A/N: Sorry it took me like two years to post this, but enjoy!
Part 3 of “The Camgirl Next Door” | Series Masterlist
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As your eyes drifted open and adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you weren’t in your own room.
Right, you were in Wanda’s room.
The previous night’s events came back to you in a rush and you smiled, remembering the way she tasted under your tongue, the way she felt under your fingertips, the way she moaned your name, the way she looked into your eyes as she teetered on the edge. It was better than anything you could’ve imagined, but you knew you and Wanda still needed to talk about what it meant.
You rolled over to face her, but your smile quickly faded at the emptiness of her bed and the feel of cold sheets under your fingertips.
You frowned in concern, but figured she must’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink. Your activities last night took a lot out of you both and you felt your own body craving a glass of water.
You got up, finding your clothes on the floor and throwing them on before walking around the apartment. You’d already noticed that the bathroom in her room was vacant and once you noticed the guest bathroom was empty too, you decided she must be in the kitchen or living room.
But she wasn’t.
The kitchen looked untouched since last night, as did the living room. You felt yourself beginning to panic, wondering where Wanda was and why she would’ve left.
Before you could think too hard, the front door swung open and there was Wanda, carrying two coffees and a paper bag.
You let out a breath, your shoulders relaxing at her presence, all worries that she’d just left you behind subsided.
“You’re up! I went out and- are you okay?” Wanda asked, noticing that something was off as she placed the items on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah I’m fine, still just waking up I guess,” you reassured, not wanting her to know you’d almost worked yourself into a panic over her getting breakfast.
She nodded and seemed to believe you, reaching into the bag and taking out food containers. “I didn’t know if you’d want pancakes or waffles so I got both.”
You slowly made your way to the kitchen, your brain still catching up to the relief of her coming back, your eyes glued to her as she focused on the task at hand. She really was beautiful, especially like this - sweats and an oversized shirt, her makeup long gone after last night, the sunlight of the morning highlighting her features.
It didn’t take long for you to notice she wasn’t wearing a bra either, her nipples visible through the fabric of her shirt, probably from how brisk it was outside. You didn’t think twice as you hugged her from behind, fitting your bodies together as she placed things on the counter.
She relaxed into your touch, humming when your fingers played with the hem of her shirt before sliding under the fabric. “Detka, last night was a lot-” she paused when your thumbs brushed against her nipples, leaning back against you and letting out a whimper when you pinched the buds between your fingers. “We- we should eat breakfast first…”
“Mmm, what if I want to eat something other than breakfast?” you said, your breath ghosting along her neck in a way that made her forget what she was even saying.
“But what about-” she interrupted herself with a soft moan at the feeling of your teeth on her pulse point. At this point she’d become so limp in your hold that you were able to turn her around and lift her onto the countertop with ease.
“Any objections to kitchen sex?” you asked, your fingers playing with the waistband of her sweats.
She bit her lip and nodded no, raising her hips so you could remove her pants and underwear in one motion. “You sure? Words baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly as your hands ran along her thighs teasingly.
“Yeah, please Y/N.” Her words came out with a quiet whine, her legs spreading easily for you when you began to push them open. You kissed her once more before lowering yourself between her legs, your hands sliding under them so they rested on your shoulders. You pushed her shirt up enough to see her perfectly, gripping her waist as you looked at her lustfully.
“A little teasing and you’re this wet already? Fuck,” you mused, your knees feeling weak at the sight of her folds pink and slick with arousal right before your eyes. This was even better during the daytime, you were sure of it.
“Please,” Wanda begged, practically squirming where she sat. She blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how needy she was being so quickly, but that left her mind the second she felt your mouth on her.
You moaned at her taste, your tongue dipping into her as you sucked on her wet lips, messily reaching as much of her as you could before actually focusing on pleasuring her. When your lips found her clit, she let out a guttural moan, hips bucking up off the counter for more.
You pulled away the slightest bit but didn’t stop lapping at her center as you squeezed her waist to keep her still. “Taste so fucking good,” you mumbled, licking a long stripe up the length of her before diving back in. When your tongue slid inside of her, she cried out, hips moving wildly but failing to do much under your harsh grip.
“Fuck, just like that,” she moaned, a hand coming to your hair to keep you in place as if you could possibly find it in you to stop now.
She was close, so close, and she knew she only needed a little push to get there. As if you could read her mind, knowing exactly what she needed, you brought your hand to hers and guided it from where it was tangled in your hair down to where she was aching. You looked up at her, pupils dilated as your eyes locked and she understood what you wanted from her.
She began to rub her own clit, making tight circles against it so close to your face you couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight. She moaned at all of the sensations working together, your tongue against her walls, the vibrations of your vocal desire for her, the friction against her sensitive bundle of nerves, it was all too much.
She threw her head back as she came, letting out curses and chanting your name like a prayer as her hips stuttered against your mouth. You licked and swallowed every last drop of her essence as it dripped into your mouth and down your chin.
When she finally came down from her high, you ceased your movements against her and instead kissed along her inner thighs until she was dragging you up by your hair and pulling you in for a heated kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.
“Now can we have breakfast?” she asked, looking at you oh so innocently.
“I’m surprised you’re still thinking about food after that,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.
She smirked before leaning in. “Mmm no, I’m just thinking about all of the things we could do after we’ve gotten our energy back.”
You smiled back and stepped away, letting her go back to getting breakfast ready. You chose pancakes after noticing she seemed excited about the waffles and the two of you ate at the dining table since the kitchen counter wasn’t exactly the most sanitary option anymore.
By the time you were finished eating, an alarm from your phone interrupted your morning together.
“Shit, I have work today,” you cursed, finally realizing what time it was. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”
You stood up, hurriedly grabbing the to-go boxes you ate out of and trying to clean up after yourself.
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of that,” Wanda said, grabbing your arm to stop you before stepping closer. “Although I was kind of hoping I’d get to take care of you…”
“I’m sorry, Wanda, I really have to go,” you rushed out, feeling bad that you had to leave so abruptly after such a wonderful morning together.
“It’s okay, go ahead. Don’t want you to be late,” Wanda reassured, smiling softly as she let go of your arm and started cleaning up the table.
“Thanks, uh, yeah, sorry. Thank you for everything,” you managed to get out, knowing you wanted to say so much more but being unable to do it in that moment. She smiled again, nodding as you turned and ran out, stressing over the fact that you left yourself almost no time to get ready.
You were only seconds late to work thankfully, but your situation with Wanda was on your mind all day.
You definitely had feelings for her, there was no denying that. Your feelings ran deeper than just casual sex and you wanted her to know that, but you felt nervous at the thought of asking her out on a proper date.
What if this was a fling to her? What if she still saw you as a customer? You hated that word, but it was truthful in describing what you were to her before the two of you had ever even met.
As the day went on, thoughts of Wanda kept your mind busy; you thought of how she tasted, how she moaned for you, how wet she was. But you also thought about her cute smile, her little nose scrunch, her thoughtfulness in getting breakfast for the two of you, everything about her.
You decided you had to do something. You couldn’t let fear take over and keep you from getting the one thing you wanted most.
Meanwhile, Wanda spent her day in a similar state, thinking of you. She felt so taken care of and loved when you had slept together, in a way she had never felt before with anyone else. It felt safe and secure, but also electrifying. You were an incredible lover but it ran deeper than that and she was struggling to convince herself that it wasn’t just the heat of the moment.
You fucked her, but you also practically made love to her, and she wasn’t sure if that was your intention, to make her feel that it was more than just sex. You were, after all, someone who consistently viewed her streams and watched her touch herself on camera. Obviously there was physical attraction; she just didn’t know if that was all it was.
While she worried all day about your potential feelings for her, you were working up the courage to show her how you felt.
On your way home from work, you stopped at a local flower shop, scanning over all the options for bouquets.
You came across a beautiful selection of roses and could only think of Wanda when you looked at the red and white ones. Red for the love and passion you felt towards her, red for her favorite color, red for the fire she ignited within you. White for new beginnings, white for your loyalty to her, white for the innocence of your feelings, it wasn’t just sex, it was something more pure.
You had the florist put together a bouquet and you paid for it, trying to shake the nerves building within you.
When you got home, you stopped at Wanda’s door first. You hesitated, but then knocked gently on her door, holding the roses behind your back.
Wanda wasn’t expecting anyone, so she was curious who would be at her door, although she hoped it was you since the two of you hadn’t gotten to finish your time together that morning.
She opened the door and smiled upon seeing you standing there. You looked uncomfortable and concern flashed on her face for a second before you spoke.
“Hi, um, mind if I come in?” You asked nervously, waiting for permission to enter.
“Yeah, of course,” Wanda responded sweetly, opening the door more for you to step through the threshold and closing it behind you. “What’s up?” she spoke when you didn’t, breaking the awkward silence.
“Okay so,” you started, hyping yourself up in your head for what you were about to do. “First of all, these are for you.” You handed her the bouquet from behind your back and she gasped, taking them in her hands and admiring them for a moment before returning her attention to you. “I wanted to ask you something. Would you, um- sorry- would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?” You rushed out, afraid you wouldn’t ask at all if you took any longer.
Wanda chuckled, feeling relieved that you were asking her out on a date.
When she didn’t immediately respond, you spoke again. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just, I wanted you to know it’s not just sex to me. I like you Wanda. I don’t want last night to be a one time thing and I don’t want this to be casual either. I hope I’m not making this weird, I just needed you to know that I have feelings for you.”
You were rambling, but Wanda found it cute. She finally responded by grabbing the back of your head and leaning in, pulling you into a soft kiss, trying to convey all of her feelings through the touch of your lips.
When she finally pulled away, she looked into your eyes in a way that almost made you shiver. “I would love to go out with you,” she said, smiling at you, eyes sparkling.
You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled back. “Okay great, how about this Thursday? I’m off early that day,” you suggested, trying not to seem too eager even though you absolutely were.
“Thursday is perfect,” Wanda said. “And thank you for the flowers, no one’s ever given me flowers before.”
“Really?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. She nodded. “Well, I’m glad to be your first. I mean, the first to give you flowers,” you stuttered out, feeling nervous again under her intense stare as she continued to hold eye contact with you.
She laughed at your antics and was about to speak again when the oven went off and reminded her that she had been cooking.
“Oh, um, would you like to stay for dinner tonight? I made enough for both of us,” Wanda invited, heading towards the kitchen to turn off the alarm.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, excited to spend more time with her.
As the two of you got to know each other better over dinner, you knew you were already head over heels for her. You’d tell her that when the time was right. You didn’t know it yet, but she was already feeling the same way.
Summary: One of your favorite ways to relieve stress is by watching a beautiful camgirl named “Scarlet Witch.” When Wanda Maximoff, Scarlet Witch herself, moves in next door, you fall for her.
A/N: My first series! Hope you all enjoy!
This is an 18+ series with nsfw content. Chapters with smut are marked with *.
Summary: When you come across your stepmother having some alone time, you can’t help but watch. When it happens more than once, your desire threatens to push the boundaries of your relationship with her.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Wanda called out from the kitchen, her voice a welcome distraction from your neverending work.
You finished the paragraph you were typing out for your essay and closed your laptop with a sigh, stretching as you stood up from the couch.
Your body was stiff from sitting for so long, hunched over your laptop as you worked on yet another assignment for school. It was finals week, so you were overwhelmed with important exams and projects. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that you’d start winter break soon.
You made your way to the kitchen, where your stepmom was putting the finishing touches on two plates of chicken and pasta. You stood there for a moment, admiring the way her nose scrunched up in concentration as she sprinkled parmesan on the pasta. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked, even in her casual clothes, with her hair slightly messy and a thin sheen of sweat on her skin from cooking.
You’d always had a crush on Wanda, despite the fact that she was your stepmom. She was more of a real parent to you than your father ever was and she supported you in everything you did, constantly motivating you to work harder academically. In fact, most of your drive to do well in school stemmed from a craving for her approval, a desire to make her proud of you, and you were okay with that as long as your work was completed on time.
Wanda was always so lovely to you too, complimenting you on your efforts and praising you when you did well, and it never failed to make your heart flutter. You never intended to rely on her as much as you did, nor did you intend to start crushing on her as hard as you were. On top of being a genuinely kind person and an amazing stepmom, she was also stunning.
You were taken aback the first time you met her, mesmerized by alluring green eyes, and you couldn’t help but wonder what a woman like her saw in your father. The fact that she was sweet on you didn’t help your growing feelings for her, and neither did her overly touchy nature. She was constantly finding ways to have her hands on you - whether it was a hand on your back in the kitchen as she spoke to you or a hug that lasted longer than you felt was appropriate - and it drove you crazy.
You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t actually want her like that, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny it, especially when your father was always gone on another business trip, leaving you alone with her for weeks at a time.
When Wanda noticed you standing across the room, she looked up with a smile.
“How’s the essay coming along, malysh?” She asked, moving around the kitchen island until she was next to you, her hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly.
“It’s fine, I’m about halfway done I think,” you responded, clearing your throat and trying to ignore the way her soothing touch was setting your nerves alight.
“That’s good, I’m proud of you,” she cooed, her words making you feel warm inside. She often had that effect on you and this was no exception. Her arm reached around you to pull you closer, half hugging you, before she moved away to set the table.
You managed a smile and a “thank you” before you helped her, bringing utensils to where she set the plates down and taking a seat across from her.
“I know you’ve been working so hard on your studies lately, dear, but have you been remembering to rest too?” Wanda questioned, an eyebrow raised as she took in your tired state. You’d been working tirelessly this week due to your finals and you certainly hadn’t been sleeping well. You were hoping that Wanda wouldn’t notice, but she always did.
“I- sort of,” you mumbled, not wanting to lie to her, but also not wanting to disappoint her with the truth.
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Wanda chuckled, steadying her fork so she could cut into her chicken. Luckily, she dropped the subject after that, instead asking you how other aspects of your life had been going and telling you about her week.
The two of you carried on a casual conversation as you ate, and you didn’t hesitate to tell Wanda how amazing her cooking was, to which she responded with an appreciative smile.
A comfortable silence fell over you before Wanda spoke again.
“So, any cute girls in your classes?” She asked curiously, catching you off guard. You immediately felt awkward, unsure of how to discuss your love life with the woman you were crushing on.
“Not really,” you shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.
“Hm, that’s surprising,” she commented skeptically.
You quickly corrected yourself. “I mean, there are cute girls, just no one that I’m interested in.”
Wanda nodded in understanding, satisfied with your answer, before standing up to take your plates to the kitchen.
“Would you like to watch a movie tonight?” She asked, placing the plates in the sink. “It’s your turn to pick one.”
You and Wanda had a tradition of watching movies together at least once a week. It usually ended up with you curled into Wanda’s side on the couch, your head on her shoulder and her arm around you as you watched whatever movie had been put on. It was one of your favorite experiences, something you looked forward to every week.
You always cherished your alone time with Wanda, especially your movie nights since it was an excuse to practically cuddle with her and feel close to her, which is why you suddenly felt so bad, knowing that you’d have to turn her down this week.
“I’d love to, but I really need to finish this essay,” you sighed. “It’s due tomorrow night.”
Wanda hid her disappointment behind a supportive smile, stepping towards you. “That’s okay, detka, I know it’s a busy week for you,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We can watch whatever movie you want after your finals, how does that sound?” Her thumb stroked your cheek as she spoke and no matter how often Wanda touched you like this, it never failed to have an effect on you.
