description - sitting at dinner with your stepmom and her friends is tiresome, until your brain comes up with an idea to make it a little more interesting.
warnings - 18+, smut, g!p wanda, stepmom!wanda, fem!reader, fluff, slightly mean wanda, dry humping, spitting, slapping, no protection, pet names, use of mommy/mama, blowjob, fucking standing up, riding, sub!reader, dom!wanda, wanda’s cock is rly sensitive, wanda struggling to be mean kinda (i just love sweet wanda sue me), shy!reader as always, slight angst but ntm, carol and maria being wanda’s friends, ending is a bit rushed, very dull summary, just read below 😹🙏🏼 lmk if i missed anything
a/n - ty @sparklejumprope13 for the idea! (idk if u remember) what would i do without u, hm? and ty @maximoffsbutch for the proofread ;)
word count - 4.4k
dinner is boring. you’re sat across the table from maria and carol, wanda to your left as they chat about their latest mission. they’ve been gone for a while and you’ve missed their company, but every part of you wants to be alone with wanda right now.
your hand taps lightly on the wooden table as you wait for the conversation to end. you’d just about managed to finish your food, the endless chatter boring you just enough to make you wonder how many cherry tomatoes you can fit in your mouth at once. around three and a half.
you sit up a little when you hear one of your favourite songs, by the supremes, come on. at last, something your mind can focus on. you tap your fingers along to the beat, swaying your head as the music serenades your eardrums.
the sun is beginning to set and the sky is turning that shade of blue you’ve always loved. bright enough to still see the clouds swimming in the sky but dark enough to remind you that tomorrow approaches. tonight, the sapphire shade brings you no comfort. you know that as each day passes, that every time the sun sets, you come closer to being without wanda. the thought of being here, making small talk instead of being alone with her makes your eyes sting a little.
you know it’s selfish, wanda has missed her friends, but you’ll be going back to college soon and you just want wanda all to yourself.
“how about some desert? y/n?” wanda says, pulling you from your thoughts. you remember you made some cupcakes earlier. they’re pink and have swirled frosting and loads of sprinkles on them. wanda praised you for how good they came out, considering you’ve only recently picked up baking as a hobby.
you all make your way to the living room to eat the dessert. wanda connects her phone to the closer speaker and helps you carry the tray into the room. you carry the rest of the wine and it makes a clinking sound as you place it on the glass coffee table.
“oh these look lovely!” maria says, picking up a cupcake and biting into it. carol follows and they both note how sweet and fluffy they are.
the next track starts playing and it’s something else you recognise, slow and melodic, something you vividly remember playing at wanda’s wedding. the thought makes your eyes roll back into your skull.
maria and carol sit on the pair of recliners situated in the middle of the room and wanda places herself on the large couch. she extends her arms to you, a small smile on her face. “come here, sweetheart,” she coaxes, pulling you down onto her lap. you smile timidly and make your way over to her.
for the next half hour you sit on her lap, staring into space as wanda continues the conversation with her friends. they shift the topic to you here and there, asking about how college is and about your friends but you answer vaguely, only pushing yourself further back into wanda’s chest. she strokes your hair, gently braiding in little sections while she talks as she notes your disconnect from the discussion.
you feel the fabric of her dress against your skin, soft and sleek and it only makes you want them to leave more. she’s wearing a simple but beautiful get up, long and tight in all the right places. the sweetheart neckline accentuates the curves of her breasts, round and gathered, and they press against your back the more you push yourself further against her.
you thank god that for once her friends cannot see her cleavage. you hate the thought that they have as much sight of it as you do. it makes an unpleasant feeling sit in your chest, knowing they have no clue about your relationship with wanda, that they think she’s just unhappily married to your father and up for grabs. they don’t know how much she loves her stepdaughter, how often she makes you feel good and has you squirming beneath her.
you deeply want her attention, want her to fuck you infront of them right here. you miss her, you need her, you feel all these feelings and it just makes you restless and irritable as you shift slightly on her lap, your thighs squishing together.
“you okay, baby?” wanda whispers, stroking the side of your face. she can sense your boredom and although she loves catching up with her friends she’s been trying to find a way out of the conversation for a while now.
you nod, playing with one of the cushions, gently running your fingers along the corners and letting out a soft sigh. wanda kisses the side of your head, and gives you a sympathetic look, as if to say they’ll be done soon. you force a smile, like telepathically signalling to her that she can take her time, but it’s far from what you want.
an upbeat song starts to play on the speaker and carol and maria jump up, putting their wine glasses on the table and interlocking hands. they start swaying to the beat, the couple glasses of wine they’ve been pouring throughout the evening seeming to take effect.
your restlessness seems to be growing by the minute. you idly watch as they spin around the room, maria almost knocking one of the glasses off the table and apologising to it like it has feelings. they ask you and wanda to join but you both politely decline, wanda giggling and insisting that she doesn’t want to be any part of that mess.
carol and maria turn their focus back to themselves and you thank the heavens that wanda hadn’t gotten up. you take her hands and wrap them around your waist, gripping your fingers around hers and letting out a suppressed whimper. you need her closer, you want to feel every inch of her against you and you don’t care who’s around to see it.
your thighs twitch against her own - you suddenly become too aware of the matter piled underneath your jeans, the feeling of wanda’s length against you, not even erect, but big enough to feel, to want.
you gently rock your hips back and forth on her lap, your ass finding the curve of her limp dick. the first subtle roll of your hips already has your brain pulsating, craving more. wanda assumes you just need to adjust your position, maybe your leg is cramping or something. but the next pull of your hips hits right against her most sensitive part.
she lets out a tiny gasp, her posture straightening at your movements. “what are you doing, bunny?” she whispers into your ear, making your whole body shiver as her fingers pat the side of your thigh.
you’re lucky carol and maria are focused on synchronising their movements, because if not they’d see you not so subtly dry humping your stepmom’s lap, ragged breaths falling from your lips with every shift of your hips.
a small hum cascades from wanda’s mouth, the loud music muffling any noises that can be heard. she digs her fingernails into your jeans as the denim rubs against her. you can feel her growing and it only makes you squirm harder.
“hurts, mama,” you murmur, whining softly at the lack of friction on your clit. you lean forward, pressing your hands on her thighs as you drag your pussy against her, the crotch of your jeans beginning to darken with every push and pull from your hips.
the next track plays and maria and carol pant as they try to catch their breaths. wanda grabs your waist firmly just in time before they both catch you. your face is visibly flushed, small droplets of sweat leaking like a faucet down your face.
“another glass of wine?” wanda interjects before they can mention your frazzled state. they happily concede, picking their wine glasses up and pouring another.
the moment their backs are turned you pick up again, moving desperately on wanda’s lap. you feel her cock twitching underneath her dress, practically begging to be let out. she has to bite her lip to stop from moaning, unsure as to whether even the music would even cover her noises up now.
“stop that, little girl,” she mutters, smacking your knee firmly, but you can’t stop, you won’t - you’re so close and all it will take is one or two more delicious strokes against your clit before your panties will become drenched in cum.
wanda knows she shouldn’t have sat you on her lap, she can’t help the way her cock reacts when your ass rubs against it sometimes, but she never knew you to be so purposefully teasing. maybe she should have given you more attention before her friends came over. either way she needs to find a way to get them out so she can deal with you accordingly.
carol and maria finish pouring their wine and turn back to face the both of you. wanda clears her throat and gracefully pushes you off her lap before standing up. “it’s been so lovely to have you both over,” she starts, fiddling with her fingers awkwardly. “but, you know, we need to wake up early tomorrow,” she continues, talking about how she needs to take you to college early in the morning, which is a lie - you don’t start until thursday.
as she stands, her hardened cock rubs against her dress and she has to cross her fingers together against the fabric to hide it, grinning widely at her friends and praying to god that they both call an uber instead of asking to be dropped off.
she sighs in relief when carol opens the uber app on her phone, telling her that she wants wanda to spend as much time with you as she can before you leave tomorrow, and for the first time that night you feel a little guilty for being so standoffish around them.
when the door clicks shut and their getaway car has driven away into the night you feel a sudden wave of quiet. the music has already been turned off but you really feel it now, the only thing audible being the refrigerator as it hums in the kitchen.
you feel a wreck of nerves crash into your system as wanda’s slow footsteps begin tracing back into the living room, becoming louder and louder as she nears. when her figure becomes visible you see a very pent up woman standing by the door, her head tilted and a look in her eyes like they could turn red at any moment.
“stand up,” she says, curling her fingers towards you. you slowly pull yourself from the couch, your panties still drenched at the sight of the older woman in front of you, her hand still covering her length.
“get on your knees,” she says coldly, stroking her hard cock over her dress and sighing at the small bout of relief it brings her. you hesitate for a second, trying to think of an apology or an excuse as to why you were being so naughty, but you know it’s all bullshit.
she doesn’t waste a moment before walking over and pressing your shoulders down, her grip on your skin making you wince. your knees hit the cool wood of the floor with a thump and you're almost sure you’ll wake up and find them purple.
wanda sees the slight shimmer in your eyes as you hold back tears, shifting your knees closer to the carpet in an attempt to soothe them. she coos, stilling your movements with another deep press of her fingers. she tilts your head up and strokes your cheek with her thumb. “such a silly little girl, hm?”
your eyes shut close as you savour the soft feeling of her finger on your cheek, knowing it’ll be the last tender thing she does this evening. and you're right, because as soon as the stinging in your knees wears off you feel heat prickle against your cheek.
“open your eyes, detka,” wanda sneers, already stroking the spot of your skin that is patchy and red. you whine, unable to do anything but glare up at her like the lines on your forehead spell out ‘sorry’.
“what were you thinking, baby?” she sighs unbelievably, pulling the hem of her dress up and revealing her throbbing cock. it’s slightly curved and the tip glistens with pre-cum as she strokes it, her hands dampening with each one. “…getting mommy all worked up like that in front of her friends.”
you feel a pestering ache between your legs as you watch her play with her erection, the dark patch on your jeans growing larger with each stroke of her fingers. she smirks as you eye her, your mouth already coating with saliva as your tastebuds prepare you for her cock.
she teases you, bringing it to your mouth and rubbing the tip over your lips. you hum when the sticky liquid runs along the tip of your tongue and you allow it to poke out slightly, licking away the excess. then she pulls away, a pleased little sound leaving her throat.
she lets the hem of her dress fall back to the floor and pulls the straps from off her shoulders and undoes the zipper at the side, pulling with a suspenseful amount of patience. the silk slides off her body revealing nothing but a bra and her naked lower body.
“open your mouth,” she orders, not even waiting and grabbing your chin, forcing your jaw open.
a bead of spit falls from her mouth and you take it, greedily swallowing every last drop. she wipes a little that managed to get on the corner of your mouth with her thumb, then slowly pushes it into your mouth. your lips press together and your tongue dances around it. you whimper, your hips wafting around as your pussy throbs, desperately needing to be fucked.
“stay still, detka.” she licks her lips as she presses her cock back against your own. your teeth part and your mouth widens rapidly as her tip touches the back of your throat, her cock forcing itself in your mouth.
“ggghmm.” you make a struggled moan around her, your eyes stinging as her length invades your mouth. you take a moment, your lips still wrapped around the base of her cock.
wanda groans when you start to bob your head up and down, finally adjusting. you pull off and swirl your tongue around her tip and then lick all the way from the base back up before taking it all in again.
“fuuck, sweetheart,” she murmurs, balling your hair up in her fist. you slightly gag every time her tip touches your uvula and she grabs a chunk of your hair, pushing and pulling in time with your head. “yeah, just like that - choke on it for me.”
you make muffled whining noises around her cock and it only makes her push herself further into your mouth - her hand leaves your hair and she grabs your face, starting to move her hips in time with your mouth. her balls slap against your chin, and you have to refrain from taking a hand to your jeans and rubbing frantically on your pussy.
“such a sweet mouth, t-taking mommy’s big cock like this,” she pants, squinting her eyes as hot strokes of pre-cum and saliva trickle down your throat. her hips begin jerking and she moans noisily, her body rigid and tense.
she can feel the lack of oxygen in her brain and she desperately wants to give in, let go, but the need to be inside you surpasses anything else her body might want.
with an overwhelming amount of effort she pulls out of your mouth, moaning softly at how sensitive she’s become. you wipe off the saliva that’s dripping down your chin with your sleeve, wheezing as you try to cough away the tiny droplets that got into your lungs.
“up, bunny,” she says, wiping the sweat off of her forehead whilst her other hand carries the weight of her cock. once you’ve caught your breath you try to stand, but the sharp pain in your knees makes it almost impossible.
“oh, you poor thing,” wanda coos, a condescending varnish painting over her words. she watches as you struggle, offering no hand to help you. “cmon, you can do it…be a big girl for mommy.”
your knees shake as they lift off the floor - you use the coffee table to push yourself up, your legs inverted as you stand. your feet finally touch the ground and you pout, rubbing at your scuffed knees. your body instinctively pulls towards her, seeking comfort from the pain she caused.
“oh, sweet girl. mommy doesn’t like hurting you, y’know...” she says, kissing the tip of your nose. she lifts your shirt up and swirls her fingers around your sensitive nipples. “but sometimes you just get so…desperate.” she tilts her head, a sympathetic expression on her face like she’s really trying to make sure you understand. “like you’re asking for it?”
“i’m sorry, mommy - just wanted you,” you cry, and wanda latches on to one of your nipples and sucks harshly. you gasp, bringing a hand to your mouth and sucking on your finger as she bites down on your puffy skin. “mmmh.”
as she attacks your nipples her fingers move down to the button of your jeans to undo it. “i know,” she murmurs. “now, let’s get these off, sweetheart.” she pulls your zipper down and slides the denim down you, squeezing your ass in the process.
“such a perfect little body - let mommy use it, baby,” she whispers, picking you up. you wrap your arms around her shoulders while her own snake around your waist. your legs come around her waist and she fondles your ass once more, her palm kneading your plump flesh.
she kisses your hairline, rubbing the pink tip of her cock against your panties, up and down, making you squirm.
“stay still for me, honey,” she reminds you, pulling your panties to the side, the delicate lace rubbing against your inner thigh. then she brings her free hand to her mouth and spits on her fingers, rubbing them against your pussy, her middle finger teasing your dripping hole.
she slowly brings her cock towards your entrance, fanning it against you before pushing in. you whine as she pushes the tip in, sinking your fingernails into her back. she usually takes her time with this, slowly easing into you, but not today, and without any warning she slams the rest of her length into you, her knees jerking forwards so she can bury herself inside of you.
you squeal, curling your toes against her backside and she pauses for just a second, not realising how overwhelmed she’d also get, feeling her cock buried deep in your warm insides so suddenly.
“fuck, babyy—” she breathes, and you watch every vein on her cock reapper as she pulls out, and then disappear again when she slams back into you.
her boobs press against your chest as she fucks you, soft and squishy in comparison to the harsh slaps you hear emanating from your pussy.
You exhale sharply, lunging forward into her embrace when your head grows all foggy with pleasure. “shit-,” you stammer, her hips slamming into you with a galvanising amount of force.
“you wanted everyone to find out how much mommy likes f-fucking her little girl, huh?” her feet lift off the floor so she can bury herself deeper in your pussy. she makes a little grunting sound and her grip loosens on your skin. she’s starting to forget that she needs to make a mess of you as she gets close. all she can think about is how fucking tight your pussy feels and it makes her a mess.
she sighs deeply, stumbling backwards into the wall as her legs turn to jelly. “baby…”
you gasp as your back meets the wall, the cold wallpaper pressing into your back, leaving little imprints all over your skin. wanda sighs, trying to keep her hands on you, but she’s just so blissed out - her cock pulsing inside of you.
“mommy..” you whine, glancing down at her fingers as they clutch at your waist. her hair sways violently as she tries to steady herself.
she sees you in the corner of her eyes, pointing to the empty couch and stumbling over your words “l-let me…please,” you whimper, finger trembling as she stays fucking into you.
her eyebrows raise and she has to take a second before she figures out what your trying to say, the pounding in her head matching the speed of her cock rutting in and out of you.
“yeah? can you take over for me, baby?”
you nod without a second thought, curling your finger towards the couch.
she stumbles backwards onto the couch, her bare skin pressing against the smooth leather as she sits down.
you clutch at her shoulders, needing a moment to get used to the weightlessness of being on top of her.
after a few moments, you decide to lift your hips up, slamming back down against her cock with a sharp push. wanda moans, seeing her length disappear into your pussy like that so closely makes her eyes roll back into her head.
you press your fingers against your stomach, watching as her cock bulges against your insides. your tits bounce up and down as you ride her and she squeezes each one in the palm of her hand.
“oooh—yeah, that’s it. there you go.” she guides your hips as you roll them against her, your thighs squishing into hers.
“fuck…m so close mommy,” you mutter, and she brushes a strand of her out of your face, her green eyes embedding in your mind when she looks at you so surprisingly tenderly. that look makes you remember that all of this began with you being naughty, and you desperately want to make it up to her.
your eyes sting, and you continue rocking back and forth, rolling your hips incessantly, finding the right spot that makes your toes curl and your head fall against her chest. “do you forgive me, mama?” you whimper, drooling all over her skin in the process.
she coos, rubbing your back in gentle circles. “don’t worry about that…just come for me, baby. be my good girl. come for mommy, sweetheart.”
“wanna be a good girl,” you whisper to yourself as you lift your hips, slamming back down against her cock with ease.
“Fuckkk,” she groans, her head falling back against the couch as your pussy falls back against her cock again and again.
You let out a needy moan, your breath catching every time you fuck yourself back into her cock, walls clenching around her. She leans forward and kisses your mouth, wet and sloppy without any rhythm as you ride her. “s-so good for me,” she sighs in disbelief.
wanda can no longer keep up with the role of being harsh, all she wants is you, she needs your pussy, and doesn’t care whether you deserve to cum or not. she just wants to feel you coming apart on her, feel every spasm of your body as you let go.
she tugs on your hair, wrapping your strands around her fingers and pulling as you fall apart. “please, baby…come on mommy’s cock,” she whines, rubbing her thumb against your scalp.
you can feel the pressure like a crescendo against your cervix, increasing with each snap of your hips and every utterance she makes. your legs weaken as you submit to a complete lack of self control. your pussy contracts around her and you cry into the crook of her neck as you come, mouthing and licking at her tender skin.
“d-detka—” this is her final straw, making it just as easy for her to release into you, thick belts of come spurting into your already dripping hole. she groans and her hand tightens in your hair as she rides it out with you. she pushes your head further into her neck, and your body goes limp on her lap, your legs violently shaking as the tension in your stomach spreads throughout your body like a tidal wave.
“g— mommy,” you wail, the tide unable to slow. you feel an intense surge of emotion washing over you like never before as you finally descend, breathing heavily against her chest.
you find it hard to look wanda in the eye shortly after, keeping your face buried in her neck. you don’t know if it’s shame or guilt or plain shyness but it makes facing her a task.
she knows, she can tell this whole thing was just the only way you could put your feelings out there without having to speak them, that each tear that falls on her breast is a silent plea for more time.
“hey,” she murmurs softly, tilting your chin upwards. you don’t know what you were expecting to see, but it definitely wasn’t this. the look on her face, the glossy sheen covering her eyes, the gentle but lopsided smile on her lips, it makes your gut churn, knowing you have to leave this.
“wanna stay, mama,” you whimper. she wipes the tear that’s about to fall from her eye and kisses your forehead. she’s still buried deep inside you, but she can’t think of pulling out any time soon.
“i know, bunny.” she adjusts her position to a more comfortable one, her cock twitching inside of you slightly. you wince and she strokes your jawline with the most gentle touch. “shhh, just stay like this with mama, sweetheart.”
she guides your head back down to her chest, and you breathe softly, your brain capturing every second like a polaroid camera, like you’ve got to remember this feeling forever before the moment ends and your left with nothing but a flimsy photo and the distasteful reminder that you can’t go back and relive this moment.
wanda rubs your back, clinging on to you as tight as is possible. she hums softly, staring into the void of blackness outside the window and praying that the sun doesn’t come up.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: older!mommy!Wanda maximoff x younger!reader
⧽ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you go to Wanda’s home late at night only to find out she’s drunk again.
⧽ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: alcohol, mention of alcohol abuse, big age gap, arguing, choking, strap on sex, unwanted groping, Wanda has an accent, Wanda is an asshole, r is an idiot
The drive is a combination of different vibrations humming together, creating a dull shake just for you above the rocky road, wobbling unsteadily beneath your lap as you drive to her far location. No other light than the moon—white and full, painting the sky in a dull deep shade of blue, and your barely bright enough headlights. Which only rises the growing anxiety you’ve acquired driving along the graveled path. Why does she have to live in the middle of nowhere? you have no idea. It was nearly 2A.M. when you received a message from Wanda telling you to come over. You would have argued against her for such a late hour but last time’s defiance taught you that it’s better just to do as she says.
Your weight on the gas pedal lifts and you turn into the driveway of her mockingly, seemingly perfect home. The complete opposite of your’s. Each blade of grass the same length with even privacy bushes on either side of the home. You’re not sure what motivated her to make that model design. It’s not like there are any other people this far out of town with her.
After parking, you crank the engine off, powering the truck down before hopping out. Gravel beneath your feet crunch with each step you took as you pad your way toward her front door, knocking three times before clutching your knuckles inside your palm.
After a few short moments sounds of locks turning meet your ears, pulling your gaze away from nervous fidgeting fingers, before her frame catches your eye. Shes perfect, exuding her magnetic sense of self assurance that you look up to. You couldn’t help the shy growing smile at the sight of her. She steps outside onto the porch to greet you, gently cupping your face and placing a kiss on your cheek next to your lips, before pulling you in for a tight hug. “Oh malysh, I missed you.” You tense up lightly by the action. Her arms wrapped tightly around your neck, easily revealing that she has nothing on beneath the thin silk robe. Soft skin around her waist plush beneath your fingers and her nipples hard against yours. She pulls away before taking your hand into hers, leading you through the front door and inside her home.
The first thing you notice when entering is a tall glass of wine sitting desolately on the peninsula. It’s well drunken with the liquid almost vanished and no glass accompanying it in sight. You don’t even realize the uncomfortable gaze you hold on it until she takes care of your attention. Hands on your waist possessively, her nose skimming up your neck from behind. “Mmh.. Ya slishkom dolgo etogo zhdal. Pora pokazat' tebe, kto prinadlezhit mne.”
“What?” She doesn’t say anything. Just pushes you toward the counter. Her lips spread kisses along the coast of your neck until your hips slam against the hard surface roughly. You grunt in return but she ignores you, too evoked in kissing down the back of your neck. A subtle sloppiness in her technique. And in the way her hands move feverishly across your body. Up and down your sides, one hand finding your ass and the other one gripping your breast. She pants into your ear, her warm breath pressed against your heated flesh.
You try to get lost in her touch, but deep red burns into your eyes. The bottle sat hauntingly before you. It’s smell filling your nose and making you nauseous with each dirty promise she whispers.
“Wanda- ghmph“ a sharp pain hits your hip by the rough shove she gives you against her counter. “Correct yourself.”
“You’re hurting me.” You try to wiggle yourself out of her hold but she grabs your arms, skillfully twisting them together until they’re nestled at the base of your back. You cringe at the situation, her constant touch relentless on your body. Now deciding that you should be pressed flat against the surface beneath you. Your face flush against the slab of cold marble as she tweaks with your nipple, squeezing the soft flesh as if she can claim the territory as her own. Her hips grind into your ass making it almost impossible not to rub back into her. “What do you say, hm? Prove yourself to me.” r’s rolling on her tongue leaving you bite your lip in weakness- this has to stop.
You hate it when she drinks. The gentle nature you love in her always seemed to vanish whenever bitter liquid touched her tongue. It reminds you of home. That warm security most homes hold never failed to become foreign to you whenever one of your parents drank. It was scary and confusing how things could flip 180 so quickly growing up. But then it just stuck. You don’t think you ever really got used to it. Which is what scared you the most. You dread for the day of your daily comfort becoming foreign to you.
“Mommy.. you’re drunk.” She lowers her weight on top of you. Her warm breath blowing on your skin as she grazes her lips up and down on the shell of your ear. “I’m an adult, I can do that.” Her response deliberate. A jab at your underage drinking age, wielding a condescending under tone that could have been easily missed. Is she implying that you have some underlying naivety that fogs her trust in your judgment. That her actions are somehow correct because she’s a little bit older. How dare she patronize you like that. She knows of your history with alcohol, you’re getting tired of her constantly doing this to you. You sigh, quickly realizing that It’s a lost game. You don’t reply to her when she whispers in your ear, almost just laying there. You want to stop this but you have to approach it correctly. She’s sensitive when she gets this way and you refuse for it to become like last time.
despite her current intoxication Wanda slowly begins to grasp awareness of the situation piece by piece, thoughts slowed down by the state of her currently clouded mind, noticing your dissociation to her touch, lost in thought instead of her.
She lifts herself off of your body—reeking of disinterest, to stare at the back of your head for a moment, before suddenly pushing you away from her. “Fine, you don’t want me.”
A long breath drags from your lungs and you raise yourself off of the counter, recovering your form from her dramatic response. “Wanda..”
“No, y/n. You made it clear that you don’t want me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you Wanda. I told you how I feel about alcoh-“
“Oh my god y/n. It’s just a drink. I’m not like your fucked up parents.”
“Why are you getting so-“
“Im not getting in any way with you, y/n and I really don’t care to hear it right now so just go.”
“Fucking hell. Why is it so hard for you to just let me speak. Did you invite me here just to be drunk and start useless arguments?”
You can’t believe her tantrum. You know her dramatics stems from the wine but still, you expected more from her. She turns around, flicking her fingers away from her temple and shrugs.
“I was expecting to fuck you. Don’t you think you seem a bit more tolerable with a cock inside your mouth.”
A few beats of silence pass. Your lips pulled into a tight line. You’re over it. You’re not even sure what’s left to argue about anymore. Disappointment. In her, or in yourself for falling in love with someone so self centered. You want to believe it’s just the alcohol talking. Usually she’s so sweet. You hate yourself a little for wanting her to be the one to make it better. Even if she is the problem. Thin lips twitch downward, trying and failing to contain your emotions in front of her like you want to and the sharp gaze in Wanda’s eyes soften, watching as you stand there almost pitifully.
