Wanda with a breeding kink, imagining all the ways she's going to try a impregnate you, and if you so much as even suggest that "But it's not possible mommy" she'll grab you by the throat, push you onto the bed, shove your head into the pillow, and show you just how fucking determined she really is. "You really want to test that theory, I'll show you how it really is. Open wide baby, you'll take me all."
i do want to redo this piece because this is kinda a sloppy rendition of it but we will see. playing around with the idea of a powerless/au wanda obsessed with magic
Summary: Wanda likes to think she doesn’t get jealous. Your colleague helped her change her mind.
W/C: 5.404 k
A/N: First of all, thank you to the lovely member of the writing community I've found for proofreading and for giving me feedback. I can’t stress this enough but without any help I wouldn’t be able to progress, ily and thank you <3 (that also goes to my mutuals and friends) Secondly, it was time for me to write a jealous fic after ranting about it. And this heatwave is getting to me so…
Notes: Smut, intimacy (I cannot write anything without it), light angst, lots of fluff, aftercare because it is always needed. Service top reader propaganda.
She carefully watched you and the woman you were talking to from afar. Mara, you said her name was. Some lawyer you had briefly collaborated with in Hell’s Kitchen. She seemed sharp, and honestly, she was attractive. She was the kind of person Tony would want to impress. You had told her she had connections with one of the investors her boss wanted to pursue. It answered half of the many questions she had.
One of them was, was it normal for Mara to be that touchy with you? She was certain none of her teammates ever smiled or glanced at her like that, especially in a gala intended to appease relationships with Tony’s associates.
If only she could leave. Were this any other setting, like a movie night or team-building exercises, she would’ve stayed long enough, then asked if you could sneak away with her. But she was still on the job so it’s not like she could’ve made her exit…
…Or she could. She had been there long enough. No one would reprimand her if she stepped away.
Some investor was talking her and Steve’s ears off about how close he was with Tony, and she had to pretend she cared before it could damage the team’s image or whatever it was Tony warned them about.
“...I got to drive one of his cars a long time ago. Can you believe it? Me. Driving Tony’s car,” he cackled, “Tony Stark. Damn. I’m a couple of steps closer to being a celebrity.”
Steve uncomfortably muttered an agreement. She couldn’t really focus on what he said. Her eyes drifted to you again and—oh. This was interesting.
Your colleague went from touching you with her eyes to full-on holding your shoulder. Physically. With her hand.
An ugly feeling crawled through her. She thought jealousy was a flaw and told herself she wouldn’t have to worry about that with you. But now? She needed a reminder.
“Excuse me, I have to look for someone. It was nice talking to you.”
She plastered on her best “You’re boring me, but I can’t say that, so I’ll be polite and leave” smile. Steve began to say something, and she should’ve felt guilty for leaving him alone with someone who loved the sound of his own voice, but she didn’t. Your “colleague” was being particularly weird.
It wasn’t a question of jealousy anymore. It was weird, since it was clear Mara had other intentions than being friends.
She practically stomped her way through the crowd, apologising whenever she bumped into a few partygoers, pretending not to hear them when they called her back. She had other things to do. Like simmering down her distaste before either of you could pick up on it.
Obvious jealousy was graceless. As much as she wanted to gloat over your relationship, she still had some decency left.
“Hey,” she slid up beside you, “I wondered if you got lost.”
You greeted her back and pulled her closer. Instinctively, she leaned against you close enough for anyone to understand the message.
“Oh, hi,” she greeted, “I’m Wanda. Their girlfriend.”
Mara raised an eyebrow, “I’m Mara.”
She had the nerve to chuckle and act surprised? Was flirting with someone who was in a relationship funny?
“I’m so sorry to interrupt. But we have an issue to fix.” She had a tight-lipped smile as she dragged her words in a voice that was too saccharine.
You frowned, “Like…now, now?”
“Now.”
“Okay. Yeah, we’ll—we’re leaving,” you blurted, “Bye Mara–”
She pulled your hand, determined to get away from this woman. As much as she had told herself to be the bigger person, she hated how easily she made you laugh, how smug she was. Like she knew you better.