“That sounds good,” you responded, almost stuttering. “And thank you for dinner, it was delicious.”
“Of course.” She leaned in to kiss your forehead, before taking a step back to continue cleaning up the kitchen. “I know you have to get back to it, so I’m gonna finish up in here and then I’ll be in my room reading if you need anything, okay?”
You were still reeling from the affection, nodding in acknowledgment and mumbling a “thanks” as you left the kitchen.
“Don’t stay up too late!” You heard Wanda call out as you grabbed your laptop from the living room table. You could only chuckle, knowing you would most likely be up half the night finishing your work.
You made your way to your room and sat at your desk, plugging in your laptop to the charger before trying to focus on writing again. Eventually you found a rhythm, alternating between sharing your thoughts on the topic and citing sources to support your side.
It was late when you finally decided to head to bed, turning off the light and sliding under the covers with a sigh. It seemed you were more tired than you realized, as the feeling of your bed beneath you was a welcome relief.
Finals week hadn’t been easy on you and late nights had become your regular for the past couple of weeks. You were so close to finishing the semester and every time you felt like giving up, you were reminded of why you worked so hard in the first place - Wanda.
You let your mind wander to thoughts of your stepmom, how proud she would be knowing you did well in all of your classes, the praise she would give you and how it would make you feel. You couldn’t wait for your upcoming movie night; you craved the familiar feeling of her body pressed against yours on the couch, the closeness to her that nothing else could compare to.
You only wished you could be even closer to her, often daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss her, to feel your lips against hers, to swallow her sounds as you ran your hands over her body. It felt wrong to want her that way, to lust after someone who was essentially your mother figure, but you couldn’t help it.
You tried to remind yourself that Wanda was married - to your father nonetheless - and that nothing would ever happen between the two of you, but not even the harsh reality of your situation could stop you from wanting her.
You huffed as you rolled over in bed, feeling exhausted but unable to sleep, your mind racing with thoughts of Wanda. You spent so many of your nights thinking of her, wishing you were laid beside her, holding her or being held by her, imagining the cuddles and sleepy kisses the two of you could share if your situation was different.
Some nights the thoughts were innocent, your desire to feel close to her manifesting in those simple fantasies of sharing a bed with her. Other nights, you longed to feel her even closer, shamefully allowing yourself to picture her beneath you, head thrown back and hips bucking as you made her cum for you. You wondered what she looked like when she came, what she sounded like, what she tasted like.
You knew you shouldn’t have these thoughts and the frustration brought on by your relationship to Wanda made you want to cry. It was a constant battle - the shame, the jealousy, the yearning - and it was slowly getting to you.
Just as you were finally starting to drift off to sleep, you heard what sounded like a groan coming from down the hall. You opened your eyes and listened closely, wondering if something was wrong. You figured Wanda would be asleep by now with how late it was, but when you heard another muffled sound through the walls, it was obvious she wasn’t.
Worried she’d hurt herself or needed help, you dragged yourself out of bed and headed down the hall, stopping just outside of her room. The door was slightly ajar and just as you were about to push it all the way open, another sound escaped the woman on the other side and this time it was unmistakable, realization hitting you like a truck.
Those weren’t sounds of pain, they were moans of pleasure. And when you peered through the gap in the doorway, it was confirmed. Wanda was touching herself, one hand beneath her panties, fingers working against herself, the other gripping the bedsheets as she let another breathy moan.
It felt like something you shouldn’t be seeing, but you couldn’t look away. The sight before you was so erotic, so breathtaking; you were entranced as you watched her touch herself, her head thrown back against the pillows, her face scrunched up in pleasure, her hips subtly moving against her hand. Soft, needy moans escaped her parted lips and just hearing her was enough to make you wet.
You knew you should leave, that you should respect her privacy and go back to your room, but the sight of her was hypnotizing. You shifted uncomfortably as you watched her, squeezing your legs together as arousal clouded your judgment. One word uttered by the other woman brought you back to reality.
“Y/N,” Wanda moaned, her breathing uneven as she chased her orgasm.
There was no way you heard that right.
For a second, you thought you’d been caught, that she was calling out your name because she’d seen you standing there. Your blood ran cold and you froze, immediately feeling the shame and embarrassment of being caught watching her masturbate. But Wanda’s gaze never found yours, her eyes remained closed and her hand kept moving under her panties.
“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so good,” she panted out, curling her fingers inside of herself, her palm nudging her clit with every thrust.
Your mouth fell open when you realized what was happening, blush painting your cheeks and arousal pooling in your lower belly at the thought.
Wanda was thinking about you while touching herself.
It was overwhelming in the best way - the sight of your stepmom bringing herself pleasure, the heavenly moans escaping her as she brought herself closer to the edge, the faint sound of her fucking herself, and god, she sounded so wet. The fact that she was thinking about you while she got off was the cherry on top and you had to stifle a groan at how turned on you were.
You couldn’t believe that Wanda would reciprocate your feelings for her, at least to some extent. You briefly thought that you should pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming. You’d always felt bad for lusting after her, for desiring her in ways that were not appropriate for a stepdaughter to feel about her stepmother, but the knowledge that she desired you too filled you with warmth.
You wished you could see her, really see her, without the barrier of clothing in the way. You wanted to see how she fucked herself, wanted to know how many fingers she was using and watch how her pussy stretched around them. You wouldn’t complain though, not when you were already enjoying this so much.
Wanda’s moans rose in pitch, her hips becoming more frantic against her hand, and you knew she was close. Your pussy throbbed at the sight of her falling apart and you fought the urge to touch yourself with her.
With a couple more thrusts of her fingers inside of herself, Wanda was cumming with a series of loud moans, her back arching off the bed, her hips stuttering as she reached her peak.
Watching Wanda cum was better than anything you could’ve imagined, she looked unbelievably sexy falling apart and you committed the sight to memory in case you never got to see it again.
She pulled her fingers out of herself, removing her hand from her panties, and hummed in satisfaction as she caught her breath. You took this as your cue to leave, sneaking quietly down the hall until you were back in your own room.
You found yourself back in bed, unsure of how you were supposed to fall asleep after what you’d just witnessed. You were turned on beyond belief, your mind filled with images of Wanda touching herself. You felt bad for watching, for invading her privacy, but how could you not when she sounded so good moaning your name?
Now that you knew what she sounded like chanting your name as she chased her release, you couldn’t help but imagine being the one fucking her senseless, making her feel so good as you touched her and kissed her everywhere you wanted to.
You groaned as you rolled over; you couldn’t get the image of Wanda masturbating out of your head, but at the same time, you wished the memory would never fade.
You wished you could see it again.
After tossing and turning amidst sinful thoughts of your stepmom, you eventually succumbed to sleep. You woke up to your alarm going off, already feeling the exhaustion from being up so late. It was hard not to just silence your phone and go back to sleep.
Your body protested as you sat up and reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed, getting ready to start your day. You got dressed and brushed your teeth before heading downstairs, hoping a cup or two of coffee would wake you up.
Wanda was in the kitchen when you entered, pouring herself a cup of coffee and making her way to the fridge for creamer. She was wearing a short, lacy nightgown and when she bent down to grab the creamer, you almost choked on air. The thin fabric of her slip left little to the imagination and the view of her ass as she leaned towards the lower shelves of the fridge was almost too much for you.
You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away as she turned around.
“Good morning, Y/N,” she greeted, smiling at you sweetly as she poured the creamer into her coffee. Wanda was acting completely normal around you, as if she hadn’t been moaning your name into the night less than eight hours ago. You hadn’t considered how awkward being around her would be after the events of the previous night, especially when she didn’t even know you were present for it.
“Good morning,” you responded, avoiding eye contact as you made your way towards the coffee pot.
“How did you sleep, malysh?” Wanda asked, coming over to you to place a hand on your back, rubbing in circles. You nearly shuddered at the feeling of her touching you, but you kept your composure.
“I slept okay,” you answered, and it wasn’t entirely untrue - you didn’t sleep terribly, you just wished you’d slept more. “What about you?”
Wanda raised an eyebrow as she leaned against the counter next to you. “You don’t seem like you slept okay. Late night?”
“Sort of,” you responded, trying not to think about why you were up so late.
“Oh detka,” she cooed, stirring her coffee. “I know it’s finals week and you’re working hard, but you need to take care of yourself too.”
While you appreciated how much she cared about you and your wellbeing, you also wanted to laugh at how oblivious she seemed. She had no idea she was the reason you’d barely slept, tossing and turning for hours as vivid images of her touching herself invaded your mind.
You collected your thoughts and looked up at her. “I know, I’m taking care of myself, I promise,” you reassured her, not wanting her to press the matter any further.
“Good,” she purred, gently running her fingers through your hair. Every little thing she did made you melt and you wished it wasn’t so hard to act normal around her, especially now that you knew what she sounded like in the throes of pleasure.
Wanda leaned back, taking a sip of her coffee before walking over to the fridge. “Do you have class today?” She asked casually, as if she hadn’t just made you so flustered.
“Um, no, I just have a final exam this afternoon,” you managed.
“Good luck with your exam, sweetheart,” she said sweetly, grabbing a carton of eggs. “Since it’s this afternoon, does that mean you have time for breakfast?”
“Yeah, sure.” You nodded, your response bringing a smile to Wanda’s face.
“Perfect, you enjoy your coffee and I’ll make breakfast for us. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” With that, Wanda began moving around the kitchen, bending over again to look through the cabinet below the stove. You almost groaned at how revealing her slip was and decided to leave the kitchen while you still had your sanity.
You spent some time in the living room drinking your coffee and scrolling through your phone until Wanda called out for you. You joined her at the kitchen island and conversed lightly over breakfast, discussing your busy week and making plans with her for when finals were over. You tried to ignore the way her usual teasing and touchiness was making you feel, instead focusing on how good it felt to be around her, enjoying her company and your conversation.
You were able to keep your mind off the events of the previous night and the awkwardness faded a bit the longer you talked.
Once you finished eating, you helped Wanda with the dishes and then disappeared to your room to study until it was time to head out for your exam. Wanda seemed slightly disappointed that you had to hole yourself up in your room once more to study, and you felt bad for not spending as much time with her this week.
You wanted more than anything to make her proud though, so you dedicated your day to making sure you were prepared for your final. When you left that afternoon, Wanda hugged you and kissed your cheek for good luck, seemingly unaware of how it made your heart flutter.
The exam went well and you felt confident in your final grade, sighing with relief as you took off your coat upon returning home. The house was empty so you assumed Wanda had a late meeting or was out running errands.
You fixed yourself something to eat and headed to your room to work on a project for another class. You lost track of time, immersed in your work, and the only thing that drew your focus away from your laptop was the sound of soft knocking on your door.
The door opened halfway and Wanda peered through, a warm smile on her face as she saw you sitting at your desk.
“Just letting you know I’m home.” She spoke quietly, as if she was trying not to disturb you. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling subtly at the way she cared for you.
“Okay good,” she responded, returning your smile. “I’m gonna shower and call it a night, don’t stay up too late, okay sweetheart?”
“I won’t,” you agreed, and it was true - you were still tired from barely sleeping the night before and you knew you’d be getting under the covers sooner than later.
Wanda said a quick goodnight before closing your door and making her way down the hall.
It was later than you intended to stay up when you finally finished your project, stretching as you stood up from your desk. You changed into comfier clothes and crawled into bed, completely exhausted and ready for sleep to take over.
You thought of Wanda and how much you missed spending more time with her, how pretty she looked making breakfast for you in the kitchen, how her lips felt against your cheek when you left for your exam. You also thought of how cruel it was to want someone so badly and not be able to have them. It was becoming almost embarrassing how much you yearned for her, how desperate you were for someone you knew you’d never have a chance with.
You were right on the cusp between consciousness and sleep when you heard it - a moan.
Not again.
Your eyes shot open and you froze, listening intently. Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard another muffled sound through the wall, your core already pulsing at the implication of what was happening.
You were well aware of what she was doing; there was no need for you to investigate, no need to check on her to see if she was okay, but you found yourself sitting up and sliding out of bed regardless.
You crept down the hall, the sounds becoming louder as you approached, and stopped just outside of Wanda’s room. The door was cracked open again and you briefly wondered why Wanda would be so careless, but you were brought back to reality by another heavenly moan escaping the redhead.
Unlike the night before, Wanda wasn’t wearing anything as she touched herself in the center of her bed, lithe fingers parting her folds and rubbing her clit with every stroke through her pussy. She looked so wet and you nearly whimpered at the sight, she had the prettiest pussy you’d ever seen. Her center glistened in the dim light of her room and you wished you could taste her, wanting nothing more than to lap up all the sticky wetness between her thighs.
You had to squint to see her decently - her room was slightly dark, only illuminated by the lamp on her nightstand - but what you could see from your place in the doorway was driving you insane. You watched as Wanda masturbated in her bed mere feet away from you, seemingly unaware that she had an audience.
You nearly drooled when you saw her slide two fingers inside of herself, your mouth falling open at the way her tight pussy stretched around the digits. The moan she let out as she began fucking herself made your core twitch with desire, arousal flooding your senses. You felt drunk off of her, your head fuzzy and eyes full of lust as you stared at the space between her legs, mesmerized by the way she touched herself.
“Oh fuck,” Wanda panted as she sped up her movements, her hips canting up into her hand. It was so erotic to watch her pleasure herself, to see her in such an intimate way. You were so turned on from watching that you knew you’d have to do something about it before you eventually went to sleep, your thighs pressed together to ease the ache between them.
“Y/N, right there,” she cried out, curling her fingers and arching her back as she hit the spot inside of herself that made her legs shake. You could tell she was close and you were nearly trembling in anticipation, eager to see her cum again. She was like a drug and you were addicted.
With a guttural moan, Wanda came, cursing and chanting your name as she fucked herself through it. Her hips bucked unevenly as she rode it out, grinding her clit against her palm with every thrust of her cunt against her hand. She drew it out, milking it for all it was worth, moaning loudly as her pussy clenched around her fingers, coating them in her cum.
Just when you thought you’d never seen anything more attractive in your life, Wanda pulled her fingers out and brought her hand up, taking the wet digits into her mouth and sucking on them, letting out a satisfied groan at her own taste. You bit back a whimper at the sight, not wanting to alert her to your presence.
You were impossibly wet from watching her cum and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet, causing one of the floorboards to creak beneath you. Wanda’s head snapped towards the door and you slipped out of sight, your heart pounding in your chest. You hoped the hallway was dark enough that she didn’t see you, but you couldn’t be sure.
With panic blooming in your chest, you made it back to your own room and closed the door quietly, immediately slipping into bed and closing your eyes, thinking that if you pretended to be asleep, everything would be okay.
Your mind kept you awake for a while longer, filled with the vivid memories of Wanda touching herself, plagued with the anxiety of almost being caught watching her. You didn’t know what you would do if Wanda found out you spied on her while she was touching herself, feeling embarrassed just at the thought of her knowing. You also didn’t know how you would explain your actions without confessing your feelings towards her. You couldn’t stop worrying about whether or not she saw you, whether or not she knew you were there, and you couldn’t stop fantasizing about being the one making her feel good, being the one with your hands on her instead of her own.
Eventually, you fell asleep, your exhaustion finally overtaking your rampant thoughts.