A tight puff releases from your lungs. The stupid look of guilt on Wanda’s face the last the you see before turning around and shuffling toward your jacket laying limply on wooden tiles. You snatch it off the floor before stomping your way toward the front door, ignoring her apologies and pleas on the way out, tired of this shit. Her constant cycle of her drinking away her problems then coming to you for comfort when things became too real. It wasn’t until you reached your car door when cold fingertips grabbed onto your wrist. Pulling your hand away from the handle and the other turning you to face her.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” You scoff, looking off to the side before taking a brief glance at your wrist and yanking it away.
Her hand releases yours and she takes a hold of your face, tilting her head to align with your eye sight. Her thumb rocks over a scar you got years ago fighting with your sibling. “Yes.”
Beats of silence pass. She tries to get her thoughts in order before deciding on a response.
“You’re right, I’m drunk. I was being a jerk to you and I’m sorry. I can see how you’re upset. I wasn’t being fair to you and I know that now.” Her accent drawls, brows scrunched together, tone soft.
You tentatively shift your gaze. Sliding your eyes over to her face. You knew once seeing that face she would have you in the palm of her hands, but still you turn to face her. Her lips the first thing you notice, then her eyes, glossy and apologetic. The light from the moon shines down on them and you can’t help but think she looks so pretty like this.
She steps forward. The two of you share a few moments of silence, cricket chirps filling the tense air before Wanda moves to say more. “I’ll be better.”
her face is close. So close that you can feel her tiny breaths. They mimic puffs of smoke inside the cold atmosphere, dissipating against your lips. “Please..” Both of her hands travel behind your neck, scraping over a sensitive area and you shiver beneath her. You tell yourself that it’s because of the cool weather. Not her and her intense gaze dropping to your lips. “Come back inside.” You don’t respond.
Her face dips in close to yours. “It’s cold.” Both your noses touch, her lips grazing over yours with every word she took. “Let’s go back inside.” You still say nothing. “I didn’t mean what I said, y/n. You know that-”
“Promise me you’ll stop.”
“What?”
“Drinking. Promise me that you will stop.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want-”
“No, Wanda. I have two addicts in my life already, okay. I can’t handle a fucking ’nother one, I won’t. You’re heading down a path that I don’t see myself in.” You push her away from you, crossing your arms over yourself to soothe the chill that came by her leaving you. “You have to want this for yourself.”
She stands there staring back at you, arms crossing unsurely before uncrossing to reach back for your face. “I know- I do, and I will get better.. for me, and for us. I promise.”
Her words sit in the air for a moment. Not yet able to be properly taken in. You want to so badly, but you couldn’t stand the possibility of being betrayed again. You hate the feeling of being wrong about something you desperately needed to be right.
Wanda opens her mouth to speak. A beat of silence passing before she’s able to find her voice. “I plan on going to a meeting in the morning.” You look up at that. You can see the battle she has with her pride in her eyes as she struggles to reveal her plans. As if telling you is her admission. Her admission of being a problem for you. You take turns flicking between both of her eyes before she decides to look down. “I’m going through some things and I really don’t want to be left alone with myself right now, so can you please.. just.. come back in.”
You can’t decide, not sure if that would be a good idea or not. She’s gets mean when she drinks. Inconsiderate, narcissistic. But you know people who hurt you fully sober. Their words stung you from the bottom of their heart. Her’s came from the bottom of a bottle. And as pathetic as it may be, that meant something to you. One look to your lips is all you get from her before she leans forward and connects yours with hers.
They’re soft, lightly damp and so sweet. You kiss her back but she comes harder, sucking your bottom lip before moving to the top. “Come back.” She keeps moving her lips across yours, growing stronger and stronger as every second passes. Quiet pleas placed manipulatively in between. She knew you would cave.
“Okay.” And you did.
————
There’s a dip in the bed. You feel it for a moment, slashing through your consciousness like half melted butter before falling back into slumber. She situates herself back under the covers, watching as your body pulls toward her even in your sleep. It’s nearing six in the morning. she didn’t sleep. The sky enveloped in a soft dark blue. Not yet bright enough to peek through thick white curtains.
Your body lays flat on your stomach. Left leg bent out, lips releasing quiet breaths. She thinks for a moment, staring at the back of your head. Then began to swipe loose hair away from your neck before dipping down. A kiss, a promise. To you, then another one for herself and plenty more.
She swipes her tongue up your neck and you shiver. Her free hand sliding from your side to your stomach. Lips continuing their assault, licking and sucking. Light smacking noises the only sound inside of the room. She feels your stomach twitch beneath her light fingers encouraging her to continue. Trailing down further until she reaches your shoulder blade. Determined to drag her lips across every area of you that is available.
Slowly, you begin to stir. A wet ticklish pressure the first thing introducing you to a new day. Naturally you pull yourself closer to her, and she does too, pushing you into her by your stomach and hips. That’s when you feel it. Something cold and silicon against your bottom. You’re in nothing but your underwear so the feeling of her hard nipples press against your back. The contact tickling her slightly as she moves herself up and down. Kissing and marking your body.
“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”
“It’s not for another three hours.” The rasp in her voice is no surprise. She could never sleep after the two of you argue. You know that it’s selfish but you found it a little sweet. It showed you that she does care. Since she struggles at expressing her emotions you found yourself taking anything you could.
Her hand on your stomach slides down. Slow and steady till it greets the band of your underwear. She doesn’t slip under them yet. Instead she moves over them, rubbing the sensitive area with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of her skin against yours, her lips smacking across your shoulder blade, and her hand pressed onto your covered mound leaves a moan to escape your lips. You grind yourself back onto her, sliding your body up and down onto her toy. You flinch from her other hand grabbing onto your nipple unexpectedly. Only adding onto the simmering hum deep within your core.
She slips her ring finger underneath the thin fabric that separates you, rubbing over your sticky slit bare whilst her other fingers tease over it with each passing and your moans start to pick up. Her voice whispers dirty things to you, not helping with your growing arousal built up since last nights make out session against your truck. She had you lifted in the air, legs wrapped around her hips as she toyed with your lips like they were her personal playground.
Her middle finger joins her ring, circling your clit before slipping lower to gather your slick then dipping inside. She teases the tips of her fingers into you. Only letting it go in to the first knuckle before taking it out and doing it all over again. You barely feel a thing but you still feel yourself pulsing around her. Your walls clench from her constant teasing and in return stimulating your clit. “Please.” She ignores.
You try not to beg anymore. It’s too early for you to give up whatever left dignity you have to her. She hasn’t earned it yet.
“повернись.” She says against your skin. Her voice airy with a mix of need in her tone. You don’t even know what she said but you found it so hot. The way her r’s roll and her sexy foreign accent. You found yourself backing up into her more in response but that only made her slip her fingers out from your underwear and slap down firmly onto your thigh. “Get between my legs.” It must have been an order she whispered. You obey, quickly shifting under the covers to lay between her. She removes the plush duvet from your face, lifting it to rest at the top of your head. God, you look so cute beneath her. Your eyes on hers, wide and waiting to be told what to do. She wants to destroy you.
One hand swipes lightly across your cheek and the other grasps onto the base of her cock, but your eyes stay on hers. Intrigued by the display of her holding back. You both know how this will end.
She stares back at you getting wet by just the sight of you. So sweet and young. In her bed with a cock pressed up against your face, willing and determined. Completely under her control. She bites her lip, lightly tapping the thing against your nose and looking down on you. The fingers that rub along your cheek moves to grasp your chin. She tilts your head down and aligns the toy with your lips. “Get it wet for me, baby.”
Slowly, you open your mouth and let her guide it into your mouth before grabbing it yourself. She watches you slowly take the thing deeper between your lips. Only stopping when your lips meet your fingers before lifting back up slowly leaving a trail of saliva in your path. You continue, pressing back down and then up again over and over. You decide to take her deeper so you move your hand out the way to push the toy down your throat. You’re so full of her. The pressure hits your throat in such a filthy way. Wanda places her hand on the back of your head, guiding you as you take her deeper and deeper. She could watch you all day. Listen to the sloppy noises you produce and your cute little gags. You continue, letting her hand guide you. You love the pressure that pushes your head down onto her. A silent reminder that you couldn’t stop this even if you tried to. After a particularly deep swallow Wanda couldn’t hold back anymore. Her hand held pressure on you even when you tried to lift yourself back up. Only stuffing your face fuller of her. You choke beneath her heavy hand. The toy fills up your throat for a little too long and you begin to lightly panic. It wasn’t until she started lifting her hips, stuffing the toy down your throat deeper when you became really unsure. You frantically started to slap at her thigh attempting to signify to her that she has to stop, finally finding relief when you’re lifted from her cock by a fist full of your hair.
You gasp for air, taking a deep breath before spitting out the extra saliva onto her toy. Wanda watches as your spit drips down the side of it. Only giving you a moment before pushing you back down.
Just like before she holds you down, only this time fucking into your mouth fully. Desperate to hear the tiny gags release from your used throat, letting out dirty whimpers of her own. “So pretty. You look so pretty like this for me. Oh so sweet.” As she watches your eyes begin to water and your hand slapping down hard into the side of her thigh. She decides to let up, yanking you by your messy hair once again. You gasp, drooling and coughing attempting to regain your form. But before you had time to catch up she pulls your body to the top of the bed with her, grabbing you by your hair from the root and tossing you back onto your stomach.” You start to cry. Your scalp tender and throat sore. “No, no crying. Be a big girl.”
You hear her but you don’t pay attention. Too distracted by her hands ripping off your underwear from your legs. She spreads your legs and pussy, inspecting the way you’re dripping for her. Your thighs completely covered in your own slick. “You keep crying hm.” She asks you disapprovingly. “I give you something to cry for. Do you want that.” You put your face in your arms. Attempting to hide from her but she already knew. It’s the same move you pull every time she goes a little rough on you and she does feel sorry. She just can’t help it.
In the first few months together she never treated this way. She was always gentle with you, always gentle. She doesn’t even think she wanted to. It all came out of her during the divorce. She started to take her frustration out on you. It gave her a sense of control inside the eye of the storm. But then it didn’t stop.
At first she told herself it was you. If you didn’t come by that evening then maybe her family would still be together. But then that quickly faded. She didn’t love her husband, and her children’s love faded way before you came around. It was her.
She doesn’t believe she deserves you. someone devoted like you. Innocent in all the right places. Sensitive yet patient. So she dirties you up. Tosses you around. Break you down until you became nothing. Just to build you back up again. Sneaking away pieces of you like a kid owning a puzzle game.
She doesn’t know how to accept love. But you can give it to her. You know you can.
If you can’t make her love you again then this would all be for nothing. The divorce, the lies, the promises. She would stop your funding, you would have to move back in with your parents for the rest of college until you got a real job. And nothing could ever be worse than that. Certainly not Wanda. So you will wait and you will fill her back up. Soothe her pain in the way that she desperately needs. As she fills you up in the way that you desperately need.
“Fuck, mommy.” You moan out loud. Her dick slides into you slowly. The combination of your arousal and your spit allows it to slip in easily and it digs into you deep, the silicon dick touching every part of you. “Watch your mouth.”
“‘m sorry” you apologize, mouthing the word to yourself again as the toy goes deeper inside you. She hasn’t even bottomed out yet. “Is it too big for my baby, hm? It’s okay to tell mommy.”
“It’s so big mommy. You feel so big inside of me. Please be gentle.” You mumble out, Your words slurring over each other. She doesn’t reply.
The two of you found a steady pace. The position you’re in makes it feel like each thrust grazes your stomach. You can only whine incoherent mumbles to her. She watches your back bounce up against the mattress with each firm plunge into you, your shoulders rolling and the side of your damp face. Her hips slap against your ass and fills the air with light smacking noises. You stopped trying to speak. Instead resorted to whines and moans as she fucks into your pussy repetitively. She hits just the right spots inside of you. Fucking you better than anyone else ever could.
The pressure inside the pit in your stomach rises. it hums euphorically like you could cum at any moment. Your pussy pulsing around her with each thrust, leaving your clit to be extra sensitive.
“Wanna come. mommy please let me come.”
“Oh baby has to come? You want to make mommy’s cock all sticky with your dirty girl cum.” You need it. It feels like it could come at any moment just bubbling on the edge waiting to be pushed over. She starts to pound into you harder, grabbing the back of your neck to keep you in place as she slams inside of you.
You can’t speak, only letting out gasps for air as she knocks it out of you. Your leg raises behind you in pleasure, toes curling, her hips slapping feverishly against you. Hard and fast but not enough.
“Touch your pussy for me baby. Do it like I taught you.” And that’s all you need, permission. You tumble over the edge, your orgasm shaking through you like a hurricane. She stuffs herself inside of you as deep as she can before the hand on the back of your neck circles to the front. She squeezes it, lifting your head to curve backwards as she ruts into you from behind. Sure to juice out every last drop from your orgasm. You can’t even say anything, your brain mushy and your pussy overstimulated.
When it passes, Wanda slips the toy out from your hole drawing a moan out from you as well. She rolls off of you and onto her feet to take off the harness, watching as you lay there limp, pulsating against nothing and the little twitches you get after being fucked out.
Your eyes close in concentration while you try to contain extra pulsations. Too overstimulated to take anything more. Wanda slips back into the bed. Sweaty and sore from having to balance herself on one arm. She spoons you from the back and began to trail kisses over the back of your shoulder. Butterflies invade your stomach almost immediately and you giggle as you turn to face her, taking her lips in yours. She kisses back letting you take control and you lead her to lay against her back. “That was amazing.”
she didn’t say anything, just basks in the kisses you leave up and down her neck. A couple minutes pass and your lips press their last kiss. When she looks down your sleeping frame is what meets her back, causing her to grin lightly. Running her fingers over your lightly damp hairline, before kissing your forehead and slipping out from under your embrace. Headed to the washroom to prepare for the meeting.
You really need to learn how to think before you speak, because you've spent all day impulsively replying to Natasha's requests. Eventually, she decides to deal with it | Based on my snapshot: Pussy spanks with Natasha
Natasha Romanofff x Bratty Fem Reader
content: spanking that pussy, slight dumbification, condescension, girl please learn to watch your mouth, "little bunny" use
18+, NSFW oneshot | 3.8k words
ao3
It started at breakfast, and it started small.
The kitchen was full of morning light, bright and gold through the curtains, and Natasha stood at the counter in one of her oversized sleep shirts, her hair loose and wavy down her back, longer than she usually wore it, the natural curl left alone this week instead of straightened, falling past her shoulders in soft waves that caught the light when she moved. She was scrolling through something on her tablet with one hand, the other wrapped around her mug, and she hadn't even looked up yet except for when she had asked if you slept well.
"Baby, eat something for breakfast," she said, glancing up just for a moment. "There's waffles in the freezer, or you can make one of your smoothie bowl things you love so much."
You let out a dramatic whine, putting your head on your folded arms.
"Can't." Your voice was muffled. "Too much work."
Natasha laughed, well-acquainted with your morning moods.
"Yes, well you need to eat, my love." She took a sip of coffee. "Maybe a banana? Some yogurt?"
You whined again, shaking your head.
"No can do. Can't move."
You heard her set her coffee mug down, another one of her warm laughs hitting your ears like your favorite tune.
"Darling, get something. It doesn't have to be anything fancy."
You lifted your head and before your brain could fully connect to your mouth, you grinned.
"Make me."
Natasha looked up.
You recognized the feeling that hit you when her eyes met yours—a specific cold drop of having said something before you'd actually decided to say it, the words arriving faster than your own judgment could intercept them. You smiled anyway, because backing down now felt worse than committing, and watched Natasha's expression do something slow and considering before she simply grabbed her coffee mug again, her eyes staying on your face a beat too long as she took a drink.
"Cute," she said, going back to her tablet. You stared for a half-second after that, waiting for her to do something else. But that never came.
You exhaled, relieved, and immediately regretted being relieved, because some small honest part of you had clocked that cute wasn't actually relief at all. Not in that tone from Natasha's lips.
It happened again before you'd even finished your breakfast—which was a smoothie bowl because Natasha knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.
"Can you grab my jacket from the closet, baby?" Natasha asked, already halfway to the door, one boot laced.
"You have legs, don't you? They're very attractive."
Natasha looked up at you as she tied her other boot, maintaining that eye contact until she was done and could stand up straight.
"Excuse you?"
"You're excused," you said, waving a hand, the gesture entirely unplanned, surfacing from wherever your mouth kept generating these things without your permission.
Natasha's head tilted slowly. "Want to say that again?"
"I said you're excused." You heard yourself say it, heard the flippant little lilt you'd put on it, and thought distantly—that one was worse than the coffee thing. You went back to your phone anyway, missing the long, flat look Natasha gave the back of your head before retrieving her own jacket without another word.
You told yourself, around midmorning, that you were going to stop. You meant it, mostly. And then Natasha asked you to bring in the mail and you told her it could wait. She asked you to move your shoes out of the hallway before someone broke their neck on them and you told her you'd get to it eventually, your tone giving the impression you thought you were doing her an enormous favor by acknowledging the request had been heard at all.
By early afternoon, you had lost track of how many times it had happened. Five, maybe six. You genuinely weren't certain anymore, because each individual instance felt small and survivable on its own, a little spark of nothing, and it was only in aggregate—looking back at the whole stretch of the day—that you understood you'd been doing something, consistently, that another person might reasonably call a pattern.
Natasha hadn't raised her voice once.
That, looking back, should have worried you more than it did. She'd watched you with the same considering expression each time, quiet and patient, building a case with no particular urgency about closing it. You found yourself almost surprised by her restraint, in the brief windows where you actually thought about it—surprised, and then strangely, recklessly emboldened by it, like her not reacting was proof that nothing was actually building underneath the quiet.
It was not proof of that. If anything, it was the opposite.
The afternoon brought a small reprieve. She went out again for a few hours, some errand involving Clint and a borrowed truck (and you did not ask questions). You spent the time productively doing absolutely nothing related to any of your outstanding small tasks, which felt, in the moment, like a perfectly reasonable use of your time. When she came back, her hair had gone slightly wild from the wind, curls falling messy and gorgeous around her face, and she looked at the unmoved shoes in the hallway and the unbrought-in mail on the porch with an expression that told you, with total clarity, that she had clocked both immediately.
She didn't say anything about either. She simply set her own bag down, stepped neatly around your shoes, and went to start dinner.
You should have taken that as your final warning. You did not.
"Can you set the table?" she asked, stirring something fragrant on the stove, her voice perfectly even.
"In a minute," you said, not looking up from the show you were half-watching.
"I need it now, baby. Not in a minute."
You glanced over, catching her eye. And then—for reasons that would remain, even to you, entirely unclear in retrospect—you grinned and said for the second time today, "Make me."
The words left your mouth and you felt the cold drop again, sharper this time, immediate and total, the horror of watching your own sentence finish itself somewhere out past the point of recall. That, some small clear voice in the back of your head said, was the one.
Natasha set down the spoon.
She didn't say anything right away. She turned off the burner with deliberate care, wiped her hands slowly on the towel hanging from the oven door, and crossed the kitchen into the living room with an unhurried, even gait that you recognized, several steps too late, as profoundly significant.
"Stand up," she said.
You stood up immediately, your earlier bravado gone like it had never existed at all.
"I was joking," you said. "Natasha, I was—"
"I know you were." Natasha studied you for a long moment, arms crossed, the loose waves of her hair falling over one shoulder, her green eyes doing something complicated that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite amusement either—something closer to a verdict, already reached, simply waiting to be read aloud. "You've been doing that all day. Do you know how many times?"
"I—no," you admitted, honestly, because you had lost count somewhere around lunch.
"Enough times," Natasha said. "You decided my requests were optional suggestions. Things you could wave off because it amused you." She tilted her head slightly, a single curl falling forward. "Did it amuse you?"
"A little," you said, because lying felt somehow more dangerous than the truth, and also because you were genuinely a little surprised this conversation hadn't happened three requests ago.
"Mm." The corner of her mouth moved, not quite a smile. "I think we need to do something about that little brain of yours. The one that's decided counting my requests is optional." She reached out, slow, and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture gentle and at odds with everything else in her voice. "Since you seem to have trouble respecting simple instructions, we're going to practice something even simpler tonight." Her eyes had gone dark, focused. "Counting."
Your stomach clenched, and you were unable to take your eyes off her.
"I-I know how to cou—"
"If one more word comes out of your pretty little mouth," Natasha said, "you will not cum for a month."
Your mouth closed immediately.
"Oh look, you can behave when you want to," Natasha cooed. "Now get to the bedroom and take your clothes off. That is not optional, by the way. Since you need the clarification."
(-)
You were bare by the time you reached the bed, the cool air of the bedroom raising gooseflesh along your arms, and Natasha followed at her own pace, watching you the whole way, her expression set into something patient and entirely in control.
"On your back," she said. "Knees up."
You obeyed, your heart already going fast, and felt her settle in behind you against the headboard—fully dressed still, which felt deliberate and it made the whole arrangement more pointed somehow, more lopsided. She pulled you back against her chest, her own warmth solid and present behind you, and hooked her legs outside yours, spreading you open, her ankles holding your thighs apart.
Ordinarily, this was one of your favorite positions. Her body at your back, steady, present, warm through her clothes against your bare skin. Tonight the steadiness of it felt like something closer to a trap—your hips free to move, nothing else, no way to close your legs, no way to do anything at all but take whatever she had decided to give you.
"Comfortable?" she asked lowly against your ear, her breath warm.
"No," you said, barely able to hold back your whine.
"Good," she said, bringing her hand down against your bare cunt. She didn't give any warning, just a spank between your legs. "You're going to count each one. Numbers only, or your safe word if it's needed. Do you understand me, or should I dumb it down more for you?"
The sound that left you was high and immediate, the sharp bright sting of the spank blooming fast into something warmer, spreading outward from the point of impact, and your hips jerked hard against the restraint of her legs. You nodded quickly, accepting her terms.
"One," Natasha supplied, when you failed to. "I'll give you that one."
She did it again. And again, a steady rhythm, each spank landing somewhere slightly different—directly on your clit, right beside it, the overheated skin just beneath—and you counted each one, your voice unsteady by the fourth, the pleasure and the sting building together into something that throbbed low and insistent through your entire body.
"Eight," you managed, when the eighth one landed. "That was eight."
"That was eight," Natasha agreed, her mouth close against your ear, voice low and amused, threaded through with something darker underneath. "I know you're enjoying this. I can feel you get more wet with each one." Her free hand slid down to confirm it, two fingertips dragging slow through the slick that had gathered there, and you whined at even that small contact. "But try to use that smart little brain for me, hm? Keep counting."
She tapped your clit with two fingers lightly, a reminder rather than a spank, and your gasp turned into another cry when she spanked you right after again.
"N-nine," you squeaked, eyes pinched shut.
The pleasure-pain had settled into a subtle, insistent throb, your clit puffy and oversensitive, the whole of your cunt and your inner thighs flushed warm. Natasha's lips curved against your ear—you could feel the shape of her smile without seeing it, a slight pressure against your skin—and she brought her hand down again. You braced for the strike to land directly against your clit.
It didn't come.
You peeked one eye open, shifting your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of her face in the low evening light, wondering for one hopeful moment if she'd decided she was finished. Then the spank finally landed—this one against your inner thigh—and your back arched hard against her chest in surprise.
She loved that. You felt it in the low laugh against your ear, in the way her teeth caught gently at your earlobe, biting just enough to sting, while her free hand moved soothingly over the warmed skin of your inner thighs, which were slick now, the whole area between your legs damp with how worked up you'd already gotten.
"Count, malen'kiy zaychik," she murmured—little bunny—her voice gone raspy with her own building arousal, thoroughly amused at your expense. You were shaking in her arms, biting your lip in a failed attempt to hold back the sounds climbing steadily out of you. "Is your brain too broken from a few spanks already? You really can't manage something as simple as counting?"
"Pl-please—" You barely got the word out before another spank landed, your hips jumping hard against her hold. If she hadn't been keeping your legs spread you would have snapped them shut on instinct, and you both knew it, and she was already braced for the attempt.
"Ten and eleven," she supplied, when you failed to manage either yourself, "and if you try to close those legs one more time, we'll do fifty." Her voice had gone firm, serious enough underneath the teasing that you believed every word of it completely, and she delivered two spanks to your pussy in quick succession that overwhelmed every other coherent thought left in your head.
Tears broke loose from your eyes, hot and sudden, rolling down your cheeks. Her hand—the same one that had been soothing your thighs a moment before—came up and smeared them gently across your flushed face, almost tender in the middle of everything else, the gesture entirely at odds with the sting still radiating low between your legs.
"That's it," she said, her voice nearly a growl now, clearly as affected by the sight of you as you were by her hands. "Cry for me." She delivered another spank, watching closely the way it made your whole body flinch and arch at once, your thighs straining uselessly against her ankles. "Seven more and I'll fuck you like the pretty slut you are. And you'd better keep counting, or I'll edge you until you're screaming instead."
You clenched hard around nothing at the words, the image of her strap arriving with no mercy lighting up every nerve you had left, and she didn't let you sit with the thought for long—another spank landed almost immediately, her closed fingers catching your clit with precise, devastating accuracy.
"F-fifteen."
She rubbed your clit for what felt like only two seconds, the relief cruelly short-lived, then spanked again.
"Sixteen—"
Spank.
"Seventeen. Pl-please, I can't—"
Spank.
"Eighteen."
This one landed on your inner left thigh, only her pinky finger brushing against the slick heat of your cunt, and the near-miss of it was somehow worse than every direct hit combined.
"Nineteen!"
The final spank landed directly against your clit again, her hand lingering after, feeling the sensitive bud pulse in time with your racing heartbeat, the room gone hazy and warm at the edges of your vision.
"T-twenty," you managed, fully crying now—though not, you realized somewhere distant and grateful, from the pain anymore. Relief, mostly. Relief, because you knew exactly what waited on the other side of taking your punishment well, and some shameless part of you had been counting toward that as much as toward the number itself.
"Oh, look at you," Natasha hummed into your ear, rubbing your clit at a slow, steady pace now, her ankles spreading your legs even wider so the cool air of the room hit directly against your overly sensitive cunt. "Are you ready, my love? You did so well. You deserve your reward now."
You nodded desperately, your hands gripping the sheets hard enough that your knuckles had gone pale and bloodless. Natasha laughed again, cooing soft praise into your ear, clearly enjoying the wrecked, trembling state she'd gotten you into.
"Such a good malen'kiy zaychik for me."
She didn't make you wait long after that.