You followed without questioning her. She was probably tired and aggravated; these events tended to last the entire night. Anyone would get overwhelmed. Hoping no one had the idea to use the lift, she pressed the button, intending to go to your room. She had no more intentions of being diplomatic. The chatter and music faded in the distance as she opened the door. You walked in and switched on the lights.
“Are you okay?” You cautiously asked, “The guy you talked to looked annoying.”
“I’m fine,” she hummed, “Surprisingly, he wasn’t as annoying as your friend, who seemed very friendly.”
She spoke as if she had a bitter taste in her mouth. You nervously scanned her features—her lips were pressed in a thin line, her face eerily cool, the same expression you’d often see during missions.
“Who, Mara? Mara’s just—”
“A colleague.” She scoffed. “Yeah. Just a colleague, right?”
As soon as you stepped into the hallway, she went straight for your bedroom. You glanced at the couch, wondering if that’s where you might end up sleeping tonight. You heard her muttering curses in the dressing room as she shuffled around.
All of a sudden, you needed an executioner to guide you into the dressing room. You silently watched her as you leaned against the doorway, your brain going through everything you might’ve possibly done wrong. The evening started normally. You helped each other get dressed and listened to the old rock cassette you had lying around. She didn’t seem annoyed then. Neither was she annoyed when you had to be temporarily separated.
So then, what was it?
After talking to a few world leaders, you moved on and talked to Mara. Mara, who apparently was friendly and…Oh.
The realisation hit you once. Then twice. Wanda was jealous.
Truth be told, it was a terrifying look on her. Beautiful, but terrifying.
Still, you cleared your throat as you mentally gathered all the courage you needed to ask the question.
You fought back a smile, not believing this was happening. “Are you jealous?”
It was a simple question. She knew she had to answer it, but she couldn’t. Images of you and Mara, ones she wanted out of her head, were piling up. Her pride was foolishly getting in the way.
“I’m not jealous. You had a life before you met me, right?”
Her tone was razor-sharp, and you felt every cut of it.
You crossed your arms, staring down at the floor and counting the patterns. How did you even get into this situation in the first place? Sure, you’d had disagreements before. About your safety, a reckless action, or something related. It never reached this extent.
“You shouldn’t be.” You muttered. “I never saw her that way, even before meeting you.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not then.”
She frustratingly tried to reach the zip behind her dress. The image of Mara was still planted in her mind. Her hands around you, you smiling at her, her leaning in to—
“Do you need help with that?”
She should be pissed. Hell, she wasn’t even mad at you; It’s just—how could you be so damn oblivious to someone who was into you?
But the way your voice was soft, almost hesitant, almost made her forget about everything. Almost.
“Whatever,” your girlfriend grumbled, “Help me if you want.”
Pushing yourself out of the doorway, you bit back a grin. You gestured for her to turn around.
She was wearing the prettiest outfit ever. It was green, sheer. The hem hung just above her legs. It was so her. When she wasn’t watching, you tried to admire her every second you could, to the point of having a UN delegate asking what was distracting you so much. How could she be jealous when she was the only one you were pathetically in love with?
“Do you need any help?” she mocked, in that knowingly sarcastic tone of hers.
“I got it,” you whispered.
Your fingers found the zipper, slowly revealing every inch of her skin. You had to hold yourself back from following its path with your hand.
“You’re beautiful.” You admired.
If it were up to you, you’d drop to your knees without any further question.
She heard the reverence in your voice, how soft it was. It shouldn’t have been reassuring enough for her…But it felt like enough.
“You already said that,” she rolled her eyes, “Many times.”
The dress pooled at her feet. You held her waist and helped her step out of it. When she turned to face you, your knees went weak.
It doesn’t matter how many times you have seen her like this. It felt like the first time. It always did.