When you woke up, it was still early in the morning - you hadn’t slept well, but at least you hadn’t overslept. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stumbled to the kitchen in search of caffeine, noticing Wanda in the adjacent living room on your way. She was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other, reading as she sipped from her mug.
“Morning Wanda,” you greeted, your voice still rough from having just woken up.
Wanda looked up, smiling when she saw you, and saved her page before setting the book down. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said cheerily, standing up and approaching you. She took in your tired state and gave you a knowing look. “How late were you up, malysh?” She teased.
You held back a groan at the question, hoping she wasn’t implying that she knew you were up after seeing you in the hallway. “Pretty late, I did try to go to sleep early though,” you answered truthfully.
Wanda hummed in response before speaking again. “You poor thing. Did something keep you up late?” Your breath hitched upon hearing her words, feeling almost certain that she knew your secret.
“Just stressed about a final project.” You tried to play it off. Maybe she didn’t know, maybe everything was fine and you were on the verge of crumbling for no reason. You figured the best thing you could do was act normal and pray she was as clueless as she’d seemed the day before.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Wanda cooed. “I know this week has been hard on you, but it’ll be over soon and I’m so proud of you.” Your cheeks warmed at her praise as she brought her hand to the side of your neck, tracing your jawline with her thumb.
“Thank you,” you responded, suddenly weak in the knees and certain you were blushing like crazy. You were also taken aback by how quickly you went from feeling anxious to feeling loved and reassured.
“Of course, detka,” she said back, her hand still cradling your neck. For a moment you just stood there like that, Wanda’s hand nearly cupping your cheek as she looked at you adoringly and you struggled to hold eye contact with her. The moment felt so intimate it almost made you shudder.
Just as soon as it started, it ended, with Wanda retracting her hand and stepping to the side of you, making her way towards the kitchen.
“Breakfast?” she asked nonchalantly, as if the two of you hadn’t just shared a moment that made you forget how to breathe.
After the two of you shared breakfast, you went back to studying and finishing up projects for most of the day, only taking breaks to eat, shower, and work out.
That night, despite the guilt and the tension, despite almost being caught, you once again found yourself sneaking down the hall after hearing breathy moans of pleasure from down the hall.
The next few days consisted of the same routine - focusing on your studies throughout the day and losing sleep over Wanda at night - and by the end of the week, you were done with your classes for the semester.
You felt relieved to be done and Wanda was more than proud of you for finishing the year with good grades. She kissed your cheek and told you how proud she was before she left for a work meeting in the morning, leaving you blushing in the living room.
It was your first day of winter break, so you spent it relaxing at home, catching up on shows and texting with your friends. Halfway through the day, you decided to bake cookies for Wanda as a subtle thank you for her constant support.
When Wanda arrived home, it was already dark outside, the chill of the winter air creeping in as she entered the house. She shed her coat and set her purse down, quickly turning her attention towards the kitchen when she noticed you making dinner.
“Hi detka,” she greeted, smiling as she approached the kitchen island, resting her elbows on it as she looked at you.
“Hey,” you replied, smiling back at her before grabbing a handful of chopped vegetables and placing them in a pan on the stove.
You stirred the contents of the pan before turning to face Wanda, who was curiously eyeing the cookies you’d baked earlier. “Oh, um, those are for you,” you said, gesturing towards the cookies.
Wanda almost looked surprised for a moment before a smile graced her features. “How thoughtful,” she commented, reaching for a cookie. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
You nodded in response, watching her as she carefully took a bite. She practically moaned in satisfaction and you felt heat rise to your cheeks at the familiar sound.
“That’s delicious,” she complimented.
“Thank you,” you choked out, clearing your throat. You turned back around to check on dinner, not wanting Wanda to notice how flustered you’d suddenly become.
“So, now that you’re done with finals, how about that movie night?” Wanda proposed.
“I’d love that,” you answered, looking back over your shoulder at her. “Tonight?”
“Tonight is perfect,” she said, smiling at you in a way that made her nose scrunch up adorably, your heart melting at the sight. “Do you know what movie you want to watch, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you replied. “Yelena’s favorite movie for the holidays is Carol and she told me to watch it, so let’s go with that.”
Wanda smirked to herself before responding. “Sounds like a plan. We can watch it after dinner.”
“Okay,” you said with a nod, turning back around to finish cooking.
When dinner was finally ready, the two of you ate together at the table. Wanda asked how your day went and continued to praise you for doing so well in your classes, causing you to blush as you focused on your food, hoping she wouldn’t notice. She talked about work and how her week went, and she made sure to comment on how much she’d missed your company recently. Apparently it had been a stressful week for her and you briefly wondered if that had anything to do with her seeking relief every night. You cursed yourself for thinking of that now, certain your cheeks were even redder than before.
When you were finished eating, you took care of the dishes and she thanked you for being so sweet to her before heading to the living room to queue up the movie.
You cleaned up quickly, eager to spend more time with Wanda, and made your way to the living room, two glasses of wine in hand.
“Thank you, detka, you’re so good to me,” Wanda cooed, smiling as you handed her one of the glasses.
“Of course.” You joined her on the couch, your bodies mere inches apart as you settled in beside her.
“Ready?” She asked, sipping her wine as she reached for the remote.
“Yeah,” you replied.
Wanda smiled and pressed play, leaning back into the couch as the movie began. She seemed to have scooted closer to you in the process, your legs now touching.
It didn’t take long for you to realize that the movie revolved around an age gap relationship between two women and you wished you hadn’t chosen one of Yelena’s recommendations to watch with your stepmom, who you secretly had a huge crush on. You definitely should’ve done some research before suggesting to watch it, but you couldn’t go back on it now, no matter how awkward you suddenly felt or how tense the air around you had become.
At one point, Wanda rested her hand on your thigh, her thumb idly rubbing circles on the fabric of your pants, and you tried not to squirm. Between the plot of the movie and the way Wanda was touching you, you started to feel warm and slightly uncomfortable in your spot on the couch. You’d already finished off your glass of wine, hoping that the tipsy feeling would relax you a little bit, but it only made you feel hotter.
It wasn’t until a sex scene came on that Wanda spoke up, noticing you shifting beside her. “You okay, sweetheart?” She asked, checking in with faux concern, her sly smirk going unnoticed by you.
“Yeah,” you managed, your voice coming out breathier than you would’ve liked.
Wanda took the last sip of her wine, setting the glass on the coffee table. “Have you ever done anything like that?”
The question caught you off guard, not expecting Wanda to be asking you about your sex life. You sat there dumbly for a moment before Wanda turned to look at you curiously, waiting for a response.
“I- not really,” you answered honestly, feeling your cheeks heat up under her gaze.
“Hmm,” Wanda mused, contemplating her next words. “Do you think about it?”
You were once again surprised by her boldness. It took you a few seconds to say something back, your mind a little fuzzy from the wine and clouded with thoughts of all the things you wanted to do with Wanda.
“Um, yeah, I suppose.” You tried to sound nonchalant, but the way Wanda was questioning you had you feeling simultaneously embarrassed and also strangely aroused.
“Is that what you think about when you think of me?” Wanda asked, smiling far too innocently.
You almost choked upon hearing her words. She couldn’t possibly know how you felt about her, could she? You felt panic rise in your chest, unsure of how to respond to her question.
“I- what do you mean?” You stuttered out, looking anywhere but directly at her.
Wanda didn’t miss a beat. “I think you know exactly what I mean, detka,” she said, her sultry tone turning you on despite how confused and anxious you felt. “I know you’ve been watching me,” she spoke again, leaning in and resting her arm on the back of the couch, her body angled towards yours. Her confession made you look up at her, worry spread across your features as she smirked. “Did you like what you saw?”
You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you froze in place. How did she know? How much had she seen? How long has she known? So many questions swirled around in your mind as she waited patiently for you to respond. You broke eye contact, unable to look her in the eyes as you lied to her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried, a futile attempt to save yourself from the humiliation of her knowing.
“Oh sweetheart, we’re way past lying,” Wanda cooed, letting her hand come up to brush your hair behind your ear. “You know, it’s not proper to watch someone when they’re having some alone time.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, shame washing over you as she spoke. “It’s a good thing I knew you were there, hm? I mean, why else would I leave the door open every night?”
You snapped your head to look at her, shock evident on your face, and Wanda bit back a chuckle at your reaction.
“You- you wanted me to see?” You whispered, your brain working overtime to process the new information. You were having a hard time grasping the concept that Wanda even knew you watched her; the fact that she had always intended for you to watch her was too much to wrap your head around.
Was it possible that Wanda really did reciprocate your feelings for her? You’d never let yourself consider it, but in some ways it did make sense. She was always so sweet and overly touchy with you, but you’d never let yourself believe that it was because she felt something for you. But then you thought back to those nights, hearing her moan your name while she touched herself, and it clicked. She did want you, just as you wanted her, and the thought made you feel like your skin was on fire.
Wanda nodded, biting her lip. “The first night wasn’t on purpose,” she explained, looking back and forth between your eyes as she spoke. “But when I realized I had an audience, well…” she trailed off, smirking. “I guess you did like what you saw, hm?” She leaned in closer, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Because you kept coming back every single night to watch mommy get herself off.”
You groaned at her words and the arousal that shot through you as she said them. You fought the urge to squeeze your legs together, your core pulsing from her teasing. The name she used for herself wasn’t helping either - you weren’t expecting it, nor were you expecting the way it would make you feel.
You felt more than saw Wanda’s smirk at your reaction. “What did you like the most?” She asked, trailing featherlight kisses down your neck. “Was it the sight of me with my legs spread, my fingers working between my thighs? Or did you get off on my sounds, the way I moaned your name as I made myself feel good? Maybe it was seeing me cum, watching me fall apart on my own fingers - maybe that’s what did it for you.”
Her words were turning you on to no end and you had to hold back a whimper at how desperate you were becoming for her. You tried to nod in agreement, your breathing labored as she continued her ministrations on your neck.
“Use your words, detka,” she demanded, before sucking on your pulse point and making you shiver.
“Yes, all of it, fuck, Wanda,” you managed breathily, one hand coming up to her hair to keep her in place. She sighed against your skin, pulling back to take in the sight of you. Your eyes opened slowly and she took pride in how glossy they were, your pupils dark with desire. You already looked ruined and she’d barely done anything yet.
Her gaze flicked down to your lips briefly and your breath caught in your throat at the action. She cupped your cheek, stroking it with her thumb. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”
“Please,” you breathed out, no longer worried about her knowing how badly you wanted her.
She smiled before leaning in, so slowly that the anticipation was almost painful. Although tempted to just close the distance, you didn’t dare move, practically shaking at the first brush of her lips against yours.
Kissing Wanda was everything and nothing like what you’d expected. Her lips were impossibly soft as they moved hesitantly against your own and it made you feel warm all over. The kiss wasn’t rough or desperate; it was tender in a way you never could’ve imagined and you could already feel yourself getting lost in it.
When Wanda deepened the kiss, you couldn’t hold back a moan. You felt her smile against your lips before kissing you harder, letting her tongue slip into your mouth. You whimpered at the feeling of her tongue against yours; it was all so hot and you knew if she touched you in that moment, you’d be wet for her.
Without breaking the kiss, Wanda moved so she was laying back against the couch, pulling you with her so you were on top of her, straddling her lap. One hand rested on the back of your neck, keeping you close, the other gripping your hip, her thumb rubbing small circles into your skin where your shirt had ridden up.
You cupped her cheek as you kissed her with more fervor, relishing in the feeling of being this close to her.
When she finally broke the kiss to catch her breath, you didn’t hesitate to move your lips to her jaw, kissing her skin as you made your way to her neck. Feeling your warm breath and eager mouth against her neck made her sigh beneath you, a breathy moan escaping her parted lips when you softly nipped at her pulse point. The sound went straight to your core and the fact that you’d been the one to make her moan this time was intoxicating in the best way - you needed to hear more.
You brought one of your hands to the hem of her shirt, teasing the skin underneath as you pulled away to look up at her. “Is this okay?” You asked, your voice shaky from nerves and arousal.
Wanda nodded beneath you and you slid your hand higher until you felt the lace of her bra against your fingertips. Wanda gasped when you cupped her covered breast and squeezed lightly, running your thumb over her nipple through the fabric. “Good girl,” she praised, her words sending a jolt of arousal through your body. She looked at you with darkened eyes and parted lips, the pure desire in her gaze almost too much for you to handle.
You brought your other hand to her chest and teased her through the fabric of her bra, soaking in all her cute little reactions to your touch, until she stopped you, pulling your hands out from under her shirt. You almost wondered if you’d done something wrong, but then she was reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling the garment off. Her bra soon followed, leaving her bare, and you gawked at the sight of her topless beneath you.
“Fuck,” you whispered, feeling even more turned on. You practically drooled at the sight of her full breasts on display for you, her nipples hard from your teasing. She was absolutely perfect and you couldn’t wait to see all of her, to touch her everywhere, to worship her body the way you’d always dreamed about.
“You like what you see?” Wanda teased, already knowing the answer. Her cockiness only made you more aroused as you nodded dumbly. “Go ahead baby,” she encouraged. “Show me what you’ve always wanted to do to me.”
Her words emboldened you and you removed your own shirt before leaning in, capturing one of her nipples between your lips. Wanda moaned at the first touch of your tongue against her sensitive nipple, her hand coming up to the back of your head to keep you there, fingers tangling in your hair. You let your tongue caress the hardened bud, alternating between licking and sucking, drawing out more gasps and sighs from the woman beneath you.
Your hand came up to give attention to her other breast, rubbing and pinching at her stiff nipple until her breathing was labored and her hips were bucking up into you. You switched sides and continued worshipping her breasts, humming against her skin as you got lost in the way she felt underneath you.
“Fuck, Y/N, wait,” Wanda said, pulling you back from her chest and snapping you out of your haze. You looked up at her, partially worried she was going to tell you to stop entirely, but the next words from her mouth made your whole body tingle with excitement. “Take me to bed.”
The walk down the hallway was a blur, your mind still fuzzy as you stepped into her bedroom, her hand in yours keeping you grounded. She led you to her bed and crawled atop the sheets, leaning back against the pillows and pulling you on top of her once more.
She kissed you again, this time with more fervor. The addictive feeling of her lips on yours made your heart race and your underwear impossibly wetter. You kissed her back with just as much desperation, moaning against her lips when her tongue slid into your mouth. Her lips curled at that and you almost felt embarrassed, but at the same time it was turning you on even more.
Without breaking the kiss, Wanda grabbed your hand and guided it lower, not stopping until it was resting on the button of her jeans. You pulled back to take a breath and couldn’t help but admire how she looked with blown-out pupils and kiss-swollen lips.
Sensing that you were waiting for permission, Wanda broke the heated silence first. “Take them off,” she demanded, her raspy voice going straight to your core.
You bit your lip, nodding, before obeying. Her jeans came off easily and you paused for a moment to take in the sight of her. Wanda was both flattered and aroused by the way you looked at her, like you wanted to do unspeakable things to her.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and pushed them down slowly, teasing you. She spread her legs and watched your reaction, amused at how desperate you looked for her in that moment, your eyes glued to her pussy.
You stared longingly at her glistening sex, wanting nothing more than to bury your face in it and taste her for hours. You hardly noticed when Wanda’s fingers hooked into your belt loop, tugging lightly. “Take these off too, detka.”