She shifted you both with easy strength, easing your legs free of hers and turning you properly onto your back against the pillows, and you watched through blurred, grateful eyes as she finally stood and peeled off her own clothes—unhurried even now, her waves falling forward as she bent to step out of her jeans, the long lines of her bared by degrees in the low lamplight. The harness came from the drawer a moment later, and she stepped into it with brisk efficiency, watching your face the entire time with an expression that hadn't actually softened all that much.
"You took that so well," she said, settling between your thighs, her voice still threaded with the same teasing weight from before, not gentled away completely. "Better than I expected, if I'm honest." Her hand smoothed slowly up your inner thigh, avoiding the most sensitive places now, soothing rather than teasing. "Though I suppose we'll see if the lesson actually sticks. Won't we?"
"It'll stick," you said quickly, your voice thin and unconvincing even to your own ears.
"Mm. We'll see." She didn't sound remotely convinced, and the condescension in it sent a fresh wave of heat through your already-wrecked body. "I think you'll be telling me to make you do something again within the week. I know you, little bunny." She leaned down and kissed you, slow and thorough despite everything she'd just said, before drawing back to line herself up. "But that's alright. I don't actually mind punishing you."
The first push of her strap was overwhelming in an entirely different way than the spanking had been—full and deep, dragging against nerve endings already lit up and oversensitive, every ridge of the strap registering distinctly against walls that had spent the last twenty minutes throbbing with anticipation. You cried out at the stretch of it, your hands flying to grip her shoulders. It was not a small thing to take, and in fact it was one of the biggest she owned.
"I know," she murmured, holding still for a moment, letting you adjust, her own breath audibly less even than her voice suggested. "I know, baby. Breathe for me."
You breathed. She started to move—slow at first, testing, watching your face closely for any sign that it was too much—and when you only pressed up against her instead, desperate for more, chasing the fullness rather than retreating from it, she gave you more without further hesitation.
"There you go," she said, low, finding her rhythm, the slick drag of her inside you building into something steady and deep. "You did so well tonight. Even after being a brat all day. Even after making me work for it." A particularly deep stroke made you gasp sharply, your back arching off the mattress. "I think I like you a little bratty, if I'm honest. Gives me an excuse to do exactly this."
"You don't—" Your voice broke around a building moan. "Need an excuse—"
"No," she agreed, amused even now, her own breath beginning to fray properly at the edges as her hips picked up speed. "I really don't." She angled herself and found the spot that made your whole body seize at once, and stayed exactly there, deliberate and unrelenting, watching the way it undid you with open, hungry satisfaction. "But it's more fun this way. Don't you think, little bunny?"
You couldn't manage an answer. You could only hold onto her and take what she gave you, the overstimulation of the spanking layering on top of the building pressure of everything else until you were right back at the edge again, faster than you'd expected, your whole body trembling with the effort of holding even that much together.
"Natasha—"
"I know." Her pace didn't slow at all. "Let go. I want to feel you. Cum for me. Right now."
You came apart with a sound that filled the entire room, your nails dragging hard down her back, and she followed soon after—her own composure finally breaking, a low groan tearing loose from her throat as her hips stuttered and held deep inside you, both of you trembling together in the aftermath.
(-)
Afterward, she cleaned you up with a warm cloth and careful hands, paying close attention to every place still tender—the soft inner curve of your thighs, the overheated skin between your legs—pressing gentle, lingering kisses there before finally drawing the blankets up over both of you and pulling you into her side.
You lay against her chest, listening to her heartbeat slow, her hair falling soft against your cheek where your head rested over her sternum. Her hand moved through it in slow passes down your back, the same patient rhythm she used for almost nothing else.
"Good?" she asked after a while, quietly.
You nodded against her chest, unable to manage much more than that, your whole body still humming faintly with the aftershocks of everything.
She pressed her lips to the top of your head and held them there, her arm tightening slightly around you, and the two of you lay tangled together in the warm dark for a long while, the room settling into something soft and quiet around you both.
"Go to sleep now, baby," Natasha whispered eventually.
You went still against her chest.
She felt it. Of course she felt it—she felt everything—and you could hear the laugh building low in her throat even before you lifted your head to look at her, already braced, already half-laughing yourself despite everything.
"Make me," you said, simply a reflex.
You knew immediately. The words sat right there, registering in your mind—that you had just said that after twenty spanks and a fucking that had left you boneless—and Natasha watched you realize that, her smile widening by the second.
Natasha's hand found your hip in immediate, gentle retaliation, and you yelped, laughing despite the fresh sting, and she pulled you back against her chest.
"Hopeless," she murmured into your hair affectionately, sounding thoroughly delighted about it.
"Shush," you murmured, words slurring slightly as sleep started to pull at you.
"Watch yourself," she replied, squeezing you slightly.
"You watch your—" You trailed off, drifting to sleep as her warmth surrounded you.
Natasha looked down at you, admiring your relaxed face. A smile spread across her face, one only for you.
"I'll let that one slide, malen'kiy zaychik," she whispered to your sleeping form. "Only because you're cute."
She let the quiet wrap around you both. It was calming. Just the sound of your breaths mixing with hers, the rustle of sheets as she shifted her legs.
Summary: Your stepsister has always been good at keeping secrets. What's one more between sisters?
Content Warning: Stepcest/fauxcest, loss of virginity, fingering (R receiving), use of vibrator (R receiving). Please be mindful this is not a healthy relationship between stepsisters!
Word count: 2.7k
A/N: "i'll write a fic completely different to stepdad!nat!" charlie said. apparently i can't help but drink the stepcest koolaid. anyway, this one was in the works for a while. i hope it's worth the wait.
The afternoon light filters weakly through the half-drawn blinds in Natasha’s room, casting long, thin shadows across the cluttered floor. Empty beer cans and discarded clothes are scattered across the floor, and a half-smoked joint lingers in an ashtray. The air smells like her, sharp perfume mixed with cigarette smoke and something deeper, warmer, like skin after a long night out.
Natasha is your new stepsister, the daughter of the man your mom married six months ago. She’s supposed to be family now, but nothing about Natasha feels very sisterly.
You’re curled up on the end of her bed with a pillow hugged to your chest, eyes fixed on the TV sitting on the dresser. Your mom and stepdad don’t let you have one in your own room, “too distracting from schoolwork”, but Natasha’s twenty-one, so she does whatever she wants. That includes inviting you in here when she’s bored and hungover, which happens more and more often.
Natasha’s sprawled beside you, one leg dangling off the bed in her tiny sleep shorts. She flips between channels lazily, the remote loose in her hand, like she couldn’t care less. “This movie’s shit,” she mutters. The flickering channels finally lands on a mindless action film. “But better than staring at your phone all day, right?”
You nod, glancing at her shyly. “Thanks for letting me sit in here. It’s nicer than the living room. Mom’s always hovering.” Your voice is quiet, shy, almost.
Natasha has always been the opposite. Her voice is brash, her tongue almost barbed whenever she talks to your parents, her heart full of secrets she keeps from them about where she goes at night and who she sees.
She snorts, tossing the remote aside. “Yeah, well, Dad’s the same with me. ‘Where are you, who are you with?’ Like I’m gonna tell him I’m at Tony’s again.”
She reaches for an already open can of beer on her nightstand. You watch as she takes a casual sip, then tips it towards you, offering. You shake your head quickly, and she rolls her eyes with a knowing smirk. “Good girl. Wouldn’t want to corrupt you.”
The comment hangs in the air, slightly edged. You shift a little closer on the bed, knees drawn to your chest. Natasha’s always oddly attractive in that way, her ability to make anyone at ease unparalleled.
For a while you both watch the screen in comfortable silence, explosions and flipping cars flashing across it. Natasha comments on the bad acting, mocking the dialogue until you laugh.
Eventually the movie drags, and she turns down the volume. Turning to you, she props her head on her hand. Her hair falls messily over her eyes, but her gaze is still intense as she studies you quietly. “You’re quiet today. What’s up with you? School sucks?”
A half-hearted shrug as you pick at a loose thread. “It’s fine. Just…” You glance over at your stepsister, who motions with a nod for you to continue. A lump in your throat emerges, but you press on.
“People are just weird,” you murmur. “Everyone’s talking about parties and dating and stuff. I don’t really fit in.” The admission slips out easier here, in her room with the door closed and the TV humming low.
Natasha’s smirk softens into something more curious, though the glint never fully leaves her eyes. “You got your eye on anyone? Some nerd who pops a boner when you walk by?”
Heat creeps up your neck. “No. Nothing like that. I’ve never even…” You trail off, biting your lip nervously.
“Never even what?” Natasha scoots closer, her bare knee brushing yours. The contact is casual, but her voice drops a notch. She’s interested now. “Come on, spill. We’re basically sisters. You can tell me shit you won’t tell your mom.”
You hesitate, your heart rate picking up. Natasha’s always been this way, abrasive and pushing boundaries. Being around her feels dangerous in a way that excites you. “I’ve never really done anything. With anyone. Kissing, dating…”
“So,” she starts, voice low and rough from last night’s hangover, and the smirk on her lips seems less than sisterly, “you really telling me you’ve never even kissed anyone? Eighteen and still a real virgin?”
Her green eyes rake over you, predatory in the dim light. There’s a thrill in them, something dark and wrong that makes heat crawl up your neck.
You shrug again, cheeks burning. “I don’t… I mean, it’s not a big deal. I’ve been busy studying. And all the guys at school are stupid.” Your voice comes out small, almost childlike. Timid is what Mom calls it. With Natasha, it feels like hiding from a storm.
Natasha laughs, a short, abrasive bark, and takes another swig from the can before offering it to you. You shake your head again. Shrugging and setting it aside, she scoots closer on the bed until her knee brushes yours.
“Bullshit. Bet you’ve thought about it. Late at night, yeah, under the covers? Someone else’s fingers inside you instead of your own.”
Her words hit like a spark against dry tinder. You squirm, pressing your thighs together without thinking. “Natasha…”
“What? We’re sisters now, right? Stepsisters, whatever. We can talk about this shit.” She leans in, breath warm against your ear, smelling of beer and mint gum. “Tell me the truth, little sis. You ever cum before? Like, really cum?”
Your heart hammers. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? It feels good sometimes, but I can’t keep going…”
You can’t even look at her. Your fingers twist the hem of your shirt, exposed under her gaze.
Natasha’s hand lands on your knee, heavy and warm, perhaps possessive. “That’s so fucking cute. A real virgin, not like those girls who take it up the ass and say they're still waiting for the right guy.” Her thumb strokes slow circles on your skin, inching higher under the edge of your skirt. Your heart thunders. “Bet you’d look so pretty cumming.”
Your cunt clenches wetly around nothing. You inhale sharply but you don’t pull away.
She’s wrong. This is wrong. She’s your stepfather’s daughter. Your sister.
“Natasha, we shouldn’t–” you start, voice barely a whisper.
“Shouldn’t what?” she cuts you off, shifting so she’s behind you now, her chest pressed to your back. Her arms wrap around your waist, her lips brush your neck. “Admit it. You’re wet right now, aren’t you? Just from me asking.”
You nod before you can stop yourself, a tiny, humiliated whimper escaping your throat. “A little.”
“Good girl.” The praise is rough, laced with something hungry. Her hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. “Spread your legs for me. Just a bit. Let big sis feel.”
The word sends a guilty jolt through your stomach. You hesitate, then slowly obey, knees parting on the bed.
Her fingers trace the edge of your simple cotton panties, already lightly damp. She hums approval against your shoulder, nipping lightly, making you shiver. “Fuck, you’re almost dripping. Does your pussy know you’re supposed to be a virgin?”
“Natasha…” Your voice trembles, but you can’t help the way your hips twitch toward her hand. As shy as you are, the ache between your legs wins.
“Shh. Just feel it.” Natasha hooks a finger into your panties and tugs them aside. The warm bedroom air against your cunt makes you blush.
Her index and middle finger glide through your folds, slick and confident, finding your clit with ease and circling with lazy pressure. You gasp, back arching against her. It’s electric, better than your own novice touches in the dark. Her skin is warm, calloused slightly from whatever rough nights she spends out partying, and the contrast makes you shiver.
“See? Nice and easy,” she murmurs, voice dropping a note, more commanding. “Bet you’d squeeze my fingers so good.” You mewl gently as she circles, and then she presses one finger inside you slowly, knuckle-deep, and the mewl turns into a moan. Your cunt clenches around the intrusion, a stretch that borders on too much.
“Oh god,” you breathe, head falling back against her shoulder. All of your senses feel overloaded. The wet sound of her finger moving, the warmth of her body behind you, the faint scent of her sweat mixing with your arousal, all of it mixes into something dizzying.
“Another one,” she decides, and before you can tell her to stop, to slow down, she’s pushing in a second finger. Both curl inside you, stroking a spot that makes heat flicker in your belly. You squirm, legs shaking, moans spilling from your lips. “There we go. Feel that? That’s your sweet spot, baby. No boy’s ever gonna find it like I can.”
You bite your lip desperately, trying to stay quiet. Your mother and stepfather are both downstairs. “Natasha, what if someone hears? This is… we’re sisters–”
“Stepsisters,” she corrects, and her fingers thrust deeper, faster, like she’s proud to say it. Her thumb finds your clit, and she begins to rub firm circles that make your hips buck wildly. “And you’ll keep this secret, won’t you? Just like I keep all my shit from Dad and your mom. Our little secret. Say it.”
“I-I’ll keep it secret,” you gasp, voice breaking. Pleasure builds fast, a coiling snake low in your belly. It’s too intense. Your hips rock involuntarily, chasing her hand. “Natasha, it feels… weird. Like I have to pee. I can’t–”
She only laughs. Her hand doesn’t slow. In fact, she almost speeds up, flicking your clit with her thumb like she’s had years of experience.
“That’s not pee, dummy. That’s you about to cum. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. I want to feel you soak my fingers for your first time.” Her free arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place as you squirm harder.
The words are filthy, wrong, but they push you closer to the edge. Tears prick your eyes from the new, overwhelming sensation. “Come on, let go. Cum for me.”
Your thighs tremble violently. The pressure crests, that urgent, full feeling making you whimper and twist in her grip. “Natasha– please– it’s too much, I think I’m gonna–”
“Do it,” she groans, teeth finding your earlobe. “Cum. Now.”
Your first ever orgasm crashes over you like a wave, hard and shattering. Your whole body seizes, walls pulsing around her fingers as pleasure rips through you in waves. You cry out, muffled against her shoulder, squirming in her grasp, gasping your sister’s name.
Natasha keeps her fingers buried deep, stroking lazily through the aftershocks, milking every last twitch from you.
There’s a lazy grin on her lips that makes your stomach spin. “Remember, you can’t tell Mom or Dad. This stays between us.”
You nod weakly, still floating, cheeks flushed and heart racing.
The aftershocks are still rippling through you when Natasha slowly, finally, withdraws her fingers. You slump against her, breathing hard, thighs trembling and slick. Your mind spins. Guilt, pleasure, disbelief all tangle together.
Natasha lifts her hand between you, her fingers glistening with your release. She lets out a low, amused whistle. “Holy shit, look at the mess you made.” Her voice is teasing as she watches your flushed face. “Bet you didn’t know your body could do that, huh?”
You can’t speak. You just stare, heart pounding, as she brings her fingers to her mouth and licks them clean, one slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue after another. The sight makes your stomach flip.
This isn’t normal. This isn’t what sisters do, step or otherwise. The wrongness of it sits heavy in your chest, but the words to protest stay trapped in your throat. You only watch, both mesmerized and ashamed as she savors the taste of you.
“Mmm. Sweeter than I expected,” she murmurs. “It’s like a cheap porno. ‘Innocent stepsister gets corrupted.’”
A nervous, embarrassed laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. Your cheeks burn hotter.
Natasha’s grin widens. “Lay back on the bed, baby sis. I want you spread out for me.”
You hesitate, shy and squirmy, but her tone leaves little room for argument. Hesitantly, you shift backwards to lay down on her messy bed. Her quilt feels worn and slightly rough under your back. Your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties still pushed aside, and you instinctively try to close your legs.
“Uh-uh. Keep them open,” Natasha reprimands, and then she reaches into her bedside drawer. You try not to look too curious, but then she pulls out something small and sleek, and your eyes widen. It’s smooth, with a tapered tip, but before you can ask what it is, she clicks it on, and a low buzz fills the room.
“Natasha… I’ve never–”
“I know,” she cuts you off with a shit-eating grin, moving to crawl between your legs. Her free hand pushes your thighs wider, exposing you completely. “That’s what makes this fun. Relax. Our secret, remember?”
Her nails rake across your skin. The vibrator touches your inner thigh first, the buzzing sensation making you jolt.
Natasha’s grin turns into something almost studious. She slowly drags it upward, circling your oversensitive clit without pressing directly on it. You whimper, hips twitching away and then back again, torn between too much and not enough.
“Easy,” she soothes, but there’s laughter in her voice. “It’s just a toy. Breathe.”
She presses the tip against your entrance, and you try not to squirm at the brand new sensation, biting your lower lip hard. She's surprisingly patient, letting the vibration tease you open, and when your hips lift, only then does she slide it in, inch by inch.
The stretch is completely different from her fingers. It’s relentless, buzzing deep inside you. Your back arches sharply off the quilt.
“Oh–oh god,” you babble, hands fisting the sheets. “It’s– Natasha– fuck, I can feel it–”
Natasha laughs, loud and unrestrained, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Look at you. Already losing your mind and I’ve barely started. So fucking cute.” She twists the toy slowly, angling her wrist so the buzzing presses right against that sensitive spot you didn’t even know existed until today.
Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Whimpers and gasps spill from your lips, needy, foreign to your own ears. “It’s too much– Natasha, please, I can’t–”
“Yeah you can’t,” she grins, pressing the heel of her hand down on your lower belly to hold you in place while she fucks you with the vibrator. “Say it again. Tell me how good it feels.”
“So good,” you gasp, “oh, I’m– I feel like I’m gonna explode–” Your voice cracks on the last word, hips jerking wildly. Your cunt clenches around the toy, arousal practically dripping down your thighs.
The steady, intense buzz deep inside you, the slick-slick sound every time she fucks it in and out of your cunt, Natasha’s warm hand pinning you down, her laughter washing over you like she’s enjoying your reactions more than anything. It's all too much.
She clicks the vibrator higher.
You cry out, back bowing sharply. “Natasha–!”
“That’s it. Cum for me. Really fucking hard this time.”
The orgasm slams into you like a freight train, much harder than the first. Your entire body tenses like a tightly wound coil, and you sob with pleasure, thighs clamping around her hand while your walls thrum violently around the intrusion. Something gushes out of you, soaking the patchwork quilt beneath your hips. You babble incoherently, Natasha, please, too much, completely lost in the haze of your own pleasure.
Natasha keeps the vibrator buried deep through every brutal contraction, laughing the whole time. “Holy shit, listen to you. Making such a mess. My little sister.”
You ride the peak for what feels like forever, thighs twitching until the pleasure borders on painful. Only then does Natasha finally ease the toy out, clicking it off, and you flush at the sight of it glistening in the light.
She tosses it aside, and it bounces off the mattress and lands somewhere you can’t spot it. Slowly, a grin on her face, Natasha crawls up your body, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead while you struggle to catch your breath beneath her.
“See?” she whispers, some sick sort of satisfaction in her voice. “Way better than doing it alone. And no one else ever has to know.”
You lie there boneless on her bed, the wrongness of everything settling back in like a heavy blanket. You hate that she’s right.
summary — the first test of your relationship is upon you — a fourth of july party combining both wanda and natasha’s friend group since their breakup years before. something you’d once felt nothing but excitement for rattles your bones now, but wanda and natasha are always up for some not so innocent monkey business if it means calming your nerves
warning(s) — established relationship(s), alternate universe, messy wandanat, polyamorous relationships, threesomes, switch!wanda, implied anxiety disorders, punishment, maybe littlespace, kissing, sexual advances, teasing, domestic dominance, stuffed animals, domestic fluff, useless lesbians, daddy kink, mommy kink, kind of ageplay/kind of not, inspection kink, humiliation, threat of restraint, implied size kink, showering, vaginal fingering, scoldings, shower sex, orgasm denial, barbecues, natasha in a bikini top and trunks, exhibitionism, ass groping, swimming, temperature play, slight/alludes to piss kink + holding kink, beefy!nat, degradation kink, praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, nipple teasing, campfire cuddling, light subspace, perhaps a little voyeurism, pussy slap (singular), whining, dirty talk (like a lot), innocent!reader, hickeys, smut, consent is always implied, there’s more, but you get the hint, men/minors dni
authors note — hi, so, uh… i decided that throwing you into this au was the best course of action, so we’re officially just flying by the seat of our pants here. first ride back on the saddle, so this one got a little bit away from me… as in… it was not supposed to be this horny (or long), but i’d love to know what you thought!
wc — 21.1k
“I don’t think Natty will mind just one missing.”
Wanda has always been entranced by how softly you exist. The windows are open throughout the house; Natasha has the air-conditioning off everywhere besides the recently refinished basement permissively. The heatwave that had settled over New York for the last two weeks had cleared abruptly last night for the forecast today, and you’d all been in agreement to take advantage of the breeze that drifted through the branches. Your hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail preemptively, though your cheeks were flush regardless of the attempt to stay cool. The kitchen counter was your chosen sanctuary from the heat — you’re learning that your medication hates anything above seventy-eight degrees fahrenheit. You’re going to ask Natasha for two french braids later, you’ve already told Wanda all about it, but for now you sit on the counter sporting a messy ponytail and baby hairs that cling to your temple, naked feet swinging against the white oak cabinets creating hollow thumps with an undeniable rhythm to them. You look soft as Wanda looks up from her cutting board to assess your seriousness. It takes her back a breath; leads you to believe you’d gotten somewhere.
“See, and I think she will.” Wanda waves her knife around with a kind of finesse you’ve only seen exaggerated by Mother Gothel in the tower. If her hips weren’t concealed by the island she leaned against, you’d be sure they were swaying with a seductive taunt.
She’s cutting up strawberries for the fruit salad Yelena requested. It’s the last fruit before she’s done. She’s placed you in charge of making sure no flies sneak into the big mixing bowl before she can put the lid on and stick it in the refrigerator. Yelena will know if a fly has touched even one diced peach.
Your clammy cheeks fill with air. The glittery lipgloss you’d lathered on thick settles into the wrinkles of your lips as you purse them petulantly. Your eyebrows that she’d plucked meticulously last night furrow downward cutely, though she supposes they're meant to convey your anger; dejection clear as day on your porcelain features. Wanda Maximoff envies your complexion. The sun bounces off your high points angelically, the sheen of heat that tints you pink effortless and charming. “I’ll take a cherry one!” It’s a good tactic. Nobody likes the cherry one. But Wanda’s not in the business of breaking to you.
Her eyes cool. The delicious green that reminds you of the center of a fresh and perfectly ripe kiwi becomes emerald; dark, captivating, albeit chilling. The pucker of your lips becomes a pout as your shoulders sink beneath the weight of her gaze becoming a stare. “What did Natty tell you?”
Your arms cross over your belly. The only tell that it's an act of protection and not defiance is the way your open palms wrap around your midsection, nervous fingernails digging into soft flesh that pools over white-knuckle digits from the pressure. What is an act of defiance is the way your heels kick harder into the cabinets off rhythm. The thumps are less hollow now, but they fail to deliver the attitude you’re suddenly convinced you can emulate. Wanda wants to laugh. She will laugh later. Just not right now.
“Do that again and you’re off my counter.” It’s not a threat but a promise. Your chest swells with something tight and convincing. It wants to act. To lash out. It’s warm and you hate it but it feels like you have to listen to it. “What did Natty tell you about the popsicles?” She can see the frustration welling up inside of you like helium filling a cheap latex balloon. She chooses to take pity on you as your nails dig harder into your sides, a habit they’d both tried every method in the book to try to help you stop.
“That I had to wait until the party because there wasn’t anymore of the kind that I like at the store if I ran out before the end of the night.” Somehow, you’ve found a way to keep the air in your cheeks as you answer her, and Wanda doesn’t try to fight the wrinkle of amusement that tugs at the corner of her lips as she watches you try to figure out how you can control this situation, still not entirely willing to just let her be the one to think.
Wanda hums, looking back down at her strawberries. Yelena really is lucky she loves her. There’s at least five pounds of hand diced fruit sitting between both counters in the kitchen now. “And the last time we didn’t have any during a pool day, you passed out in the pool. So having one right now is not an option no matter how cute you look all grumpy.”
Wanda notices the way your eyes roll, but she chooses to let you think you’ve gotten away with your attitude as she uses the back of the knife to clear more space on her board for the last handful of strawberries. Natasha had done an impeccable job picking them out at the store. Years of heated lecturing had seemed to finally pay off.
The grey shorts you’d chosen to throw over your bathing suit gap around your thighs as you sit on the kitchen counter, occasionally glancing down at the large glass bowl. Your hands shoved a couple of flies away in the time you’d been sitting out here with Wanda, but nothing extensive or stimulating. Wanda peaks at the ties of your bikini bottoms poking out from between the fabric, the festive color scheme you’d chosen perfect for the holiday ahead of you. Your attention is waning as the minutes seem to take longer to pass the more your mind thinks about how your head is spinning and your face is hot and a popsicle would taste so good right now. They’re some fancy kind that Natasha buys at this specific shoppe in Manhattan. She’d introduced you to them the first week of summer, just six weeks after you’d started medication. They’re the only popsicles you’ll eat, and the only cold treat you can stomach when heatstroke is beginning to claim you as a victim. Their avoidance of you having one isn’t malicious. It’s tactical. But you’ve been nervous about this party for weeks. It’s the first time you’re throwing a party as a couple. It’s the first time they’re throwing a party for all of their individual and combined friend groups since getting back together. They’re convinced there’s nothing to prove by keeping appearances up, but you’ve been overworked for days just thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.
“Get your little fingers out of my fruit.” Wanda chastises without even glancing up. Her knife slices through the last strawberry top just as your foot kicks the cabinet beneath you. Your cheeks fill with air again, but this time anger is portrayed clearly across your face, as is a glint of something innocent and traumatized beneath your eyes. Wanda wants to kill all the people who made you into this, even if it heals something inside of her that’s broken at the hands of similar treatment. “You’re all done. Go sit on the couch and wait for Natty to come inside and braid your hair.”