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” you paused, “It’s one of the many things I love about you. You’re incredibly smart, caring, and, so, so…”
You took a step closer, your eyes flickering between hers. You captured every detail of them, their shade of green capturing you in a spell. Her breath hitched under the weight of your gaze. It wasn’t just lustful—it was reverent, adoring. She tried to push down the flush that was creeping on her neck, but failed. How could she stand a chance when you were looking at her like she was the only person in your universe?
“...Ridiculous,” your hands found her hips, her skin shivering at your touch, “But I still love it. How your pride often gets in the way of your reasoning…”
“I’m not…” she attempted, “I’m not prideful.”
You chuckled, “And how you have trouble admitting things, but that’s okay. I will prove whatever other truth you need me to, in any way.”
This could be the reminder she needed.
You didn’t sound angry, pleading or exasperated. It was something more than that, a certain determination. Your hands haven’t left her body as they carefully slid up her sides, momentarily tracing her collarbones, her neck, her cheek. You loved how you felt the heat of her skin, how it could’ve burn you down.
“I don’t care about her.” Your fingers found the strap of her bra, lightly playing with it. “And if she oversteps, I’ll let her know.”
“For fu…I’m not jealous.” She sputtered. “Why would I be?”
“You’re going to need more than that to convince me,” you whispered against her skin, catching the goosebumps her flesh erupted.
“Do you need a picture to see how I really feel about her?”
“I don’t need one. Not when I can see how much you’re affected,” you argued.
You stepped back away from her, much to her disappointment. She tried to reach for your hands, but you easily dodged her.
“It’s not going to work like that.”
She wished she could kiss that smirk off your face. You were rarely smug, if ever. At the same time, it’s not like she didn’t deserve it. She was being…difficult.
The facts were true. She hated how close Mara got to you, but saying that out loud was too embarrassing. It’s not like you were teenagers.
She closed her eyes, slowly inhaling, “How can I make it work?”
“By being truthful, Wanda. Confront me if you need to. But do it the right way. Don’t shut me out.”
She opened her eyes to yours. You were undressing, slowly taking off every article. She hated how much it distracted her.
Honesty. Right.
“I guess I was…”. She shut her mouth. “I was…”
You shrugged off your blazer, waiting for her answer. You knew she was looking at you. And you were eating every single moment of it. You ripped off your bowtie, not caring where it landed. You could’ve sworn you heard a sigh when you unfastened the button of your shirt and unhooked your bra, the one with familiar lace pattern that never failed to drive her to the point of no return.
“Take your time.”
The last piece of your clothing— your suit pants—fell to the floor. It’s like you were doing this on purpose, getting her to talk when you were half-naked in front of her, smirking like you knew exactly what she was thinking. You were still patient enough to give her the time she needed, moving around the dressing to take off your jewellery.
She spoke up again. It was no use pretending anymore, “I don’t like seeing other people get close to you like that,” she rushed, “It’s…I can’t stop myself from imagining someone would take you away from me. I mean, you never laugh like that around me. She’s funnier. Stable. The opposite of me. I don’t joke like that with you and…As much as everyone calls me a hero, I don’t exactly have a clean past.”
She couldn’t hold your gaze anymore. As much as telling the truth felt freeing, embarrassment still lingered, hanging on her like humidity—icky and uncomfortable. She supposed that’s what it’s like to confront situations.
You dropped all pleasantries, wanting to hold her in your arms, reassure her. It wasn’t exactly your fault, but you should partly take responsibility.
“Wanda…”
This time, you gravitated to her, holding her close to you. She sighed at the contact, pulling you impossibly closer. Your skin against hers was a pleasant burn.
“No one, nothing could ever take me away from you. The way I laughed with her is nothing compared to how I am with you. You’re a better partner, a better comedian…”
She lifted her head from the crook of your neck to meet your eyes—playful, bright, but earnest.
“You made mistakes. We all did. What’s important is to acknowledge them and try to be better. And I see you’re doing just that. Every day.”
You held her hands, intertwining her hands in yours, “It won’t ever stop me from being with you. There’s no one else I could ever imagine being with. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up fast enough.”