Her words snapped you out of your haze and you were quick to oblige, awkwardly removing your jeans and kicking them off to the floor while she watched.
When you climbed on top of her again, kissing her with more desire than she was prepared for, she absentmindedly brought her thigh up between your legs. She gasped into the kiss when she felt how wet you were through your panties.
“Fuck baby, you’re so wet,” she groaned, pecking your lips. “Did mommy make you this wet, sweetheart?”
You whined out of embarrassment, but the way she was speaking to you made you feel like you were on fire and you didn’t want it to stop. “Yes,” you murmured, feeling exposed.
“Yes what?” Wanda raised an eyebrow at you.
“Yes mommy,” you responded, giving her exactly what she wanted.
“Good girl,” she praised and you had to bite back a groan at her words. “I bet you get all wet when you watch me touch myself too, huh?”
“Yes mommy,” you answered, blushing, still feeling slightly humiliated that she knew how deeply desperate you were for her.
“Poor baby, it must’ve been so hard for you to see me like that and not be able to do anything about it, hm?” Her words were laced with faux sympathy and for some reason, it was incredibly hot. You pouted in response. “You have me now. What do you want to do to me?”
You were hesitant to tell her what you wanted, feeling shy at the thought of revealing what you’ve always imagined doing to her, but the way she was looking at you expectantly made you swallow your nerves. “I wanna taste you so bad,” you mumbled, your voice low.
“Yeah? You wanna taste mommy?” She repeated your words back to you and you could feel the heat in your cheeks from her teasing.
You nodded eagerly. “Please.”
“Oh, those manners,” Wanda purred, cupping your cheek. She leaned back against the pillows and spread her legs again, enjoying the way your eyes fell to the space between her thighs. “Go ahead baby, eat mommy’s pussy.”
You couldn’t believe what was happening - you were about to sleep with Wanda and she was encouraging you to taste her the way you could only dream about until now. You’d never done anything like this with anyone, but you were more excited and aroused than nervous at this point.
You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her thigh, before slowly making your way to where she wanted you most. You left open-mouthed kisses along the way, worshipping every inch of her skin. You could smell her arousal and it made you feel dizzy with lust; you couldn’t wait to taste her, eager to feel her cumming in your mouth.
You looked up at her once more, seeing nothing but desire in her gaze. Just as she was about to speak, to tell you to stop teasing, you dove in, licking a long stripe up her pussy, collecting her arousal on your tongue. You moaned at the taste of her, the way her soft folds felt under your tongue, the way she was dripping for you, and she gasped at the feeling of your hot mouth on her sensitive cunt.
When you wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked, Wanda couldn’t hold back a loud moan, her hips bucking slightly from the sudden stimulation. You alternated between sucking on her clit and flicking your tongue over it, drawing out more delicious moans from the woman beneath you. You could’ve gotten off on her sounds alone, but you nearly came right then and there when you looked up and saw her face contorted in pleasure, her eyebrows scrunched up and her lips parted as she panted beneath you.
She smiled when you made eye contact with her, humming in pleasure as you ran your tongue over her clit once more. “Mmm, fuck, you’re doing so good, sweetheart, so good for mommy,” she managed, the praise only making you more needy.
You doubled down on your efforts, determined to make her come undone. You groaned when Wanda began grinding her pussy into your mouth, her hips unable to stay still. She was practically fucking your face and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You already knew that watching her take her pleasure was enough to ruin you, but this was something else entirely.
You moaned into her pussy when she gripped your hair, not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to guide your movements, and continued the rhythm of her hips as she chased her orgasm. She looked so sexy getting lost in her pleasure and you couldn’t help but feel close to your own orgasm at the sight.
She tasted so fucking good too and despite the subtle ache in your jaw, you wanted to stay like this forever, trapped between her strong thighs as you lapped at her dripping cunt.
“Fuck, I’m so close, you’re doing so good,” she moaned, her voice breathy and higher in pitch. Her clit throbbed under your tongue as she approached the edge, her legs shaking around your head.
With one final swipe of your tongue, Wanda reached her peak, her back arching as waves of pleasure racked her body.
Pushing her over the edge only made you fall apart with her, a guttural moan leaving your lips as the coil within you snapped. It was short but intense and you could only grip Wanda’s thighs harshly as you rode it out.
Her hips continued to grind against your mouth and you didn’t stop eating her out, desperate to keep having her like this. You eagerly lapped up her wetness, groaning at the taste of her cum as she moaned and writhed beneath you.
You helped her ride out the aftershocks, keeping your mouth on her as long as you could. Even as she was coming down from her orgasm, you didn’t stop running your tongue through her, leaving tender kisses along the reddened skin of her overstimulated cunt.
Wanda’s grip on your hair loosened as she caught her breath, her hips jerking a little when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. She ran her fingers through your hair softly, looking down at you between her legs with lust and adoration in her eyes. “Come here,” she beckoned, smiling when you reluctantly pulled away from her center and crawled up to meet her at the head of the bed.
She leaned in to kiss you hard, letting her tongue swipe into your mouth and humming at the taste of herself. You kissed her back desperately, hungrily, as if having your first taste of her only made you want more - which was true.
She finally broke the kiss, panting, and cradled your face in her hand. “You did so good for your first time, detka,” she praised, leaning forward to whisper her next words in your ear. “You made mommy cum so hard.”
A subtle whimper escaped you at her words and she smirked. “So cute like this, all desperate for me.” She bit her lip as she admired how ruined you looked for her. “What do you need, baby?”
“Can you go again?” You blurted out, trying not to feel embarrassed at how eager you sounded.
Wanda’s eyes widened the slightest bit at your question, not expecting you to already want to make her cum again, especially when you hadn’t been taken care of. “What about you?”
Heat rose to your cheeks. “I- um, I already…” You trailed off, feeling embarrassed.
Wanda’s eyes lit up with realization and you wished you could hide from her when you noticed her lips curling into a cocky smile. “Yeah? You came just from eating mommy out?” You nodded almost shamefully, your breath catching in your throat when Wanda leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours. “That’s so fucking hot.”
Any embarrassment you felt in that moment quickly dissipated. Wanda loved the effect she had on you and the fact that she found it attractive only made you more confident in your desire for her.
Before you could formulate a response, her mouth was on yours again, kissing you ravenously and without restraint. You kissed her back with just as much passion, certain that nothing in life would ever feel as good as being with her like this.
Your thigh came up between her legs, pressing against her center, and she gasped into the kiss. The feeling of her soaked cunt against your bare skin made your head spin and you broke the kiss to mumble against her lips. “Sit on my face.” It was less of a demand and more of a request, your eyes pleading as you looked into hers. “Please.”
“So fucking eager,” Wanda said with amazement, the words breathy as she spoke them.
She quickly flipped your positions so that she was on top, her soft thighs straddling your midsection, her wet pussy grazing your bare stomach as she helped you get comfortable against the pillows. You reached for the backs of her thighs, encouraging her to come closer.
Soon her thighs were on either side of your head and you were practically buzzing with excitement for what was to come.
“Tap my thigh three times if you need to stop.” Those were the last words you heard before she lowered her pussy onto your mouth with a moan of satisfaction.
Wanda came several more times before the night was over. She guided you on how she liked to be touched and you were more than happy to do whatever she wanted. You fell apart once more on her thigh while you fucked her with your fingers, getting off on her moans and the way she looked in the throes of pleasure.
Wanda’s body practically melted into the mattress after her final orgasm of the night, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Once she recovered, she didn’t hesitate to cuddle up next to you, holding you close.
If you weren’t so tired, you would’ve asked her what this meant to her. Your feelings ran deeper than just sex, but you weren’t sure if hers did too. You tried not to worry about it, instead focusing on the way her body felt against yours, her soft breaths tickling your neck as she rested. You eventually drifted off to sleep, surrounded by her warmth and her scent.
When you were woken up the next morning by Wanda touching herself next to you, you could only wonder what you’d gotten yourself into - not that you were going to complain of course.
Mommy Wanda riding your face and suffocating you with her strong thighs but you don’t care because she just tastes so fucking good and she’s writhing on top on you and gasping and her fingers are tangled with your hair and she’s moaning and shaking and coming
omg guys i forgot to mention her accent ugh like imagine she's just babbling and urging you on and her accent wraps around each syllable and then eventually she just slips into her native tongue because you're making her feel so fucking good.
content warnings: Non Consent, strapon, slight nipple play
word count: 1.3k+
masterlist
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
Wanda looks so soft like this. Her skin glows where the streetlight hits it, streaming through the gap in your curtains. Her eyelashes are long, her eyebrows twitching in her sleep as she mumbles, wrapping herself tighter around you. God, you can even count her freckles, your gaze wandering over her sharp cheekbones. Her hair is splayed out, a strand landing on your chest as she nuzzles further into your shoulder.
"Baby?" You whisper, biting your lip at the low noise she makes in response.
It's adorable, really.
She shifts again, her legs tightening around yours as you feel her press herself into your thigh. Fuck. You let your hand slowly drift across her skin, from her waist up to her chest, grateful that you both prefer to sleep nude.
Her nipples are hard. Your fingers gently grab one, pinching it softly as Wanda makes a breathy sound, her eyebrows furrowing. She responds so well to you, and you instantly want more.
You cup her breast, squeezing it as you feel yourself grow wet. Fuck, you want your strap. You want to be buried inside her, fucking her until she melts into you.
Patience. It's a long game.
You press your nose against her hair, continuing to knead her breast as she lets out small, sleepy whimpers. You inhale deeply, letting her vanilla shampoo invade your senses. She was your favorite scent, haunting your every waking moment and invading your dreams.
Safe to say, you were hooked on her. Obsessed, even.
Moving slowly, you rest her head on the pillow, positioning yourself above her. You need to taste her. You want to draw out more of those lovely whimpers, the sound only serving to make you more desperate for her.
Her hands fall limply to her sides, her fingers curling in her sleep. You grab her wrists, pulling them until they rest above her head. There. Now she was perfect, practically vulnerable, splayed out on the sheets.
"My good girl," you whisper, dragging your tongue down her sweet neck as you feel her shiver beneath you.
Wanda remains asleep, her body responding to your touch. Her back arches slightly, her hips softly humping against yours as you place gentle kisses against her skin.
You suck gently, not daring to leave a hickey. The dull pain might wake her, and you're having too much fun to risk that.
Your teeth scrape against her collarbone as you move lower, your mouth watering in anticipation. One of your favorite things is to suck on her breasts, and Wanda often strutted around the house topless in the hope that you'd do just that.
Her nipple tastes amazing, hard against your tongue as you suck gently. You take as much of her breast in your mouth as you can, your tongue circling the skin as you stimulate her. You could probably get off on this alone, but you force yourself to pull away, giving the same attention to her other breast.
You take a moment to admire her, those perfect nipples hard and covered in your saliva. They're puffy and slightly red, evidence of your stimulation. She looks perfect like this, so thoroughly debouched for you. Your perfect girl.
Your clit throbs. You need to be inside her.
Reaching across the bed, you pull open the drawer of the nightstand, wincing as the wood gently scrapes. Your fingers wrap around the strap, already attached to its harness, and you grab the bottle of lube beside it. You're sure that Wanda is wet enough to take you, but you don't want to risk her waking up.
It only takes a moment to strap the harness to yourself, the dildo gleaming wickedly in the moonlight as you stroke yourself, coating its length with lube. You position yourself between her thighs, spreading her legs as you easily manipulate her body to your satisfaction.
God. She's soaked. Her arousal clings to her, and you gently rub your finger through her folds, bringing it to your mouth and sucking eagerly. She tastes amazing, sweet, and utterly yours.
You squirt a little more lube onto the tip of your strap before gently rubbing it against her. You can see her clit harden as you gently nudge it with your strap.
"You're so good for me," you whisper, gently guiding the tip inside her. Wanda moans softly, twitching. "Such a good girl for me."
A strand of your hair falls into your eyes, and you brush it back impatiently, running a hand through it. You needed more pomade; the short strands are stubbornly soft without it, but there's no time.
You slide the strap in, taking your time. Wanda twitches slightly, her eyelids fluttering softly, but she remains asleep. You nearly groan as you bottom out, the base of your strap pressed against her. Reaching down, you apply soft pressure against her clit as you pull out.
You almost lose your composure when Wanda lets out a soft moan, her fingers curling around the pillow. Reminding yourself that you have to go slow, you thrust back into her.
There's almost no friction, your strap easily sliding back into her. You begin to thrust, slow and gentle, working her body up as she dreams. It's absolute heaven.
Wanda's skin begins to flush, creeping up her neck and making her cheeks a rosy pink shade that makes you want to fuck her harshly until she's begging you to stop. You refrain, fucking her slowly as you gently circle her clit.
"You're perfect like this," you murmur, pumping your strap deep inside her and watching her face as it contorts into an expression of pleasure. "So compliant for me, my perfect, needy girl."
Wanda's breathing grows heavier, and you can tell that she's close to waking up. She lets out a cute moan, the sound breathless and wanting, and you lose control.
Bending over, you grab her wrists harshly, smirking as her eyes fly open. Your hips move quickly, roughly fucking into her as a moan tears from her throat. Her pupils are dilated, her eyes locked on yours as you fuck into her.
"What-"
"Shut the fuck up," you growl, your tone harsh. She just nods, whimpering as you fuck her harder. She's biting her lip, trying not to make a sound.
"None of that," you command, kissing her and biting down on her bottom lip, pulling it with her teeth. "I want to hear you, baby. You were making such desperate noises in your sleep for me, don't stop now."
Wanda doesn't hold back. Her moans sound like a symphony of angels as you fuck her, desperate whimpers accompanying the beautiful noise of her wet pussy around your strap.
"I want you to cum for me, baby," you murmur, your voice gravely as you slam your hips into her.
"Yes," Wanda gasps out. "Make me cum, I need it. Fuck, you make me feel so good."
You smile, leaning down to suck one of her nipples into your mouth, biting down as you fuck her harder.
Wanda lets out a strangled gasp, her back arching as you feel her pussy clenching around your strap.
"Fuck, I'm… fuck."
"That's it, sweetheart," you murmur, loosening your bite as you suck her nipple into your mouth. "Cum for me."
Wanda cums. It's beautiful, her back arching as she moans lowly, the sound desperate and needy, music to your ears. Your clit throbs against the base of the strap, your orgasm rising as you fuck Wanda through hers.
Your hips twitch, and you rub her clit furiously as you cum. Wanda's body is trembling from the aftershocks, but you don't care. She's yours to use as you please, and she fucking loves it.
As you cum, Wanda is thrown into a second orgasm, her fingers clenched tightly around the pillow as she whimpers beneath you.
"Beautiful," you murmur, finally slowing your thrusts as your orgasm fades. You're body is warm, tingling from the afterglow of your orgasm, and you slowly slide your strap out.
Wanda smiles slowly, a blissful look on her face as she wraps her arms around your neck. Her fingers play with the short hairs on your neck, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at you.
Tags: fem!reader, amnesia, established relationship, forced proximity, fluff!!, comfort, liight angst, mentions of food, soft emily, soft reader, pacing? I don’t know her, petnames, physical therapy as flirting, they're sad but they're getting through it, bantering #marriedcoupleenergy, non sexual nudity, yn are you ready to resist emily's game
Summary: You start to settle—in your home, in your skin.