“But I was just—” You try to argue, panic rising in your chest as Wanda sends you away. Natasha’s out in the backyard fixing the last of the tents she’d dug out of storage. Apparently, there was once a time her company hosted a lot of barbecues for the families. Regardless of why she has them, assembly had taken almost the entirety of the morning, her appearances within the house coming few and far between
“Testing limits that you know won’t budge.” Wanda cuts you off, setting her knife down on the cutting board and pressing flat palms into the island. It’s a move of subtle dominance. Her chin twists as she tilts her gaze at you, almost daring you to tell her she's wrong. “Go wash your hands and wait on the couch.”
“Can I go sit with Natty?” You shrink into yourself as your hands grab the edge of the counter, tears feeling like they want to well up in your eyes as you stare back at Wanda with an innocent hopelessness. You’re almost there. Almost past the verge of trying so hard to protect yourself from emotions you just need the space to feel and let pass.
She shakes her head. Her hair is in a bun at the top of her head. There are a couple curly strands that fall to frame her face and cover the single studded piercings she has in her lobes. She wears a button up as a coverup, and it’s splashed with pineapple juice that exists with a yellow-hue, but she still looks perfect. “Where did I tell you to go?”
“B-But—”
“You do not want to bring butts into this, Sunshine. Yours will be mighty pink if that's the route you want to take.” Wanda warns and your cheeks redden from heat, but not the kind brought by the brightness of the sun that shines without clouds to cover its rays. Butterflies bloom in your belly and up through your chest, a soft and sweet whine crawling up your throat as you shake your head.
“No.” You whisper, plead. Your soft eyes match Wanda’s stare, teary and bright as they glisten from across the room. Wanda has no intentions of spanking you. She’s never laid a hand on you in this state. But you’ve expressed that it’s not a hard no. That you trust them both enough to decide when you’re showing signs of needing something more than your brain can handle giving you alone. “No please.” She can see the panic becoming desperation, but she can’t get the words out fast enough. You’re dissolving into a headspace that she cherishes, but knows you need guidance to see through, otherwise it gets messy, and it takes days for you to pull yourself out of a darkness that consumes your soul miserably.
She smiles softly, nodding her head toward the living room with a look that you’ve been yearning for since you started pushing buttons. “Then get that little butt on the couch and take a couple of minutes to breathe with Monkey.”
“Okay.” You whisper, sliding off the counter with your head pointed toward the floor. God, Wanda loves you more than words can even describe.
“Come give me a kiss first.” She commands and you don’t have to be told twice, making a b-line for her warm body that’s standing between the kitchen and the living room. Her body is warm as you wrap your arms around her waist and lean into her chest. She holds you up as you collapse into her, possessive hands feeling the muscles and soft skin on your back. Her lips are warm and void of any kind of chapstick as they press into yours. She tastes only of coffee, but unlike Natasha, her cups always swirled with sugar and half-and-half. She tastes sweet. “Good girls don’t need to be told more than once, right?” She questions inches from your lips, her warm breath fanning across your face as she pulls away from the kiss. You can only manage a nod, your doe eyes blinking up at Wanda lazily. “Natty’ll come get you when she’s ready. Go show me you can be good.”
“Okay.” You whisper, dazed.
Wanda smiles, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “Okay.” She repeats.
-
Natasha comes inside half-an-hour later. You’ve forgotten that you were supposed to be waiting for her by the time she stumbles inside, red faced, braids frizzy, skin gleaming. Your fingers comb through the soft fur of your companion, eyes fixated on a television screen that plays a movie from the early two-thousands you haven’t seen in a couple of years. Your legs are curled up to your body, thighs damp with sweat that continues to build as you produce and subsequently trap more and more heat.
Natasha’s filthy. There’s dirt caked beneath her nails, mulch clinging to flyaways at the nape of her neck, and something suspiciously green around her left kneecap. Wanda’s almost twitching from the kitchen where she watches you fondly as she preps another jug of lemonade; this request per Kate Bishop, but she pauses to acknowledge the recognition that washes across Natasha’s features as she takes in the sight of you so anxiously perched on the couch.
They’ve told you a million times this party isn’t as big a deal as your brain has made it out to be, but it seems you’re failing to ground yourself in that comfort even still.
“Ona boretsya s etim. Izo vsekh sil. (She’s fighting it. Hard.)” Wanda informs. Natasha frowns as the lick of russian wets her ears and provokes goosebumps across her clammy skin abruptly. Her attention bounces to Wanda, an understanding heaviness settling in her almost-blue almost-green eyes.
They’ve gone down this road with you before. The road that is watching as past traumas haunt you even decades later. They’ve equally and individually learned how fear will sometimes freeze you like a baby deer in headlights — fawn and freeze; at the same time. They know you want to believe them about this party and its casualty, but your brain won’t let you without help.
“What’re we watching?” There’s a slight pant to Natasha’s smooth tone. Wanda catches it from across the house, but you’re indifferent to her exhaustion as your eyes stay fixated on the screen.
“I dunno.” Your shoulders shrug on their own. It’s a nervous habit you’ve said you acquired in middle school. You settle farther into the couch cushions with the unintentional movement, and subconsciously you bring your nail to your lips.
Natasha watches you fondly, wanting so desperately to stay here a while longer in the sunlight, but a bead of sweat falling down her spine dismantles the image she romanticizes. “You don’t know, huh?” Still she taunts you gently, a mischievous twinge to her thin voice. She needs water and a cold shower desperately, and by the flush in your cheeks she can tell you wouldn’t mind one either.
You don’t answer her immediately, eyes locked on the television screen, one hand brushing through the fur of your stuffed companion, and the other at your mouth, remnants of an unpainted nail chipping onto your tongue. Natasha waits patiently. Wanda puts the lemonade in the fridge and begins conquering the dishes that piled up in the sink. You never end up answering. Wanda lets Natasha be the one to tackle that.
Natasha clicks her tongue against her teeth as she watches you melt farther and farther into the couch cushions, your grip on your stuffed animal getting tighter and tighter as your focus narrows. “I asked you a question, Sunshine.”
“Mhmm.” You nod, humming sweetly around your thumb as your eyes blink. You don’t notice the bead of sweat that drips from your hairline. Natasha does.
“Three. Two—”
Your eyes widen, bottom lip quivering as your eyes snap to find Natasha’s figure in the room as the second number registers in your brain. “—No! Why! I wasn’t even doing anything!” Your voice is high, whiny. Wanda quirks an eyebrow at the sink but keeps her eyes on the dishes that sud beneath the water pressure.
Natasha shifts her stance, her hips swaying as she turns her head at you. “That’s the problem, solnechnyy svet. (Sunshine.) I asked you a question.”
“Oh.” You frown, biting harder on your thumb as your cheeks flush with defeat, your eyes glancing down at your tight hold on the monkey in your lap.
“Fingers out of your mouth.” Natasha chastises. She expects you to whine, but instead you comply with a pout she’ll allow, resuming your nervous fiddling with both hands now. “Turn your movie off and come take a shower with me. You feeling like you need a snack?” She’s hoping to soften the blow of redirection with the promise of a snack, and it works enough to get the television off but not your butt off the white cushions.
“Popsicles?” You question, eyes bright, so innocent as they blink spritely.
“I already told you to wait for once we get outside, right? It’s going to be a hot day today. You don’t want to have to eat Wanda’s yucky healthy ones later, do you?” Natasha makes a face of disgust that’s meant to appease your sadness, but her eyes snap back to Wanda across the kitchen when the sokovian can’t keep her commentary to herself any longer.
“Mommy also just told you no. Twice.” Her voice is sharp. The title rolls off her tongue heavily. Your core clenches, heat burns in your belly, your cheeks flush with something you can’t quite name or explain, just feel. And oh, do you feel it. Your eyes drop to your lap. Natasha’s silly expression settles into stone.
“Up the stairs. Now.” She demands strictly, leaving no room for argument in her tone as she points a finger toward the large wooden staircase. Your heart sinks into your belly at the harshness. “Bring Monkey.” She adds when you stand without the companion, fingers curled into nervous balls at your sides.
“Monkey.” You repeat softly, unconsciously. Your hand juts out to grab Monkey, shaky fingers curling around a plush tail instead. Wanda watches from the kitchen. Natasha watches from the stairs. They both shake their heads at your insistence to carry him by his tail. Natasha’s already sewn it back on twice.
“Hold him nicely.” She corrects. Clearly they’ve allowed you too much control. If you’re going to show them you can’t handle it anymore, she’s happy to take it back. There’s nothing she loves more than filling this role for you; with you. It heals something in her too to be the one that teaches emotional regulation. To be the one that's chosen when somebody else is dysregulated.
You hold his arm, specifically the left one, the one that looks like it’s going to be the next limb to fall off the decades old stuffed monkey. Natasha exhales, “Hold him nicely, or Daddy will hold him.”
Your brows furrow as you adjust your hold for the third time, squeezing Monkey’s brown body to your chest instead. “Thank you.” Natasha doesn’t emphasize her appreciation like she typically would, and she watches how your bottom lip pouts just the slightest bit as you stand beneath her fiery eyes. “Our bathroom. Let’s go, we’re running out of time if you want two braids.”
Natasha waits for you to step in front of her before she begins climbing the stairs, shooting Wanda one last look over her shoulder before her attention narrowed solely to you. She wants to laugh at how you walk aimlessly up the stairs, the muscles in your biceps bulging as you distract yourself with Monkey’s matting fur. You’ve either completely forgotten where she’s asked you to go, or you’re not paying attention to the surrounding areas because you stumble past the bedroom with a dazed indifference that makes Natasha question where you’d end up going if she let you continue on.
“Our bathroom is this way.” Natasha quips sharply, her voice echoing through the quiet upstairs hallways. A couple of doors are open — the guest bedroom, both bathrooms, and the laundry room — but the ones that are closed shoot her strict tone right back into your little ears.
You scamper back to her, cheeks red, eyes glassy and dazed. Monkey looks like he’s suffocating in your tight, anxious hold. Natasha’s heart breaks at the sight of you so worked up over something you’d once thought was going to be so much fun. You’re almost there. Almost drowning in the trust you’ve spent years establishing with them — with her. But it seems she still needs to play her hand harder. Still needs to remind you how deeply you’ve accepted the purity and genuinity of their intentions.
Her hands grab your face without warning. Your eyes widen, starry and glossy as you look up at her. Her thumbs holding your cheeks force your lips to pucker and separate the slightest bit. You look delicious between her touch. Your tongue sweeps against your bottom lip. The muscle is wet, pink. Natasha waits to speak for a moment. She lets silence sit between your bodies as she watches you try to keep yourself together miserably. Your shoulders relax and then tense. Your eyebrows furrow and then ease. You’re fighting yourself, not her. She takes a moment to ground herself in that quiet confirmation.
“Be a good girl.” It’s all she says. All she expects from you right now. It weighs a ton. Maybe two. It hits your lungs like a bullet. Air seems to seep from your lips like a punctured balloon. You deflate in Natasha’s hold.
Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip as she changes the way she holds your face. It’s strong still, but less controlling, more passionate, dominating. Your tongue juts out to taste the pad of her digit as she teases your mouth, pushing in just slightly enough to bring saliva down into the cracks in your lower lip. She pulls her touch away before skin makes contact with muscle. Her hands leave your face all together.
“Go put Monkey to bed. We don’t want Lucky getting him. Again” Natasha adds beneath her breath as you already begin to dip into the room, antsy to obey, to see where being good takes you now that she’s persuaded you with something you want. She knows how you work, how your body best responds; how to get what she wants from you without saying a word.
“Lucky only got him because Kate—” You gasp softly when Natasha pins you to the bed, walking up behind you with those stealthily quiet footsteps she knows you hate. You like hearing who's coming, when they’re coming. Monkey-Monkey falls out of your hands when her fingers squeeze your hips, guiding you to turn back toward her.
“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to let me check the state of those bottoms you’ve got on?” Natasha tsks, unimpressed with your rebuttal that fell so quickly off your lips she thinks it was almost planned. You just can’t seem to help yourself today.
You swallow dryly, eyes glassing over more if that were in any way possible. Your lips part to answer but no words make it out. They close again loosely, eager eyes watching Natasha desperately, full of innocent anticipation.
“Tell me what you want.” Natasha demands evenly, not bending, not even so much as wavering beneath your doe-eyed stare. She never had. She never will. But it tempts her every time you bestow it upon her pent up form. ”What you’re going to let me do to you.”
“Let m- you— Let you check.” You stumble over your words, trying simply to reiterate them back to her before you realize the grammatical errors in that approach. Your cheeks flame as she laughs at you. It’s not a sweet laugh. Not a laugh that adores and cherishes you. It’s a laugh that demeans. A laugh that taunts. You wiggle on your naked feet. Thighs pressing together needily.
“Can’t even get the words out, can you? That embarrassed already?” She pauses for a moment if only to let you sit with the acknowledgement that she knows you’re embarrassed; with the confirmation that you should have something to be embarrassed about. “What do you need me to check, sunshine? What can’t Daddy trust you to take care of yourself?”
“My… my kitty.” Your cheeks flame brighter, hotter. Natasha’s eyes have a cruel sheen to them as her brown hair sticks to the drying sweat on her forehead, slowly beginning to peel away from her wrinkled skin that looks at you harshly, hotly, but not quite succeeding. Your voice cracks at the end of the admission, a shyness overcoming you that makes you quiet, softer. Natasha wants to take pity on you, her sunshine girl, but you know better than to fight it— them — like this.
“Say it like a big girl.” She insists, chin raising, veins and esophagus bobbing with the motion. Her clavicle pops, the muscles in her biceps flex. “Daddy wants to hear you say it like a big girl.”
“My pussy.” You whisper, eyes casting downward. Wanda needs to vacuum the rug. It’s losing its lines and stiffness. You know she’s been thinking about throwing it out anyways. It’s more upkeep than payoff anymore, she says.
“Put it together now.” Natasha’s unrelenting. Your thighs squeeze together harder, your cheeks burn hotter.
“I-I’m gonna let you touch my-my pussy.” You kick at the floor sheepishly, feeling small beneath her strong gaze, so small. She’s not all that tall. Wanda’s taller. But she’s big, defined, sure of herself.
Wanda shaved your pussy preemptively last night, and while bearing a bald cunt isn’t abnormal to you, it’s been a while since you’ve been so smooth you can feel every trickle of arousal as it leaves your clenching, pulsing, aching, empty hole. Your bottoms are soiled.
“Who am I?” Natasha croons, eyes evil. You whine, wiggling in your place. You shake your head, pleading with her to take mercy on you. She won’t. “Who am I, sunshine? What’s my name?”
“Daddy.” You answer, eyes finally looking up to meet hers again.
“Good girl.” Natasha concedes, giving you the briefest glimpse of genuine adoration as her eyes soften just the slightest and her posture becomes less tense; dominating. “On your back, knees to your chest.”
Goosebumps roll up your spine, you shiver with anticipation. It’s been a while since she’s pulled this card. Reminded you of your place so thickly.
The bedding is expensive, and it feels as such beneath your body as you ease your back into the center of the bed. Your bones shake as you reach for your knees, pulling them up to your chest with a flush to your cheeks and your bottom lip bitten in utter embarrassment. This position never gets any less humiliating. Her eyes on you like this never get any less unnerving. Your shorts that had been giving Wanda a show all morning do the same now, but gravity aids this time, and the draft that comes in from the central air provokes goosebumps across the innards of your thighs.
You keep your thighs together initially, but Natasha doesn’t let you seek comfort where it's not been permitted for long. She pries your thighs apart with a cruelness that weakens you, another pathetic whine slipping off of your lips and tongue as you writhe on the bed, entirely untouched aside from her fingertips dancing around your kneecaps.
“Don’t hide yourself from me.” She chastises, disapprovement clear in her eyes. “Little girls who don’t listen to their Daddy’s or their Mommy’s do not get to hide how slutty and misbehaved their little pussys are.” Her hand slaps down onto your cunt, your aching, quivering pussy before you can even register she’s let her attention fall away from your knees that bare the faintest scars from childhood.
Your hands jump to cover your core despite the layers of clothing that dampen the hit. Natasha tsks, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, hovering over your quivering frame with a quiet stillness that speaks enough before words catch up to her.
“Try that again and Daddy’ll tell everyone when they get here that you’re finishing up a work call and we’ll see how long it takes you to remember you don’t touch what's mine unless I give you permission. I think we could get away with it for what? Thirty? Forty minutes?” Natasha drones on cynically, sadistically. “And the party doesn’t start for another hour. So that’s what? Over an hour and a half with your little pussy filled with Mommy’s red rabbit and your hands bound to the headboard? Wanna try that instead of what Daddy’s planning on doing to you now?”
Your head shakes, tears welling up in your eyes as your belly does a flip, so impossibly tight you can’t help but squirm beneath her, trying so hard to find friction for your aching clit.
“Words.” She’s relentless.
“No.” You stamper to respond, a single tear leaking out from your left eye as you shake your head in time with the trembling of your bones beneath Natasha’s hot grip. “No please.” It’s a desperate beg, a beg that quivers your voice and finally breaks Natasha’s reserve the slightest bit.
“I didn’t think so.” She tuts, standing up again to peer down at you. You look so beautiful like this, spread out on your back, your pussy and asshole only hidden by thin layers she’s about to strip. “Lift your hips.” She taps your hipbone gently, guiding you out of the shorts you’d slipped on sleepily that morning with Wanda. It’s no loss to you to be losing them, but you feel the slightest wave of upset crash over you as Natasha hums at the sight of your pussy beneath its bathing suit for the day, knowing you’re about to lose this too.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you had an accident, malen'koye solntse. (Little sun.)” She tsks, trailing a finger over the center of your bathing suit bottoms. She doesn’t apply any pressure at all, just lets her finger slide against the dampness of your bathing suit that looks like it's already taken a dip in the pool.
If you weren’t already embarrassed that would’ve done you all the way in. You whine pathetically, thighs trembling to close around her hand but she stops you with her body that she angles over top of you dominatingly — challengingly.
“Is that what this is, sunshine? Did you have an accident? Did Mommy not ask if you needed to go potty before she started cutting up fruit for Yelena’s salad?” Natasha’s faux sympathy fills you with something deliciously sweet and unbearable. You wiggle on the bed, eyes desperate, pleading. Your belly is so warm it feels like you’re going to explode. The hands that she’d pinned above your head race to cover your eyes, pathetic whines falling into the air. “Use your words.”
“I didn’t.” You whine, unable to help yourself, unable to stop it as you writhe on the bed, still untouched, only further achy and sore now. The slap still rings in your mind, and thus, your pussy still burns with the memory
“You didn’t what?”
Your little leg kicks petulantly, tears so pathetically close to falling brimming in your waterline as your breath hitches, your red cheeks filling with air the same way they had toward Wanda in the kitchen. Oh you need this, bad. “I didn’t have an accident!” You bellow, sounding so close to sobs Natasha wants to concede, but she doesn’t. She won’t.
“I don’t know who you think you’re raising your voice at, little girl, but it’s not going to be me.” She says instead of scooping you up into her arms and soothing the ache in your pussy that’s causing half of this fussiness from you. She’s not about to give in. You’d only be brattier if she gave in. You don’t want her to give in. You love every second of this. “Get up. Go to the bathroom. We don’t have much time anymore because someone’s wanted to make this difficult.”
Your belly sinks even further. Natasha meant for it to. She’s got twenty more minutes to get you down as deep as she can safely attain, and the rest is on you to choose what gets maintained, or how far you end up floating upward by the start of the party. She’s going to make the most of it while she can have you anyway she pleases. It’s not just your vulnerability on the line with this. It’s hers, it’s Wanda's.
“You come.” You croak, your lips pulling downward into the saddest pout Natasha’s ever seen
Her heart softens just a little, her lips pulling upward. “I’m coming. But we both need new bathing suits. Daddy’s not gonna let you walk around in those sticky bottoms.” She reassures, seeing the worry that comes from something deeper than just getting laid beneath your eyes that almost look through her from across the room. Your hands twitch at your sides. Your brain is working slow, hardly at all, the actions come before the sentences do. Natasha’s not needed the latter for a while though. “I know you wanted to wear that one, sunny.” She coos softly, knowing that yet another change and element of lost control wouldn’t be helpful, but genuinely trying to look out for you. Wanda had just shaved you clean, staying in wet fabric all day could only result in what Natasha would call diaper rash. “But, that leaky pussy of yours had other plans. So daddy’s going to pick out the red one that Mommy likes so much, and it’s going to be fine. Just a little hiccup. Blame your pussy.”
“I don’t want to blame my pussy.”
Natasha took it too far. She knew she did the minute she started teasing you lightly, humorously. Your brain is working overtime to catch up on the jokes, the changes, the lightness in the air. You’re so spaced out but coming to the light at the same time, and that’s the opposite of what she wants right now; what you need right now.
“If we’re going to start getting mouthy again, I can try my best to match your pussy to your suit. Do you want to start the part with a red, puffy, spanked pussy, sunshine?” Natasha snaps suddenly and she wishes she had a camera to capture how your whole body flinches with delight at her tone, looking like it's been sparked by a firework nobody knew had been set.
“No, Daddy.” You whisper, cunt clenching around nothing, more arousal leaking out, trailing between your pussy lips that glisten with what's already formed and only been made worse by pressing fingers.
“Naked by the time I get in there. Otherwise we’ll just have to test that theory anyway.” Natasha wants to see how you react, but she knows it’ll drive you crazy if she pretends not to care, so instead, she spins on her heels, finally taking off to look for the bathing suit she intends to wear, and the one she intends to dress you in. It’s a shame. The one you liked had been cute, but she’s not all that perturbed about the arrangements that led to this wardrobe change.
It’s cold in the bathroom, but your perception of time and fine motor skills are so out of whack at the moment that it takes you as long to strip as it does for Natasha to find the bathing suits she wants. Your ass is fully exposed when she comes in, your body bent in half as you carefully step out of the drawstring bottoms she’d preferred if you'd of pulled off that way. She doesn’t say anything about it, just takes in the sight of your ass presented so innocently, so unknowingly. Your pussy drips too. All the way down your thighs. You don’t realize that there’s a string of arousal leaking from your pulsing hole, too concerned about staying upright on your feet as you undress, but Natasha focuses on how it gets lower and lower to the floor, staying strong, unbreaking.
Her hand catches the middle of your back before you can stand up. You gasp, surprised by her presence again. Her hands are warm, soothing, dominating.
“Arch your back for me a little bit, sunshine.” She doesn’t tell you what she’s doing, doesn’t tell you that your pussy is so wet, there’s a string of wetness dripping from between the gap in your thighs. If she does, she knows your body will ruin it without meaning to. She knows the second she comments about how filthy her little girl's pussy is, you're going to flinch, tense, jerk, and your pretty thighs are going to smother that creamy string of arousal before she can see its limits. You don’t need to know. It may be your body, but it is her pussy. “Just like that, oh fuck, good girl. Good fucking good.” She moans when your skin curves away from her hand before her pressure follows you down, your ass pushes upward, your pussy flipping more toward the light, catching a draft that the simple motion of your body creates.
Natasha moans when it continues, growing longer and thinner as it leaks from your hole. Your body acts like nobody has touched you, like Wanda’s strap wasn’t buried to the hilt in your core last night. It marvels Natasha how you still act like it's the first time every time they touch you.
You whine when she continues to remain silent, just watching, not telling you anything nor allowing you to move. She shushes you, taking her hands and spreading the globes of your ass apart. It’s a subtle flex of ownership, established control. Your hole clenches, and this time, Natasha sees its tightness in all its glory, translucent arousal leaking from you mixed with that creamy delightfulness she’s watching bounce between your shaking thighs.
“Stay still.” She warns, unimpressed by the growing strength of your quivering. One wrong knock of your knees and her show is over prematurely. She spreads your ass farther, puckered hole opening just the slightest bit, round globes becoming white beneath the press of her fingers into your skin, like they’re searching for muscle, or maybe bone. She hums when it finally falls, landing on the floor with the soft splat that catches your attention and makes your cheeks burn brighter. Natasha smirks, satisfied with herself. “You’re so wet, sunshine.” She teases, letting go of your ass to dip her fingers into your pussy instead, scissoring them open just once before she curls them deep, keeping them scooped as she pulls out, leaving you with only a taste of what you could’ve had.
Natasha stands in front of you, sunlight cascading upon her and the slick that coats her fingers as she holds them up to the light, scissoring them open as she watches them fondly, hungrily.
“Such a messy girl.” She chastises, rubbing her fingers together. She leans forward finally, letting your body go, and reaches for the faucet, letting the water start running as she undresses carelessly, not sparing any careful consideration before spreading her cum covered fingers all over her shirt.
Your eyes watch as they join yours in a pile on the floor, but your attention is quickly brought back to Natasha as she guides you into the tub before the water fully warms. You whine, shivering as you step closer to her instinctively, shuddering as the lukewarm bursts paint you frigid. She giggles softly, not because she’d meant to startle you, but because she forgets not everyone grew up without access to hot water all the time. She still forgets it's okay to abuse that privilege now that she has it.
“Sorry, sweet girl. It’ll warm up soon. Let Daddy take your hair down while we wait, hm. Turn around for me.” Natasha coaxes you to face the wall, her damp hands easing the elastic out of your hair. It falls heavily, and she wastes no second to bury her fingers into your scalp, massaging away the tension that’d formed since early morning.
She eases you into washing your hair, and then conditioning it, lathering it thick with a hair mask she swears will keep it nice even with the salt water exposure. You don’t really pay attention much, taken away by the feeling of her fingers pulling and tugging at your hair, sometimes harder than they necessarily need to.
“Doing such a good job for me, angel. Such a good job, sunshine. Daddy’s just gonna wash your body now, okay? Stay facing the wall, don’t want any soap to get into your eyes.” Manipulating you into doing what she wants is so easy, especially when you’re like this. You don’t question that she’s already washed the shampoo out of your hair and the highest she’ll drag the wash cloth is your shoulders, just stay facing the wall as she reaches beside your head for the soap Wanda bought that smells like coconut and raspberries.
You gasp when you realize it's not a wash cloth she’s lathering your body with but the palm of her hand, her own body scrubbed to shit with her red loofa that hands besides Wanda’s black, though yours doesn’t receive the same treatment. Even though there's a yellow one of the same variety hanging beside theres, even though there’s a washcloth draped over the shower bar.