“Thank you.” She exhaled. “I guess I’m being dramatic…”
“Your feelings aren’t dramatic,” you brought her closer, “I’m glad you were honest with me. I’ll tell her to back off if ever she starts again.”
She looked down at your hands, the warm touch healing her racing thoughts.
It’s like she could finally think clearly again. It was all she needed to hear, a simple reassurance.
“You’re not just saying that, are you?”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Good,” she nudged her nose against yours, “Because I don’t think she understood.”
“I only want you,” you assured.
She tilted her head, softly grazing her lips against yours, “Then show me.”
You stepped back, peering into her eyes. She was about to apologise for overstepping when your hand cradled her cheek. She leaned into your touch, sighing deeply when you closed the little distance left between you. Each touch was soft, feather-light. She wrapped her arms around your neck, following your every movement. With one last look, you captured her lips with yours.
Your kiss was passionate. Firm, yet gentle. You caressed her greedily wherever your hands found purchase, wanting to prove to her how much you meant what you said. Your lips left hers, trailing down to her neck, softly dragging your teeth. Her fingers dug into your scalp, holding you where she wanted to. Your floral scent, the taste of the fruity alcohol you had been drinking and your sounds—it invaded her senses, nearly leaving her intoxicated.
“Wait, wait,” she panted.
You pulled away, eyes widened, “Are you okay—”
“I’m fine, I just…I would like…I want to take over. Do you…Do you want that?”
She hesitated, fumbling with her words. Usually, you always took the lead. But she was feeling so many things all at once that she needed to clear them out.
Your silence scared her. She went too far this time—
“I’d like that,” you nodded, “I trust you.”
That was all she needed to hear. She pushed you out of the dressing room, all the way to your shared room. The back of your knees hit the mattress, making you huff as you fell backwards.
You leaned on your elbows, chest rising and falling rapidly as she crawled towards you.
“Are you sure?” she whispered against your lips, “I won’t hold back.”
You shook your head nervously, “I don’t want you to.”
With your last granted permission, red strings guided you to the pillows. You were shocked but not displeased at her abilities. Her irises were red, like they were leading you to an unknown fate.
She looked amused as you marvelled at them. It was rare that she’d use her powers, but whenever she did, you treated them with reverence, like it was something to be respected.
She settled on your hips, straddling you. Your eyes were all over her—the flush rising on her bare chest, the pulse on her neck, how her irises momentarily shifted between red and their usual green.
This was the spell you wanted to be trapped in.
“If there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, stop me.”
You hummed, not knowing how to speak, not when you had her like this. She visibly disapproved, softly gripping your jaw back to her.
“I need to hear you.”
“Yeah, I—I will.”
Your face heated at her hum of approval. This was the first time you’d ever switched dynamics. It’s not something you were against, but you’d lie if you said you weren’t a little anxious. Though it went away at the thought of it being for her. For the both of you, if you were honest.
She leaned forward again, not wasting time to capture her lips with yours. It wasn’t as gentle as before. It was urgent. She swallowed every one of your sounds, each flick of her tongue against yours, each gentle bite of your lips left your abdomen swirling with desire. You needed her.
You pulled apart for air, only to end up choking on your breath when her lips quickly moved to your jaw. You felt her teeth tracing your neck, a sharp sting rapidly soothed by the trace of her tongue that silenced any remaining thoughts you had. All you could feel, all you could hear, was her. When she rolled her hips against yours, you couldn’t fight back from letting her name escape your lips. She chuckled darkly, repeating her movements. A pang of desire shot right through you. She felt the same way, except she was better at hiding it. Though she thinks she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back anymore if you utter her name in a way only you have the right to.
You lightly squeezed her hips, asking her a silent question. Much to your disappointment, she batted them away.
“No touching.”
“Wanda…”
“You said I could take the lead.”
“Yes, but I…I just…”
You should’ve been embarrassed by how pathetic you sounded, but you were too far gone to care.
“You just what,” she teased.
“Now you’re being rude,” you exasperated, “It’s unfair.”