Word count: 6.9k
Series masterlist
Emily clings in her sleep. There's no other way for you to put it: she clings, molded entirely around you, her limbs hooked into every minuscule space that dares pronounce itself. The bed is big, at least a queen, and yet you feel her in your lungs. Actually in your lungs, her weight pressing down, hair tickling the tip of your nose.
Koala, you think groggily, tilting your head back.
At first, you'd been confused. You had woken up overly hot, sweat-dampened in the creases of your limbs, strangely pinned down. Your arm and legs wouldn't budge. A brief panic had overtaken you, the hospital rushing back in, cold and unfamiliar, but then you felt the rhythm of her chest against yours and you realized. Your spiked pulse had beat loud in your ears.
In the time it took for it to slow down, you'd noticed the faint ache in your arm, weighed down by her head. Noticed your own arm slung across her back. You shift your fingers now, gently bunch them in her sweater.
She runs incredibly warm, bundled in thick pajamas and a sweater over her top, fuzzy ankle socks pressed to your own bare skin where your pant leg had ridden up. All of her heat bleeds into you; you burn in your entirety, all the places where she has you trapped and everywhere else where you're not.
You find, even so, that you don't want to move.
It's all so different to the arctic, lonely spread of the king-sized bed back in your bedroom. Here, your space is not yours. It's hers, claimed in her sleep, and you don't do anything to take it back. You just listen to the rhythm of her breathing. Even asleep, she's—grounding. Solid.
The rooms don't feel the same without her. The air is too empty, the silence, somehow, too heavy, even more than it would be if she was there, just quietly. The way she takes up space…you're constantly attuned to it, her absence taking a big claw out of your chest, a gaping hole left behind.
Ridiculous. You don't remember ever being so attached to a partner—a person—this strongly before. It's not healthy, it can't be.
She shifts in her sleep and your heart lurches, promptly proving your own point. You hold your breath but she stays asleep, her eyes closed, face lax, knee slipping down from your hip and worming into the part between your legs.
Slowly, you let out your exhale.
At least you know your attachment isn't one-sided.
She doesn't let herself show it, too focused on not overstepping, considering and reconsidering her every move to make sure it won't set you off. (It won't. It won't.) This side of her is one you're fairly enjoying. It's nice, to see—feel—her like this, wholly unguarded. She's usually so careful around you. Here she's entirely unaware of her own boundaries, just giving in to instinct.
Pins and needles begin to numb up your hand. They creep up from your fingers, spread to your forearms, up your shoulder. You hold still for another minute before the feeling becomes unbearable.
Slowly, carefully, you try to slip your arm out.
But her sleep is light. You hear the hitch in her breath, a long, deep inhale before she starts to shift, burrowing into you, her forehead rooting into your collarbone with a sound like a whine. The action is so thoughtlessly tender you briefly stop breathing.
Emily doesn't notice. She wakes slowly, like a flower unfurling, all lazy hums and slow shifts of her limbs. A yawn against your shoulder, her cheek rubbing against the meat of your bicep. It's a slow, sweet eternity before her head tips up, her sleep-hazed eyes meeting yours.
She blinks. A smile spreads across her face, small, close-lipped.
"Hi."
Jesus, her voice. It sends a trail of goosebumps down your skin.
"Hi," you breathe. "Sorry I woke you."
Emily shakes her head. "No, no—" She pauses as she takes in your current predicament. Realization creeps up in a faint blush, staining her cheeks. "Sorry I trapped you." She mumbles, shifting back, freeing your arm.
You find your mouth tugging, find your thumb reaching over to brush off a fallen lash from her cheekbone. It's okay, you should say, but you don't. "You're—really clingy." You hum instead, sweeping the lash from your thumb.
The words unfurl something: her head on your collarbone, your legs entangled on a couch—You're clingy, your voice teasing, fingers threaded though her hair. The indignant huff of her breath, buried beneath your laugh.
Warmth flutters through you.
Emily smiles again, her eyes nearly squinting closed, still soft around the corners.
"I've been told. Sleep well?"
You nod. "Warm," you admit.
Maybe a little too warm, but.
Her gaze sharpens as you carefully shift onto your side to face her. There's a little breathing room between you, your head on your pillow and her head on hers, the sheets rumpled, loose with your movement.
"How are you feeling?" She checks in, her eyes sweeping over your face. "Any soreness?"
"No, I'm fine." You've gotten used to the dull pain in your shoulder. It's more manageable than it was, sometimes quieting down for long enough that you forget and pull an abrupt move, sending it flaring again. It's the only thing giving you trouble, apart from your lingering headaches.
You ignore the pins and needles in your arm and adjust the strap of the sling so it doesn't bite into your neck. Emily notices. She shifts an inch closer, tugs up the collar of your sleep shirt and shifts the strap onto the fabric instead of your raw skin. You exhale, warming under the gentle touch of her fingers, the brush of her knuckles against your throat.
"We should get some aloe—"
"I want you to come back." You blurt out, catching her wrist, keeping her hand there on your shoulder.
Emily pauses.
"To the room," you clarify, softer. The words are clumsy in your mouth, heavy with plain want. "You don't have to stay here. I don't want you to."
Her eyes are dark, impossible to read. You drop your gaze.
"I mean—unless you want to, of course—"
"Honey," she huffs, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Come on." She says it so softly, so matter-of-fact, you feel your blood start to boil beneath your skin.
You swallow, leaning into the hand she cups to your cheek. Every inch of you winds a little tighter at the contact. You can feel the slight rush of her pulse under your finger; the faint cloud of her exhales over your jaw.
Soft as down feathers, Emily's thumb draws slow strokes over your cheek. It catches the corner of your mouth as it comes down.
"Are you sure?" She murmurs, earnest, achingly careful.
You nod. Squeeze her wrist. "I'm sure."
It's like watching a sunrise—seeing her face as it softens, melts, totally, with the pleasure. Her lips press together against a smile and there's the faint shadow of a dimple in her cheek; you itch to touch it, smooth your finger over the dent, memorize its spot, press it in—
"I hog the covers." She warns.
"Hog them all you want."
Emily laughs, and it's soft, it's yours, the gauzy cotton of a cloud draping over your skin, wrapping you in it, your ears reverberating with the sound.
"Yeah?" She whispers. "Okay, then."
-
It comes without warning as you're slipping out of bed. Emily suddenly goes still, her hands curling around the edges of the mattress, head ducking down into her chest. Her voice abruptly tapers off into silence.
You frown at her hunched figure. "Emily?"
She makes a faint noise in her throat. You round the bed over to her side, already knowing before you see her swallow hard, inhale sharply through her nose.
"Nauseous?"
"A little," she says, her voice strained. Her grip is so tight, it turns her knuckles bloodless. She squeezes her eyes shut and shoves in a few more deep breaths, her jaw set. "It's fine. It'll blow over."
You don't get a chance to do anything before she jumps and makes a beeline for the bathroom, her hand clamped tight over her mouth.
You wince and follow her in, try your best to hold her hair back with your one hand, offer some semblance of something. But there's little you can do. Her body wages violent war against her; her skin beads with sweat, bruises standing out under her eyes.
It itches in you, drags under your skin. You've never felt more useless.
You're murmuring nonsense when she finally quietens, her skin damp, chilled where you sweep your fingers. You brush the sweaty bangs away from her face and feel her shiver with the motion, shoulders tremulous. Instinctively, you tug her into you, your lips brushing the skin of her temple.
"You're okay, Em." You murmur, rubbing her arm. "You're okay, honey, you did good."
She slumps into your chest, muffling a weary noise in your shirt. Your heart twists. Pulling up your sleeve over the heel of your hand, you dry the sweat on her temple, feeling it wet the fabric.
"I've got you," you say. The floor is hard and cold under you, your back aching from the awkward position, the added strain of her weight, but you force yourself upright and as steady as you can muster.
You'd already left her once. You're not going to do it again.
-
"It's really not that—"
She dies down at the look you give her. It thrills you a little, the way her jaw snaps, but it doesn't last long before she's giving you a look, imploring.
"Sweetheart."
"Emily. I'm not going to die if you don't make me breakfast. I can make it myself—"
"I know you can—"
"—and anyway, I'm not hungry. So just." You make an impatient gesture with your hand. "Stay put."
The sweat has dried from her forehead, her usual color back in her cheeks, but you're still uneasy. You can still feel the way she'd gone limp against you on the bathroom floor—tremors along her shoulders, the harsh staccato of her breath echoing on the tiles. You could see her heart beating fast under the thin skin at the base of her throat.
On some level you think you know you're overreacting—overcorrecting, flooded with guilt because you'd left her, you'd seen her go through it but you still left her, too absorbed in your own grief—but the image of her pale and drained is too clear in your head for you to care.
Emily seems to have forgotten the whole ordeal. She looks at you with her eyes soft. Too used to it by now, probably.
The thought makes you sick.
"Y/N," she says gently. "I'm okay. I'm not going to die just because I got sick a few times, it's fine."
"A few times," you echo. "Remind me again, it's been how many weeks of this?"
How far along is she? The question briefly unsettles you, a big blank throwing your head into silence.
It's like she reads it on your face.
"I'll be going into my second trimester next week," she says, her smile small, just a press of her lips. "It should ease up by then."
You don't know how many weeks that is, exactly, but you do know it's in the double digits. Early teens, maybe.
Just a couple of weeks now, and she'll start to show. Your stomach cramps at the thought. Just a couple of weeks, and she'll start to show, and then a few months will blur by and you'll have a baby between you, and you'll raise a kid with her even though she still doesn't fully trust that you will, she still doesn't let you in, she doesn't believe that you can or want to—fuck, you want to—she doesn't—
Emily sits up in bed and takes your hand. Hers is warm, her fingers skating over your knuckles, squeezing. Your eyes snap back to hers.
"Sweetheart, I'll be fine," she reassures. Slowly, as if she's explaining it to a kid. "I am fine. I'm"—she huffs out a laugh—"I'm hardly the first person to get pregnant."
A stone sinks low in your gut.
Just pretend I'm the old me. Please just pretend I'm the old me and stop pretending with me, stop lying, let me in, let me help, I want to help—
"Not the first," you say, "but you're mine, and it's—it all feels so—" You break off, losing your grasp on the words.
It's all jumbled in your head, everything you want to say, everything you don't know you have the right to ask. You inhale roughly, eyes fluttering closed for just a second—"It's so much, Emily, god. It's so much and it's all on you and I just—" The desperation rises in you, "I don't want you to pretend with me. You keep up these fronts and you think I don't notice. I do." Your voice goes thin, bending. You swallow it down, queasy at the way her face collapses back into its familiar guilt.
Her eyes flit away from yours; you cup her jaw, bringing them back, bringing her back.
Let me in, let me in.
"Hey." You say raggedly, holding her gaze. "You can admit that it's overwhelming," you whisper, "or that you're exhausted or just—just sick of it all. You're allowed to be, and you can tell me. This can't just all be on you, Emily."
You're startled at how fast her eyes go shiny, brimming with tears. Your chest collapses in on itself. It's too much, for anyone.
And she keeps taking it all without a word.
You speak past the lump in your throat. "I'm here for you," you mumble. "I'm not going anywhere, but you're not being honest with me."
Emily blinks, swallowing hard. It's like all her indifference drains out of her; she grows uncertain-looking—her face sobering, posture curling small, like a scolded child. She doesn't move, doesn't say a word, the room so quiet you hear the silence ring.
You lean your forehead against hers. "Please, baby." You murmur, pleading—for what, you don't know.
Emily sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry," she says hoarsely. "I'm—this isn't easy for me."
Your eyes flood with heat. "I know it isn't."
"Not you," she rushes out, grabs the hem of your sweater in a fist. "I don't mean you."
Her voice goes cracked, desperate. It gnaws at you, hearing her like this, seeing the glaze of tears in her eyes, but you want her to just stop burying it all.
I could've waited. I wasn't hurt, I was just uncomfortable. I could've waited.
It becomes harder to swallow. "You're not alone." You stroke along her cheek, just as desperate. "Do you know that?"
Emily's eyes close. "I do. I do know that. Fuck, hon, I—"
"You can trust me."
"I do," she breathes. "I swear I do."
"I don't have one foot out the door." The words crack, and Emily's eyes shoot open, go wide and round—and fuck, you're making it about you again, twisting it all to bring it back to—
"I'm not leaving you."
Her face crumples, a sharp sob gasping out of her. She clamps a hand over her mouth but it's too late, the sound is already echoing, her tears are tipping over fast, trailing down the length of her cheeks.
You can feel your own tears wetting your face. Emily's shoulders are heaving silently as you bring her into you, wrap your arm around her shoulder and bring her close—still far, too far—your neck tipping forward into the top of her head.
"I'm not leaving you," you whisper into her hair. "Get the thought out of your head, okay? It's not happening." You say hoarsely, damp patches growing on the front of your sweater. Emily sniffles and everything trembles—her hands, clutching your sides, her shoulders, your strained, pounding heart. The sound of her sobs cleaves through the rush in your ears.
You palm the nape of her neck, smoothing over the the taut muscles there.
"It's not happening."
-
"You can't just not tell me this shit." You're crying, tears pattering down onto the floor like rain. Emily is blurry, but you can still see the bruise staining her side, the bandages cutting across her ribs. "Jesus, Emily, do you think no one cares? You think I don't?"
"I didn't want you to worry." She says, almost desperately. "See, you're worrying—"
"Of course I am! I fucking love you, I'll always be worried!"
Emily sucks in a breath. You barely even notice what it is you've said, never mind that it's been on your mind for weeks now, taunting you. You can only stare at the bruise, her skin marred, marked, violent.
"I'm sorry." She cups your face, thumbs at the wet slip of tears. "I'm sorry, honey, fuck—don't cry. Please don't."
You can't not. You're not a crier, not really, but it's all you can see—someone with a boot to her ribs, an elbow, a gun, a knife splitting her skin open. Someone wanting her harmed. Dead.
You still see it as she brings you into her chest.
"You can't keep doing this."
"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I love you. I love you."
-
The near-empty jar of Will's granola balances precariously on your thighs as you sit in the living room, your neck craned down at the phone in your lap, eyes burning from the strain and everything else. Sergio purrs at your side, warding off the void. He's a welcome companion as the sky darkens around you and leaves you with a time capsule of memories.
You wade through it all with bated breath.
You keep your phone's brightness turned low, your eyes still sensitive to too-bright light. You've been combing it through for nearly an hour now, reading back text threads, searching through the photos in your camera roll, gathering bits of your life like an ant collecting crumbs. It's a bit surreal, to be able to poke around. The person in your phone is clearly you; you haven't changed enough in three years to become unrecognizable to yourself. It's more of a relief than anything, but you still find yourself factoring in the newer variables, wondering how they came about.
Your habits are the same. You text dryly, keep few pictures of yourself, have a hundred more or less useless notes taking up space in your notes app. Your social media accounts are as sparse as they've ever been. Your call log consists of the same three people—Emily taking up most of it.
There's no rhyme or rhythm to your searching. You jump from app to app—your photos to your messages and back, opening up a new text thread, scrolling through another album. There's things you ignore: texts asking after your health, some from people you recognize, others whose names are fuzzy; Christmas well-wishes, continuations to conversations you don't have the context for, fourteen new messages from Pen🩷, three missed calls from Emily—11:17 P.M., 11:18, 11:19, December 16.