She pinches your nipples with a teasing disinterest, and your chest rises to meet her touch until she pulls away too soon. Too dreadfully soon. She leaves your nipples, now pebbled and aching, to smooth her touch beneath your breasts and down the valley of your tummy. Your breath hitches when her hand dips between your legs, massaging your wetness with explicit softness that turns your belly and warms your cheeks — both sets; every part of your body is alight with sparking light as Natasha pries your lips apart and massages her soapy hands into your core. She runs them down your thighs like nothing happens, and then back up to your cunt that weeps so pitifully. She tsks quietly, allowing the water the privilege of washing the soap and your arousal off of her hands and digits before she urges for your thighs to be spread wider again.
Her fingers are almost hot as they pinch and roll your clit with delicate interest. Your hips twitch when the rough palm of her hand catches it as she sinks the tip of her pointer finger into your cunt, twirling it around before pulling it out and repeating the process. “Shh, stay still baby. Stay still. Daddy’s gotta clean you up before we can get you ready for the pool.”
Your mind is too fuzzy to comprehend what she could mean by that, or what she could intend to be doing with her fingers between your legs that are only creating more wetness, but before you can ask, or even begin to formulate your own wild fantasies, Natasha walks you into the corner until your tits meet the cold tile, your hands bracing against the wall in shock as she wrestles the showerhead between your thighs she’d directed you to spread just moments ago. That makes sense now. It all makes sense now. As much as it can anyways.
Your hips thrash wildly the second she places the showerhead onto your clit, the jet set stream like a bullet shooting through you at full force with no mercy. Her chest keeps you still for the most part, her breasts, so full yet perfectly round on her chest, small enough to look flat beneath her button ups when she wears those bras from Nike, but plump enough for you to feel every raised bump and spec on her similarly puckered areolas that are pressing into your spin demandingly.
“Someone’s feeling jumpy, huh?” Natasha teases, directing the stream of water to your hole for only a moment, but enough of a moment to have you desperately pulling at her grip, arching away from her boobs as you whine and whimper at the sensations she’s causing while actively clearing away any traces of arousal — for now. “Oh, are you close, sunshine? Is Daddy getting you all nice and clean turning you on? Naughty girl. So naughty getting off to this. It feels good doesn’t it? Oh I know, sweet thing. I know it does. That little head doesn’t need to think about anything, it just needs to feel what Daddy’s doing. There you go, there you go.” Natasha drops her head into the crook of your neck, desperately sucking a decent sized hickey into your skin in a place that no bathing suit or photo angle would cover unless it was miraculously taken from the complete opposite angel in the dark.
“N-No! No p-please!” Your voice is quiet and dismayed as your hips cant to chase the showerhead she pulls away at the very last moment before an orgasm tears through your body. You were quivering before, you’re trembling now. The lick of sadistic enjoyment that filters through Natasha as she holds your denied body between her hands and smirks against the soft skin of your damp and sweet smelling neck.
“I told you, sunshine. We were just cleaning you up before the party starts. Did you forget?” Natasha mocks pitilessly, nipping your neck before she pulls away, turning the shower off too soon. “Silly girl.”
It gets cold immediately, like a blanket being torn from your body in the middle of a fall morning. You shiver, immediately turning on your heels and stammering to step closer to her again — magnetized to her warmth in every sense that she delivers it upon you, even in denial.
“Only good girls get to cum, sunshine, and you haven’t listened to Daddy one bit this morning. Let’s see if we can turn that around this afternoon, hm? See if that pussy deserves a reward or if it’s gonna be left all achy and empty until tomorrow.” There’s a finality in Natasha’s tone that brings the tears back to your eyes, but they blend into the droplets of water that drip down your face from your hair as she helps you out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around your still trembling body. “So reactive.” Natasha hums when she brushes over your nipples as she tucks the corner of the towel in between your breasts, changing her approach to something soft, wistful as she handles you. She has you where she wants you now, there’s no reason to overplay her hand when you’re so willfully pliant.
“Braids. Two.” You remind Natasha dazily, blinking at her slowly, sweetly. The demand you utter isn’t meant to be harsh, controlling. You’re just thinking in blocks, choppy thoughts appearing in blurbs that Natasha finds quite charming.
You’ve always been quiet. Since the day you started with her, to this very moment, the silence that passes between you two isn’t unfamiliar, but it holds a certain warmth to it that Natasha wants to frame and put on the bedroom wall every time she feels it.
She laughs softly, shaking her head as she reaches for your pile of clothes on the floor. “I know you want braids, sunshine. I’m getting to that, we’ve gotta get you dressed first.”
“Dressed first.” You repeat back, a soft parrot between Natasha’s fingertips as she dresses you innocently, her fingertips only scraping upwards against your skin as often as necessary. You welcome it fondly, sinking into her warmth, her presence, her promise to stay. Ever so slowly, excitement toward this party begins to bubble in your belly again alongside the arousal Natasha’s amplified since dragging you upstairs, and she can tell as her fingers fix the strap of your bathing suit top that's twisted over itself.
“Do you want to wear your shorts now, or are you going to go hop in the pool the second I let you go?” Natasha questions with an amused smirk, wet brown hair dripping down her shoulders and between her freckled back bones.
“It’s ready?” You question with shy anticipation, giving Natasha enough of an answer to know wrangling you into a pair of shorts isn’t worth her breath right now.
Either way, she smiles at you fondly, nodding her head in quiet confirmation. “Everything’s ready. I’ve got the campfire all set up, and the floats are inflated and in the pool, and all your favorite drinks are in the cooler by Fanny’s water bowl.” Natasha kisses your head before she breaks away, stepping farther back than she’s been for a while. You whine at the loss of warmth radiating off of her skin and onto yours, but she shushes you with fond exasperation, rolling her eyes as she steps into a pair of black swim trumps and a white sports bra looking top. It’s not her most festive attire, but you know that her, amongst a handful of the guests attending, are majorly rioting against the American government. Your festivities only reside in the color palette and aesthetic, but you know this is something personal for Natasha; something like a wound that’s never healed.
“No shorts.” You decide with finality as she fixes the last of her hair that was caught beneath the band of the bathing suit top. Natasha’s smirk seems to broaden if possible, her eyes filled with a lightness you hadn’t seen so unearthed across her features in a while.
She chortles shortly, shaking her head. “I figured that, sunny.” She assures, making you blush in embarrassment she cherishes to witness. “Come stand in front of the sink. If you’re going to beat Yelena into the pool, then we only have a couple of minutes.” Natasha redirects and you allow her to, letting your body be guided toward the countertop that holds every hair utensil you could think of. Knowing Natasha, the woman who likes you in the slickest braid known to man, she’s going to use every instrument in the room until she’s satisfied. It’s a miracle nobody beneath the roof is balding yet. Her fingers are beautiful things, but they’re also dangerous weapons.
You’re not paying attention to how she parts and pulls and tugs at your hair, only whining when something is too harsh or you’re just missing the sound of her voice coaxing you through the momentary, and entirely worthwhile, pain. You never regret the end result — or the fact that Wanda will forgo making you shower and restyle your hair before bedtime when they’re in.
“All done.” Natasha smiles proudly after a few moments, tapping your hip as she reaches behind her to begin her own hair in a hurry, not too fussed about making her own style perfect, just manageable for the activities at hand.
“Said two.” You frown when your eyes focus on your reflection in the mirror and catch sight of the singular french braid that runs down the center of your head. This is not what you asked for; not what you wanted. Natasha knows you only let her braid your hair like this before bed. She knows that for some reason, you like two braids better. You know that she knows. She knows that you know that she knows.
That doesn’t change the fact that your hair is still only braided in one slicked and tight french braid, secured by a little red elastic she’d laid out on the counter between spraying your hair with a leave-in conditioner and pulling the first sections taut.
Natasha chuckles as if something is funny, dropping her hands from her hair once she’s satisfied with the bun tied up toward the middle of her head. “And Daddy said no popsicles. Seems like we both forgot to listen, and we’ll both live through the disappointment.”
“I wanted two.” Your shoulders drop in dejection, eyes staring at your reflection in the still somewhat steamy mirror.
“And I wanted you to make a good choice.” Natasha isn’t settling, but she meant what she said about not needing to overplay her hand anymore, so she nods toward the door with an ever so gradually lightening expression. Her eyes flicker to the small, gold analog clock Wanda insisted on putting in the corner at the end of the countertop that runs across the side of this wall. Fifteen minutes or less until Yelena barges through the back gate with Fanny on a leash, Kate and Lucky tumbling in behind her flush faced and disheveled. You’re running out of time if you really have a goal of being the first in the pool. She takes one more moment to look at you though; really look. Your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, your eyes are wide, doe-like and glassy as they peer back at her with a sort of cluelessness behind them. Your shoulders look gentle, your skin soft as evaporating water allows them to glisten naturally. You look so little. So soft. “Go tell Wands you’re getting in the pool.”
Your eyes brighten at the reminder of pool time, and you don’t waste a second scrambling out of the bathroom with a bounce. Natasha watches you for a moment, shaking her head as she watches your eyes flicker between Monkey and the door as you slow down just slightly in your descent to Wanda who's still in the kitchen. You can hear her doing something now that you’re out of the bathroom.
“Uh.” Natasha scolds with a glimmer in her eyes, no real malice in her tone. “Leave Monkey-Monkey. He’ll be here waiting for you when you come back.”
“Okay.” You whisper softly, continuing down to Wanda. It takes you until the third step to forget about your upset, Natasha can tell as she listens to the growing prance in your footsteps as you regain your speed, your little voice calling out to Wanda before you round the corner of the kitchen.
“Wands, I’m all ready for the pool!”
Your feet carry you across the floorboards quickly, still naked, but padding audibly against the hardwood that Wanda had meticulously mopped three days ago while Natasha dusted every shutter and baseboard in the house. You can’t remember what they’d had you doing, maybe the dishes or folding the laundry, but either way, the floor feels squeaky clean and polished beneath your feet.
Wanda’s putting away the last of the dishes in the kitchen, all the food spread out between the kitchen island and the dining room table as you peer around the corner as you stalk closer to her body. She takes up so much room, so much space, her presence is so large, but she’s really not all that big. She’s still taller than you, more commanding than you.
“We’re in a better mood.” Wanda notes, and though you’re dazed, utterly delicate in front of her, you catch the way her eyes rake up your body, assuring every curve and inch of exposed skin gets the heat of her stare cast upon it at least once. That burning sensation spreads through your clit and belly again, your cheeks hot as you look down at your painted toes, feeling shy; so shy. “Natty changed you too, hm? What happened there?”
Natasha might’ve conceded about overplaying her card, but Wanda had barely had a chance to sink her teeth into you and she wasn’t feeling so kind. You knew better than to ignore what she tells you and expects from you.
Your cheeks blush and your feet kick at the floor again, desperately hoping for it to swallow you whole and save you from this encounter. Wanda wants the full truth. If she asks Natasha later and she finds out you held something back, you’re only in for more.
“Was too wet.” You admit sheepishly, your voice quiet. “U-Um, looked like I had an accident.”
Wanda hums, satisfied with your answer though she knows you could’ve been more descriptive. She knows a hell of a lot more than that happened upstairs. She lets it go for now. If only because the choppy manner of your sentences tells her Natasha’s already completely dismantled every panic setting in your little brain, and with it, the right headspace for making you verbally humiliate yourself descriptively.
“You looked like you had an accident, huh?” Wanda tsks, shaking her head as she turns her chin to glance at the counter, content to find the sunscreen she’d brought down from the bathroom still in its place from last night. “Oh, sunshine, do I have to start taking you to go potty myself. Is my little girl too lost in that pretty head to do it herself?” She teases smugly, knowing that her condescension is only further smothering you into the headspace Natasha’s created in private.
“I didn’t!” You argue weakly, desperate for her to believe you, for somebody to believe you, because you’re not entirely convinced that Natasha does. “Didn’t have an accident! Mo-Wands I didn’t!”
“You didn’t, what? Tell me sunshine, what didn’t you do.” Wanda backs you into a corner before you even realize you’re caged in, and if your cheeks weren’t already positively glowing, Wanda knows they’d have turned this shade a pink in a moment now that you’ve been tasked with the obligation of clarifying yourself to her; she’s sure Natasha’s made you say it too. She’s certain if she strapped you to an MRI machine, they’d find a million little butterflies all fluttering wildly inside your belly and bones.
“Ididn’thaveanaccident.” You grumble in one breath, eyebrows innocently furrowed in dismay as you sink your gaze to the floor, still wishing for it to swallow you whole, still absolutely buzzing from every nerve within your body.
“Slower. And louder. You know better than that.” Wanda chastises with a look of disbelief on her face, your belly sinks to your knees, your legs knock together as you tremble beneath her domineering glare. She’s entirely unimpressed with you this morning. You may have wormed your way back into Natasha’s good graces, but you’re only digging a deeper hole with her. It’s truly a wonder how she hasn’t lost all self control and bent you over the counter until your ass matched the swimsuit Natasha picked out tediously. “If I have to repeat myself you will tell Maria explicitly how you’ve disobeyed both your Mommy and your Daddy in the four hours that your pretty eyes have been open. Do you need to be reminded how much Masha likes to see you cry? Have you forgotten how sweet she sounds as she convinces Mommy to spank that little cunt harder just one more time.” She’s playing mean now. If Natasha were in the room to see how she steps closer to you, impeding on your personal space with a cruelness that would shake a seasoned battle warrior, she’s drag Wanda away by her hand, telling her she’s playing a dangerous game, that this wasn’t supposed to become an all day scene, but Wanda likes danger. And she likes reminding Natasha that they’ve agreed to let her take the reins every so often and today, she’s decided it's everyone at her mercy.
“N-No!” The way your body reacts before your brain is so pleasing to see. Wanda preens as she watches you break, the one final straw snapping like it's been dry rotted for a decade coming undone completely as you stamp your feet into the ground, body bouncing with so much pent up dismay the vibrations tickle your clit. You sob gutterally, tears sinking down your cheeks as the last of your reserve crumbles, your ability to hide even the slightest reaction from them entirely gone now; probably not to come back until at least the early hours of the morning.
Good, Wanda thinks, still just watching you have your meltdown, your lips wet with saliva as you blubber nonsensically. There’s no stopping your meltdown without intervention at this point, but she’s content to let you get out at least a couple of the tears she knows you’ve been fighting all morning. You need this. She knows that you need this. The old saying from her childhood sneaks up on her like a paranormal chill. ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you’. It hadn’t been true back then, she’s not so sure its really true now, she knows that this crying helps, heals, highlights all the trust that’s been shared and built, but there’s a twinge deep in her heart that knows just how much trauma and pain it’s taken to get you to this point of emotional regulation and protection.
“So tell me again. Nicely.” She finally decides to take pity on you when snot bubbles from your nose. You’re quick to use the back of your hand to wipe it away, a whine that’s fully embarrassed tumbling from your lips as you visibly try to sink into the floor. It’s officially surpassed fun and healing for both parties. She knows that you need softness now. That her hand has been played as hard as it needed to be.
“I-I didn’t have an acc— Mommy I didn’t have an accident!” You sob, your hands coming up to cover your face as you can’t handle the heat of her eyes on you. They’re so soft now, so comforting, so patient. You’re running out of time to get in the pool, but Wanda’s willing to yell at Yelena to wait if it really comes down to it now. You’ve been good enough. She’ll see to it that you get a reward. At least partially.
“I know, moya milaya, luchezarnaya devochka. (My sweet sunshine girl.) I know.” Wanda pries your hands away from your face gently, the pads of her thumbs that are soft from the pounds of fruit juice she’s squished between her digits wipe away your tears tenderly before her lips kiss your slightly damp cheeks. “Enough of the tears. That’s enough, sweetheart.” She coaxes gently, smiling warmly at you when your eyes blink drearily, your lashes heavy and wet. “Did Natty put sunscreen on you?” She tries to pull you back up a little bit, if only because she knows neither you or Natasha would appreciate outing your mutual Daddy kink so vulnerably. Wanda’s pretty sure everyone knows about her Mommy kinky to some extent, but you and Natasha, you keep things close to your heart in ways she both adores and pities. She wishes the both of you could just love yourselves as openly and encouragingly as she’s learned to love herself.
“No.” You mumble, trying to shake your head that’s still being held between her hands. Wanda smiles sweetly at you, her green eyes sparkling.
Wanda rolls her eyes, smile gleaming. “Of course she didn’t. Natty’s silly.” Wanda’s proud of herself the second she recognizes the soft giggle that fills her ears at the reprimand of your mutual partner. If one thing always works with you, its using Natasha as the brunt of the joke, if only because outside of this relationship, this opportunity to be wrong and messy and stupid, she’d picture perfect. “We’ll get you all lathered up and then I’ll stop keeping you from the pool, alright, sunshine?”
“Yours.” You demand weakly, your little voice sounding oh so croaky as you bring a fist up to rub at your eyes. With or without the sunlight that beams down brightly on the backyard, unhidden by clouds that obidently roll around it, you’re going to crash tonight. Wanda can’t remember the last time you let yourself feel and express so freely; that always tends to wear you out. She remembers what it was like to first start feeling and getting in touch with her emotions. She knows how much of a weight it is to constantly be feeling and processing things you haven’t before. Selfishly, empathetically, she can’t wait for the cuddles that are to come when the house finally clears out.
“I know you want mine, sweet thing.” Wanda laughs, reaching for the sunbum lotion she’d brought down from the bathroom last night. “Always want mine, huh? My body wash, my shampoo, my suntan lotion. You smell like a little version of me!” She teases fondly, opening the cap and squirting a generous amount into her palms. She took her rings off when she started cutting up the fruit, and you’re thankful for thier absence now as she drags her hands down your arms adn across your chest, making a point to almost finger the dips in your clavicle as she works the white lotion clear into your expose skin.
You giggle when she dips her fingertips beneath the hem of the bathing suit top, coating just the slightest bit more of your boobs before she asks you to turn around, lathering your back and your neck and the backs of your legs with meticulous pressure and gentleness combined.
“Does that tickle?” Wanda hums fondly as she finishes rubbing in the last of the sunscreen around your ankles, not bothering with your feet now if only because she plans to spray you down every two hours with the spray version she has. “We’re almost done, sweet girl. Just let me get the front of your legs.”
You don’t question why she saved the front of your legs for last, you should, but you don’t, mindlessly turning around in her grip again, your eyes fixated on the pool that drifts and ripples with the warm breeze that travels in through the open doors and windows.
You hum when her thumbs press into the muscles of your upper thighs, her fingers really working the lotion in harder than she had been now. She travels high and then low, but your attention is particularly peaked when she reaches the crevices of your thighs, her slickened palms and fingertips continuing to explore your body more than protect it with sunscreen now.
You squeak when her fingertips breach the sides of your bottoms, her fingers that are barely covered in anything anymore brushed against your lips and then your clit before they dare to dip inside, finding a puddle of wetness that leaks against this swimsuit now too right beneath your pulsating hole. She laughs cynically, plunging a finger inside with interest, working it into an arch and then straightening it out again.
“Oh.” You gasp, not expecting the intrusion or permissive pleasure you’re receiving. Wanda smirks, setting another hand on your hip.
“Stay still, baby. I’m just making sure everywhere is nice and covered.” She tells you deceitfully. She pulls her finger out and away too soon, and your face flushes when she adds more sunscreen to her dirtied hand, rubbing that into your stomach before she hums, satisfied with herself. “Natty didn’t let you cum, did she?” Wanda asks eventually, not even daring to bring up how she’d just rubbed your arousal into your belly with the remnants of her sunscreen and your shower water.
You shake your head, words hard, your eyes reflecting your silence as they glimmer and gleam.
“I can tell. That little pussy was just clenching on my fingers so tight. And it’s still making such a mess. Better go get in the pool before Natty wants to check for herself again. I don’t think you want to have her pick out another bathing suit when Yelena and Kate are going to be here any minute.” Wanda teasingly redirects, but you’re too oblivious to realize she’d very pointedly just taken your mind off of the second edge of the day.
“Bye-bye.” You blink at her before you turn, both clumsily and frantically scrambling out of the door. Wanda watches you, almost certain you’re going to bust your ass before you make it into the heated pool, but by some miracle you avoid tripping over your own two feet or the chairs Natasha’s fixed out with towels. She watches you dive in with a splash, grateful that your attitudes already seemed to improved already. She wants this to be a good day. She knows that its going to be.
-
Wanda’s been watching you for a while now. The sun has tarnished your skin already, the salt water has tugged pieces of your braid free, but your eyes gleam with a lightness she hasn’t seen so exposed in a while. Your earlier frustration and arousal has been clearly forgotten, your little mind too occupied with the game of chicken going on between you, Kate, Yelena, and Sharon. Nobody’s really sure who invited Sharon, it definitely wasn’t Natasha or herself, but she hasn’t perturbed the vibe, so nobody’s asked her to leave.
Your cheeks are pink now from a delicate burn thats going to burn and tighten your skin within the next handful of hours. You’ve got a dark crisp across the bridge of your nose from where the suns hit you most, a telltale sign of the laughter you’ve let bubble from your chest as Yelena throws countless quips at Natasha from the water. She hasn’t left the pool since she arrived, demanding drinks and plates of food from the sloshing waters that she’s crawled so deep into they lick at her collarbones.
It seems Natasha’s been bringing you drinks as well each time she’s been beckoned over by her excitable little sister finally getting the chance to live out a little bit of her childhood dream if the empty cans of tequila seltzers are any indication. Natasha’s shared a considerable amount about Yelena’s childhood with the both of you, but Wanda especially. They both still have their secrets, neither you nor Wanda confidently know the majority of their most tragic events, but Wanda knows how desperately Yelena had wanted a pool as a child. Wanda knows how many times Yelena had been waterboarded by a drunken Alexei when she’d hopefully asked, never quite getting the hint that the no wasn’t due to money, but willingness.
Wanda almost feels bad pulling you away from the game thats happening, but unlike everyone else in the pool, they’ve all gotten out to periodically hide from the sun, or in Yelena’s case, at the very least sprayed the top half of their bodies. Wanda knows you won’t want everyone seeing her lather you up, but she’s not quite willing to let you do it by yourself yet, even if you’ve floated up from the very bottom of a soft headspace the slightest bit since fleeing the kitchen and her controlling grip.
“You gonna bring her in?” Natasha stalks up beside Wanda quietly, but there’s a stagger to her steps that give hints of how much she’s had to drink already, or how little she’s had to eat. Wanda can only have her eye on so many people at once, and you take precedence over your girlfriend who wouldn’t let anything happen to her even shitfaced. Natasha has the skills to defend herself. Wanda fears every day that somebodys going to kidnap you.
Wanda hums, glancing down at the beer in Natasha’s hand. “She’s a lobster.” She comments, slightly amused, slightly horrified. It hadn’t been this bright of a day in a while. She takes the long neck bottle from Natasha’s loose grip, gulping down a mouthful that she realizes is lukewarm too late. “That’s fucking putrid.” Wanda’s nose wrinkles, and she shoves it back into Natasha’s grip with disgust. “It’s piss warm, Natalia.”
“Yeah well, I haven’t really had time to drink it between watching her boobs bounce every time she falls into the water and being Yelena’s little bitch. I’m one beer away from making her get her own damn drinks.” Natasha takes a gulp of the beer if only to further defend her frustration and Wanda rolls her eyes, not sure why the brunette questions where your attitude is coming from when this is how she acts. “I think she’s just hot. You know how she gets now that she’s upped her meds.” Natasha reasons, watching you fondly for a moment as Kate pushes you back into the water off of Yelena’s shoulders.
You know Sharon’s not allowed to pick you up. She’s been respecting that rule so far, maybe because both Kate and Yelena have claimed you as quick as the waves of the pool let you find your footing after a spill.
“She’s going to be pissed when I tell her she can’t take the trazadone tonight.” Natasha comments out of second thought, thinking about the pill bottle you’d rhinestoned blue just a few months back.
Wanda scoffs, “You should’ve thought about that before you started feeding her, what even are those, Sun Crusiers or High Noons?” She squints her eyes, trying to determine what Natasha’s even been feeding you in the few moments she looks away to socialize with everyone else. Pepper’s done a good job at keeping her busy, the strawberry blonde unable to ever end a conversation after one topic.
“Sun Crusiers.” Natasha hums, “She gave me the eyes. What was I supposed to do?” She throws her hands up, looking like the depiction of a useless lesbian as her eyes bounce between Wanda and your breasts that bob with the current of the water that drags and pulls you as you try to swim away from Kate, shrieking with glee. Somewhere along the lines, the game of chicken you’d been playing had turned into something else, and neither Wanda nor Natasha know what that games supposed to be.
“Say no.” Wanda mutters dryly, but her attention isn’t really on Natasha anymore. She watches as Sharon lunges forward in the pool, her fingers just slightly catching your waist though its clear your body wasn’t her intention. It’s enough to encourage Wanda to beacon you over to her though, not willing to take any chances with you. Not with Sharon. Half the people at this party could tell you why she’s a bad idea. “Sunny!” Wanda’s voice reaches across the backyard somehow, startling your attention away from Yelena who’d finally managed to grab your shoulders and onto her. You look at her like she’s hung the stars for you in every lifetime that you’ve lived. It takes her breath away every time. “Come help me!” She nods inside, looking almost mischievous as if that will help to ease you out of the pool without a fit or dramaticized pout.
She watches your mouth move as you say something to Yelena, and she can almost guarantee the blonde mocks your obidence because your cheeks flush and your head tilts downward as you climb the steps of the pool, shyly throwing your soaking wet braid off of your shoulder.
“Get me a beer and meet us in the kitchen?” Wanda asks as she moves to grab your towel that she’s left sprawled out across a chair in the sun, but it’s not really a question at all. Natasha rolls her eyes at the demand, but leans forward to press a kiss into the Sokovians temple before she stalks away, chucking her lukewarm beer into the garbage as she moves with stealth.
“Having fun out there, my little fish?” Wanda asks queerly when you’re close enough for the question to reach only your ears. You don’t answer, choosing instead to stumble into her open and outstretched arms, letting her wrap you up tightly in your sun warmed towel. Your head buries itself in her chest, inhaling the ebbing scent of her perfume that disintergrates as she sweats and moves beneath the suns beams. Her fingers brush flyaways away from your face as she guides your eyes up to hers, still finding that hazy softness swimming in your stare when she looks at you. How far you’ve come to trust these people with this part of you. How far you’ve come to understand at all that Wanda and Natasha will only ever have you around people they know will accept you fully and with flaws. Sharon may be a horrible girlfriend and a wicked flirt, but she’s one of the most accepting people Wanda’s ever had the displeasure of calling a friend. Still, she wants to hide this part of you. She wants to keep your softness to herself for a while. “Lets get you inside, my sun. I’m sure a popsicle would make swimming even better.”
