sevika to go out with you, and now that you were standing outside the bar alone—you felt stupid for even thinking she would want to go out with you.
Maybe if you were older, or at least looked the part—the thought would’ve been on the table but it felt… hopeless. You started walking towards the direction of your home.
The wind was soft, almost as if the weather was grieving with you, or perhaps trying to comfort you for what you thought you’d lost. The conversation replayed in your head. The way she had turned you away so causally, like you were just some other girl—like all those other girls who flirt with her on a daily basis.
When you thought about it like that—you wanted to cry, but you swallowed it all, and kept walking.
Behind you— the bar door opened. The sound of music erupted outside and then was drowned out as the door closed. You didn’t look back.
The sound of boots on concrete. Of course, it was her. Like she was rubbing salt on your raw wound.
“Kiddo.” she called.
You didn’t look back.
She sighed. “Sweetheart.”
You stopped walking.
“What do you want?”
Sevika didn’t answer. She walked up to you, standing beside you, “why did you storm out?”
You huffed a bitter laugh. “Seriously? You came all the way to ask me that? What the fuck’s—?”
“—wrong with me? I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t right that I was rude to you, okay?”
Sevika exhaled deeply and rubbed her temples.
What a jerk. She was getting annoyed and riled up for what? Because SHE was rude to you? That’s bullshit.
You shook your head in disapproval, “I’m going home.”
“Wait—”
“If you’re not gonna be clear with me, maybe just take my number and talk to me when you’re not—I don’t know— under the effect of alcohol?”
“I’m not—I’m not tipsy.” Sevika said, face flushing—she’d never gotten told off like this before.
Maybe she liked it.
“Okay, gimme your number, kiddo.”
You crossed your arms, raising a brow.
Sevika stared.
“Well?”
“Say the magic word.”
“Oh my god.” Sevika paused. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
Sevika pressed her lips together in a thin line, patience thinning, but she bit her tongue and grumbled, “please.”
You smiled—slow, almost sensual.
“Good girl.”
You extended a hand. She gave you her phone and you dialed your number in it. You handed it back to her—but the moment she could take it, you pulled it back a little.
“Promise me you won’t play games with me like your other hoes?”
Sevika smirked faintly. “I promise.”
“Good.” You gave it back. “My last ex almost didn’t survive it.” you said sweetly.
Sevika’s mouth fell open slightly, but you were already walking back towards the direction of your house. She was left in a cliffhanger and that only irritated her further.
But it also intrigued her.
It intrigued a big part of her.
The first dates weren’t anything expensive and you didn’t expect something costly in a place like Zaun either. It was more so… discreet. You both enjoyed getting away from prying eyes of other people.
The rumours that the scariest woman of Zaun now had a serious date had spread like wildfire in a small place like the Undercity. You didn’t really mind as long as it didn’t interfere with Sevika’s work but sometimes it did get tiring.
So, you both came to the mutual agreement of keeping dates and kisses private.
The sky was dark gray-ish blue. Depressing. You both sat on the rooftop. Sevika smoked a blunt, staring at the faint stars of the night sky.
You sat beside her, swinging your legs back and forth before you asked—
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like living on the other side?”
Sevika looked over at you.
“Other side?”
“Piltover.”
“Oh.”
Silence for a few seconds. Then, Sevika hummed—yes. You waited for her answer. She took her time thinking before she spoke again;
“But then I remind myself, if I were there being a rich snob, I wouldn’t be here. Being me.”
You smiled a little.
“You really like all the gambling and violence shit?”
Sevika laughed—deep, rough, experienced. For a fleeting second, she wanted to throw a jab at you about being young and inexperienced and naïve but she thought against it. It wouldn’t be right.
Everyone experiences this phase of their life, Sevika herself was once this young too.
“I don’t—but it’s life here in the Undercity. Might as well get used to it, sweetheart.”
“I am used to it.” You looked down at the cityscape, “I just wished sometimes that our people also had some sort of… recognition.”
Sevika went silent.
This time it wasn’t smugness or her showing off how much more experienced she was in comparison to you. It was just thoughts clouding her mind. She took a deep inhale of the blunt and blew the smoke out. You watched it dissolve in the air.
Then—without warning—you snatched it from her and took a hit.
Sevika watched you with amused eyes.
“Damn, girl. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
You smiled a little, “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
This time when Sevika looked at you, half your face was illuminated by Zaun’s neon lights and the sight of you just sitting there—fuck, you looked so gorgeous.
It was like she was falling in love in real time, and Sevika hated how weak that made her feel. But nevertheless, before she could control herself, she said it.
“I really wanna kiss you right now.”
Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting a little.
“You always say that out loud?”
Sevika blushed.
“No…”
You kissed her, closing your eyes. She closed her eyes too, letting you taste the smoke on her breath. Your hands came up, wrapping around her. Sevika’s hand steadied on your waist, she devoured the kiss.
You both parted, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to hers.
“Where do you wanna take this?” She asked.
“Wherever you’ll take me.” You answered.
You didn’t even notice when Sevika’s arm hooked under your knees, she picked you up and carried you off the rooftop, making you giggle and kick your feet in the air.
“You can’t just pick me up like that whenever you want, you know!”
“And who’s stopping me?”
Sevika laughed, walking down the stairs. She kicked the door of her apartment unit open, pushing past it using her shoulder to shove the door open. She closed it with one foot, and carried you to the bedroom.
“So, do you fuck like you’re in your forties as well?” You asked with a grin.
“Oh you’re gonna pay for that one.”
She laid you on the bed and tugged your jacket off, letting you lay in nothing but a skimpy little dress. You watched with half-lidded eyes as she reached for her own top, but she hesitated.
Your eyes filled with worry instantly. “Sevika…”
“I’m not exactly flawless… sweetheart.” She paused. “I’m—I’m scarred. From years of shit life has thrown at me. After you see it, you might want to leave…”
Your eyes softened, lips parting. For a few seconds, you were at loss for words.
“Sev… I’m not going anywhere.” You reached out, hand softly holding hers, “I’m staying right here. With you.”
Sevika looked like she’d cry right then but she didn’t and simply took her top off throwing it to the growing pile of clothes. Scars ran down her body like thunder strikes, some lighter than the others, and some still a little raw from brawls she’d had to fight for Silco. For herself. For surviving in a place like Zaun.
Every scar told a story.
And you couldn’t wait to find out what was hers.
Sevika’s silicone dick was so deep in you, it formed an imprint on your lower tummy. She folded you and fucked you however she pleased, guiding your legs over her shoulders.
“Fuck—baby, you look so good like this.”
She leaned down and captured one nipple between her teeth, biting it and twisting the other.
“W-wait—shit. You’re so rough!”