Her eyes narrowed. Your subtle plea had almost got to her—almost. Any other day, and she’d allow it without another thought, but she had to show some resistance, as much as it was crumbling by the second.
“I’ve been fair enough.”
She climbed off you, pushing you back when you tried to follow her. You had the suspicion she was enjoying this a bit too much.
You watched as her fingers hooked under the waistband of her underwear, slowly sliding it down her legs. She continued to remove her bra at that same, excruciating pace. You wanted to beg her to hurry up. To ask if you could help her. But you kept your composure…She saw how much you tried to be patient. Your eyes were all over her, your mouth slightly opened as you helplessly stared at her.
All the while, there was a voice in your mind shouting for you to say something. It worsened when she climbed on your lap again. She slid up the hem of your shorts, settling on your thigh. You gasped when you felt her on your skin. Any ability to think or even speak properly was long gone.
“You can talk, you know?” she quipped.
Your mind was going haywire. She didn’t even have to read your thoughts to know what you were feeling at this moment.
“Words can’t come close to what I’m thinking right now,” you blubbered, “You’re so…I mean you’re…I want to…”
“Take your time,” she cooed, “We have all night.”
You weren’t bothered speaking anymore. Not that it really mattered—her lips crashed against yours. The way you kissed her told her everything you wanted to say. She breathed your name against your lips, and your body went weak at how desperate she sounded, as much as she tried to hide it.
Your hands were still by your sides as she guided the pace of the kiss. You decided you’d have some form of control. Even if you were on the receiving end of things, you had the right to be a little daring.
You tensed your thigh and gripped the sheets at the sound of her breath hitching. Her hands moved up to your shoulders as she slowly ground her hips against you, attempting to get any pleasure she could get without your help. She had an ego to protect and didn’t want to admit you were winning.
“Wanda, please,” you exhaled against her lips, “Let me…”
You felt her smirk against your lips. She had already won—but you won’t let it slide that easily.
“Oh? Now you can talk?”
You grumbled, hating how much you loved her slightly condescending tone. It affected you more than it should’ve.
“I want to…Please, let me help you. I’ll do anything, I—”
“Anything?” she shot you an expectant look.
You went to nod, speaking up when she shot you an expectant look.
“Anything.”
Her hands found your chest, feeling the tremors of your racing heart. They moved up, slightly toying with your skin. You tilted your head back, allowing her to explore your skin. She trailed her lips up the column of your throat, overwhelming you with pleasure.
“I want you to taste me,” she whispered, nipping your skin one last time.
Your brain was too fogged with desire to answer clearly. Before she could blink, you switched your positions by rolling her around so you had her beneath you. She’d only see you move this fast during missions. You were eager yet careful.
You leaned back, admiring her. Her dilated pupils, the flush of her skin…
“What’s wrong?” she chuckled nervously.
You exhaled, “I’m just so lucky to have you.”
She fought back a smile. Your eyes were all over her. She fidgeted beneath your gaze, as if she could physically feel it on her skin.
“Stop exaggerating…”
“I’m not,” you shook your head, “You’re surreal. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”
She cupped your cheek, feeling the heat on your face. “You’re too good for me.”
“You deserve more than that.” You took her hand. “I’ll say it for as long as you need me to.”
A rush of emotions flowed through her. It was clear she had nothing to worry about. Not anymore. Not when you were looking at her like she was something to be worshipped.
You gently let go of her hands, moving to kiss the tip of her nose, her chin, her jaw. You lightly nipped her skin as you trailed your lips to her neck. The pace was so glacial that her nails dug into the skin of your shoulder in silent demand. Moving to her chest, you kissed every patch of her skin—each mole, freckle and scar was treated with care. When you reached her lower abdomen, you pried her legs open, trailing your lips on each side.
“Enough,” she grunted.
You held her warning glare as you placed her legs on either side of your head, resting on your shoulders. Her hips jolted upwards with the first careful flick of your tongue against her bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. It took every cell in your body not to moan her name. It didn’t care how many times you already had her like this. The taste of her would forever be your undoing.