Your eyes brighten at the promise of a popsicle. You’ve been waiting all day, and while you’ve found patience much to Wanda’s enjoyment, it had slowly been killing you as the sun, water, and alcohol wore away at your energy.
“Popsicle time?” You question bubbly, pulling away from her chest to stand fully on your own two feet, sunburnt cheeks bright and squeezable.
Wanda nods, “Popsicle time. And sunscreen time. You’re gonna be as pink as a poppy by the time we get you all wrapped up in bed tonight.” She teases, guiding you into the house with a wave at Maria over her shoulder, silently telling the brunette woman to give her a minute. Maria understand more than most at the party do, and she smirks cruelly back at Wanda and sips her cup of… whatever has been created from the open bottles in the kitchen. “Careful. One of these days I’m going to wrap you in bubble wrap for real.” She teases as you trip over the end of the towel just feet away from your destination. Wanda really questions why Natasha thought it was a good idea to fill you up with alcohol when you’re already incoherent on your feet, stumbling and falling about in the pool like you have no idea how your center of gravity works.
“Not my fault.” You mutter cheekily, a shy blush crawling up the back of your neck as you spin to look at Wanda.
“And whose fault was it?” Wanda quirks an eyebrow, her chin lulling to the side as she stares at you.
“Natty’s.” You say, evidence of how much time you’ve spent unsupervised with Yelena. Wanda wants to laugh, she really, really does, you look so cute with your little head titled back at her, your eyes sparkling as you know full and well you shouldn’t be blaming Natasha for things she’s not even around to see or find her own humor in.
“Don’t start lying again now, little girl. I’m still quite interested to see if Natty could really get that pussy the same shade as your suit.” You didn’t know Wanda knew Natasha had said that upstairs while you’d been getting ready, you’d forgotten all about it yourself, but the heat of your pent up and continuously denied arousal comes back quick and at full force. Wanda can see the sheen of heat that comes over you the moment it crashes, and she smirks knowingly, silently adding another talley to her list of wins.
“Sorry.” You avert your eyes bashfully, holding onto the edges of the towel tighter.
Wanda smiles at you softly, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen she’d left on the counter. She was just going to spray you down, but she doesn’t trust that enough now that she’s seen how easily you’re showing evidence of your time outside right now. She doesn’t aim to tease this time though, working your body over rather roughly as she just tries to do the best job she can. There’s a white cast to your cheeks when she’s finished with you, but at the very least, she hopes you wont burn any further. The UV should be dwindling soon, the summer sky beginning to change hues as the day ages quicker than anyone wants or can notice. Burning is only going to be a risk for another hour or so more, but you’re her baby, and quite honestly, she doesn’t want the three am waking when your brain clears and you realize how badly you hurt.
“That’s alright, sunshine.” She promises quietly as she sets the sunscreen back on the counter, turning to look at the fridge just as Natasha comes inside with three drinks. The neck of Wanda’s beer is between Natsha’s pointer finger and middle finger, and somehow she balances two solo cups in the other hand, her pinky and index finger supporting a lottery ticket Wanda has no idea where she got, or who she got it from.
“Alright, I have your beer. Maria poured me a 3 finger of whiskey, and for you, baby love, we have a red hawaiian punch.” Natasha plays up her delivery, hoping she’ll be able to sell you the drink despite its lack of alcohol. You take the bait, reaching for it out of her hands with an excited smile. You chug mindlessly, finally aware of how thirsty you were for something not carbinated. “I can’t believe Clint stayed back with the kids. We have two gallons of hawaiian punch we have nothing to do with.” Natasha adds as a second thought once she’s sure you’re content with your drink, following Wanda over to the freezer as she searches for a popsicle for you.
“Just tell Laura to take them with her when she goes. You know she never turns down food for those kids. They’re worse than you and Clint.” Wanda muses with an amused scoff, and Natasha makes a sound that insinuates she hadn’t thought of that solution of her own. “Alright, a popsicle for you, my little lady.” Wanda turns around with a bright smile, handing you an already open popsicle with the tips of her careful fingers. You grab it with your fist, lapping at it with a pink tongue that they both can’t help but watch. You don’t know what your’e doing, too enthralled by the flavor that melts across your tongue, but they watch you the whole time, even as you teeth bite down and break off half of the frozen treat in one go.
Natasha has to swallow a moan when your tongue pokes out to lick up a trail of juice that spills from your lips, and she really almost loses it when you miss, only smearing the red-pink evidence across your face a little bit more.
You finish the popsicle in record time, evidence of your inebriation and need of real sustiencence as the heat and your medication begin to make a real effect on you.
“Come here, let me fix your bathing suit messy girl.” Natasha tsks. Wanda doesn’t comment that theres nothing wrong with your suit, or that Natasha’s pupils are entirely blown with lust, just watches silently, wondering how this is going to play out for the both of you who are still beneath her thumb. You move when she wants you to move, and she hasn’t given either one of you permission to dive into the deep end yet again.
The tips of Natasha’s fingers are still white from digging around in the coolers outside for a beer. It takes only four second for Wanda to realize the russians intentions, but your brain doesn’t catch up until Natasha is worming her touch beneath the fabric of your tankini cups and pinching your nipples between her fingers. You jump, and Wanda’s not sure if its a reaction to the sudden cold or pain, but she enjoys the sight of you straining away from both sensations on your tippy toes, failing miserably to truly relieve the ache or temperature.
You splutter on a cough when Natasha pulls her hands away, smirking posessively as you as she glances toward the window, her eyes locking on a blue eyed individual who bears a smirk of sheer enjoyment, still stocily sipping whatever drink she’s mixed together. Your eyes find Maria’s after a moment, and you only cough again, cheeks flushing as you choke on air and saliva.
“Take a drink.” Natasha giggles, not all that concerned as she turns back to Wanda, letting you sit in the embarrassment of her disinterest. She’s very interested, but this is as far as Wanda’s letting her extend her hand right now, so she’s taking full advantage of the inches she has access too — even if she wants the miles Wanda has and hasn’t touched.
Neither one pay attention as your hand reaches for the cups on the counter, mindlessly thinking you were grabbing your hawaiian punch as you splutter for relief from the combined ache, burn, and scratch in your throat as your eyes water. Your nipples are pebbled beneath the ribbed fabric of your tankini’s cups, and they poke out proudly, unwilling to stay hidden for your modesty or mindset.
You’re still not paying attention as you raise the cup to your lips, taking a big sip that tastes nothing like you expect. You choke even more, not expecting the bitter taste that coats your throat with a persistent lingering. It takes only a moment, a single second for your brain to catch up to what you’ve just drank, and when it does, when you realize that its whisky, a smile tugs at your lips, your coughing and spluttering subsiding as you go in for another gulp before either Wanda or Natasha can reach across the island to snatch the cup from you.
The second wash of whisky against your throat is kinder than the last, but it still burns, it still twinges your insides, still forces you to swallow thickly a second time after it falls down your throat, but you anticipate it, expect it. Even if its not really, it feels like something you can control now; pain that you can limit and amplify at your own means.
Natasha catches your wrist in the middle of your third swig, your eyes watering as a few drops splash against your uvula and the roof of your mouth. You can feel it in your nose as you swallow, whining pitifully as she drags your hand away from your mouth. “I meant, take a drink from your juice.”
“Thought it was that one.” You shrug, pulling your wrist out of her grip if only to actually grab your juice and dunk the remnants of your popsicle into it, a truly adorable grin taking over your features as the different hues of color blend and swirl together. Natasha’s only a little bit bothered that she didn’t get to steal a bite before you submerged it.
“And it took you two more tries to make sure, huh?” She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes, not truly perturbed but willing to take a few seconds to scold you anyways, adoring the way you seem to wiggle in your skin beneath her attention. “You’re going to have quite the headache tomorrow morning, little lady. Might even be glad I did your hair in one braid when you don’t have to hold it back as your puking over the toilet.” She sings in a teasing tone, taking the last bits of her whisky down in one go as she finishes her taunt.
“I can go play with Yelena again?” You question with indifference to her droning, not in the appropriate headspace in any capacity to comprehend or play into her taunting. Wanda chuckles into her hand as she raises the neck of her beer to her lips, always amused with the bantering that ensues between the both of you. She wonders what it had been like in the beginning, when you’d just been a secretary and Natasha couldn’t be so brazen in her flirting. She’d heard the stories from both of your perspectives a few hundred times, sometimes at two pm, sometimes at three am, but nothing would compare to getting to see the way she’s sure you blushed and Natasha twitched with concealed nervousness with her own two eyes. Neither one of you know how beautiful she finds you. Neither one of you know the things she truly cares about within those moments that you both let slip by unnoticed. There’s no way to make it happen, to rewind time and let her witness whats now history, your personal, intimate history, but she hopes, and that’s always gotten her through.
“You can go play with Yelena, but Natty’s gonna start grilling soon and then we’re going to put some clothes on and sit by the fire. No whining when I tell you it’s time to get out, right?” Wanda takes the opportunity to remind you of your place, your role, their expections and perception of you. Your cheeks flush at the display of dominance that’s uttered so sternly, your heart skipping just a single beat as you nod your head obediently, unsure of what has butterflies roaring in your belly so horridly.
“Cheeseburger.” You nod decicively, letting you gaze flicker to Natasha who watches you and Wanda fondly. You’ve concluded a long time ago that all this relationship can really be chalked up to is taking turns admiring each other. Someone is always staring, always memorizing new features they’d never noticed before. It’s sweet, but in times like these, it reminds you of how expode you are now, how unhidden you’ve made yourself. After years of builiding a repore within your small town, the quiet girl, the lonely girl, the abandoned girl, it would never quite feel right to have nowhere to hide when you’re with them.
Natasha’s head lulls to the side as she laughs, muscles in her abs flexing as her trunks slip lower and lower on her hips. Your eyes watch her skin as it ripples like the water in the pool, taken away from your mental rabbit hole by her undeniable (and unintentional) hotness. It’s almost annoying that she can look so good so easily, so carelessly.
“Yes, I know you want a cheeseburger. You always want a cheeseburger.” Natasha coos fondly, pulling open the cabinet beneath the center of the island for the trash can. She tosses her cup in mindlessly, using her hip to give it just enough momentum to propel closed without her fingertips. She takes full advantage of her free hands that are still kind of cold, colder than your skin at least, and settles them onto your hips, letting her fingers press into your ass beneath the waistband of your bottoms. “Are you having a good time with Yelena and Kate?” She asks quietly, dropping her forehead onto yours, slotting your noses together; taking a moment to just appreciate and hold you, something she hasn’t really done all day, even in the moments she’d had you all to herself. There’d been a mission then, a time constraint.
You nod your head softly, forgetting its against hers, and grin shyly when your foreheads bonk, her eyes closing in a soft moment of gentle exasperated humor as her shoulders shake with chortled laughter. “Yes.” You whisper decisively, and Natasha’s heart skips a beat knowing she and Wanda are the reason your autopilot setting is blunt responses. They don’t care for the cushions when you’re like this, like putty between their fingers, they just care that you’re able to express what you need and how you feel. They’ve taught you well; you’ve learned well.
“That’s good, sunshine.” Natasha pecks your lips sweetly, letting you taste the whisky on her lips and selfishly tasting the ice pop and juice spread against you. You’re sweet, like you always are, but you have your own edge to your tongue now as she taste the whisky hidden beneath your misleading invitation of cherry and strawberry. “Get back out there before it’s too late.”
“One more. Please.” You bargain, eyes fluttering as you lean in close to chase Natasha’s warmth as she backs away. You don’t need to clarify what you need from her, and she doesn’t make you ask a second time as she steps up to you fully and captures your lips in a real kiss now, pressing herself against you as harshly as she can without losing balance, not caring about the wet impression you leave against her or the fact that until now, she’d been perfectly dry by choice. She’d never deny you a kiss like this, not when she knows you’ll wrap around her like a monkey without shame, falling into a tunnel of black as the only light shines on her. You don’t disappoint now as you wrap your arms around her neck and attempt to make it seem like you have any power over her, it’s not intentional, but its still a subtle move of possession, one that has Natasha grinning against your lips like an idiot, effectively breaking suction for the first time.
You gasp for breath with raspberry cheeks, not red, not pink, wiping damp baby hairs out of your face with childish discordination. Your eyes sparkle with a few million stars, and Natasha takes a few seconds to try and count each one, matching constellations that feel like home to her after all this time, all this closeness.
“We agreed on one more.” Natasha pets your hair back affectionately, smothering your face akin to the way an aunt would a small, squishable child. “Go kick Yelena’s ass for me, kay?” She encourages, eyes sparkling with mischief that races through your veins at lightening speed with the assistance of alcohol in your system. You’re utterly fucked for tomorrow, that’s absolutely certain, but for now, you’ve never felt lighter.
“Okay.” You whisper, leaning in close and rising up on your tippy-toes to sneak attack her with a kiss before you skip away, eyelashes batting as you make eye contact with Wanda who smirks teasingly.
“No kiss for me?” She preens, jutting her hip out with a teasing attitude that makes you giggle with schoolgirl kind of charisma. “Go have fun, baby girl.” Wanda hums when you’re close enough to grab, linking an arm around your hips with one possessive grip as she balances her beer in the other hand, keeping it just out of your reach before your little drunk mind can lead you to anymore creative ideas. “Listening ears on when I tell you its time to get out, right?” She repeats again, her eye contact heavy and suffocating as you get lost in the vibrant green of her stare. Her eyes get so much lighter when she spends time in the sun.
Your head bobs, just like it did the first time she asked, but she shakes her head, clicking her tongue against her pearly white front teeth. “Words, detka.” She corrects, strictness settling into her gaze that reminds you silliness is only permitted occasionally.
Your expression sobers, your belly shrinking inside of you again. “Right.”
“Good girl.” Wanda’s eyes sparkle, a delicacy refilling the emerald voids. Right now, you don’t know why you were ever nervous about tonight. You don’t want it to end, you’re not ready for it in the slightest. If you could, you would stay in this afternoon forever, replaying every small moment — even the torturous ones.
-
The fire crackles. Ambient orange and yellow light licks at the air and your back. Natasha’s fingers trail up and down your spine. Goosebumps. Beads of sweat. Warmth. There are so many sensations captivating your focus, but what you choose to settle on is the tickle of her nails scratching at your skin beneath the flowy fabric of your tankini top. You’re not sure you can even call it that really, it dawns on you now, with your head against her collarbone and your legs straddling her waist in front of all of her friends. You can’t remember how you got into this position — how your legs ended up no either side of hers or your how your head was tucked into her neck like it had always belonged here, but you don’t pull away from its warmth and weight, even as you feel stares on your back that spark warmth somehow hotter than the fire that licks at you.
You don’t think this top counts as a tankini. It doesn’t really cover your belly at all. All it does is flow around your curves, concealing the figure that Wanda and Natasha love so much until you shift just right or the wind blows. It’s a lace-like mesh, a thin flowy detail that brings femininity to the otherwise just red bikini, and it brings you confidence, but your not so sure you have its classification in your wardrobe right.
“It was Wentworth, Yelena.” Natasha rolls her eyes, stilling her scratching of your spine to shoot a deep glare at her little sister who sits across the fire holding an empty leash.
Fanny and Lucky had been put inside hours ago, sometime before the sun had fully set beneath the trees and nightfall coated the sky thick and black. Sparklers have already begun being shot off and burned in the distance, and while no big fireworks have been shot off yet, you think Kate’s insistence to get it done ahead of time was a good call. You remember the dogs from your childhood always freaking out, and while these are city dogs, ones that are used to the constant chatter and noise of the city, you don’t think they’ll take kindly to the rapid and consecutive exploding still.
Despite the dogs being inside, probably in the kitchen lapping frantically at their water bowls making a mess, or lounging on the couch in the living room like they love to do, Yelena hasn’t relinquished her grip on the leash since she’d climbed out of the pool soggy and soaking, stretching her legs on land for the first time since she and Kate had turned up to the party ten minutes early.
You turn your face farther into Natasha’s chest, muffling the sound of your whine as it crawls up your throat, but directing the vibrations directly into her body. You wiggle in her lap, arching your back just enough for her to get the hint that you’re not pleased about the lull in attention to the notches in your vertebrae. Natasha doesn’t draw attention to your action, but her hand starts scratching your back again, her eyes never leaving Yelena’s sprawled out form.
The blonde sits on a camping chair dug out from the shed in the back of the yard. Natasha had spent the better half of an hour pulling all the appropriate fire pit chairs out from storage that morning, but Yelena had been insistent on wanting one particular army green chair that she swears Natasha initially inherited from her back in college. She throws her right leg over the armrest, reclining her spine partly over the back and edge of the chair as her hips cant with an upright angle. The position looks both incredibly comfortable and like something a prisoner in a straight jacket would be made to occupy for cruel and unusual punishment.
Natasha’s not finished ragging on her sister who she finally has an opportunity to get back at after all that bitchign and bossing around by the pool. She takes a swig of the beer in her hands, coating the back of her throat before she opens her mouth to groan again. “Why are you always so insistent on telling this story? You never remember her name.”
“Because I find it very funny, sister. It is comical to me that you would react so passionately to a high school basketball game. Remind me again, how long was it you were on that team?” Yelena, unfortunately, is not easily bested by her older sister, though Natasha, who remembers her as a gullible little bright eyed seven year old, can never seem to get that straight until she’s staring her straight into the eyes challenigly, willing her to keep going.
“Three weeks.” She grits out, unwilling to let Yelena walk away victorious. She wants Natasha to falter, to admit that she’s done something impulsively or embarassingly. Natasha isn’t fond of the anger she was quick to as a teenager, she isn’t fond of the lack of commitment to teams and extracurricular, buts she’s even less fond of allowing Yelena to feel like she’s won something she started. “And how long we’re you on the swim team, ‘Lena? How long did you have a crush on Antonia—”
”Geez! Alright, alright, alright, you mention one funny story and suddenly it is a full blown war.” Yelena sinks into her camping chair, taking a swing from the beer she’s been nursing since Kate brought her one on her way back from the bathroom and checking on the dogs.
“Antonia, huh? Who’s Antonia?” Kate questions, leaning forward in her chair thats far more comfortable than the one Yelena’s dug out thats probably littered with cobwebs and spiders. She takes a sip from her solo cup indifferently, arching a single perfect brow over the rim at her girlfriend of seven months. Apparently they’ve known each other since college, but Natasha says it took them both forever to get over themselves and actually go out on a date. They’re two of the most brazen, stubborn, head strong women you know. And yet somehow, that makes perfect sense for the trajectory of their lives as you know them.
“Oh, it is nothing. I do not even think I remember an Antonia from high school. Definitely not. Deidre Wentworth though, I remember her. And how Natasha punched her in the nose because she missed a three-pointer—”
“—it was a two-pointer, I really don’t know why you’re always so insistent to tell this story, and I really don’t think that’s going to save you right now.” Natasha gestures toward the pointedly curious brunette beside her sister, Kate’s bright blue eyes stormy and interested as she leans on the edge of her seat, the cushion beneath her ass providing little support as she neglects to use it appropriately now that Yelena has her so wound up. Her refusal to just answer the question that had stared as simple teasing was only working an emotional drunk Kate up more, her grip on the solo cup tightening to something crushing, the plastic looking like it threatened to give way between her white-knuckle fingers.
“It’s not.” Kate’s jaw clenches, a sheen of intimation coming across her features that you haven’t seen so genuinely before. You peak out from Natasha’s chest to catch the encounter, curious little eyes so hazy from alcohol and submission watching the scene with a grimace of curiosity. Your little heart clenches at the hostility, the tension, but your mind loves the drama that you know will spill in through a series of texts from Yelena once she, and Kate, sober up in the morningtime. “Who’s Antonia, Yelena?”
“Don’t look at me. I’m certainly not going to save you.” Maria scoffs, shaking her head when Yelena’s gaze falls upon her similar to that of a begging puppy. You wonder if she picked up the habit from Fanny. It would be just like her.
“Maria’s more of a sadist than your sister.” Wanda laughs, shaking her head in amusement.
Yelena grimaces, expression sobering. “Okay I did not need to hear that about my sister even if I did already know she is a bitch and a sadist.”
“Oi.” Natasha scolds, suddenly harsh, suddenly cold. You whine in her lap, turning your head back into her chest as her reprimand turns your bones cold, so used to being the only one on the receiving end of that tone. Everyone gathered around the campfire is too enthralled with Yelena and Kate to notice the bristle of immediate submission and sorrow in your reaction, but Natasha feels it in her lap — how you get heavy and tense on her skin. She drags her nails down your back with firmer pressure, reaffirming that you’re not the one in trouble. This time. Though for such a good girl, you’ve found quite the bit of trouble on your own today. “Watch yourself, Yelena. YA naderu tebe zadnitsu.” You don’t know what that means, Natasha’s never said it to you, nor has Wanda ever taught you, but it brings comfort to know that she’s really not addressing you. Her scratching nails hadn’t been enough.
“You’re not getting out of this now.” Kate kicks her leg out, tapping Yelena’s shin with more force than necessary. The blonde frowns, groaning as she lowers a hand to nurse the ache.
The Russian, who you’re learning is the epitome of a dumb blonde despite her gruff and edgy outer appearance each time you see her, looks at her girlfriend with eyes filled with betrayal. “My shin.”
“Not helping.” Pepper groans, dropping her arm to the side of her chair, wine sloshing out of the solo cup she’d poured it into.
Sharon scoffs, seemingly knowing that the response Yelena chose was a bad call even with her track record with women and dating in general. “Yelena. Really?” She scolds, shaking her head in disappointment as she bites off the end of a hotdog she’d been holding over the flames of the campfire.
Kate kicks her again. Harder. The orange flames lick brighter and higher as Wanda throws more firewood in from her seat, losing interest in the arguement as her eyes turn to watch you instead. You’re entirely unaware, lost in the comfort and presence of Natasha as your heavy eyelids remain closed and exactly as stated; heavy. She can see the effects of the alcohol and the sun combined on your features, but you’re not ready to call it quits yet, you’re not ready to crawl up to bed alone, without them.
“Antonia Dreykov.” Yelena admits with a reluctant scowl, and you’ve offically lost interest in the story now, familiar with how much of a villain she (and her father) had become in Natasha and Yelena’s lives. You’re glad they can talk about her, and him, with ease now, but it lights a fire beneath both you and Natasha on their behalf each time.
You don’t want to listen, too drunk, too sleepy, too emotional. Your fingers tap Natasha’s wrist, dizzy eyes finding hers with a timidness that stops the world around her for a moment. She smiles at you with her own drunken charm, her skin tinted with evidence of her inebriation now as the fire glows against her skin. She’s always warm. She’s warmer now.
“Hi sunshine.” She whispers, leaning down to peck your lips softly as she shares a moment with you and only you, though she’s acutely aware of Wanda’s eyes on the both of you from across the firepit. You’re not sure why she chose a seat so far away, but Natasha knows it has everything to do with her testing the bounds of her control, willing to see how well Natasha can handle herself as she gets you all cuddly and to herself by the fire. It’s a dangerous game you don’t even know you’re apart of, but if she fails, you’ll know. Oh, you’ll know.
“Sip.” You request sluggishly, blinking at her with innocent wonder. She wonders how you can handle the weight of your eyelashes. They look so full and heavy as you bat your gaze at her.
“Mommy’s going to kill me for getting you so drunk.” She whispers against your lips, too drunk to be phased by your quiet, bossy demand, too captivated by you to realize she’s the one slipping farther down into a quiet, fuzzy headspace now. The world gets so quiet when she has you like this; when she gets to act and assert control like this. “You’re going to be such a little nightmare in the morning.” She continues to talk about you and you’re none the wiser, fixated on the beer that sloshes around the bottle as she condescends you with affection.
“Sip.” You repeat, tugging on her wrist now as your slim little fingers wrap around her wrist, fingertips not even touching each other as you attempt to pull her close.
“Yeah, yeah. Sip, I know.” She breaths through her mouth before she uses her free hand to tilt your chin upward, holding your jaw between careful fingertips as she pours the beer straight into your mouth. You gulp with an urge, letting your throat bob tantalizingly as Natasha watches. The drips that leak from your lips when she pulls the bottle back catch her eye just like the juice from the popsicle had, but Wanda clears her throat from across the fire, stealing her attention before she can forget the instructions given to her.
Things had definately changed since Wanda and Natasha’s go at this. Maria can tell as she watches them watch you and each other wordlessly.
“All done.” She tells you firmly. You shake your head, trying to pull her wrist back to you. “Yes, we’re all done. You’ve had enough. Just relax against me now. Just close your eyes again and let me rub your back.” Natasha chastises with a gentle guidance, lowering your head back into the dark pocket of her neck. You want to fight, you try to fight as its happening, but the second your heavy head finds a place to rest again, your brain realizes how good it feels to just be heavy against her body. “Good girl, there you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it? No. No, it wasn’t. You just like to give Daddy a hard time, just like to be reminded that she cares. It’s alright, sunshine. Daddy cares. Daddy will always remind you she cares.” Natasha buries her face in your head as she drops the bottle beside her, knowing she’s going to have to come back here with a garbage back tomorrow afternoon anyways. One more bottle isn’t going to hurt anything besides her landscaping as beer sloshes onto the grass, but she thinks her fates already been sealed anyways.
Her hands continue to rub and scratch at your back at first, getting higher and lower, lighter and firmer. She takes you away from the conversation happening around you. You don’t hear Yelena droning on and on, not helping herself with Kate as she explains the slow burn of her relationship with Antonia in a way that could make even the most composed women shake — Kate Bishop is not a composed women, she never stood a chance at staying in her camping chair as Yelena admits to sharing her very first kiss with the scar-faced blonde beneath the chlorinated water of the high school pool. You miss the way the brunette stands and drags the blonde away from the fire, huffing and puffing something about ‘thinking B was the only love affair’ on her way to the house. The sliding glass door slammed closed so hard Wanda felt the vibration in the ground beneath her chair, but you remained passively indifferent, only making faint cooing and humming sounds as Natasha works your skin warm.
Her trailing gets bolder without your noticing, her hands that once started on your back innocently scratching skin trailed down to your thighs before they staked claim where they really wanted to be on your ass. Natasha massages the globes between her palms, still humming along to the conversation, vibrating your cheeks as she pipes in from time to time, but paying the most attention to the way the muscles in your ass twitch and jump in response to her kneading and prodding.