Sevika just growled low in her throat and fucked you harder. She moved like an animal, every thrust making her strap disappear all the way inside your tight hole. Your eyes clenched shut—the sound of sex filling the cramped apartment room.
The bed creaked obnoxiously as if every other slam of Sevika’s hips brought the furniture closer to its breaking point. You could hear the sound of the bed frame slamming into the wall as Sevika fucked you harder.
“Oh! F-fuuuuuck!”
You threw your head back, sweat running down your body as you came hard. Sevika fucked you through it, not pausing once.
Her bite marks covered the entire expanse of your chest in the next few minutes. Deep blue and purple bruising visible on your legs where she held you tightly, fucking into you relentlessly—like a fuck machine with no sense of exhaustion.
“Sev—Sevika—oh my god!” You cried out, tears mixing with your sweat.
“I know, baby, I know. You just look so fuckin’ pretty—takin’ all of this dick.”
Sevika grunted and slammed herself deeper inside one last time, feeling her own orgasm wash over herself in waves. She held herself inside you, trembling a little as she came down from the high.
“Come here, baby…” you muttered weakly, extending your hand to hold the side of Sevika’s face.
You cupped her cheek, bringing her in for a kiss.
The kiss was messy, needy, desperate. You both kissed each other as if the other was slipping away. Sevika’s strap was still lodged inside your cunt, and you didn’t ask her to take it out.
Being full felt good.
Sevika brushed her thumb over one of the bite marks, “people’ll know eventually that I fucked you.”
You smiled. “Why’s that matter?”
She didn’t answer immediately. But when she did, her tone was no longer flirtatious.
“They’ll come for you, dollface.”
“Sevika…?”
Sevika looked at you, gently pulling herself free from between your legs.
Before she could say anything, the doorbell rang. You blinked at her.
“Are you expecting visitors—?”
“No. Don’t come out.”
Sevika grabbed a shirt and hastily pulled it over, putting on her pants and buckling the belt as she walked to the door. You saw the way she squared her shoulders immediately as if she was expecting trouble. She walked up to it, and looked through the peephole.
“Neighbour,” she muttered under her breath.
Sevika opened the door, not too much, but enough to stare out with a facial expression that suggested she hated getting interrupted in sex.
“Dunno what you’re gettin’ on with your girl, but keep it low.”
You heard a gruff male voice say.
Sevika groaned in affirmation and stared at him dead in the eye. “This ain’t new, man, what’re you so prissy about all of a sudden?”
You could only hear their voices and eventually curiosity won. You crawled off the bed and grabbed your discarded jacket from the pile of clothes.
You put it on, thankful for it being big enough to cover your ass. You pulled it snug, ensuring none of your naked body was visible up to your mid-thighs.
Then you walked out.
“Who’s at the door?”
“Nobody.”
Sevika moved—barricading the door with her body.
“Sev, it’s fine, let me jus—”
“Go back inside.” She snapped.
You could see the man peeking over her shoulder. Bushy brows, brown eyes that suggested anything but pure intentions, and something about the look in his eyes made you feel queasy and before you knew it, you were obeying Sevika’s words without question.
You didn’t register what they talked about after, but soon after you made it back into the bedroom, Sevika came back inside.
She was fuming.
“I told you to stay inside.”
“I’m sorry, I just—I got curious.”
“Curiosity doesn’t keep you safe, bunny.” Sevika huffed a sigh, clearly upset.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
For a while, Sevika paced the room without saying anything.
You didn’t understand. You were pretty aware that Sevika had sex with multiple women before you, and according to what she’d just said a bit ago, she never bothered keeping it down and hearing sex sounds from her room was a natural occurrence.
Then how come when it was with you, it was suddenly such a secret?
You both were adults. There was nothing shameful in whatever you both had got going on.
“Sev?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you ashamed of being seen with me?”
“Ashamed?” She scoffed, “why’d you say that?”
“I don’t know. It kinda feels like it.” You looked away. “I’m probably younger than anybody you’ve been with before and… I don’t want to—y’know make you feel uncomfortable with our age gap.”
Sevika took a second to come up with a response. She sat by the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
You looked.
“Yeah, I’m twice your age, but y’know damn well you’re old enough to take care of yourself out in a place like Zaun.”
You grinned slightly. “Maybe. I just don’t know why you’re hiding me then.”
Sevika reached out her flesh hand, stroking your hair, “cause you mean somethin’ to me. I don’t want anyone takin’ advantage of my absence to harm my pretty girl.”
Your cheeks flushed red at that and looked away, “you’re—you’re serious…”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Are you gonna do this forever?”
“What?”
“Hiding me from the world?”
Sevika paused. She kissed your head, letting her lips rest against your head for a bit longer than necessary.
“I just don’t want you gettin’ hurt, okay?”
“I understand that, but… I don’t wanna be a secret forever.”
“Just for a little bit, okay? Just until we figure out something safer for our people and I promise I’ll give you the life you deserve.”
“You don’t have to make me that promise. It’s a lot of pressure for someone as old as you.” You joked.
Sevika rolled her eyes, “you make it hard to love you, kiddo.”
“Alright, grandma.”
Sevika sighed and pressed another kiss to your head.
“Get some rest now. Lord knows you need your beauty sleep or whatever.”
You swatted her playfully. “What’re you gonna do? Knit me a sweater? Come cuddle with me!”
Sevika—someone who thought she’d never hear that in her 44 years of living—was genuinely a little shocked at the plea, but she didn’t push you away. She got in bed and pulled you on top of her effortlessly.
After a rather difficult start to life you find yourself working for Silco. You grow closer and closer to two of your colleagues, Ran and Sevika. But will your complicated past drive them away?
(I’m posting my AO3 works here as I have some shorter ideas I want to post please tell me if the formatting is weird)
*SMUT INCOMING IN CHAPTER 2*
next chapter
tw: brothels, rape, incest, abortion, abuse, violence, fisting, strap ons, drug use, face sitting, fingering, squirting
warnings: 18+ only, minors and men please do not interact.
Chapter 1: Caged Animal
You were pacing, pacing back and forth. Like a caged animal, because that’s what you were at the end of the day. A caged animal forced to fight in the unregulated pits for the entertainment of other low life Zaunites and bored Pilties.
You’d just finished up a fight in the ring, blood dripping from a cut on your lip and bruises blooming across your body. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins like a drug. You had won again, the other fighter coming off worse for wear. Once the cheering had died down and the bets had been settled you had been dragged back to the dank cell where you slept.
A series of unfortunate childhood events had led you to this place, kidnapped off the streets you lived on and sold between dodgy brothels eventually resulting in you spending the last year in an illegal fighting den. Unbelievably this was better than any brothel you’d worked in. You were always forced to work in the underground establishments run by sleazy madams who didn’t care if the girls were on shimmer or there against their will. Only caring about the coins they’d have made at the end of every day. The men that would approach you for sex disgusted you. You’d always been in to women so the thought of the way you had to sell yourself to those pigs made bile rise in your throat.