Thinking you finally listened to her command, she left one hand to fist the sheets, and moved the other to your head to stabilise you. You retracted last minute, the corners of your eyes crinkling in pure defiance.
“Do it right,” she hushed out, voice wavering, “I’m not going to say it again.”
She tried to be stern but couldn’t—her mind was constantly floating between anticipation and pleasure. It didn’t help that your eyes were crinkling with defiance.
You wanted to make her wait. Not to torture her, but to make her understand. She’s the one you want to spend every second of your life with, until your last drawing breath. Even if you’d find her in whatever universe she’s in.
“Someone’s impatient,” you smirked, “Since when did you get demanding?”
“Just hurry…” she pleaded, “If you don’t, I’ll take care of it myself.”
It was not a simple threat. You knew it was a promise. As much as you’d love to see it, you didn’t want to make her wait anymore.
You made your descent towards her core again, this time not retracting. You couldn’t fight back your moans anymore; her taste was overriding your senses. It made you latch on to her, like a craving you were forbidden from having, finally finding sustenance after being starved.
Hisses and curses fell from her lips at your eager devotion. She didn’t realise her hips were moving on their own, shamelessly rocking against your face as she chased her pleasure with greed.
“You’re perfect,” you groaned against her, “So beautiful…”
She moaned something in return, an unintelligible praise. Whatever it was, you gratefully accepted it.
Each roll of her hips made the blissful stir in your abdomen deepen. You lifted your eyes to her face. The sight of her twisting in pleasure made your heart race wildly. She was like a dream only you had the right to have.
“Look at me,” you demanded.
She fluttered her eyes open, meeting your own dilated pupils. You moved your hand to her lower abdomen, the pressure making a pleasant heat blossom.
Your praises had helped push her to the edge, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. For your own pleasure.
You ran your hands up her thigh, clearing your throat to get your voice back, “Is this okay—”
“Please.” She pleaded.
That was the only answer you needed.
You slowly slid in your index finger, groaning at her expressed desire. You couldn’t make her wait any longer, your body moved on autopilot as your fingers gently curled into her. Her gasps made you uncontrollably rock your hips uncontrollably against the mattress, not that you really cared—still, you wanted more.
“Can you take another?” you challenged.
She nodded, biting her lip as she tried to push down the louder sounds. You would tease her for not speaking if you weren’t too busy trying to hold back your own sounds of pleasure.
You carefully slid another finger into her, keeping out the steady rhythm you built, encouraging her to wrap her thighs around your head, to rightfully steal your oxygen.
“You’re doing so good for me…”
She was your entire world, and there wasn’t a line in it that you wouldn’t cross for her.
“Please don’t stop—”
You didn’t stop at anything.
“I won’t,” you cooed, “You’re taking me so well…Look at you.”
Your tongue, your fingers, your praises relentlessly worked on her. The heat was building at the pit of her stomach. It flared again, a familiar pressure threatening to break loose. Her cries got louder, your name freely falling from her lips. You didn’t care about the potential noise complaints.
“I can’t hold it,” she sobbed.
You softly hushed her, “Let go for me…I want to see you unravel.”
You needed her. Her taste. Her feel around your fingers. You needed it more than life itself. With one last thorough flick of your tongue, you thrust your gingers deep into her, feeling her fall apart in your hands. You drank her in as both curses in both Sokovian and English mingled in her mouth.
“You’re so beautiful, Wanda,” you whispered against her.
You pushed her further over the edge by maintaining a steady rhythm, only relenting the pressure on her apex to whisper soft praises to her.
“You taste so good,” you moaned, “and feel so good around me.”
Not until her hips dropped heavily back down on the mattress did you relieve some of the tension. But you kept your lips against her as you let your fingers stay inside her, tracing slow, soft circles to wring the last of pleasure from her. Her body spasmed a final time, and she used it as a pretence to move away from you, it was too much. You smiled, satisfied with yourself as you let her believe that you did not notice.