Pepper is in the middle of a story pertaining to something about Stark Industries when Natasha dares to dip her fingers beneath the fabric of your shorts and bottoms, Her fingers are only slightly warm, the chill of the beer keeping them from truly absorbing the warmth of the fire as she sits closer to the flames than anyone else around your small but plentiful circle. You whine into her neck, being shushes carefully moments later.
She doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and certain that if she goes on any longer, she’s either going to finger you right there, or Wanda’s going to leap out of her chair and drag you both up the stairs and to the bedroom without so much as a word to the guests slowly losing their energy around the fire. But, even when she retreats, she jostles her thigh just enough to brush your core with the fabric of her trunks, never letting herself be perceived as anything less than a menace.
The party doesn’t drag on much longer. Sharon clears out, then Pepper. Maria offers to stick around and clean up a little bit, but Wanda brushes her off with a well hidden urgency, just wanting to strip herself and fall into bed with you and Natasha for the night. Her emerald eyes are pink with exhaustion around the edges, the days events and emotions finally catching up to her as the first pop of fireworks shoot off from the distance.
Maria promises to send pictures of the ones she sees on her uber ride home, and Wanda thanks her as Natasha coerces you out of her grip and into Wanda’s, telling her girlfriend softly that she’s going to fish out a pair of pajamas for you before they lose you to the calling of sleep that’s going to ring as soon as you make eye contact with your bed.
“Did you have a good night?” Wanda asks quietly once it’s just the two of you in the backyard, the sound of Maria climbing into an uber at the end of the driveway in time with the fireworks in the background confirming your completion of the event and the day.
You nod against Wanda like a sack of potatoes, your arms wrapped around her waist as you seek every bit of warmth and support she’s willing to give you. Your head is heavy, spinning. Your belly doesn’t quiet feel right. You’re running on fumes, well past the point of no return.
“That’s good, my little sun.” Wanda hums, dropping her forehead to the crown of your head, inhaling the mixed scent of her shampoo, your sweat, saltwater, and the sunscreen she’d lathered you in once more before settling around the fire just for precautions. “I’m so glad to hear you had a good time. Maybe next time we won’t have to be so scared abuot it first.”
It takes so much, but somehow, you find the strength to lift you head and find Wanda’s eye, grinning at her bashfully, drunkenly. “Maybe.” You parrot, blinking slowly. If she stands out here with you any longer, she’s almost certain you’ll fall asleep standing up.
“Come on, my love. Let’s get you into your jammies and all cozied up in bed.”
-
Natasha sighs when she makes it through the sliding glass door, the mask she’s worn for the crowd all night finally dropping as she takes her hair down, assessing the damage of the kitchen for a moment with tired eyes. She massages the center of her scalp where the hairtie pulled pieces of her hair the tautest, a shudder shaking her shoulders as the delicious pressure she applies tickles her nerves.
The platters of food Wanda prepared have been destroyed. The salami and bologna she’d laid out in spirals that resembled roses looked like mutiliated blobs on the wooden charcuterie board now, browning and wilted as they sat in two lonely little balls, the surrounding cheese and crackers eaten to crumbs. The fruit salad was lacking too, only a scoop or two left out of the entire bowl Wanda had filled with tender love and affection. Natasha’s glad it got eaten, but she hopes Yelena had gotten her fix, because she can only remember brining a cup of fruit salad out to her twice, and she doubts the blonde had remembered to grab a container for herself whenever she’d left with Kate.
She had to of left, Natasha thinks, suddenly unsure about whether or not Kate and Yelena still linger in the halls or guest bedrooms of the home. It wouldn’t be the first time they stayed behind to release some pent up frustration or sleep over a hangover, but the dogs are eerily quiet too if they remain inside, and the booming of fireworks she tastefully tunes out is incessant enough to at least set Lucky off; he’s always been the least tolerant of the two, but Natasha firmly stands on the belief that it has everything to do with Kate Bishop being the most permissive pet parent she’s ever encountered despite the interest in archery and black belt karate status. For a woman that knows a thing or two about discipline, she has no knack for implementing it in any category of her life.
She drops her hands, more concerned about taking adequate count of the heads in her house than assessing the damage of the party anymore. Her footsteps aren’t as quiet as they had been in the morning, her exhaustion and inebriation corrupting her learned reflexes that remind Wanda so much of a spider.
“Yelena?” She calls out, stepping farther into the kitchen only to stick her head between the opening in the wall and direct her tone toward the staircase upstairs. Nobody’s in the living room, and the hallway leading toward the outdoor linen closet is dark, but her doubt isn’t gone yet as she turns on her heels and walks back toward the dining room, thinking about how Kate prefers the water pressure from that wing of the houses half bath for some reason.
The floorboards creak beneath her clumsy step, but she’s coherent enough to look out for any signs of Lucky or Fanny barreling toward her at the sound. “Kate?” She shouts, rounding the corner into the dining room. She reaches for the light switch, almost certain that she’d left them on to begin with, but only knowing that now, they’re off and the room is painted in darkness that extends until it reaches the bathroom through the room and down the hall.
“Lu—” Natasha’s in the middle of trying to call for the dogs themselves when she catches something she least expects on the table. “Fuck.” She curses, rushing toward it with intention. She can tell from across the room that something’s not right with Monkey-Monkey as he sits on the dining room table slumped over. The last time she’d seen him was in the bedroom, propped up nice and high overtop of the covers. The shadow of his tail seems too far away from his body, and when she gets close enough to understand why, her heart sinks to her feet.
‘The girls must’ve found this in the toy box.
Sorry for the tragedy.
Went home. Grabbed salad.
Suka’
”If anyone’s a bitch it’s fucking you.” Natasha shakes her head as she throws the note she’d found on the table beside your beloved stuffed animal to the floor, trying her hardest to retrace the last place she’d seen her needle and thread. It wasn’t the first time Monkey-Monkey had suffered a tragedy, that was for sure, but tonight was not a night that Natasha wanted to test your ability to regulate your emotions without your fuzzy friend. “I swear, that kids broken everything she’s touched si—”
“Daddy?” Natasha jumps at the call of your voice, and Wanda knows something is wrong before she even sees the ball of matted browns in her girlfriend hands. Her breath hitches when she makes eyes with it though, knowing immediately what had distracted her always alert girlfriend so direly without needing to ask. You giggle, blinking sleepily at Natasha from the doorway of the dining room, swaying on your feet a bit as you stand away form Wanda’s body. “What’re you— Monkey-Monkey. Oh.” Your soft eyes flicker between Natsaha’s face and the stuffed monkey in her hands. It takes only a moment, a single moment, for your face to crumble, pitiful and soft sobs shattering the silence Natasha had once been seeking comfort in.
“This isn’t quite the way you left him, huh.” Natasha doesn’t know what else to do, how else to approach you, this was most definately not on her long list of things that she had mentally prepared for going into today. She’d told you to leave it in the bedroom explicitly so this didn’t happen. She thought she closed the door behind her when she walked out. She thought she did. She was almost certain she’d closed that door, they always close that door. Apparently she didn’t. The evidence is in two pieces in her hands.
He’s relatively unscathed beside the detached tail, that thankfully is its own seperate seam, no stuffing exploding from his butt, but relatively unscathed isn’t what you want to hear right now as Wanda sweeps you up into her arms and tries to console you softly.
“We’ll get him fixed up, sunshine.” Wanda assures, pressing her lips to your temple thats warm from the proximity of the fire even with your face turned away from the flames into Natasha. “We’ll fix him.”
“B-Bedtime!” You sob into the Sokovians chest, reminding her of your routine that hadn’t changed since before you’d even offically moved in with Natasha way back when. One of them always tucks you into bed, then puts Monkey in your arms, and then crawls in after you if work constraints allow. They’ve never dared to mess with that routine. Not while visiting Clint and Laura on the farm they have in Ohio, not while on work trips to LA, or Montana. Never once have either of them ever dared to get you to rest those eyes without the fourth member of your california king sized bed.
“We will have him by bedtime. Nobody is going to make you close those pretty eyes without Monkey. Can you tell me him full name? Huh, can you remind me of what it is?” Wanda remembers it fully, if only because she can’t help but giggle at what was once your imagination when you’d first received the cuddly toy.
You sniffle, glancing up at her with teary, bright red eyes. “M-Monkey-Monkey Ophelia Plum.” You stutter, but the words make you think, make you breathe, and Wanda uses the distraction to usher you up the stairs, leading her questioning into that of what pajamas you want to pick out for yourself tonight, and whether or not you want the fan pointed at you again, or more toward her.
You want the pink pair with the scallops on the sleeves, and you don’t want the fan on you again. Wanda doesn’t fight. She doesn’t argue over the pair of jammies that she helps you into even though you get frustrated with the way the tags rub against your neck in the middle of the night but won’t let be cut out, nor does she remind you that the heatwave is meant to strike again tomorrow, and the humidity is known for sneaking in through the gaps in the windows. She lets you have your way. She lets you whine, and boss, and demand, and she lets you pucker your lips and beg for kisses wordlessly, if only to stall, to make time for Natsaha to pull off a miracle downstairs.
“You did so good today. So good for me and Dady.” Wanda coaxes gently as she drags a wipe between your legs, shushing you softly when you whine at the cold. “Mommy’s gotta clean this little kitty up, sunshine. It’s been so leaky all day. Mommy just wants to make sure her little girl goes to bed nice and clean. You might be too drunk to understand me right now, but you’ll thank me for sparing you from the rash that would’ve happened.” Wanda talks to you in a manner that only dumbs you further, your eyes blinking closed and not opening as you lounge on the bed, spread out and pampered.
Wanda tries not to moan as she wipes down your core one last time, a string of arousal clinging to the wipe and your cunt before it breaks and you’re deemed as clean as she can get you. She wiggles your shorts back up your thighs, thanks her lucky stars that she’d coached you through brushing your teeth and washing your face before she’d undressed you and gotten you changed, and somehow manages you get your heavy, deadweight body beneath the covers just as Natasha creeps into the room holding a companion thats seen better days.
“He’s not perfect. I can make him better tomorrow.” She starts warningly, and your little eyes blink open, the last of your concieousness given to her in this moment. “But, I have someone here who wants to say goodnight to you.”
“Mmm.” You try to hum, and your fingers wiggle against the mattress as you attempt to reach for him, but you’re unsuccessful and Natasha can only laugh endearingly as she stalks closer to the edge of the bed, more than happy to hand him over to you.
She leans forward and kisses your forehead softly, her hair falling forward and tickling your skin slightly. You’d giggle if you could but instead you groan, suddenly very aware of how sick you feel despite the advil Wanda made you choke down with some water in the bathroom. The bathroom. You’re drunk, but you remember all that had gone down in there this morning, and you whine as you wiggle in bed. Natasha shushes you, smoothing her hand down your back.
“Nigh nigh time for you, my sweet girl. Close those pretty eyes. Go to sleep with Monkey.” She’s talking to a wall by the time she finishes coaxing you, your breaths even and soft as she continues to pet your head, running her palm over your messy braid. She’ll give you two tomorrow if you still want them.
Wanda throws a t-shirt and a pair of boxers at her from across the room, already naked and rummaging through her own drawer searching for good enough pajamas. Natasha doesn’t grumble at the old t-shirt or holey boxers she’d been intending to throw away for the last three wash cycles, just glad to have something different and less constrictive on her body after so long in the sun and humid heat. She’s sure she smells. She can feel the thickness on her skin of perspiration thats dried and remelted and dried again, but her and Wanda seem to both be on the same page as they knock elbows while brushing their teeth, both forgoing showers in favor of just crawling into bed with you and each other.
“Lock up and I’ll fix that fan and see if I can get her into another shirt. We’re going to have enough meltdowns tomorrow.” Wanda yawns, rubbing her eyes as she flicks the bathroom light off behind her.
“Come ‘ere first. Barely got to hold you all day.” Natasha grumbles, closing the space between her body and Wanda’s as they share a kiss just feet away from your peaceful sleeping frame. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I never stopped loving you.” She whispers, meaning every word.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you. Or her. I love the both of you so much that it hurts.”
꩜ ۫ . 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 :: after months of hard labour, you finally earn the promotion you've been working so hard for. as you get home to announce the good news to your beloved wife, you're welcomed with divorce papers before you even get to say anyhting — yet, you can't blame her, can you?
꩜ ۫ . 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 :: stay-at-home!mom!wanda x mom!reader.
꩜ ۫ . 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 :: angst , married life au , kinda workaholic reader , upset wanda , reader unintentionally neglected their children , emotional distance , they have kids — billy & tommy , closed-off wanda , desperate reader (she just wants her darling wife back) , hurt/comfort (billy n tommy being sweetlings) , brief smut , fingering (w receiving) , this was rewritten.
꩜ ۫ . 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃 :: 6.8k || masterlist
author's note ; special for a very dear darling of mine, though, i'm quitting after this 🤚.
It was about time. Your boss announced that you'd been promoted and to say that you were happy was an understatement.
Eleven months — day by day, nine to five, even sometimes on Saturday mornings — you'd given work your all and you'd finally been compensated for your hard work but at the cost of what?
Your family. Your happiness. Your wife.
It was 9:39pm as you'd been driving home after getting a couple of drink with Kate and Yelena to celebrate, although you made sure not to drink enough to get drunk.
Once you stepped inside your and your family's home, you were greeted with a complete silence. It wasn't exactly surprising since it was past the twins' bedtime by now.
Walking in further, the sound of water flushing from the kitchen's sink could be heard. You'd gotten rid of your coat and shoes, knowing that your wife didn't like it when anyone went further inside the house with shoes from the outside on.
There she was, your beautiful auburn haired woman.
Even though, her back was facing you, you still thought she was the most beauteous human being on this earth. You walked up behind her, arms around her waist as you placed a kiss on her neck.
“Hello, darling.” you greeted, placing kisses on her shoulder too. “Missed you.”
She didn't answer and you didn't particularly pay attention at the moment but when you leaned in to kiss her cheek, she stepped away from your embrace to go dry her hands.
That's when you started noticing that something was off—because Wanda doesn't ignore you.
Well, she certainly has given you the silent treatment before but at least, you knew what you'd done. Although, you'd just gotten back home from work, what could you have possibly done wrong?
You decided not to ask and instead, “Long day?”
“If by long day you mean me picking up the boys from school, making lunch, working from home, and then cooking a very nice dinner that I had expected to share with my wife AND our kids but only for said wife to text me from her colleague's phone, saying that she'll be getting drinks instead of coming home to her family? Yes, my love, it was a very long day.”
You can hear the harshness, next up, the disappointment, then the sarcasm in her tone very clearly and your entire being was immediately filled with culpability. She wasn't even looking at you. Her back was still what faced you.
“Wanda, baby, I'm really—”
“Save it. I don't want to hear it.”
“But I assure you that—”
She finally turns to look at you and you should be glad that she was finally visually acknowledging you but no, you're not. Not when she's looking at you like this, not when there's not even a smile on her face and the look in her eyes is not the usual happy, loving one but replaced by a hard, angry look instead. “I told you, I don't want to hear it.”
You shut up. What else can you do? You don't wish to anger her further, anyway.
“I never once stopped you from doing what you wanted, because that's not how marriage works.” She says. “Marriage isn't about control or dominance but commitment, trust, love, care, honesty, communication. And I'm not saying that you have failed at being or doing any of those things because you have, God, you have! Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, wearing this ring.”
She gestured at her left hand before keeping up on her speech.
“But do you know what you've been lacking?” you don't answer and let her do it instead because you're not sure if you're allowed to speak yet. “Presence. You're barely around, Y/N.”
For the first time tonight, she speaks your name and your heart simply shatters at her tone—it's not harsh or sarcastic anymore, even tho the disappointment remains—but it's sorrowful, broken.
And you're hit with a wave of remorse.
“I can handle you missing out of a date night or- or even an anniversary but—”
Shit.
Wanda's words drown to the back of your head as your stupid mind reminds you now instead of earlier. Tommy's big soccer game day was today and you'd fucking forgotten about it.
“Darling, please..” you try to step closer.
“No. No. You're not doing that. You're not going to apologize to me but to your son. You did him wrong, not me.” She tells you. “Do you know how upset he was? Thank God Pietro was there otherwise, he probably would've not played at all.”
“You know I didn't mean to forget about it—”
“But do I?” she asks you. “Because I'm not really sure I do.”
“It was a really long day, okay? It all went by so fast and my phone was off. I truly didn't mean to miss it, baby.”
She scoffs and throws the kitchen cloth she used to wipe her hands dry on the counter.
“If you're able to forget about your own son's game day, I wonder why you can't forget—even just for one day—about your job.”
You shake your head, “Sweetheart, you know it's not like that..”
“Don't bother, I know the answer.” She quips as she ignores your words. The Sokovian steps closer to you, and in any other circumstances, you would've been happily reaching out for her but you can't. “Because that's all you care about. In the morning, at night. You even forget to eat just because you're consumed by your damned job!”
“I'm doing it for us, you know this.” You state, poorly attempting to defend yourself and your actions. “So we can secure our backs, our children's backs.”
“Yes, but at the cost of what, huh? Said children. Me.”
“Wanda—”
“I want a divorce.”
Everything stilled as she uttered those words. Those dreadful, alarming words that made your heart sink within your lungs. It's only then, as she gestures to it, that you notice the piece of envelope by the kitchen table. It was as white as the marble table, hence why you had missed it.
For a moment, you felt as if your ears had failed you, as if you'd made that up and you found yourself hoping that indeed, for a second, you'd gone crazy and made all of that up.
But by the look in her eyes, that determined intonation of hers, you knew you were fucked.
Your first instinct is to utter a small, nervous laugh, “You c— You can't mean that, love. You don't mean that.”
“Yes. I can and I do.” She tells you as you feel the panic rise within you.
This can't be happening, you think to yourself, it must be a fucking fucked up nightmare.
“Wait, Wanda, wait, wait, just wait a second, baby, ee have to talk about this. Y-You can't just come up with this decision— I-I mean, think about everything we built together! Think about our boys!”
“That is exactly what I am doing, Y/N. You should've thought about them before you started prioritizing your job over them. Over us.”
You felt a pit in your stomach at her words. She was right. You should've thought about the kind of impact working day and night would have on your family. But you hadn't and it was too late now.
I mean, how could you when you were simply doing what you thought was best for them. You didn't want Tommy and Billy to grow up like you. You wanted them to never have to worry about money because that was their parents' role and not theirs. You didn't want them to stress or worry about such things until they were old enough and/or parents themselves. You would give them the world if you could — that's how much you loved them.
And Wanda loved that about you.
But when it feels like loosing you in the process, she can't let herself bear it.
“You might as well marry your job now, since you love it so much to the point you spend the majority of your time working.”
Not even a second after she was done speaking, you'd dropped to your knees, your arms encircled her waist as your forehead rested against her stomach.
“You don't have to do this. Please don't do this, my love.” You hadn't even realized it but you had started crying by now. “Please, don't leave me. I can't do this without you, please. I love you, Wanda, I love you.”
The ginger didn't answer, she didn't move — not yet at least. As much as she was upset with you, it was challenging to see you cry like this, on your knees for her, without comforting you. But she had to. When she married you, she didn't sign up for piece of attention. Much less when you both decided to become parents — she wasn't going to let the kids see you be slowly pulled away from them because of your determination.
“I love you too, Y/N.” she tells you gently although, it's not as endearing as usual and you know that she's not saying this because she's forgiven you. “But it's not only you and I anymore. As I told you before, I would've handled it all if it was on me — buf you've been neglecting our children and I cannot handle it. Which is why I'm doing this.”
You look up at her, eyes already puffy and red, full of tears as you sniffle. “Just— please, let us talk about it, hm? Please, my love, please.”
She didn't look at you as she spoke, “We already did talk about it, Y/N. My decision is final. You'll have to give my lawyer an answer within the next 21 days. If not, I think you know what happens.”
Wanda removed your arms from around her so she could step out of your embrace and then left the kitchen, leaving you to drown in your sorrows on your own.
You start to think about everything. The path it took to loose the love of your life and your children. Because, no, it wasn't only about dinner or Tommy's game day you'd missed but it has been a continuous pattern : arriving late during parent-teacher meetings, missing some of Billy's karate practice because he wanted you to see how much he'd improved, or that time during the boys' birthday party you were supposed to go pick up the cake but you'd been called in to work due to an emergency instead and on top of that, you'd forgotten to warn Wanda about it. They waited a full hour until she'd called you. That evening, there was a huge argument and you'd slept in the boys' bedroom instead. The list is probably fuller.
. . . . .
You never would've imagined that this could've ever happened to you.
You always believed that Wanda and you were meant to last together until death does you both apart — as your vows sermonized. But, here you were.
It has been eleven days—a week and four days—since that teary evening. And your mind was only filled with the thoughts of those cursed divorce papers. Day and night, you dreaded the fact that clock kept ticking, time wasn't going to slow down for you, and soon enough, you'd have to agree and officially start the divorce process.
In those eleven days, not once have you slept by Wanda's side nor had she spoken to you.
Billy and Tommy started to notice that their moms weren't being their usual selves—clingy, kissing one another, or even teasing one another—Billy had asked you “Is Mamma upset with you?” and Tommy giggled it off, saying that his brother shouldn't worry because Mommy always makes Mama angry but that everything would be alright soon.
But oh wrong were they.
At that, you couldn't help yourself but started tearing up.
You had excused yourself and went to the bathroom to cry. Of course, you had to muffle it. They couldn't know that something was wrong. They couldn't hear you cry or they would start asking questions and you don't want to lie to them.
Nothing was ever going to be okay again, not unless you tried one last time to fix your mess.
You'd always been compentitive—both Wanda and you—to the point where, once, everything had been a competition and even now, you couldn't let Wanda win this. No. You couldn't let her go that easily.
So that was it. One last fight.
You had been sitting in your car for fifteen minutes now, revising your words carefully in your head. You weren't exactly in a position where you could ask for conditions but after a nice chat with your lawyer, you discovered that you had the rights. Even it sounded selfish, you would still use it because you don't give up easily. No, you're not a coward.
Not when it concerns her, at least.
Entering what would probably not be your home anymore, you carefully closed the door behind you and stepped inside. The bedroom was bathed in a soft glow from the bedside's lamp. Wanda was seated on the bed as she read a book, hair loose, glasses and a red sweater on. She seemed relaxed and you almost gave up and left because you didn't want to disturb her, but you didn't. You couldn't. If disturbing her meant repatching your marriage back together then so be it.
“Can we talk?”
She deliberately flipped the page of her book, not even sparing you a glance as she replied — her tone calm but distant, “I don't recall having anything to say to you.”
“No, probably not.” you agree before continuing. “Just as you haven't for the last eleven days. But about that, I think you will.”
You knew you were treading on eggshells from the glare she gave you but she didn't say anything. Instead, her gaze traveled to the envelope you held between your right hand's fingers. She immediately recognized it. “I agree to the divorce.”
“It was about time.”
“Only after two months.” You continue and notice her gaze faltering oh so slightly. “Allow me two more months to be with you and our kids, after that, I promise to let you go without any hesitation.” if you still haven't changed your mind, is what you don't add.
“Please.” You pursue when she doesn't answer. You know where to press to get things to go your way. You know she still loves you and you know that deep down, even if she'll never admit it out loud, she wants you to fight for her, for the kids. “I love you, Wanda. I will never stop loving you. But you can't expect me to just let you go like this, not when I am not even prepared. So, please, this will be the last thing I ever request from you. Two months, and then you're free.”
She exhales but eventually nods reluctantly. “Fine. As if it would change anything — whatever.”
Her words hurt but you deserved them because you had been the one to hurt her first, and she's only returning the equivalent.
That night—after each and everyone's night routine—instead of going taking the couch or the guest bedroom, you went back to sleep in your shared bedroom, spooning her as she unwillingly let you.
. . . . .
From that moment on, every single minutes counted.
Every single movements, words, actions : it all mattered. You couldn't— no, wouldn't permit yourself to commit any mistakes because you knew it would mean being one step away from Wanda and two steps closer to the divorce.
As of now, spending your time with your family was your top priority. Because they were your happiness, your anchor, the reason why you were fulfilled in this life and if you lost them?
Well, nothing really mattered anymore.
You were, henceforth, on a clock.
During those 60 more days that Wanda approved of, you had to ensure everything would be in your favor in the end. You always did some things that would at least remind the Sokovian of the great times you spent together, of the life you had before everything went downhill.
First of, you took two months off work so you could be home 24/7. You decided to improve your cooking skills so you could make lunch and dinner for them. Obviously, the boys were the only one delighted by the meals as Wanda would either say that she wasn't hungry or that she had already eaten. That didn't stop you from giving up, anyway.
You continually cuddled her at night until the both of you fell asleep, regardless of the fact that she remained with her back facing you.
You'd still say wish her good night and let her know that you loved her albeit despite that she wouldn't answer.
Whenever the morning rolled by, you weren't by her side — not because you'd already left for the office but because you were getting the boys up and ready for school. You'd make breakfast for her and leave it on the table and when you returned from dropping off the boys, you'd find it still on the table, untouched.
She was both distant and quiet. Whenever you'd try to have a conversation with her, she'd always respond drily or not at all.
It has been going on like this for the first three weeks and it was really hard to handle. You didn't like the fact she was so close yet so far away from you.
. . . . .
“Guess what, little gremlins?” you exclaimed as you crouched down in front of your sons. They began to excitedly question you, demanding that you tell them what was going on.”
“I got us tickets for the zoo.”
Billy squealed and his brother followed. The said zoo had recently opened and they'd both been dying to go there for a while now but due to the lack of time you, couldn't and they didn't want to go without neither Wanda or you.
So now sounded like the perfect time.
It wasn just a simple zoo—it had an aquarium and some amusement park-like rides. Also, some classmates of theirs had been bragging about the hotdogs they served there.
First of, Wanda said that she couldn't come because she had some things to do with Pietro but then Billy started crying because of it. You tried to persuade him that if Mama was busy this time then you could still go a second time but when he'd yelled back at her, “No, I don't want next time. I want us all together now! We're barely all together. Why can't you both be like Morgan's parents.”
You felt Wanda's cold gaze and you brain kept mocking you, telling you that you deserved just that. Because it was your fault if you couldn't be like Morgan's parents or Nate's.
Nonetheless, she ended up cancelling her plans with her twin, which eventually led Billy calm down.
The entire drive there, your heart was thudding in your chest. Neither of you spoke, aside from your sons in the back seat. You desperately wanted to apologize but it wouldn't make a difference — if anything, it would just upset the auburn haired woman more.