You were a fighter though, always had been. When the customers got violent with you or the other girls, you were the first to throw a punch. Often leading to hours of punishment and ‘correction’ from the arseholes who ran the place. Leaving you with unforgiving scars and even angrier than before. Eventually the last underground brothel owner had enough of your disobedience and sold you into the fight pits.
Apparently the owner of this illegal fighting ring had found a gold mine in people willing to watch two girls beat the shit out of each other half naked, until the victor is sat straddling the other, covered in both of their blood and sweat, panting and screaming from the adrenaline (and often shimmer) rush. You didn’t want to hurt these girls, but you had to. They were all muscle and hard lines. Each sporting a metal collar engraved with their individual number. They were like you, covered in piercings and tattoos. That always did it for you, you found the softer girls at the brothels attractive but you liked the strong ones who could hold their own the most. You wanted to touch them with more gentle hands, have them tease you and leave bites trailing down your body as they pinned you down. But your fantasy was tarnished by men, again. They wanted the violence, that’s what got them off.
You were one of the owners best fighters, almost always coming out on top, dominating every match. Growing up in an abusive household and then on the streets had taught you well. Never let your guard down and never give your opponent an opening, it could easily cost you your life. This worked in your favour here, you could easily predict your opponents next move. Ducking and weaving till you saw that perfect opening and then taking advantage of it to stun them with precise powerful punches.
You’d never met the owner before, hearing that he preferred to go unnoticed. Presumably because of the nature of his business. You did however have to deal with his ‘associates’, a gang of burly men who ruled with force and their fists.
The skinniest of whom, a man you knew only as The Accountant, was currently walking down the dimly lit corridor towards your cell door. You could tell it was him from the sound of his abnormal gait. He was a weak pathetic looking man, who you presumed enjoyed his job managing the bosses finances as it was as close to a sense of power or control that he’d ever get. You’d met him a plenty of times before, he liked to come down to the cells and leer at the girls in his spare time.
Something was different this time though. He wasn’t alone. You stopped your pacing to listen closer, there were two other sets of footsteps following his. It wasn’t long before he was stopped outside your door, unlocking it. You looked up to watch as The Accountant opened the door.
It swung open to revel that he was being flanked by two other people. A tall, muscular woman with short dark hair which was half tied up in a ponytail so it was out of her face. Her posture was ridgid, shoulders tense. She was accompanied by a slightly shorter, skinnier person who had a black choppy fringe and dark painted lips. They both stopped outside the door staring in at you with unreadable expressions whilst the creep stepped over the threshold and approached you.
“T-today’s your lucky day... Err.. You’re getting out of here.” He said, although not in his usual leering manner. You could tell he was trying to act tougher, trying to be more imposing than he normally was. Perhaps trying to look more important in front of the two strangers. He was failing. He’s nervous demeanour seeping through. “What do you mean?” You questioned him. Confused about where this whole conversation was going. Girls didn’t normally get to leave the fight pits alive. “Did the boss get bored of his favourite toy? You here to finish me off?” Tilting your head to the side you asked the people who stood just beyond the door. “No.” Spoke the tall muscular woman. She had a deep voice with an imposing presence that didn’t seem to allow for questions.
“Well what in the hell do you want then? As you can see I’m rather busy here.” you responded with a tone of boredom. Waving your arm at the empty space which was only occupied by a sad looking mattress, a punching bag suspended from the ceiling, and an empty food tray which was yet to have been picked up by one of the goons who kept order down in the damp cells. The cell was cold, with no natural light, not conditions for any human to live in.
“Well these two are going t-to take you away from here. Their boss has… errrr… p-procured you shall we say…” The Accountant stuttered. Clearly growing unsettled by the looming presence of the two strangers. He must know something more. Something that he’s not letting on. “If you’re taking me somewhere I want to know where.” You demanded of the taller woman. “You’re not exactly in a position to refuse, brat” she quickly retorted. She turned to the sallow looking accountant and said “You were right. She is argumentative.”
You breathed slowly, growing tired of this game quickly. Trying to calm your agitated mind you started walking towards the taller woman until you were in her personal space, close enough to see the blue scars up one side of her cheek and the steel grey of her eyes. You stared up into them briefly getting a little lost in them. You came back to reality quickly when you realised that she was glaring down at you. She was busy assessing you when her expression changed and her lips smirked upwards and she let out a small laugh. “You’re quite the brave one aren’t you?” She spoke, softer now. You grinned at her, sensing that she’d be a strong opponent, someone you could have a real fight against and maybe wouldn’t win. That sent a small shiver down your spine at the thought of losing to her and having her pin you down underneath her strong body. Claiming her prize.
“Your boss bought me huh? You guys run another fight ring or just some seedy brothel?” You asked her. “Not quite. He’s noticed you and wanted to have a little chat” she responded. “A chat huh? That doesn’t really answer my question.” You said, still staring up at her. “If you’re done staring at me like that I’d like to get out of here now so get your things together. Come on, Ran.” She spoke as she gave the other stranger a short nod and started walking back up the long corridor.
You’d almost forgotten that they were here. They were silent this whole time, just watching you talking back to the other woman with a slightly amused look on their face. You frowned slightly and shouted back to her “I don’t have things. That’s not a luxury we’re afforded down here.” The person who you guessed was Ran gave you a cheeky smile and followed the other woman down the hallway. It was almost as if they were certain that you’d follow them. “Great. You’ll have no trouble leaving immediately then will you?” she spoke back as she carried on walking. There was obviously no room for arguments with her so you followed them both, leaving The Accountant behind without a second look. Not like you had anywhere to go and if you were honest the pits were getting boring. The same routine day in, day out. Fight, win, get patched up, then stare at the ceiling above your dingy mattress for hours until someone came along to feed you, cry yourself to sleep and inevitably wake up screaming. You’d see what her boss wanted to ‘chat’ with you about.
Maybe where ever they were taking you there would be a change in your routine? Something to break up the monotony of feeling your mind slowly slipping from the boredom. Maybe you’d be free to find a way to deal with your frustrations and anger at the world in a more… intimate way.
As you followed the two people up the winding staircase and along different dark corridors that you’d never seen before (the goons tended to drag you back and forth between the pit and the cells through the back corridors) you found yourself taking in their appearances a little closer.
You saw that the shorter of the two, Ran perhaps, wore a white shirt with a leather harness which seemed to hold twin blades tight against their side. Scanning down you saw that one of their hands was metal, clearly they’d lost it somehow and it’d been replaced with a prosthetic at some point. You looked across to the taller woman and saw that she had a burgundy cloak covering her upper body and most of her left side. Just as you were analysing her a little closer you made it to a large metal door which she opened forcefully and smell of Zaun hit you for the first time in months.