Her hair was sprawled across the pillows, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to steady herself. You helped calm her by soothingly rubbing her legs, waiting for her to get down from her high. She was like a beautiful disaster. When her breathing slowed and she opened her eyes to meet yours, she reached for your hand. The sight of your glistening lips, your darkened gaze, how hypnotised you were—it got to her.
“Come here…”
You allowed her to pull you upwards, her lips meeting yours in a clumsy, uncoordinated, yet intoxicating kiss. She sighed at her taste on your lips, holding you impossibly close.
“Are you okay?” you breathed, not able to move away from her.
“More than okay.” She laughed breathlessly. “You were…I mean…Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
You carefully shifted your position, laying her on your chest. She hummed tiredly as her eyes slipped shut. The beat of your heart helped ground her. Your hands scratched lightly on her scalp as you thanked her again for trusting you with her body, whispering soft promises you already made—and will keep.
“Thank you for trusting me with your body,” you said softly as your hands came up to her head and your fingers entangled themselves in her hair. “Thank you for letting me worship you. For letting me please you.”
After a while, you helped clean her, wiping down her body. You trace the marks you left behind, a heat rising to your face at the sight of them. She found your sheepishness amusing as you stopped to admire them. You then went to clean yourself and brought back comfortable clothes for both of you, giving Wanda your shirt, at her instructions. Your clothes never looked better than they did on her.
You then went to the kitchen—promising her that you wouldn’t be gone for long—and brought back her favourite snacks and two bottles of water. She felt a little ashamed for not doing anything, but you reassured her, telling her it was normal and that you would never neglect her comfort. It was true. You loved taking care of her.
For the rest of the evening, she was in your arms. You helped her take small sips of water and fed her small bites of food. Eventually, you drifted to sleep, with her head on your chest again. Your legs were intertwined as you refused to let go of the other.
“I love you,” you mumbled sleepily, “I’ll let Mara know that—”
“Shh, we’ll talk about that tomorrow…I think she’ll get the message anyway.” She traced the marks adorning your neck, unable to control how satisfied she was. “I love you too.”
You lazily kissed her forehead as you brought her closer, “Tomorrow. Sure. We’ll also have to apologise to Tony.”
“I’m sure he didn’t notice our absence. If he did, I’ll just tell him I got tired.”
“Right. Definitely tired,” you ironised.
“Shut up,” she playfully hit your chest, “Just say I was tired or—”
“So tired that you had to bring me to our room and—”
“You will sleep on the couch if you finish that next sentence.”
“Fine, fine. I’m shutting up now.”
The last thing you heard was Wanda whispering plans to spray her perfume on your clothes, to paint one of your nails with each other’s respective nail polish and for you to wear her old rings.
Or maybe it was a dream she was projecting onto your subconscious. Whatever it was, you’d still follow her, even in your sleep.
I barely had time to breathe before his hand wrapped around my arm—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make my stomach drop. He marched me across the yard, straight toward Wanda’s porch.
“Dad—”
“Don’t.” He says in a low tone.
The porch light was still on. Behind us, Mom hurried after, tying her robe tighter around herself, her face pale with worry.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Dad knocked hard. A moment later, the door opened. Wanda stood there in her stripped t-shirt still, hair loose over her shoulders, surprise flickering across her face. “Abraham?” she asked softly.
Dad stepped forward. “Why was my daughter sneaking out of your house at midnight?”
The words hit like a slap. Wanda’s eyes darted to me. Fast. But her face stayed calm.
Before she could answer, I did. “I’m sorry.”
Mom looked at me. “Y/N?”
I swallowed hard. The lie came together in pieces. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Dad folded his arms. “Tell us what?”
I looked down. “The panic attacks.”
Silence.
Mom’s voice softened instantly. “What?”
I forced my hands to shake. “I’ve been getting them again. Since school got harder.”
Dad’s anger faltered.
So, I kept going. “I didn’t want to worry you both.”
Mom stepped closer. “Y/N, honey…”
I rubbed my hands together. “Sometimes at night they get bad. Hard to breathe. I feel trapped.” I glanced at Wanda. “And at first I would just sit outside or pace outside but she saw me outside one night panicking and helped calm me down.”