You're briefly queasy again.
Some of it comes back, the fog drawing thin. Your high-school best friend is still in your life—you're still just as close—though no longer as easy to see. Your eyes glaze over when you read the latest message, dated six days ago.
I'm here for you, anytime you want.
There's a few more from that same vein. Texts from Emily's friends, in varying degrees of familiarity—none from her mother, which doesn't surprise you. (Your lack of surprise, however, does). A name you vaguely recognize turns out to be a coworker you go out with on occasion; you dig through your camera roll and connect the face to the name when you find a picture, shadowy from the weak lighting of a bar.
Pictures of you and Emily, you find, are laughably rare. It's mostly her, or Sergio, or both of them together. They're sickeningly domestic—blurred, or in warm lighting, or posed up close. Emily mid-laugh, mid-yawn; deep in concentration with a book in her hands, Sergio sprawled across her legs.
It feels like you're intruding, somehow. You're not able to go through half the photos before you click back into your messages, an incessant gnawing in your stomach.
You have two new texts from her. Her name sits a few rows down (Em, the contact photo one of her with a beach splayed behind her). You tentatively open up the thread, not knowing what to expect.
December 16, 10:47 P.M.
You
Want anything else?
Em
My wife back.
You
T-minus ten minutes
Em
That's a little more than ten minutes.
Honey, where are you?
Missed voice call
Missed voice call
Missed voice call
December 13, 10:04 A.M.
Em
Are we out of Advil?
You
There's a strip in my bag
What's wrong?
Em
Mother called.
You
Jesus
Em
Good news, though, she'll be out of state this Christmas.
You
Sweeeeet
December 11, 2:36 P.M.
You
Hey
Do you have a minute?
Em
Tell me.
Voice call
December 8, 7:23 P.M.
Em
Boarding.
It's around five hours, don't wait up.
You
Don't tell me what to do
Em
Seriously?
You
My bad for missing you
And for being a good wife
Em
A perfect wife, you mean.
You
Flattery will get you everywhere
Em
I love you.
Please don't wait up.
December 7, 8:14 A.M.
You
How's the nausea, baby
Em
Not so bad. I at least made it through breakfast today.
JJ caught me, though.
You
Better her than Pen
Em
That's what I thought.
December 3, 6:53 P.M.
You
Okay so
Does anyone in your office happen to like peanut butter cookies?
Em
Babe.
How much did you make?
You
Well
Emily
I'm still waiting for an answer.
December 1, 5:18 P.M.
Em
In the store, you want anything?
You
Takis!!!
Em
Those things will genuinely kill you.
You
Two takis :))
"Hey."
Your head snaps up at the sound of Emily's voice. You turn the phone off. "Hi."
She sits down next to you, close enough for your arms to brush. Sergio trills and eagerly migrates onto her lap. She gives his chin a few lazy scratches, the sound of his purrs taking up space in the silence.
You notice, as your fingers itch to smooth out the reddened sleep lines on her cheek, that she sits on your good side. She always sits on your good side.
You set your phone down and reach over to stroke an idle path down Sergio's back. With the movement, your shoulder gently presses into hers. She turns to steal a glance at you, her wayward bangs brushing your cheek, lightly ticklish on your skin.
Her free arm shifts against yours and you feel her reach into your lap, pick up the abandoned—depleted—jar of granola, the few grains left inside rattling as she turns it over.
"Hungry?"
"Very." You sift your fingers through Sergio's fur, only a slight bit embarrassed. His purring cranks louder, seeping into your bones.
"What do you say to takeout?"
Her voice is so close, brushing your jaw, that you have to fight not to shiver. You take your hand back and keep your shoulder pressed against hers and suddenly feel it, all around—the stillness, in you, in her, in the house.
There's too much grief clouding you.
"Why don't we go for dinner?" You venture. "If you're feeling up to it."
Emily's eyes snap up to yours. "Yeah," she says, eager if a little surprised. "Yeah, sure."
"Sure?" You reiterate.
"Yes," she insists. "Anything particular in mind?"
You shake your head. "Just nothing fancy. Take me…" your arm loosely hooks around her hers, "take me somewhere I like."
Emily smiles, then. It still throws you off—how it softens her face, the shine of unadulterated pleasure making her glow. Beautiful, your stomach twists, tying itself in knots. Beautiful even with her eyes still shot through with red, the skin around them puffy with sleep, with tears, the heartache clinging to her even now.
"Okay."
-
The neon lights of a 24/7 diner glint off of her hair.
"Is this okay?" She asks, a thread of hesitation ringing in her voice.
You can't fathom the warmth flowing through you. You yourself hadn't known what to want or expect, but standing in front of the restaurant, a sense of rightness clicks. And, warmer than the weight of your hand in hers—
She knows you. Even when you don't.
You turn to kiss her cold cheek and feel the doubt slump out of her. "Perfect." You murmur.
Emily blushes a faint pink, pleased.
Inside, the lights are warm, the leather of the booths soft and worn. The whole place smells like sticky maple and deep-fried chicken. It's familiar, sugar and grease, setting off the hunger in you again.
A young, bored-looking waitress seats you.
"You sure this won't upset your nausea?" You ask Emily as she settles opposite you.
"I don't think so, this place is tried and tested. We've been a couple of times," she shrugs, "seems to be okay. What are you feeling?"
"Breakfast," you say resolutely, picking up the menu and skimming the options. "You?"
"Anything with maple."
Your mouth quirks. Much the same, your eyes skip over the egg combos and head straight down to the griddle dishes.
Belgian waffles, strawberry French toast, cinnamon roll pancakes…
"We missed pancake Sunday." You say idly. The image blooms in your head: your sun-drenched kitchen, Emily in just a t-shirt, humming some aimless tune and stirring pancake batter. You cutting up fruit, dotting chocolate chips on the still wet puddles she scoops out onto the pan. It's a ritual of sorts, implicitly sacred. Yours and hers.
Surprise washes over Emily's face. "Oh," she says. "Yeah—right. Slipped my mind."
"That's quite a serious offense, Mrs. Prentiss."
Her eyes go pinched, smiling. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, velvet-soft as she leans across the table. "How do you want me to make it up to you?"
She's teasing, you can distantly tell. But her voice, already low, drops lower, pours over your skin like honey. She looks at you from under her lashes and it sets you on fire, your wife toying with you, flirting.
"Are you guys ready to order?" The waitress comes over, clicking her pen, saving you.
You lean back into your seat and nod a little too quickly, the heat of Emily's eyes still on your face. You can hear the barest hint of a smile in her voice as she places her order—her menu still closed, hands folded neatly on top of it. You—a few degrees above your normal temperature, the words on the menu blurring before your eyes—go for the pancakes.
Outside, flecks of snow start fluttering down. They streak through the dark backdrop of the evening, sweep up against the window, stick and melt on the glass. A bell chimes as the door of the diner pushes open, a belated gust of wind rushing past you.
It cools your cheeks enough that you can pick up the conversation again.
"So." You look back at your wife. "How did we find this place?"
Emily's mouth softens, pulls up into a half smile. "It's not anything special, really. We were going out for dinner, but we didn't make it in time for our reservation. My flight was delayed coming back," she explains. "But we were starving and everywhere else was packed, so..."
As she talks, threads of memory start to connect.
It was a weekend. You'd been annoyed with her, but—I'm not the one flying the jet, babe.
"Our old complex is close by." You mention.
This earns you a proper smile. Dimpled and all. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." Emily says.
There's a new weight to her gaze, a heavy fondness, her eyes bright with it. It warms you up on the inside as she takes your hand from the table and lifts it up to her lips. "You're doing good," she whispers, kissing the ridges of your knuckles.
Air thins in your lungs, a swooping feeling rushing through your gut.
You're doing good.
You carefully twist your hand in her grip and reach over to cup her cheek. You see the breath rush in her, fast, then slower, quieter, like she's trying to pace herself. The table edge digs into your ribs as you brush your thumb over her cheek, not quite where her dimple lays—too high up.
Her eyes are so dark you can see tiny, twin reflections of yourself in them, pulled over her irises.
"How can you stand it?" You ask quietly.
She doesn't need to ask what you're talking about. She knows, squeezes your wrist, ghosts her thumb over your pulse.
"Because I love you, and you're my best friend."
She says it so plainly. It's near laughable—almost childishly simple. Still, your eyes grow hot, a lump expanding in your throat as Emily keeps her hand over yours, lightly skates her thumb over your skin. "I've always been alone," she murmurs. "Ever since I was a kid. I never had many friends, and the ones I could make—" she shrugs, "it was impossible to stay in touch. That kind of stuck, I think." Her voice seeps into your bones, through muscle, through skin. "Even as I grew up, I wasn't exactly popular. It was hard to…connect."
Your chest twinges. Emily rubs absent, soothing circles on your skin, almost like she can feel it.
"The BAU was my first time feeling like I belonged. Sappy, I know, but—I'd never really had friends, much less family." She says softly, passively. A tiny bit amused, like she's laughing at herself.
"And then, you came along." Her lips tug, brushing the heel of your hand—not quite a kiss, but not quite not. It's enough to send your heart in a tailspin, but then her eyes pin you in place, impossibly dark, brimming with such focus you nearly squirm. She exhales heavily, warmth fogging over your skin. "I've kind of been waiting my whole life for you."
The words burrow deep. There's such a palpable tenderness to them that you have to look away, catch your breath.
You. All of this is for you. Somehow, for some reason.
"Charmer," you muster out.
Emily smiles. She clasps your hand between both of hers and gently lays it back on the table. You barely notice the strain that loosens in your arm, your head overfull with her. She lets you stay in it, a little dazed, but before long she's nudging your ankle under the table, trapping your leg between both of hers, your knees knocking into each other.
"So, does that mean you'll let me sleep in your bed tonight?"
You're surprised when you laugh, so loud you have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle it.
-
With a sling, every normal activity takes about ten times longer. Changing; eating; showering; even sleeping is tedious. Brushing your teeth and washing your face take an eternity when Emily's not helping you—she insists, but so do you, that you've got it. Because you have. It just takes about two hours to get through what used to take you five minutes.
You flick open the cap on the bottle of aloe gel and squeeze out a cool dollop. Emily had gotten you the squeezable bottle after you'd struggled with the jar—you don't know when she'd gotten it, only that it was there on your nightstand the next time you needed to switch out your bandage. At the reminder, you find yourself biting down on a smile as you spread the gel on the half-healed burn.
Sweet. She's sweet—in a way that makes you fuss and flounder and go hot despite yourself. It's nothing overly loud or frivolous, just deeply earnest. You've never met anyone so thoughtful.
At least, you think.
Every day, it just becomes more surreal—the fact that she's yours, unwavering and entirely devoted. Funny. So beautiful it physically aches in your chest. You feel like you've done nothing to deserve her, like you just woke up and she was there, hovering over your hospital bed, her eyes glazed with tears.
Honey. Talk to me, please.
Honey, breathe. Honey, you're killing me.
Honey, I'm kidding. Honey, let me in, honey I love you, fuck, honey, there you go—
You wipe off the excess gel with a towel, somersaults in your stomach.
It's a strange thing, to be falling in love with your wife. You love her, you know you do, you feel it. It's dormant, living inside your bones.
But this, it's different. It trips along your insides, burning hot and growing hotter, glowing, in your chest, the pit of your stomach. You look up at yourself in the bathroom mirror, eyes bright, the ghost of a smile lingering around your mouth, and you think—yes.
You're falling in love with her.
-
"Oh—god, I'm sorry—"
"Hm?" Emily turns, to you, topless—nearly entirely topless, a shirt clutched in her hand, and that's—
That's a tattoo. Arched over her hip, curling to wrap around her waist.
A tattoo. She has a tattoo.
"I—" You mouth goes achingly dry. You swallow, hard. "Fuck, sorry, I didn't—I didn't know you were changing. Or that you have a tattoo," you blurt out, cringing as the words echo in the silence. Your back is still to the bathroom door, your feet firmly planted on the ground even as your eyes rove, heat ripping through you.
Your first thought is: she's not as soft as she feels. There's lean muscle in her arms, toned and firm even from afar, her shoulders strong, chest rounded and soft. Your eyes are gluttonous, eating across every inch of her pale skin. They skate up the plane of her stomach, to her exposed collarbones, to the curve to her neck, down to the ink splayed on her side—
The corner of Emily's mouth ticks up. You're still glued in place as she steps closer, much to the dismay of your poor, weak knees.
"I have a couple," she says easily. "You like this one?"
You tell yourself not to look—don't look, don't, don't, don't—but you fail yourself.
Your eyes drop to it.
Up close, it's even more catching—a little faded, worn into her skin. The inkwork is elegant—a string of lilies, arching up, curving around to cup her waist. Pale white stretch marks ripple through it. Loose, curling tendrils of stem reach up just to her ribs; the rest of the tattoo dips below her waistline, snaking down her hip, a petal peeking over—
You avert your eyes, too late, the ink already burned into your brain.
"Sorry," you mutter belatedly, blood rushing to your cheeks.
"What for?"
Your eyes snap back to hers. Emily's smile is now a full-blown grin, more than a little pleased.
"You can look, honey, it's okay." Her voice is faintly teasing. "Touch, even. I won't bite."
You swallow, feeling your back press against the door. "I'm sorry." Your voice is embarrassingly ragged. Her gaze is impossible to hold; you flick your eyes away, rubbing skittishly at your brow. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
"So polite," she murmurs, unbearably fond. "Sweetheart, you're my wife. I'm not on any spot."
Your brows scrunch. You look back at her to find a similar look on her face. It fades into a smile when your eyes meet, her shrug easy and careless. "You get what I mean. Really, it's okay." Her voice softens. Coaxing. "If you want to."
It feels like uneven ground. You're bared open, every inch of your want out on display and it's—it's new to you but it's not new to her and even though, in all technicality, she's the one stripped to her skin but you feel exposed down to your bones, falling after she's already fell, her feet steady on the ground while you're still tumbling and tripping over yourself.
Unfair.
But you still can't help yourself.
Swallowing your heart, you let your eyes drift lower.
"Twenty-year-old me was onto something, huh?" She murmurs.
Twenty-year-old you would have straight fainted at the sight. Current-age-you isn't faring much better, really.
"It's pretty." You manage.
"You think?"
"Emily," you inhale, swallowing to dispel the dryness in your throat, "I mean this in the nicest way possible—please put on your goddamn shirt."
She laughs, ducking her head. "Okay, okay. Sorry."
"No, you're not." You mutter, relieved and disappointed in equal measure when she shrugs her shirt on. It becomes marginally easier to breathe, a relentless flame flicking out.
Her smile is in her eyes as she pulls out her hair from under the shirt. "Want me to help? You didn't ice your shoulder today, did you?"
"Didn't, no." You finally find the strength to push off of the bathroom door and make your way to the closet.
You pick a considerably lighter pair of pajamas to account for the clinginess. (King bed, yes, but can you really trust her to stay on her side?)
There's no good reason to let her help you, but you hand her the shirt anyway.
It's become a routine of sorts. You sit down on the edge of the bed and take your arm out from your sling, carefully holding it stiff. Emily kneels down in front of you and reaches for the hem of your sweater, bunches it up to help you get your arm out of the sleeve.
It's easy to pull your good arm out, but the other one needs more maneuvering. Emily guides the collar over your head and gently tugs the sleeve down your injured shoulder.