You’d only been outside a handful of times in the last year, spending most of your days locked away underground. You stopped in the doorway and breathed in the harsh polluted air, coughing slightly as it hit your lungs. Ran stopped to turn towards you, noticing that you weren’t following behind them. “Come, he’s expecting us back soon.” They spoke for the first time. “Who’s that?” You asked catching your breath and picking up speed so as not to get left behind.
“Your new boss” they responded to your question, watching as you passed them to catch up to the taller woman. They followed behind closely, presumably to make sure you didn’t try and make a run for it. Your new boss? This was a job then. Would you be working alongside these two? What kind of work was it? So many questions ran through your head but you didn’t bother trying to get answers from either of your escorts. You doubted that they’d give you them.
You could feel Ran’s eyes on the back of you, taking in the sight before them. You were slim but with curves in all the right places. You still had toned muscles from all the fighting and hours of exercise alone in your cell but you looked nothing like the well built woman in front of you. There was little else to do other than work your body whilst you waited to be dragged up to the ring to fight. It kept you strong enough to survive another day.
You had long white blonde hair with shaved undercuts on each side of your head and a short fringe. You preferred to keep the rest of your hair out of your face with two long French braids which went down to your lower back. Your eyes were also bright white, which was apparently unusual in these parts, you’d always been bullied for them. In your memories your mother had the same eyes, her face would stare back at you every time you looked in the mirror.
You had tattoos all across your body, they were curtesy of the boss down in the fight pits. He liked you to maintain an intimidating appearance, but at least they’d allowed you to pick out the intricate artwork yourself. He gave you that one freedom of choice at least. Silver bars and hoops pierced your ears, lips, and nose. The goons had to hold you down as they did them, ironically enough, though you were happy to sit for hours and let the backstreet tattoo artist work on you. The numbing pain of the needles soothing you into a calmer state of mind whereas the sharp short pain of the piercings was jarring.
As you rounded another street you started to feel the cold breeze blow over you. You had left the cells with just the clothes on your back. You wore a simple worn out black cropped tank top, with bandages underneath keeping your breasts supported, and black leather looking pants which were held up by a belt slung low on your hips, your thong was suggestively poking out under the low riding trousers. You had an old beat up pair of combat boots on which just barely kept the dirty puddles on the streets from seeping through. And lastly the metal collar with your number engraved on the inside. It had an O-ring attachment which was used to drag you around or tie you down when you needed disciplining.
Shit.
You forgotten about the collar! How were you meant to get it off? It locked with a key but The Accountant never gave it to you. Maybe you should ask to go back? But looking at the way the woman in front of you was storming through the Lanes you didn’t think that’d be an option.
Just as your mind was trying to come up with a solution you looked up and really took in the streets around you. There were people out drinking and smoking, presumably looking for some trouble to keep them busy. The bustling streets were lined with vendors selling their goods, run down looking apartments, and dirty looking food stalls. There were kids running up and down the street chasing each other between the crowds. The neon lights of Zaun had changed little in your time underground. The smoke and smog had seemed to be worse than you remembered or maybe you just weren’t used to it anymore. You’d grown up on these streets, along with other kids stealing to survive. This was your home even though you’d not had one in many years. Never letting yourself settle anywhere for too long.
The tall woman in front of you slowed down as she approached a bar that you faintly remember seeing years before. The Last Drop. However this time it looked different, less like a homely pub and more like a club. Neon signs adorned the outside flashing and blinding you with their light. The guards outside were definitely new too. Big burly men that took one look at the woman in front of you and stepped aside for her. She opened the door and started making her way through the crowds. The patrons seemed to notice her straight away and made a path for her to pass through and cross the packed room, past a bar serving the drinks and up a staircase in the back. You followed her quickly not wanting to get left behind, Ran was holding up the rear following closely. There was no time to really take in your surroundings but from a brief glance you could see this was a lively place full of drinking and gambling.
As you followed the fierce woman up the stairs a spark of confidence, or stupidity, caused you to reach out and grab the arm of hers that you could see. She stopped mid step and turned towards you.
Oh no.
That was definitely stupidity.
She knocked your hand away with her arm and once again glared down at you. “What?!” she said sternly. The height difference only made larger by her being on a higher step than you. “I errr… I just wanted to ask you what your name is…” you spoke softly, internally scolding yourself for grabbing onto her like that. Surprisingly her glare softened and she responded to your question.
“Sevika.”
Sevika.
You spoke her name in your head. Enjoying the way it sounded. You were pulled from your mind by the harsh sound of three sharp knocks on a large wooden door just a few steps from the top of the stairs. “Come in.” Spoke a bored voice from behind the door. Sevika opened the door and as she stepped inside you were able to see the space beyond it. Dark wooden walls gave the room a sense of unnerving claustrophobia. The main source of light being a large circular window with a green tint and an intricate pattern made from metal bars.
There was a large desk just in front of the window and behind which you could see a high backed chair was turned to face the eerie green glow of the street below.
You turned briefly to look behind you where Ran was standing. They gave you a smirk and a short nod towards the desk, imploring you to go further into that imposing room. You knew that everything would change once you’d crossed that threshold. You wouldn’t be leaving that room the same bored and tired pit fighter that you entered it as. But that was what you wanted. You could have refused to leave the pits. You could have started a fight with Sevika and Ran in that dingy cell. You probably would’ve lost but maybe if you had wanted to stay in your stagnant, monotonous life down there then it would have been worth the aggravation. You didn’t want that life anymore though. The first breath of the dirty Zaun air that hit your lungs reminded you of the freedom you’d given up on. You wanted to choose your future. So even if you had to follow two complete strangers into this dangerous situation to potentially get that freedom it was worth the risk. You stepped forward into the room standing beside Sevika in front of the desk staring curiously at the back of the stiff looking chair.
“We picked up your latest acquisition. You didn’t tell me it was a person.” Sevika barked at whoever was sat in the chair facing away from you both. You heard Ran step into the dark room and the click of the door closing behind them.
“Yes, well I know you would have been rather opinionated about me ‘buying’ a person.” Came a low drawl of the man seated before you. The chair turned slowly and revealed to you the source of the voice. A rather skinny, sharply dressed man with slicked back greying hair. The first thing that you noticed was half of his face was scarred… or was it melted almost? He had a one black eye with a burning orange centre that seemed to pierce you with its emotionless stare. As your brain caught up to what you were witnessing you suddenly remembered that it was rude to stare, so quickly looked away. Instead trying to take in the features of the ornate golden patterns framing his desk.