Wanda caught on immediately. Her voice turned gentle. “She was shaking and crying. I couldn’t just leave her like that.”
Mom looked between us.
“She’s been helping me,” I added quickly. “Talking me through it. Praying with me.” I swallowed.
“And… she helps me not miss my boys as much.” Wanda added right after me as her expression softened. “So Y/N being here makes me happy too.”
Dad’s jaw tightens as he looks my way. “You’ve been sneaking over here because of panic attacks?”
I nod with a frown. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Wanda stepped in again, wrapping her arms tighter infront of herself. “It’s alright, Abraham.” Her voice was warm. Familiar. “She’s never any trouble and keeps me company.”
Dad frowned. “You should’ve told us.”
Wanda nodded. “That’s on me too.” She looked at Mom. “I didn’t want to overstep.”
Mom’s eyes were wet now.
Wanda sighed quietly. “She reminds me so much of my boys when they were younger. Since they moved out… this house has been very quiet.” Her eyes lowered. “And helping Y/N has helped me too.”
Dad’s expression eased.
Wanda continued. “I’ve been teaching her how to lean on God when it gets heavy. How to breathe through it. Pray through it.”
Mom pressed her hand to her chest, clearly buying it all. “Oh…”
Wanda hesitated, then looked almost embarrassed. “I always wanted a daughter.” Her voice cracked just enough.“But Vision didn’t want more than two once he found out I was having twins.”
Then it fell quiet. She looked at my parents. “I hope you’re not upset that I’ve coddled her. I know she’s grown, but… I care about her deeply.”
Mom’s whole face softened. “Oh, Wanda.” She stepped forward and hugged her. “You’ve always had a good heart.”
Dad exhaled, rubbing his face. “Well… no more sneaking around.”
I nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
Mom looked at me. “And if you need her, that’s fine.”
I nodded again.
Then she smiled faintly. “And honestly… if it helps, maybe you can spend the night here sometimes. Girls’ nights. No more sneaking.”
Dad shot her a look and she shrugged. “What? It’s better than her climbing out windows.”
Wanda laughed softly. “I’d like that.”
Mom smiled. “I’m happy you two are close.”
The words made my stomach twist. Because they had no idea. And somehow, that made it worse.
—
Friday morning came warm and slow. I walked to Wanda’s front door. Mom waved me off like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Have fun.”
Wanda opened the door before I knocked. Her smile felt private. Different.
“Come in sweetheart.”
We drank sweet tea in her kitchen while an old radio played softly in the background. It felt domestic. Dangerously normal. Afterward, we moved into the living room. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then Wanda sighed. “Well,” she murmured. “Last night could’ve gone worse.”
I laughed nervously. “My dad almost looked ready to kill me.”
Her fingers brushed mine. “But you handled it.”
I looked at her. “We handled it.”
She smiled, a slower smile. “Yes.” Then her expression turned serious. “This changes things.”
“How?”
She looked at me over the rim of her glass.“We’ll have to be careful.”
I nodded.
“At church. Around your parents. Around everyone.” Her fingers traced circles on her glass. “We wear masks.”
The phrase settled heavy. “And when we’re alone?”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “No masks.”
My heart thudded. I leaned closer. “They think we’re like family now.”
Wanda smiled faintly. “Like mother and daughter.”
The phrase sounded strange coming from her mouth. But useful.
She reached over and tucked hair behind my ear. “That makes us invisible.”
I swallowed.
“And safer. For now.” She added.
The room fell quiet again. Outside, the birds chirp loudly.
Wanda leaned back, studying me. “Do you regret it?”
The lies? The secrets? Her? Maybe she means all of them. I thought about my mother hugging her. My father believing me. The way all of it should’ve made me feel ashamed. But sitting here beside her— It didn’t.
“No,” I whispered.
Wanda’s fingers found my hand. “Good.”
And for the first time, the secret didn’t feel fragile anymore. It felt solid. Like something real. Even if it had to stay hidden.