"Bruising's getting better." She murmurs, eyeing the discoloration around the joint. She sets your sweater aside. "Have you been doing the exercises?"
You wince a little.
"Honey."
"Forgot."
She sighs. "Can we do them now, do you feel up for it?"
You're not sure she realizes it, but her voice does the thing. Sweetens, almost, goes softer than it already is. She doesn't push, but she does this. Gently coaxes and poses it all as a question, gives you the illusion of making a choice when, really, she makes it impossible to refuse.
"Fine."
Emily squeezes your knee, pleased. She helps you slip your pajama shirt on then shifts closer to your left, picking up your hand from its perch on your thigh.
"I've been doing the finger ones." You allow.
She hums. "What about this one?" She keeps your arm supported with one hand and takes your wrist in the other, gently bending it down.
You shake your head. She holds the position for a few seconds then switches, pushing your wrist up until your hand hovers in a high-five. Your head quietens as you let her guide you through the motions. It's nothing tedious or painful, but having her do it is strangely relieving.
Her hands are warm, the room quiet but for the shift of her knees on the floor, the springs in the bed as your weight eases and settles. You feel every thud of your heart in your chest.
Emily is quiet as she moves on to the other exercise—this one to help you bend your elbow. She gently guides your arm, searching your face for signs of pain, a faint crease between her brows. You're not really thinking when press your thumb to it, but she huffs out a sound like a laugh, her skin smoothing out, the crease disappearing.
As she brings your arm back down, she lays a soft kiss to the side of your wrist.
You're acutely aware that she has all of your hurt in her hands. Your biggest physical vulnerability, entirely in her control. She could pull an abrupt move, push or pinch or grab where it hurts, but she doesn't. You don't know why the thought even creeps up; she's almost unbearably cautious, sitting, on her knees, for you. Everything she's done has been to ease your pain. You don't even believe that she'd do anything to hurt you, but she just.
She could.
"You seem well practiced." You remark quietly.
Emily hums. "I've dislocated my shoulders enough for a lifetime."
You frown.
"How many times?"
Her lips purse. "Two on my right, I think. Three on my left."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." She smiles humorlessly. "Perks of the job. They heal a lot faster after that first time, though."
Your nose wrinkles. "It's still awful."
She gives a little hum. "It's not something I ever wanted you to know the feeling of." Her brows draw together, lips thinning as she sets your hand down. Quick and nimble, she grabs the sling and eases your arm back into it, careful to adjust the strap so that it sits on your pajama shirt.
"How's that?" She checks in.
"Perfect," you nod. "Thank you."
She straightens, takes your face in her hands and kisses your forehead. "Bed?"
pairing: emily prentiss x f!reader
summary: You risk your life to save a boy from his armed father, diving into a pond to protect him. Afterward, Emily is furious with you, not out of anger, but fear. Still, she helps you warm up.
tags: mention of gun violence, fluff
Emily gets injured in the line of duty, but what happens when a much younger girlfriend that no one knew existed shows up looking for her girlfriend...
Part 1 Part 2
Content; angst, lots of feelings in this one guys
A/N Enjoy all the feels in this one but the smut will be back in pt 4...
It was a week before the doctors agreed that Emily could be discharged with strict instructions to follow, the only way you could describe that week was tense. Throughout the week you got to meet more of her team members in interactions ranging from genuinely heart warming to awkward and stiff, at first everyone was shocked to meet you given the fact that most of them did not know you even existed until you showed at the hospital a week ago. Penelope and JJ had been the most welcoming and you were glad that they were all there for Emily, however it had meant that you two had barely gotten any time alone together to really talk and by the looks that Emily kept shooting you it was clear you needed to talk.
You hadn’t told Emily yet but for the last week you had been staying with a friend because after you had left the hospital the first night it hadn’t felt right to go back to Emily’s place alone. You don’t know whether it was because you had only just moved in and being there without her felt wrong, but then again you had had no issue staying there on your own while she was away on cases and so you think maybe it is the doubt that had slowly been creeping into you, did Emily really want you living with her if she didn’t even tell her closest friends that she was dating someone let alone that it was someone 15 years younger than her? Unfortunately since that first night you had not had a moment totally alone with her whether it be doctors or members of her team.
However when her discharge day came it was you who she asked to help her get home and it was you who was given the instructions for her at home care before helping her out of the hospital and into the passenger seat of your car. Once in the car you are finally alone but you don’t even know where this conversation should start and so you just shift the car into gear and start driving back to Emily’s place. Neither of you say anything until you park up and pull your duffle bag out of the boot of the car, Emily looked at you questioningly “hey babe why do you have a big bag of stuff with you”?. You look at the ground rather than at her when you reply “I have been staying with a friend for the last week whilst you have been in the hospital”.
“I say this in the nicest way possible but why the fuck have you not been staying at home” she doesn’t sound angry just confused and she looks at you like you are the fragile one even though she was the one who had just been shot. “I don’t know, I just felt weird coming back here on my own when I didn’t really know if you even wanted me here”. She is silent as she puts the code in to unlock the door and moves inside, you follow her carrying your bag and her stuff from the hospital and when you walk in the door she is already sitting on the sofa. You put the stuff down by the door and she pats the spot on the sofa next to her signaling that she wants you to come and sit with her, you have no idea where this is going to go but you move to sit next to her anyway.
“I would have done this outside but unfortunately I was shot last week and am not feeling my best” she chuckles but with a serious undertone. “I NEED you to listen to what I am about to say and I need you to take it seriously” she pauses for a second before continuing “I cannot express how sorry I am about how the last week has played out but before I say anything else I need you to know that I love you so fucking much and nothing is ever going to change that”. “When we first started dating it was like you were too good to be true and I didn’t want to jink it, but as time went on and I had the chance to tell people I just didn’t, mostly due to my own insecurities and absolutely nothing to do with you my love”.
You look at Emily, really look at her and you don’t see the strong powerful FBI agent she shows others. You see her power in a whole other way in her vulnerability and honesty, you reach over to grab her hand and bring it up to your lips fitting them into her palm. “God Emily I was just so scared, when you didn’t come home and I couldn’t reach you I feared the worst and then to have someone who didn’t even know who I was tell me you had been shot! If that number hadn’t been on the fridge I may not have known for days where you were, do you know how terrifying that thought is?”.
A single tear fell from Emily’s eye as she met your gaze “I am so sorry my love, truly this is obviously a less than normal situation but you should never have been in that position and I hate that my actions are responsible for that”. You could tell she truly meant it and the hurt you felt was slowly washing away the love and adoration you had for her. “I forgive you Em and I am so sorry that we were ever in this situation to begin with, I don’t know what I would have done if…”. Emily cuts you off before you have a chance to finish your sentence, she leans close to you and places a soft kiss to your lips that you lean into and everything that is left to say between you is poured into the kiss and you know that everything is going to be ok.
adopted by the jacobs family, you built your life around becoming one of them. becoming the best of them. straight A student. cheer captain. beloved by all. your image is spotless. besides the fact that you're fucking your older brother's girlfriend.
maddy perez threatens to unravel all the work you've done as you fall deeper and deeper into a relationship with her that ceases to exist. at the end of the day, she will always choose nate. you know that, but you just can't seem to let her go, because who knows. maybe just once, she might choose you too.
IMPORTANT:
everything in italics is rue's narration (sorry for so much use of y/n)
reader is intended to be poc and has an extensive backstory but anyone can read
thinking of wealthy!reader who perfectly suits maddy's type (physical and personality) who would do anything for her
buy her things, fuck her good and many more
wealthy!reader who has it all. you have the funds, the looks, and the personality. everything maddy could ever want. maddy doesn’t have to worry about anything when she’s with you.
maddy barely has to lift a finger, you’re already opening doors, closing them, or carrying multiple bags after spending your money at any store maddy wanted to shop.
if she asks for it, she has it. sometimes she doesn’t even need to ask. if you catch her eye lingering on an item, you’re buying it for her, no questions asked.
maddy always dreamed of the spoiled life, and you’re giving her everything she asked for.
even when it’s late at night, when she has you trapped between her legs as your tongue worked laps on pretty, pink pussy. maddy grabbed a handful of your hair, her grip tight as she pulled you closer to her pussy. your nose continuously bumped against her clit, the bud becoming puffy and more swollen by the second.
your hands had a strong grip on maddy’s thighs, nails close to engraving a mark. you were close to being pussy drunk, your mind fogged, thinking of nothing but maddy’s pussy. your eyes rolled at maddy’s taste on your tongue, groaning into her pussy as your tongue continued fucking maddy’s cunt.
“like that.. j-just like that.” maddy’s lip was tucked between her teeth, “eat my pussy, just like that.”
she doesn't know i'd let her ruin all my days
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: developing relationship, insecurities, hurt/comfort, body worship(?), smut, bottom!emily, top!reader, age gap not specified, smut with feelings, no use of yn
warnings: explicit content, minors please dni <3
summary: you don't understand why emily won't touch you.
word count: 4.5k
request: hiii, so for a fic request i was thinking something along the lines of unit chief emily and younger reader and they’ve been going out or dating for a little bit (...) and they haven’t done anything more than makeout because Emily’s a little insecure about being older (...)
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a/n: um im such a liar i said this would take a few days but i couldnt stop writing it so here it is ! ty for requesting <3 i had so much fun !!! hope u like it
Emily is obsessed with touching you any chance she gets.
It's surprising, really, the way she starts clinging to you when she finally feels like she's allowed to. When you're at hers, she keeps a hand on your hip while you cook dinner, she likes laying on the couch with you on top of her as you watch some random reality show. Emily keeps her face pressed into your neck, breathing you in, whenever she can.
And it's good. God, it's great. You want it all the time, you love how much she enjoys it, how close she keeps you. There's only one problem.
You want her. Constantly. And it seems like every time you try to move on to something more, she retreats. She kisses your cheek, your forehead, ending the makeout session as soon as it starts.
You don't push, you haven't been going out that long, anyway, and maybe she's still uncomfortable. Maybe you thought she’d be fine with it earlier because you were friends before, yet that might be the reason she's still uncertain, you're not sure. Although trying not to take it to heart is hard, especially when it seems like she doesn't want you as much as you want her, and you don't know if that's because she doesn't see you as her equal.
Being younger than her never really mattered to you. Ever since you started at the BAU you thought she was beautiful, attractive, sure, but she treated you like a colleague worthy of respect, even as her subordinate. Emily never made you feel like you were less than her or your teammates, which is why you never really thought about her age or yours as anything of a problem.
Perhaps you were wrong and she sees yours as a problem.
But there are moments in which you can't believe these conclusions. There are moments, when you're having dinner or just talking on a rare free night, that she looks at you and you can swear she wants you, too. At this point, anything could be true. You enjoy spending time with her, you care about her, and this one thing won't put you off a relationship that you believe can be really good, for the both of you. But this liminal stage ends up confusing you anyway.
Sometimes, your frustration gets the best of you.
You're on her couch, after dinner on a night when you're mercifully still in town. Emily never kisses like she doesn't mean it. She grips your hair and holds your jaw with her other hand, she tilts your chin slightly lower so she can get her tongue into your mouth. Emily sucks on your bottom lip like she's starved for it, then dives back in, leisurely feeling as you open up for her.
Scratching the back of your neck, she lets out a surprised sound when you pull her closer by the cheeks. When you get a leg thrown over her lap, though, she lays a hand on it softly, touching your thigh as if she's afraid you might break. Emily slows the kiss, kisses your chin, then your cheek, and still, with her lips swollen and cheeks red from effort, she smiles like nothing's happened.
“We should watch a movie,” she says, reaching over for the remote. You grip her arm, not letting her get away that easily.
“You're kidding me, right?”
Emily frowns, seemingly genuinely confused — if you weren't so frustrated you might've even found it cute. “I don't know what you mean.”
You chuckle humorlessly, resigned. This is fine. It's just something you'll have to get over. “Never mind,” you say, bringing your leg back from where it still rested over her, almost managing to stand up before she touches your hand.
“What's happening?” She asks, so lost that you actually feel bad. Seriously, what is she doing to you? “Did I do something?”
“No,” you sigh, “it's me. Pick a movie, I'll be right back.”
Emily's still frowning, but you get up, turning away from those sorry eyes. You can't help but feel bad that you put that look on her face when she hasn't done anything to earn it.
In the bathroom, you throw some water on your face. Chuckling ironically at yourself because the feel of the lace lingerie you have on is starting to annoy you. Lately, you've been choosing aesthetics over practicality with your underwear, just in case. Apparently, it was futile.
Reaching under your shirt, you remove your bra, tired of the uncomfortableness it brings. In a t-shirt of Emily's, you can barely tell you're not wearing it, anyway. Since you came straight from work, all you have is your laptop bag, not even pajamas in it, so she's lended you some. You figured you'd keep the lingerie on, again, just in case. Deciding it doesn't really matter, now, you get out of the bathroom and throw it in your bag, cursing the fact that you can't do the same with the bottom piece currently digging into your hips.
Back in the living room, Emily is sitting in silence. She's got a silk set on, some button-up shirt and pants that feel as soft as they look. You like seeing her this casual, comfortable at home, with you. Knowing you should focus on that, you smile at her when you sit back on the couch, your arms touching so she knows you're not upset.
“I couldn't choose,” she says in a low voice, sounding oh-so-dejected, pointing at the television.
Okay, does she have to make it this hard?
“I’m sorry, Em, I was just… upset about something else.” You try, touching her shoulder, letting her silver hair slip through your fingers. “I didn't mean to take it out on you.”
Emily shakes her head, a soft, yet genuine, smile on her face. “Don't worry about it.”
Biting your lip, you nod, still unsure but deciding to take her word for it. “There's a new thriller I thought you might like,” you change the subject, taking the remote from her hand and delighting in the fact that she snuggles up against you, her head on your shoulder, one of her arms around yours.
This is fine. This can be enough.
In bed, Emily has a terrible habit of scrolling through her work e-mails before you turn the lights off.
It usually ends in her getting annoyed at something or someone. She sighs, mutters about how she needs to stop looking at her phone before bed, then does it again then next night.
Tonight's no different. The only different thing is you're sitting next to her, leaning back against the headboard and reading a book, one you've read a thousand times. More passing your eyes over the words than actually absorbing them.
Emily huffs, takes off her glasses, places her phone on the nightstand, screen turned down. She turns on her side, still half propped up by pillows, and scoots closer. Her arm finds your waist, her head leaves the pillow to rest on your shoulder.
“Read it out loud?” She asks, her voice muffled against your skin.
You don't add anything, only start reading to her from the top of the page. You know she's not asking to know the story, she just wants to hear your voice.
“As the king made no answer, the little prince hesitated a moment. Then, with a sigh, he took his leave. // ‘I make you my Ambassador,’ the king called out, hastily. // He had a magnificent air of authority…”
The cold tip of Emily's nose touches your skin where your shirt’s moved a little. She presses it closer, breathes you in. Leaves a featherlight kiss on your shoulder.
You close the book harshly in the middle of a sentence.
“You must be tired,” you say, placing Le Petit Prince on the nightstand. “We should get some sleep.”
Emily frowns, “you're acting weird.”
You look away to turn off the lamp. She catches your hand.
“Talk to me.” She asks, her voice so syrupy as it usually is this time of night. “Please?”