He’d most definitely seen your awkward stare but chose to ignore it. He must be used to getting that reaction from people the first time they meet him. Instead he introduced himself to you. Silco was his name, it would appear that since you’d been hidden away fighting for your life he’s seized control of the lanes. He ran various different businesses. Shimmer deals, protection rackets, and the nightclub downstairs to name a few. It would seem that Sevika was his second in command, enforcing his orders and reporting back to him.
“Why did you ‘buy’ me then? What do you need from me?” You asked him once he’d finished his introductions. “Don’t think of it as you being purchased as such. I’m giving you a choice.” A choice huh, not like you’d had many of those in your life. “You can either leave here right now, free to go about your life with just the clothes on your back. Or you can join me. Work for me.” Not much of a choice then…
“I heard about your skills in the ring. You leave almost every opponent seriously injured or dead. I want you to use your talents to help our cause. Control the lanes and fight for Zaun’s independence from Piltover.”
He continued his pitch to you. “You’d have free board and you’d be paid well for your efforts. You’ll have one day off a week with which you can do as you please. Otherwise I expect you to be in the barracks or the bar waiting for my word.” As he finished his speech Sevika turned to look at you, waiting for your answer.
There really wasn’t much to think about. You could leave now, go back down into the lanes and try to continue where you left off years ago before you were kidnapped off the streets. You had nobody to go back home to, your mother had passed away when you were very young and you had no idea where your dead beat dad may have ended up. Silco was here offering your employment, housing, and a purpose. You could see yourself fitting in here, just another Zaunite dealt a shit hand in life using their grit and determination to grab onto anything positive that came their way.
“Okay.” You responded. “I’ll work for you.”
“Good. You made the right choice. Sevika, Ran. Show her to the barracks, find her a room. I want you to take her to the armoury tomorrow morning and kit her out.” Silco instructed the two others still in the room. You saw Sevika nod sharply at Silco and turn to walk away towards the exit. “Oh also… I’m giving you a week’s advance on your pay. You’ll need to get yourself set up I assume?” Silco asked just as you were about to turn away.
You were a little taken aback but responded quickly “Oh… err. Yes sir.” He nudged over a small bag of coins which clinked as they moved towards you on his desk. You carefully reached out to take them, not wanting to seem overly eager.
You were left standing in front of that imposing man, his gaze no longer on you but on a clipboard in his hands. You felt like you should express your gratitude for the opportunity and your advance. He must have paid off your old boss handsomely to take his best fighter away, either that or the visitors to the rings were bored with the predictability of your wins by now. “Thank you.” You spoke quietly. As first you weren’t sure if he had heard you or just wasn’t used to those words being uttered in his presence so chose to ignore them. But you thought you saw one of his eyebrows raise slightly.
You turned to follow behind Sevika. Ran once again bring up the rear and you were guided out of the back exit to The Last Drop and down an alley. It was nighttime now and the cold air was once again sending goosebumps up your bare arms. You didn’t have long to walk though as you were shown the entrance to another run down looking building. This one was almost as noisy as the club had been, just without the music and the party atmosphere. It didn’t take you long to find the source of all the noise. Men were crowded around a small table in a room just off the entrance way. You could see them placing bets on something as you walked past. You saw it was a chalk board with your name written on it. Below were clearly bets on how long you would last here as one of Silco’s workers. You saw them turn to face you at the sound of the front door being shut behind you.
To say they were an interesting bunch of people was an understatement. Men of varying sizes and shapes were filling the room. None of whom looked welcoming but their eyes did linger on you with a hint of surprise.
One man pushed past the others and spoke to Sevika as she ushered you through the hallway. “Damn Ran, she’s cuter than I thought she’d be! You said she was a pit fighter? We were expecting someone bigger and nastier looking.” Sevika stopped in her tracks which caused you to almost bump into her back but you caught yourself at the last possible moment.
She pushed her way around you and spoke down to the shorter man. Getting right up in his face with a clearly threatening tone to her voice.
“Keep your hands off of her. If I see or hear about anyone one of you making her feel uncomfortable then I’ll see to it that you don’t get paid.” She glanced at the room of men which had gone silent after her threat and carried on walking back down the hallway and up a set of stairs. Slightly bewildered you gave the room full of men one last glance and carried on following behind Sevika. You made your way up to the top of the building onto a dimly lit landing. She walked along the hallway and told you that there were no men staying on this floor. Just her, Ran and now you.
There were about 5 doors along the landing and she led you to the second to last one. She unlocked it and pushed the squeaky door open.
“This is your room. Here’s the keys, don’t loose them.” She told you firmly and placed them in your hands. You stepped inside and scanned across the dusty room. It was small, but against the wall was a decent sized bed with a bedside table which had a lamp on it. On one side of the room was a floor length mirror and a set of drawers that had seen better days. In the middle was a wobbly looking table and two chairs, and set into the wall beside the bed was a circular window that you weren’t sure even opened. You noticed another door and were surprised when it opened up to reveal a dingy bathroom with a small shower, toilet and sink. It’d need a clean but you were just glad to have somewhere you could lock yourself away. Nobody else would ever hold the keys to your cage again.
“It’s not much but it’s home.” Spoke Ran, making you jump slightly as you had once again forgotten they had been silently following behind you. “It’s more than I’ve ever had.” You responded quietly. “You weren’t joking when you said you didn’t have any belongs were you?” Sevika chimed in. “No. All of our clothes were given to us as we needed them. We’d use the makeup and toiletries that they gave us when we were getting ready for a match. Any personal items I’d lost long before I’d even arrived there, it’s hard to hold onto the things you love down here.” You replied, a slightly wistful tone to your voice. Sevika just huffed in response to your rather depressing answer. Ran though moved towards you, once again assessing you, looking you up and down. You were used to being stared at, but not by someone who didn’t seem to be leering at you or trying to start a fight.
“Can I… help you…?” You asked them. Suddenly aware that you were still covered in blood and body paint from your fight.
“I think I should have some spare clothes that might fit you. And some spare shampoo and stuff” they replied with a small smile on their face. “Wait here!” They left you standing there awkwardly with Sevika. She didn’t look at you, instead favouring kicking her boot against a floor board that was seemingly starting to come loose. You watched her for a moment before you got the courage to thank her for scolding the group of men earlier. “It’s nothing... but you need to be able to handle your own shit here. I’m not going to pick up the pieces if you piss them off.”
You simply nodded at her response, making a mental note of what she said. Clearly she had a very low tolerance for idiots and you didn’t want to test her.
Ran wasn’t gone long luckily and when they returned, Sevika excused herself stating that she needed to report back to Silco and that she’d come by your room tomorrow morning to take you to the armoury. You nodded and thanked her for showing you to your room.
Ran handed over an armful of clothes, a towel, and some toiletries, which you happily accepted. “If you fancy it come down to The Last Drop after you’ve settled in. I’ll buy you a drink” they stated and then turned away and left you alone in your new room.
After putting the bundle of clothes Ran gave you away in the dresser you took some time to get the shower running at a decently warm temperature. You stood under the running water, letting the days events replay in your mind. The shock of it all, the thoughts of what the future held for you now, and for some reason a flash of Sevika’s eyes glaring down at you all swirled around in your head. Maybe it was the effect of the warm water or all your emotions that made you feel a bit light headed but you quickly washed yourself, cleaning away the makeup, grime and blood that still clung to your body from your last fight.
You stepped out of the shower wrapping the towel that your new colleague had given you around your body. You wiped down the mirror with your hand so you could get a look at yourself. It wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed doing. You were always trying not to over analysis the large scar that ran up from your lip, across your left cheek, over your eye and cutting through your eyebrow. You had a similarly dramatic scar across your neck as well though it was hidden under a large tattoo and your collar.
Gently tracing it with your fingers you decided not to dwell on them anymore, instead you focused on drying yourself off and then walked into your room to take a look at the clothes Ran had left you. From the pile they had kindly let you borrow you picked out a pair of fitted black trousers (which you had to roll up at the ankles so they fit you a bit better), a sports bra, some simple underwear, socks and a white shirt which buttoned up. You decided to tie the shirt in a knot at the front that sat just below the band of your bra. It showed off your cleavage nicely you thought to yourself. You pulled your still slightly damp hair into a high ponytail, pulled on your boots and left your room, locking it behind you.
You wondered back the way Sevika and Ran had brought you earlier and found yourself walking through the back entrance of The Last Drop. The music was louder now and the bar was full but you managed to spot Ran playing pool in a corner. They were joined by a few of the men that had been betting on you earlier. Ran looked up from their game just as you were walking over. They gave you a small smirk and silently handed you a drink. You took the drink thanking them. Having a sip you found it was a smoky whisky, you wondered how they had guessed you liked something stronger and not some fruity cocktail. You figured they weren’t much of a talker so you just settled in to watch them play.
You glanced around at the bar taking in all the new faces. You could tell that most of the people there seemed to be regulars, the way they moved through the space with comfort and ease. A booth occupied by two men dressed in expensive looking suits stood out to you the most. They looked out of place in their well tailored clothes and neat slicked back hair. Slowly sipping on an amber liquid.
Ran caught you staring at them. “Pilties” they simply stated. “Why are they down here?” You questioned. They laughed slightly at you “Trying to get in Silco’s good books. Want to do some business with him I suppose.” That surprised you, you thought that they’d be too scared to come down to the undercity. “Would he though? Don’t all topsiders hate our guts?” You responded. “Yeah but I guess some of these rich brats aren’t above making a bit of dirty cash. And Silco would happily have their investments if it helped the cause.” They replied and went back to their game.
After a couple of minutes you looked back at the two men but this time they were joined by Sevika. She was sat spread out in the booth. She seemed to have a way of dominating any space she was in. She was smoking a cigarillo, and you watched her blow the smoke out of her beautiful dark lips, causing one of the two men to cough. Slightly mesmerised you looked away before she caught you staring. Janna, you needed to get laid. She wasn’t sat with them for long. You watched her shake their hands, then the two men left. She finished off her drink in one mouthful and stood. Once again you whipped your head back around to focus on Ran’s game so as not to attract her attention. You weren’t so lucky, as a few seconds later you watched a large shadow creep up on you.
Looking behind you and jumping a little as you saw Sevika standing above you. “Caught you staring at me.” She whispered in your ear moving her arms to cage you in slightly against the pool table. “Oh… urmm sorry the Pilties caught my eye. They aren’t exactly subtle.” You quickly replied. Trying to deflect from your slight blush spreading on your cheeks at her proximity. “Hmmmm no they aren’t. Had one of the guards escort them topside so they make it back in one piece.” She moved away from you then, giving you more space. Instead choosing to rest her hips against the pool table. “They’re young and dumb, two rich brothers looking to increase their trust funds with a little bit of underground business. Easy money.” She stated. “For us or them?” You asked, genuinely curious about the business you now found yourself working for.
“Both. But mostly us. Not worth the effort otherwise.” She looked at you then, her gaze travelling slowly down to where the shirt Ran had lent you was tied. You knew she could probably get a good look at your cleavage from this angle but you found that you didn’t much care if she was looking.
“Anyways. Nice talking to you sugar tits but I have business to attend to.” Before you had the chance to respond to the pet name she’d turned and left through the main door. Gawking slightly you heard Ran laugh at you.
“She’s going to The Gardens.” They informed you as they finished up their game. It appears that they had won, you noticed some coins exchanging hands. Ran turned back to you and asked “Fancy another drink?” You really didn’t want to stay any longer. You weren’t used to being able to move around freely and there were too many people so close to you.
“No thanks. I think I might head back up. Thank you for the drinks and the clothes again.” They nodded at your response. “No worries, been a long day for you I guess. And don’t worry about it. They look good on you by the way.” The replied with a mischievous expression on their face. You watched their eyes scan you and just like Sevika’s they lingered a little longer over your breasts. And again, just like with Sevika, you seemed to not mind the attention.
Seems like tonight you’ll have a lot to occupy your thoughts as you have some much needed alone time.
You made it back to your room okay, you did have a small concern that one of the men you saw earlier in the barracks might try and interact with you but luckily they all gave you a wide breadth. You guessed you had Sevika’s threats to thank for that.
You kicked off your boots taking a look at them as they fell to the floor. You’d definitely need to get some new ones. Yours were steel toed but after years of wearing them in the ring the metal had dented and the leather was wearing away. New boots would be a larger cost so thinking over what you’d need to use your advance on you decided they’d have to do until you had a few weeks pay saved up.
You shoved your socks inside them and tucked them neatly by the dresser as you moved into the bathroom, tying your hair into a messy bun and rinsed off your face. Toothbrush and toothpaste. That’s a must. And some makeup. It didn’t need to be fancy it just needed to not smudge when you sweat during a fight.
Drying off your face with the towel Ran had let you borrow you made a mental list of things you’d need to start afresh. This whole freedom thing was going to be expensive.
Removing Ran’s clothes you folded them and placed them in a dresser draw, choosing to sleep naked instead since you didn’t have anything comfortable enough to wear.
Slipping into the firm bed you rested your head on the pillow. You thought back to both Sevika and Ran staring at your cleavage earlier in the bar. Then your mind wondered to what Ran had said about Sevika going to The Gardens.
You knew that The Gardens was a reputable brothel. Babette didn’t allow for her girls to be on Shimmer and they definitely had to be there of their own free will. You found yourself starting to wonder about what Sevika might have been like to have as a customer, you’d never had women come in. They tended not to frequent the seedy establishments you were sold to, maybe there was something about the lack of consenting partners.