Taking a deep breath, you buy some time. Not nearly enough.
“Did I do something?” She asks again, crestfallen now. Your chest physically hurts.
“No, you didn't do anything.” Taking her hand, you lace your fingers together. “I mean it, Emily. This is my issue, I'll get over it soon.”
Frowning, “I’d like to help.”
You shake your head, kiss her cheek. “I think,” you whisper, “no, I know, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time.”
Emily only looks at you, eyes big and searching. Her profiler skills working at full speed and, still, she can't figure you out.
“I don't want to ruin it,” you finish. Squeeze her hand for good measure, to let her know you're there.
“I'm so confused,” Emily says, sitting up properly. “Why won't you tell me what's wrong?!”
“Why won't you have sex with me?!”
Alright, blurting it out was not how you wanted to do this.
You close your eyes, cheeks flaming. “Forget I just said that.”
When you look up, Emily looks… stunned. Her lips are softly parted and her eyes are wider than usual. Too bad you really want to kiss her.
“Let's go to sleep.” Imploring now, you try to pull your hand away. She doesn't let you.
“I'm sorry-” She starts, but you interrupt her.
“No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that, I was-”
Emily shuts you up with a kiss. Pressing your lips together, she holds your face in place as she kisses you. She doesn't deepen it, but she lingers, then softens.
“Stop talking,” she murmurs against your lips. “Please.”
You nod, pressing your lips together.
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was weighing on you.” Her voice is collected, like she sounds in the conference room. You want to shake her, tell her to yell or show that this is affecting her, too. “I never wanted to make you feel unwanted.”
“I don't-” You interrupt yourself before she can because, really, what can you say to that?
“I do want to have sex with you,” she says, calmly, but there's a light rubor to her cheeks, like it's hard for her to say it.
“Then- Why? Do you think it's too early? We've known each other for over a year.”
Emily nods, moving the hands that were resting on your shoulders to grip your own hands. “I don't think it's too early, I…” She shakes her head. “I don't know how to explain it.”
“Emily,” you say, finding that you really want to get that disheartened look off her face more than you want an explanation. Trying to convey in your tone what you feel about her. “You don't have to explain anything. We’ll do it when you're ready. If you're never ready, we'll never do it.”
“Simple as that?” She asks, slightly incredulously.
You shrug, “simple as that. I just wanted to know why, but that doesn't matter.”
Emily smiles, a small thing that you might've missed if you weren't paying attention. “You're so young,” she starts, confusing you again. It must show on your face because she quickly continues. “I'm not. And I don't look like I did at thirty anymore, or even forty. And maybe you should be with someone like that.”
Scoffing, you can't believe what she's saying. “You think I want to be with anyone else? I've been crawling up the walls because you won't touch me!”
Emily shakes her head negatively, “I believe you. When you say you want me, I can trust it. But I don't think you should.”
You cross your arms, dislodging her hands from yours. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing really comes out.
“I don't care that you don't look like a wax figure. Do you care that my stomach isn't perfectly toned? Or that I have acne scars on my back? Cellulite?!”
“Of course not, but-”
“Emily!” You interrupt her. “I love you. God, why is that so hard for you to understand?”
She blinks. Silence engulfs the room.
“I was gonna wait, because we've only been together a month or whatever… But we've been friends for so long, and fuck it, it's out there now.” Holding her face between your hands, you bring it close to yours. “I love you. And I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life.”
“I love you,” she whispers back. But you don't have time to react before Emily kisses you, holding you in place by the shoulders, forcefully pressing your lips together like a woman starved.
Moving a hand over her side, she grips it before you can leave it there, holding it in her lap and pulling back from the kiss. Emily touches her forehead to yours, breathing hard with her eyes closed.
“Sorry, I-” She gasps out. “I didn't think it'd be this hard.”
You nod, placing a comforting kiss to the side of her mouth. Pushing her softly against the pillows, you lean over her a little, but not enough to completely cover her body. Trying your best not to be overwhelming, you look all over her face, taking note of her breath coming in hard pants and her hands clenched in the fabric of your shirt.
“Emily.”
She opens her eyes, not realizing she'd even closed them in the first place. They're wide, searching your expression.
“Take a deep breath,” you suggest, touching your cheek to hers when she does so. “Again.” Matching her breaths, you keep her under you for a moment, hoping she can finally relax. “I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do, and if you need me to stop, tell me, alright?”
Lifting your head, you lock eyes. Emily nods, pressing her lips together and managing to keep her breathing normally paced.
“I'm going to kiss you, now.”
And you do exactly that.
At least this is familiar territory. Emily quickly melts into you, her mouth welcoming your tongue in a practised move. You don't touch her anywhere else, only keep one of her hands in yours, the other resting by her head on the mattress. She lets out a small sound of approval, her neck lifting to get closer, head tilting for the best fit.
When she comes up for air, you lower your face into her neck. “Here,” you whisper. “Okay?”
Emily hums a consent. You kiss below her ear, slow and wet, enjoying the taste of her skin in the way she hadn't let you before. You've been dreaming about this for weeks, months, and the reality of it is better than you expected.
Placing kisses down her neck, you reach the base of it, right where it meets the skin of her shoulder. A particularly hard kiss there leaves a slightly red flush in the shape of your mouth. Emily gasps above you, her free hand moving to grip your shoulder. You let her hold onto you, let her feel the assurance of your body over hers.
You take your time exploring her skin. The exposed area of her chest glistens and flushes where you've kept your lips on it, enjoying the taste and the way she shudders, her back unclenching, lowering back onto her soft sheets.
“Can I take your shirt off?”
Not even having dared to undo a button, you wait for her approval. Emily looks up at you, an ethereal vision with her cheeks red and her lip swollen where she bit it to contain her own whimpers. She doesn't say anything, so you move your hands to your (her) own shirt, slowly lifting it off yourself. For a second, you'd forgotten you'd taken your bra off in the bathroom, but the chill in the room quickly reminds you of it.
Emily looks at you intently, her eyes mapping every bit of exposed skin. She licks her lips, placing her hands on your waist and squeezing softly. You nod at her encouragingly.
Dragging her hands up, she keeps her palms under your chest, not going further. You feel your skin heat up at the attention, but don't move to cover yourself, letting her look as much as she wants to.
Emily looks into your eyes again, "take it off.”
You don't waste any time. Swiftly opening the buttons on her silk shirt, you lower your head to breathe in every amount of skin that is gradually shown. When it's completely open, you kiss her sternum, the valley between her breasts, her stomach, but you don't move to push it off her body. Slowly, you taste every bit that's uncovered, feeling as Emily's hips move on their own accord, lifting up from the bed ever so slightly, a sight that you'll soon learn means she's aroused.
Getting your arms under her back, you pull her up, touching your uncovered chest to hers. “I'm going to take it off, now.”
Everything is said in your lowest tone, as if you're trying not to spook a scared stray. When Emily nods, you finally rid her of her shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor and not caring to look. There is a much more interesting view right in front of you.
She lies back down, her eyes locked on yours, her hands gripping you at the height of your ribs. You move down with her, trying to stifle a smile but losing the battle, kissing her chest so she can't feel embarrassed.
“You're perfect,” you murmur against her skin, causing her to shiver at the warmth in your voice. Keeping your promise, you continue, “I'm going to taste you, now.”
Taking a nipple into your mouth, you smile around it when she whines. Sucking slightly, the sounds she lets out spur you on. This is so, so much better than you could've imagined. Emily moans when you move to her other breast, the cool air causing even stronger shivers on her wet skin.
After a while, when Emily's breathing is labored for an entirely different reason, you bring your face up to meet hers. You can never get enough of the way she kisses, so you ask for it again. A thumb on her chin, pressing it down to guide her jaw, loving the way she relinquishes her body to yours. Your tongues meet heatedly, and you moan at how she tastes, yet again. She groans in the back of her throat, gripping your hair strands and keeping you exactly where she wants you.
You touch her chest, taking care of it with your hands this time as she kisses you oh-so-sweetly, in that way only she can.
Coming up for air, you smile at the expression on her face, dazed and relaxed, at last. Surprisingly, Emily smiles back, a small tilt of her lips but a smile nonetheless.
“Can I take your pants off?”
She nods, running fingers through your hair to move it away from your face. Twisting it onto a low ponytail to keep it there, she runs her hands down your bare back, then your chest, mapping your body with her fingertips as best as she can reach.
You remove her pajama pants, leaving her underwear on for now. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself. She's everything and she really has no idea.
“I really didn't plan for this,” Emily murmurs, pulling you back to the moment. She's gesturing at her underwear, you notice, a simple, black cotton pair.
“It's perfect.”
Standing up, you take off your, also borrowed, sleep shorts. Emily lifts her eyebrows at the sight of your lace bottoms.
You smile, “just in case.”
Emily, mercifully, laughs. A loud, free thing that settles your worry.
“You can stop narrating now,” she says, pulling on your hand so you straddle her hips.
“You sure?”
She nods, pulling on the back of your neck to kiss you.
As you kiss, you feel her hips bucking up into yours. Your hands find her body again, relearning every curve that you, for a while, thought you'd never get to see. Finding the edge of her underwear, you only look at her, waiting for a sign of discouragement. Emily only nods.
“Fucking hell,” you whisper unconsciously after finally, finally, getting her naked. “I've been wanting to do this for months.”
Emily lifts an eyebrow, “months?”
You hum in agreement, growing more speechless by the second. Kneeling between her thighs, you stare at her unabashedly, earning an impatient look from Emily, who clears her throat. “Sorry,” you grin up at her, delicately lifting one of her legs onto your shoulder. Emily closes her eyes as her cheeks heat up.
“You're perfect.” It feels like you can't say anything else. You desperately want her to understand that you've never meant anything more than this. “Fuck, Emily, you're stunning.”
She opens her eyes, looking away quickly when she notes the flame in yours, her face turned to the ceiling. You let her have it, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, and start kissing the inside of her thigh where it's resting near your face.
Her skin erupts in goosebumps. You can smell her so strongly from where you lay, your mouth starts salivating almost immediately.
In the end, you don't know if you taste her more for her pleasure or yours. Every minute that passes with your head between Emily's thighs, you feel yourself get more and more aroused. You know you're just about to become addicted to her, you'll want to do this every hour or every day and it's gonna be so hard to not jump her every morning in the office.
The sounds she lets out are a spectacle apart. Her throat raw from moaning, the whimpers and gasps that she produces every time you find just the right spot. Every time that deliciously raspy voice hits your ears it spurs you on, when she calls please! into the ceiling, when she keens as you slip a finger into her.
Two fingers pulling forward, your mouth sucking precisely on her clit — you learn that's the perfect recipe. Emily cries out, telling you not to stop, telling you it's exactly right, and just like that, don't stop, fuck.
There's barely a breathy, broken, “baby, I'm so close” before she comes into your mouth. Her thighs shake and her hips try shooting up as you hold her down, keeping her close and still with your tongue on her, tasting as she comes down. Her back arches in the most stunning arch and you want to do it all over again, keep doing it, all night, all week, if she'll let you.
When she pulls your face away, gripping your hair strands and trying to stop you, you whine at the separation.
Once you're face to face again, you pout jokingly at her. “I was enjoying that.”
Emily smiles, “yes, well, I need a minute.”
She brings you in for a kiss, groaning as she tastes herself on your tongue. You feel the wetness on your chin passing onto her face, your kiss messy in the best way possible. Emily nips on your bottom lip, then beams at you.
“I don't know why I was so worried.”
You shrug, “I don't know, either.” But your eyes soften in understanding. A kiss on her cheek to tell her you've got her.
“Your turn?” She asks, grabbing your hips with her hands already under the waistband of the lace. Emily keeps them there, giving you the same time you gave her. It's sweet, even if you've told her you were crawling up the walls, and that she can probably feel the damp spot on her thigh from where you straddle her.
“I'm not done yet.”
Getting up again, you remove your underwear, then sit down next to her and pat your lap playfully. Emily rolls her eyes, but complies, straddling your own legs this time.
Gently moving her legs where you want them, you get one thigh over hers, the other under, and she swiftly adjusts herself when she gets your intention. She keeps herself lifted, not resting her weight onto you yet, leaning down to touch her forehead to yours, more easily as you're slightly propped up against the headboard.
You hold her hips firmly, guiding her down to bring your centers together. Emily closes her eyes, shivering.
Kissing below her ear, you whisper, “ride me?”
Emily sighs next to your face, hiding hers in your neck. “I'm not twenty anymore.”
“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, taking her earlobe between your teeth and enjoying the way she shudders. “I'll guide you, hm?”
She doesn't say anything, but she nods, and her hips give a slight, barely there, thrust forward. You both moan in unison.
Keeping a tight grip on her hips, you encourage her to move.
It's dramatic, sure, but you feel like you've died and gone to heaven in the span of a few seconds.
Murmuring in her ear about how good she looks, how well she rides you, you delight in her needy whimpers. Emily lets out these enticing little gasps where she hides her face in your neck.
Still guiding her movements with a hand, you take another to touch her back softly, caressing the skin and feeling as beads of sweat start to form from the exertion. You don't stop praising her out loud, the vibration of your voice emboldening the undulation of her hips, and Emily grips the hand that's resting right there, a bruising hold that keeps you anchored.
It takes a little trial and error, but you find the perfect rhythm together. She lifts her head when she's getting close. Her neck strains as she approaches orgasm, you've noticed, her entire body tensing in expectation.
As her breathing gets more labored, her brows furrowing from the effort, you think you've never seen someone this beautiful, and you tell her just so. Her cheeks flame, still so unused to praise, but it still spurs her own, her thighs burning now from the merciless pace she sets. With a particular twist of her hips, she slightly moves off where you need her the most, but she looks so ruined, so gorgeous, almost reaching her peak, that you don't say anything. You have time. Now, you only grip her harder, letting her take what she needs from you.
Telling her how good she rides you, how perfect she looks above you, you watch in ecstasy as her back arches and she comes again, an almost sob of relief leaving her lips.
When she falls forward, spent, you wrap your arms around her and kiss her temple, then wherever you can reach. You whisper that you love her, she answers with a squeeze of your arm, still catching her breath.
“You've ruined me,” she says when she finally finds her voice again.
“I did no such thing.”
Turning her face to look at you, your noses brush together. “You probably fixed me.”
“Don't be silly,” you joke, nipping at her nose. “There was nothing to fix.”
“Huh,” she considers, pressing your lips together sweetly, like she can't get enough. “Somehow, I almost believe that.”
Pairing: WandaNat x GN!Reader. Reader is a top and has a penis.
Started: 1/17/26
Last Updated: 5/19/26
Status: Completed
Chapters: 7/7
Word Count: 18,863
Summary: Wanda and Natasha's marriage had lost its spark, so they agreed to open their relationship and see other people. They're both captivated by Y/N, a student in the college classes they teach, and can't get enough of them. They can't hide this forever, though, and eventually, they find out they're seeing the same person. What happens when Wanda and Nat discover that they're sharing the only person who brings them happiness?
(Photo Creds: Pinterest)
Chapter 1 - Wanda & Nat
Chapter 2 - Wanda
Chapter 3 - Natasha
Chapter 4 - Wanda
Chapter 5 - Wanda & Nat
Chapter 6 - Wanda & Nat
Chapter 7 - Wanda & Nat
Untitled @chickennoodlesoupjandb - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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