You would have loved to have had Sevika come in and choose you. That would definitely had made your day, or week or maybe year. Slowly your hand made its way up your body gently stroking across your left breast and then teasing your nipple as you started pinching the pink bud. Your other hand found its way to your pussy which you weren’t surprised to find was already wet and ready for your fingers to slowly circle your clit. You took your time building yourself up before you slipped two fingers into your soaking wet hole and started pumping them in and out gradually picking up speed. Your legs spread wider, toes curling into the sheets as your other hand found your clit and started circling it firmly.
Your mind traveled as you pushed yourself closer and closer to your peak. You imagined her hands were the ones between your legs not your own. A third finger slipping into your cunt to mimic her thicker hands. Would she be gentle or rough? Would she take complete control over you, only allowing you to cum after you begged her for release? Would she relinquish all control to you and let you take your time bringing her to the edge again and again before she snaps and uses you for her pleasure? Would she use pet names for you in bed too? Did she liked to be called anything in particular herself? Master? Sir? Mommy… even?
With that last thought you were now just on the edge. Three fingers pumping hard and fast into your pulsing cunt, they were dragging along your sweet spot with every stroke. So distracted by your own approaching climax you failed to hear the heavy footsteps climbing up the wooden stairs to the top landing.
You were still distracted when they walked towards your door. Your other hand was occupied with teasing your clit in tight firm circles. Short hard pants leaving your lips louder than you realised. Only when you were past the point of no return and a loud moan was already slipping from your lips did you hear the unmistakable footsteps of Sevika pass your door and stop just outside.
You gasped a quick breath trying to gather yourself so you could listen out for her next move. Fingers slipping from your wet cunt and coming up to cover your mouth. The smell of your own arousal strong on your glistening fingers. You heard a small shuffle and the sound of keys turning in the lock of the last door on the landing. Then a pause of movements. A short huff of a laugh and her door opened, Sevika entered and closed the door behind her.
You let out a slow steady breath as your hands slipped from your mouth. Your chest rising and falling fast as you let yourself come down from that high you’d been chasing before you were interrupted. A blush spread across your cheeks and chest. Your hands shaking slightly. Then the embarrassment hit you. Your new coworker just heard you getting yourself off just hours after your first meeting… How were you meant to look her in the eyes when she came to get you tomorrow morning?
You ran to your bathroom to cool off. Letting the cold water slide over your hands before bringing them to your cheeks and neck.
Looking into the mirror and scolded yourself slightly for letting your imagination get the better of you. Returning to bed you tried to block out the memory of that short laugh that you heard leave her lips. She definitely heard your loud moan. How could she not have? You decided that if you were going to have anymore ‘alone time’ that you’d need to be more aware of your surroundings. How you’d do that you had no idea.
So much has led up to this moment. Sevika was fuming— you knew exactly how to get under her nerves in record time. Just pretend to be extra nice to someone and throw in a little bit of flirting, and she was already wrapping her arm around you making sure the guy knew you were hers before she dragged you off back home.
The door was slammed shut so hard, your heart was almost in your throat. Sevika growled and pinned you to the wall— hard enough to create an impact, but not enough to hurt you. She caged your body against the concrete using her hands on either side, kissing the column of your throat.
“You’re mine. You really think goin’ around flirtin’ with some bystander will change that?”
You tried to play innocent, fighting the smile that crawled to your face. “No… I never said that.”
Sevika breathed out through her nose, irritated with your pretense of innocence. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”
“Make me regret it then,” you said boldly.
Maybe a little too boldly for someone who’s still a virgin. Sevika huffed a laugh, “fine.”
You were swept off your feet instantly and carried off to the bedroom. She didn’t bother stripping you herself, instead she nodded to the bed.
“You know what to do.”
You let your dress and underwear drop to the floor as you climbed onto bed, now naked. Sevika took her time picking out the toy she wanted to use on you.
You— assuming she was picking out a vibrator like the usual— laid on your back. Sevika returned, harness fixed around her waist with an obscenely large strap fitted into place. Your eyes widened at the sight of the phallic-shaped toy.
“Sev— I thought that—”
“You don’t have to think,” she snapped as she crawled between your legs and held them open.
You whined softly, gripping the sheets with trembling fingers. Sevika didn’t coo praises at you today, you had pissed her off enough for all her sweetness to fade to ash tonight. But she waited— she gave you a blink of a second to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come.
Then, she grumbled, “y’know what your safe word is,” before she pushed the bulbous head of the toy inside.
Your breath caught in your throat, eyes squeezing shut as she filled you up entirely with the strap. The stretch was painful, making your eyes water instantly. The sight of your face scrunched in a mixture of pleasure-pain made Sevika’s own pussy throb with need.
She pushed forward, earning soft sounds from you, her hands rested on either side of your head as she slammed herself deeper inside. Every thrust inside made you cry out, your sounds only egging Sevika on more.
She wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon but that’s okay, because your pussy was a drooling mess around her thick strap anyway 😛
18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked) you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.
Summary: new town, new people, new rules. You weren’t a fan of the people running the ranch, Whiskey was. Three days in this new town and it’s already looking like a disaster waiting to happen. How bad could first introductions be?
Characters: WandaNat x fem!reader and her mustang, Whiskey. Oh and the barn cat menace, Liho.
Warnings: mentions of shooting a cow, I don’t think anything else xx
Word count: 1.7k
You’d heard about this place from your friend. She was a Flank Rider back home and had suggested to your mother that you move out west to get yourself together. You weren’t a bad person or out of control per se, just careless and dumb. A few weeks ago you were working alongside your team of cattle drivers when one slippery fucker took off. Sure enough, you and Whiskey were on it. At one point the cow managed to get itself stuck literally between a rock and a hard place. You should have trusted your gut, you should have listened to your horse who was refusing to work with you. Instead, you drove the cow further and further into the wedge, its legs scrambling for leverage in the tight space.
You were adamant about handling it yourself.
You positioned Whiskey directly in front of the cow a few feet back, got your lasso and caught the mother fucker. Instantly Whiskey pulled back, attempting to use her weight to drag this cow out. Remember about being careless? Yeah that cow pulled you right off the saddle because you ‘forgot’ to follow safety procedures. In the span of five minutes you were scrambling for your stirrups to pull yourself up. The rope now tangled in your legs and around the cows neck. Good news, the cow was moving, bad news, it was coming straight for you. Not angrily or anything of the sorts, purely because you were in the way of the only exit out.
And then a gunshot echoed through the valley and the rope went slack.
You knew instantly what happened.
Kudos to the team, if anything ever happens it’s always been the rule. If it’s you or the cow, it’s always the cow who suffered.
“Get back on the stang. Go back to the ranch. You’re done” a rough voice came from above you and there she was, your oh so amazing mother glaring down at you.
“I fucking had it. The stupid fucker panicked and got us here. Mom I had it under control!” You spat as you climbed back into your saddle. “You would have been ground beef if I hadn’t come in. Don’t make me repeat myself. I’ll talk to you when we’re done moving the herd. The darn coyotes can eat this beeve.” she gave you another once over and left. “Great just fucking wonderful. Let’s go Whisk, suns comin low and the coyotes now have a full five star course” you sighed and drove your horse away from the livestock.
That was weeks ago. Your mother gave you an ultimatum. You stay home and take a year off from cattle herding or you move and take your reckless and dumb decisions elsewhere. In any scenario, you weren’t allowed to work on your ranch for a year. So, here you were, three days into a new town, miles away from home with your horse and small travelling trailer. Everything a cowgirl needs right? Wrong. The town was full of ringers who wore the American flag on their chests, horses, town shops, cars just absolutely anything and everything was “American”. What a tourist hot spot.
Unfortunately for you, your mother had booked the year long program and now you were stuck. Fucking wonderful. “Hey sweet Whisk, let’s go see the ranch hmm” you gave the mustang a gentle pat on her neck and jumped up bareback, starting your adventure along the dusty path towards town. The air was hot, muggy and sticky, perfect weather to greet people in. It took all of 15 minutes to get to the centre of town and the minute you and Whiskey came through all eyes were on you. You smiled, tipped your hat and gave a wave to anyone who looked at you sideways. The last thing you wanted was to become an outsider.
“C’mon girl, let’s get you into the shade” you mumbled and skirted along the minimal shadows until you passed the fence line and into the ranch driveway. A head swing and a gruff from Whiskey made you chuckle as the two of you strolled further into the property, not really paying attention to your surroundings and more so enjoying the view. “Hey! You lost darlin? Can’t be ridin horses in here unless they’re tagged and flagged as ours!” A husky voice came from the right of you and you pulled your horse into a stop.
“Oh hey sorry! I’m here for the program I’m supposed to meet som-” “Natasha Romanoff, yep that’s me. Come ‘round to your right after the broken x frame fence. Tie the stang up to that tree in the shade and we’ll chat” she pointed to where she meant and then she was gone. “Well miss Whiskey, I guess that’s my boss eh? She’s hot, hopefully shes not an asshole” you sighed and made your way to said fence, jumping it gently and dismounting the horse, loosely tying her to the tree like Natasha had told you to.
A few minutes of waiting and dotting over Whiskey, Natasha finally came around to greet you. “You ride bareback?” Were the first words Natasha greeted you with and you rose an eyebrow at her question. “Got a problem with it?” You smirked as she rolled her eyes, “your mother said you’d have an attitude” she spoke flatly and your arms prickled. “I don’t have an attitude, I have opinions she doesn’t like” she didn’t respond instead she grabbed Whiskeys rope and you stood in front in a split second.
“Hey what the fuck” you yanked the rope out of Natasha’s hands and she held her hands on her hips. “Calm down cowgirl, don’t go airin the lungs now. Bring her to the stables, she’s panting and unless you want a dead horse by sundown let me give her some water” she took the rope back and Whiskey huffed giving you a side eye, walking effortlessly with Natasha. “Traitor” you whispered under your breath as you followed them.
“As I was sayin sweet stuff, your mother said you needa sharpen up. I’ve got you workin on the ranch during the week with weekends off. Don’t like it, don’t care. You’ll be working alongside myself in herding Mavericks, Bulls, Steers and Slicks. In the stables or the barn you’ll be with my wife feeding and cleaning the horses/ livestock. We’ve got chickens, geese and barn cats. Three days with me two with her. Got it?” She looked over her shoulder and smirked as she saw your sour face.
“Buckle up darlin, this ain’t no walk in the park. I promised your mother you’d be in shape when you go back, don’t make me regret it. I ain’t got no time to be kickin rocks when I’ve got a ranch to run. You said you herd? Well this opportunity don’t appear for just anyone. Make it worth my while” she deadpanned and set Whiskey up into a free stable.
“When do I start” you huffed out and she smiled approvingly. “In an hour. Check out the barn and stables, we’ll herd a mob soon. Let your stang rest and you’re not riding bareback. Find the right fit, there’s a spare shirt inside the house. When you’re ready get changed and we’ll head out” she tipped her hat and sauntered off back to the house leaving you and Whiskey catch your breaths from the sun.
“Well sweets, shes not all too bad. Shes got a wife though so that’s minus ten points” you chuckled at the horse who just swished her tail. In the corner of your eyes a small black thing darted out from the hay and instinctively you grabbed Whiskey’s rope. “Oh you’re a cat” you pulled a small face and the cat just meowed. “Shoo, go away. Leave us alone” you whisper reprimanded as the cat simply jumped up on the horses back. Whiskey had absolutely no reaction to the sudden small weight on her back and the black barn cat shwooshed its tail, staring straight at you. You hated cats, no you loathed them. The amount of times you were training new horses on your old ranch and one of those fluffballs sent you flying off the horses backs was astounding.
You picked the cat up off Whiskeys back and low-key football threw the black thing across the hallway but to your surprise, it came running back. “Leave me alone you fool” you grumbled and did the same thing but it came back again. “I can’t believe I’m playing football with a cat” you mumbled and this time picked the cat up, took it to the other side of the stables hoping it would get the hint. It didn’t. “Stop following me!” You half whispered half hissed as the cat weaved through your legs, almost tripping you over.
“I see you found Liho” a softer voice made you look up and saw another woman, a little taller but just as beautiful as Natasha. “No this menace found me and he’s using Whiskey as a launchpad” you groaned frustratedly as Liho jumped up on Whiskey again and went to pounce Im your direction. “Shes a girl, and you’re lucky. She doesn’t just like anyone, shes Natasha’s personal cat. I’m Wanda, stable hand, Natasha told me you were out here with your Mustang. Shes a beaut by the way” Wanda smiled sincerely as she ran her hands along Whiskeys back, grabbing Liho and reprimanding the cat in a language you didn’t know. The cat meowed and trotted off.
“Now what kinds of sorcery was that, I’ve been fighting with that void for five minutes and you speak gibberish and suddenly it listens?” You furrowed your eyebrows and Wanda chuckled, “It’s a mix of Russian and Sokovian, you’ll pick it up eventually. Go get changed, I’ll fix Whiskey up with a saddle and your gear. Don’t keep Nat waiting. She hates people being late” Wanda winked and turned towards your horse, cooing over her in her native tongue.
Great, first day on the job and you’ve already got homework. Learn Russian and Sokovian. If Wanda was in charge of the stables, it’s bound to happen that most of these other horses and livestock know the language. Hopefully Natasha talks to her horse in English.
Wanda & Nat & Carol & Pepper & @beggingonmykneesforher - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