That remorseful feeling you had during the drive disappeared the moment you heard the enthusiastic yells of the twins. They got to see real life wild animals for the first time in their six years of existence and it was timeless.
You'd gotten cotton candy first—they even got to choose which color they wanted—then, went on an educational tour. Afterwards, you did the rides.
After visiting the aquarium and getting the infamous hotdogs, which were indeed delicious, a photographer proposed to take a picture of you. You'd already agreed—Tommy and Billy too—before even asking Wanda if she was comfortable with it.
When you have her an apologetic look, she simply rolled her eyes and muttered a “Whatever.” then went to pose where the boys gestured to—in front of the giang water fountain—she was only doing this for the boys.
“What a beautiful family we have here.” An old passing by lady said, making you smile and thanked her.
Even though, now, you only had about a month left, you wished the four would remain just that — a happy, beautiful family.
. . . . .
That evening, you'd been the one to take care of the twins and get them to bed. It had been a long, eventful day and they were surely very tired. You marched inside the boys' room and first off went to Billy's bed since Tommy was still using the restroom.
“Hey, B. Ready for bed?”
“I don't know,” He counts “I think I would prefer watching cartoons right now.”
You let out a chuckle, “You would, wouldn't you? Well, I also know better. By the time you lay down, you'll be out like a light.”
“That's because I have amazing dreams awaiting for me. I can't be up too long or the night will pass.”
You laughed at his antics. He always has had a wild imagination, and who could blame him? That's a mindset for a six year old.
“About earlier, you shouldn't have gotten upset at Mama like this. You know she loves you and cares for you.”
“I do and I'm sorry.”
“You should be mad at me, Billy Bear. She's the one who's home with you and your brother all the time, not me. She's the one who constantly looks after you and you shouldn't hurt her like that, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Good. You can say sorry to her tomorrow, yeah? I love you.”
As you predicted, within the next upcoming minutes, he falls asleep and you're not surprised by that.
Tommy exits the bathroom, his feet dragging him over to his bed. You follow suit, a gentle smile in your lips.
Tommy slides inside the sheets, and you expect the tucking in to go even smoother, if not quicker, than Billy's.
“Mommy, what's divroce?”
However, this question wasn't what you expected. At least not from your six years old son, at the crack of night. Your movements falter slightly at this interrogation and before too much time can go by and he starts to call for you again, your hands go back into motion — straightening the sheets as you speak.
“Where did you heard that from?” You gently ask him then proceed to correct him. “And it's a di-vor-ce, darling, not divroce.”
“Uncle Pietro. I heard him speak about it with i-don't-know-who on the phone when he picked us up from school the other day. Then I asked him about it and he said that it's when two married people get unmarried.”
Tommy is smart. Everyone knows it. And the fact that he was able to note all of that and say it to you again is shocking and not, at the same time.
“Are you and Mommy getting a divorce?”
You swallow the lump in your throat. Is it really that obvious that things aren't going well in your marriage anymore?
You can't lie to him, but you can't tell him the truth because it is all so complicated. The tears gather in your eyes—both from his words and because there's your auburn haired soon-to-be ex-wife in the back of your mind.
“I... want to be honest with you, Tommy.” You utter softly. “I really love your mom, with my whole heart. And sometimes, adults have disagreements, just like you do with Billy when he takes your toys without asking you first.”
“And is that what's happening with Mama?”
The corner of your lip shifts slightly, a waterly chuckle escaping your throat. “A bit, yes.” It's more than that — much more than that. But he's too young to understand, too sweet to be hit with reality of things just yet. “You should know that Mama loves you both very much and..every decision she'll ever take will always be for your you and your brother's well-being. I don't know for certain yet that we will proceed with a divorce so i can't give you an answer. But if it were to happen, I need you, along with your brother, to be strong and look after your mom for me. Could you do that?”
“Yes, Mommy. But I don't want you to leave us.”
“I know that, sweetheart. And I don't want to leave you either. But sometimes, things like that happen and there's nothing any of us can do.”
Your heart's hurting. He doesn't deserve this, Billy doesn't deserve this and much less, Wanda. You wish you could take it all back but it's only what it is — a wish.
Tears slid down your cheeks and Tommy brings his palm up, guiding it down your skin. “No tears, Mommy. I don't want you to cry.”
“Im sorry, my love.” You sniffle, wipping the tears away from your other cheek. You don't know if it's the sight of him that makes you still have a smile on your face or if it's just a natural reaction — either way, you're smiling while crying at the same time. “It's just... you're already so grown.”
Tommy grins, pleased by that. He doesn't want to stay little forever, obviously. Not that he could. “I love you, Mommy.”
You hug him and tell him you love him too. As slumber lulls him, you remain laying by his side, hugging him as hot tears silently slide down your cheeks. All you can do is stay here, wallow in on your sadness until you could calm down.
You know that they don't deserve to be in this situation. You know you don't deserve them. You know that if you could, you would take it all back and make things better. What you don't know is that your wife is right out of the door, listening to this conversation from the very beginning, and she just hates the way you're so good with words.
She hates the fact that even when she wants to despise you, you just manage to make her love you, even unknowingly. So when you step inside the bedroom, thirty minutes later after composing yourself, she's standing there, looking at you. Her green orbs filled with a look that crosses confusion between love and hate.
“You're enjoying this, aren't you? Making me want you even when you don't deserve it.” Her speech doesn't falter at the look of confusion on your face. “Tell me.”
You try to explain to her that you don't understand what she meant, but she doesn't let you. She's too angry for that. She's too sad for that. She's too disappointed for that. She's too in love for that. Somewhere along the line, you're close — closer than she's allowed you to be in weeks and it almost makes you cry. You missed her. All of her. And she missed you too.
She missed so much that even if you're both not on so great terms, even if you don't deserve it — she allows you to touch her. Her lips meet yours and it's not slow and soft, no—It's rushed. messy.
Somewhere along the way, your both on the bed. She's laying on her back while you're in between her legs. Your hands are working down past the hem of her sleep shorts, panties and landing right on her throbbing cunt. She's wet. She's been wanting this and you can't blame her. You've been wanting to touch her for a while and half of you feels glad that she's permitting this but the other half isn't. Because you don't want her to be angry at you. Because you know she's rushing this because she can't stand you. Because you wish you could make love to her and not fuck her.
Her sounds shifts between breathy gasps and whines. She's mostly trying to keep quiet for the kids. You fingers curls inside her and her back arches off the bed. Your busy your lips at her neck, marking her skin because it will probably be the last time this ever happens. Because soon, you'll never get to have her like this.
You mutter apologies, despite yourself, while pleasing her. Your mouth makes it way further down to her chest, latching on one nipple while rolling the other one in between the fingers of your unoccupied hand. Her fingernails dig into your shoulders as she moans. You switch and give her other nipple the same attention by your mouth. If it's for her, you can multitask.
After a while, she comes at your hand, chest heaving, sweat all over her forehead. She's beautiful every day but even more like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted as melodic moans escape them. You almost cry at it. But no, tonight was about her and only her.
The next day, you wake up alone in bed. Not that you expected her to be there cuddled in your arms, but it still hurt a little.
You make your way out of your shared bedroom and get the boys up and ready for school. Once they finish eating breakfast, the three of you are out and about for drop off.
Once you drop Tommy and Billy off at school, you drive your way back home.
Everything in the living room looks the same. You don't question it. 'Maybe she's going to spend the entire day out to avoid me, you think to yourself. Because, yes, when you're about to divorce, you don't let your soon-to-be ex wife fuck you. But you don't blame Wanda. You're thankful that she allowed you this one last time. What surprises you is the missing covered breakfast plate on the dining table. Wanda never ate nor touched any of the meals you've cooked ever since the divorce announcement.
Suddenly, a familiar voice resonates from behind you. “What's got you frozen over there?”
Your head whip in the voice's direction and you're met with the sight of Wanda. She's dressed in a sportswear, her reddish-brown curls are pulled in a messy bun and she's munching on the breakfast you kept aside for her.
Your lips part very slightly. Her chest area and neck area looks a bit damp — even after a run (which is obvious she went for) you can't help but think she's beautiful like this. You force yourself to snap out of it. She's talking to you for God's sake, for the first time in weeks, (and it doesn't concern the twins) she's initiating a talk. You clear your throat. “Uh, nothing, I was just... Nevermind. I didn't know you were out.”
Well, technically you did. But you couldn't exactly say "you didn't tell me you were going out." as if everything was still the same.
“I sent you a text. But it seems you didn't check your phone.”
You mentally curse yourself at her response. Of course, that damned device again. You can't feel it in your pockets, as a matter of fact, you know you didn't even have it in the car with you.
“Well, uhm, I didn't check it when I woke up..”
Your wife shrugs, not that she expected anything else. You never check your phone.
“I should've. I'm sorry. ” you add but she doesn't say anything. fuck.
Wanda simply goes to seat on the couch. She doesn't seem upset but you can't exactly read her.
“Is...” you begin hesitantly, unsure if making a conversation is a good move now. She spoke first, sure. But what if it should've stopped just at that. Nonetheless, you keep going. “Is it good?”
She sees you gesturing to the plated meal in her hands and she raises a brow, “I'm eating it, no?”
“Yeah.. yeah, you're um— yeah.”
You decide to let her be. Again, the last thing you want it to piss her off when she was finally addressing you more than a single word.
You don't dare mention what happened the night prior. You can't. She'll probably pull her walls back up fully again and that damned divorce would be certain.
. . . . .
For the two remaining weeks, the tension had dimmed.
It wasn't enough to indicate that Wanda had changed her mind but it was progress. Her blank expressions, eye rolls or annoyance at your mère presence seemed to cease. The two of you were talking and sitting all together during meals again even if it got awkward at times, but it was better than the past month and a half. She even let you take her out one night when the twins were over at Pietro's for the weekend. Also, she started facing you in bed again.
But there was just one slip—Wanda didn't mention the divorce papers.
At all.
Not even once in passing, while laying comfortably in her arms or while you brushed your teeths together in the early mornings.
And that was the reason why you couldn't fully relax.
You couldn't allow yourself to let your guard down, to stop worrying just yet because even if she didn't voice it and was seemingly considering you again, it didn't mean you were forgiven. It didn't mean she changed her mind. It didn't mean you wouldn't loose her, still.
So, while doing your best not ruin the good times you're having both as a couple and a family by showcasing your distress, you're slowly, sort of dying inside. Because without your wife, life doesn't make make sense.
Without your family, it's just you, wine and your thoughts.
But at the same time, you force yourself to enjoy it. You tell yourself that maybe—just maybe, it's all going to go away. Maybe it didn't even happen, that it simply was a cruel, regrettable nightmare to make you realize how of a shitty partner and parent you'd been.
However, it's definitely not just going to go away. It all comes crashing down once you allow yourself drown in those short-lived moments of happiness.
The calendar stares back at you — the due date circled in a red marker ink, as if mocking you. You had completely forgotten about . Today was the day you were supposed to let go of Wanda, with no difficulties, as promised.
It was cruel but simply what it was. Your own promise.
It was better to honor your own words, rather than make her have to remind you what you said.
So, you quickly finished cleaning around and began packing your stuff. Maybe she simply didn't bring it up because she doesn't love me anymore. Maybe she simply wanted to allow me— us a good time one last time to remember.
Half of your clothes are neatly packed already. You found yourself looking around what was once your shared safe space with your wife and tears gather in your eyes. You don't want to do this, you don't want things to end up like this but it is what it is. It's not like you didn't fight. You had but it simply wasn't enough to stop the divorce from happening and there was none else to blame.
You pick up the not-yet framed family picture on the shelf. The recent one you took at the zoo. It wasn't the happiest moment you've had but you knew you could take this without Wanda minding.
Your fingers trace her beautiful face as tears threaten to fall. This is certainly not going to do you any good but you know she has a better shot at being happy again, and that comforts you.
Because you'd be content as long as she's happy. Even if you weren't the origin of it.
As you kiss over Tommy and Billy's face, hot tears are streaming down your cheeks. “Mommy's sorry.” you mutter, kissing over their pictured faces over and over. “Mommy's really, really sorry.”
“Who are you talking to?” Your body goes rigid at the familiar tone. She's standing by the doorway, you can tell because your back is facing it and she's a few feet behind you. She wasn't supposed to be home just yet, was she. Fuck, you weren't even supposed to be there anymore. Now it's probably just going to cause another argument.
You take a breath, bringing your palms up to wipe away your tears. You only hope your eyes aren't red or puffy enough for her to notice you've been crying. You don't want her to think you're trying to make her feel sorry for you or pity you for something you're at fault for.
So, you quickly fold the picture and tuck it in the back pocket of your jeans. You nervously wipe your hands down your pants, finally turning to face her.
As predicted, she's standing in the bedroom's doorway, a confused look on her face and a .. flower bouquet in hands.
“I uhm .. I don't know if you recall but.. today's the last day of the two more months you allowed me to spend with you and the boys.. ” you approach delicately, as to not make her think you're trying to make her feel bad about it or something of sort, your voice shaky. “I was thinking I wouldn't let you waste your time by telling me I had to leave and just do it myself. I was just about to finish, if you could just.. allow me a few more minutes to get the rest of my stuff, then I'll lea—”
Wanda's arms fall at her side, the bouquet dropping right beside her feet.
You step forward, picking it up and holding it beside her hand again. “Wanda, your flowers..” you trail off once your eyes meet her again. You understand she'd done this just because she wanted to confirm her doubts. She wanted you closer so she could see your face. You simply looked away again, take a step back with a baby feeling of unease settling in the pit of your stomach.
“They're not mine, Y/N. These are yours.” She tells you, motioning at the bouquet. You blink, lips parting slightly. You don't know what to say, you weren't expecting this. Why would she bring you flowers?
“I.. ”
But you're unable to speak again. She's always been able to take your breath away. In every sense of the word. In any possible situation.
“Were you just going to leave? Without even taking to me first?”
“I.. I thought you'd want me gone by the time you came back, I figured it'd be better..”
“God, Y/N,” she exhales and you hear the shakiness in her voice. “We were finally doing better! We were finally being a family again. You didn't even know what was my final say!”
“You never once mentioned your decision about the divorce, Wanda.” you calmly retort. “I didn't want to assume you had changed your mind.”
“Oh, right, so you preferred assuming I'd want you—the mother of our children—gone just like that as if you were, I don't know, a parasite?”
“No..” a shake of head, a shaky tone. “No, no, it's— it's not like that, Wanda. I just wanted to make things easier for you. It was better than to already assume you'd want me again, since I hurt you a lot and as long as you hadn't said anything, the safest thing to do was this..”
You don't even notice it but tears are in your eyes again. There's a knot in your chest. A mix of feelings — worry, fear, sadness, panic. a rush of panic.
“Y/N, I don't want this divorce anymore..” she finally says, stepping closer.
A rush of relief floods you, but you're not completely out of it. You're tired, very tired. You blink a few times, exhaling, trying to stop what's starting to come.
Wanda immediately wraps her arms around you. You bury your face in her neck, allowing yourself to cry like you haven't been able to in a while. All that repressed pain? You're letting it all out.
“I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry.” she tells you, kissing your temple as she cries herself. Wanda doesn't feel at her best right now. She's seen how much of a toll it took on you. She's seen all the effort you made so she could forgive you. She knows you love her and would do anything for her. She just didn't know how bad it was. How broke you felt inside because you'd been a step away from loosing your why.
“No.” You shake your head, lifting your face away from her neck, sniffling. “Don't apologize. I didn't treat you and the boys right. I deserved this. You had to suffer for longer than I have. I'm sorry, Wanda.”
“I promise to do better from now on, ” you tell her again. “I'll spend more time with and the boys. I'll even quit.”
She shakes her own head, wipping your tears away. “You're not gonna do that. You love doing what you do, Y/N. I'm not going to take that away from you, it would be selfish. All I wanted was for you to realize that you also had us.”
“Are you sure? Because I want you to know that this job doesn't matter if I don't have you and the boys by my side—”
She places a soft kiss on your lips to stop you. Once she pulls away, she wipes her thumb on your lips and smiles gently. “Yes, I'm sure. We'll work through this together.”
Summary: You grew up in a foster care facility until you were six years old. Happy memories were distant, until a new, green-eyed high school volunteer started one day. You became her precious baby, and she became the first, and last, mother figure in your life. You wish you remembered her name, but you were suddenly placed with a foster family one day without ever getting to say goodbye.
Now, you're a quiet university student. But why does your regular customer, Wanda, make memories of the facility swirl in your head? Why does her touch feel so familiar? And when was she going to tell you she's married?
Word Count: 8.7k
Warnings: 18+, age gap, mommy kink, heavy Freudian themes, pseudo-incest, dom/sub undertones, suggestive, a little emotional regression, angst and fluff, finding comfort in each other in a possibly unhealthy way
A/N: first time writing something like so pls be gentle and read the warnings
—
The memories of the foster care facility had been popping into your mind more often lately. They were usually a mixture of sad or painful events. Prospective parents passing you over for kids who were brighter, more talkative, or openly craving affection. Volunteers assuming you didn't want to be bothered, leaving you to read or draw alone at the table. The facility staff scolding you, frustrated that you didn't try harder to be chosen.
It wasn't that you didn't try on purpose.
You had been there since the day you were born, spending six years inside that building. When you were a newborn, people thought you were too much responsibility. A blank slate where one slip-up could ruin a life. Then you became a toddler, making friends with the other kids. You would play outside, screaming at the top of your lungs and laughing until you couldn't breathe.
But then one day, your best friend left with a foster family. Then another. And another. You were happy for them, but beneath it all, you started to close in on yourself. You grew scared of the pain of opening up to someone who could leave at any moment. So, you started to keep your distance. You talked less, stayed inside, and kept your head down.
But one day, shortly after you turned six, a happy memory formed.
You were drawing at one of the tables by yourself. The sleeves of your oversized t-shirt were folded up, and the hem fell past your shorts. The other kids were talking excitedly with one another, a noise you were used to drowning out.
Suddenly, a hand larger than yours, adorned with rings, appeared next to your crayons.
"Hi," a soft, slightly accented voice said.
You turned your head, meeting wide, green eyes. The corners of them crinkled as she smiled brightly, her face level with yours from where she crouched beside the table. You scanned her face, noticing her dark brown hair before looking down at her name tag. It listed her as a volunteer.
You wish you had committed her name to memory, but assuming she would be like the rest, you hadn't looked closely.
"Hi," you mumbled, wanting to get back to your coloring.
She picked up a blue crayon, twirling it between her fingers. "I'm a new volunteer here. I saw you coloring and wondered if I could join you."
You looked down at your drawing. She would probably get bored and leave to play with the others. The thought made you pout as you stared at the yellow duck you had drawn.
"I guess..." you responded quietly, continuing your coloring to distract yourself.
She giggled softly. Before you could react, she lightly pinched your cheek between her index finger and thumb. You turned to her, her fingers still holding your cheek, and gave her a little glare. She only giggled more.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound apologetic despite her grin. "You just looked too cute."
You looked away, your cheeks heating up. You shook your head, forcing her fingers to fall away. "If you're gonna draw, do it quietly," you said with the biggest sigh your small body could muster.
With one last giggle, she pulled out the small, plastic chair beside you. She settled in, grabbing a sheet of paper from the stack in the center of the table. You could see her glancing at your drawing repeatedly before finally starting her own.
You sat silently, trying to keep your lines smooth even though they always wobbled in the middle. Other kids came up to her, asking her to play and wanting to get to know the new volunteer. Your chest tightened every time, even when you tried not to care.
But she always rejected them kindly, telling them she was in the middle of spending time with you. Your heart warmed just a little, despite your best efforts to act indifferent.
Half an hour into drawing, she started to speak to you. She acted as though you were answering her questions even when you stayed silent, the smile never leaving her voice.
You learned she was a high school senior completing volunteer hours. You found out she had an annoying twin brother who always brought up that he was a few minutes older. She told you about being from Sokovia, how she had only been in the States for a few years, the foods she liked, and the classes that bored her. She talked about her plans for the future, wanting to do something meaningful with her life.
Time passed like that—her talking about herself while you sat there, pretending not to listen but absorbing it all.
When she stopped talking, you peeked up. She was holding her drawing out to you with a shy grin.
It was a drawing of you. More specifically, of you sitting right in front of her, the little splotches of color from your own paper captured in her sketch. Even though there were other kids behind you, you were the only person in the drawing.
Your eyes widened as you looked between her and the paper. She was about to speak when one of the workers called your name, announcing it was bath time. Disappointment washed over you. Surely she would find someone more interesting after this.
You gathered your drawing, but her warm hand enveloped yours completely, stopping you. Your eyes met her green ones.
"Can we trade?" she asked, smiling softly as she looked down at the paper in your hands.
You weren't attached to your drawing. You had messed up the lines far too many times for it to look like anything, and it wasn't anywhere near what she had made. But you found yourself nodding shyly before you could think twice.
She swapped the papers but kept her hand on top of yours, holding it there for a moment. "See you later, alligator," she said gently. Her eyes didn't waver, and somehow, you believed her.
"See you," you whispered.
Her hand finally released yours. You hopped off the plastic chair and walked across the room toward the worker. You looked back, fully prepared to see her talking to another kid. Instead, you found her watching you leave with delicate affection in her eyes.
She started coming every other day. Sometimes she wore her backpack, arriving straight from school. On colder days, she would stop at the coat rack to hang her jacket. But despite those little differences, her searching for you was a constant. She would locate you with a single glance, walking over quickly with a bright smile that lit up the room.
You always ignored her for the first few minutes while she told you about her day. She would join you in whatever you were doing, even if you were just sitting silently outside, staring at the sky. At first, she sat an arm's length away. But as the months went on, the distance closed. And your heart opened.
You remember the first time you sought her out. It was right after a nap with the other kids your age. Bad dreams had plagued you—memories of the friends who had left, telling you that you would never be loved. You had gripped the front of your oversized shirt with small hands, your chest aching because you believed them. Tears streamed down your cheeks, even as you tried to swipe them away with the back of your hand.
It was then that she showed up. The door opened just a crack so the hallway light wouldn't flood the dark room. You could recognize her silhouette easily by that point. Shimmying out of your blankets, you quietly stepped over the other kids, your vision blurred with tears.
You remember her surprised face. Her eyes widened when she saw you standing right in front of her, forcing her to look down. Your fingers curled into the denim of her jeans while you sniffled. She crouched down, her eyebrows furrowed with worry as she brushed the tears off your cheeks with her thumbs.
"What's wrong, baby?" she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake anyone.
You shook your head, staring at her with shiny eyes. You let go of her jeans and lifted your arms. She scooped you up immediately, rocking you back and forth. Holding one hand against the back of your head, she pressed your cheek into her shoulder. You breathed in. The comforting scent of sweet flowers, like the ones that grew by the swing set outside, washed over your senses.
More bright memories formed after that, multiplying over the weeks. You started talking a little more, telling her what you planned to draw. You sought her out whenever your shoes were untied. When you watched the sky, you sat in her lap instead of leaving that empty space between you.
In the picture books you read, the mom was always there for her child, whether they were sad or happy. Always wiping away tears after a bad dream. Always listening to them talk, even if it was nonsense about nothing at all.
Just like she did for you.
You remembered when one of the other kids got fostered. Their foster parents had come to pick them up from the facility, and the way the new mother beamed when the child called her "Mommy" always stuck with you.
Wanting to see that same look on her face, you walked up to her the next day just like you had after your nightmare. You tugged on the hem of her shirt to make her look down, tilting your chin to meet her smiling eyes.
"Hi, mommy," you said quietly, your voice shy.
Her eyes widened. Tears immediately began to shine in them before she scooped you up, hugging you tightly. She held you like that for a long time, her breathing shaky against your shoulder. You remember wondering if you had done something wrong. But then she spoke, her voice watery and thick with emotion.
"If only I were older... more stable..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "Then I could take you away from this place."
You hadn't understood why she was crying. She didn't have to take you away from there. You were happy as long as she came to visit. You thought it would last forever.
After that day, you became her precious baby. She would call you that every time she greeted you. She started staying past her volunteer hours, right up until the moment you had to go to sleep. The farewell was always the same.
"See you later, alligator."
"Bye-bye, mommy."
She would smile brightly whenever you called her that, as if you had given her the greatest gift in the world. Holding hands while walking, sitting in her lap while she read to you, her pushing you on the swings. They were pure, happy memories.
But the sunny days ended abruptly.
A couple who had visited you a few weeks prior appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. You had assumed they would choose someone else, since they had stopped talking to you weeks ago. Instead, they walked up to you with small smiles that didn't reach their eyes and told you that you were leaving with them.
She wasn't there that day. You never got to say goodbye. All you had from her was the drawings she'd trade with you that you begged to take with you.
You were in another state by the next day. In a spacious new apartment, a new room, a new school. You tried to be grateful for it all, but your foster parents weren't parents. You would try to get their attention, showing them your grades or asking for help, but their polite, distant smiles made you realize something quickly. The love you had read about in picture books wouldn't be found here.
It was more of an arrangement of convenience. They received money from the state for fostering you, and they got to look like a complete family from the outside. Even after they adopted you once the six month period passed, inside the home, you were just a guest.
That's how you lived for the next twelve years until you became an adult. And for the two years after that, you were on your own, refusing to accept their charity anymore.
Frankly, it wasn't something you chose to reminisce on. The ache in your chest from remembering her, from never being able to see her again, would always feel too painful.
But it's the green eyes in front of you that had been awakening these memories lately.
"Hi, honey, not too busy today?" Wanda asks, pulling an array of fruits and vegetables from her reusable bag and placing them onto the conveyor belt.
You pick up a package of cherry tomatoes, scan it, and set it to the side. "No, not today. It's been pretty quiet," you respond, continuing to scan the rest of the items.
You make a conscious effort to keep your head down, not wanting her to see the excitement on your face from her arrival.
You met Wanda a few weeks ago when you first started this job as a checkout clerk. It fits into your university class schedule well and pays decently because of the nicer neighborhood it's located in.
Your first day had been horrendous. In the last few minutes of your shift, a customer began complaining about their total, claiming they had a coupon that should reduce the price significantly. You tried scanning the coupon they held out, but it came back invalid every single time. Even when you tried to explain the situation calmly, they began to raise their voice until everyone in the front of the store was looking your way.
Situations like these have never been easy for you. You hated being the center of attention. You hoped they would just get it out of their system, pay, and leave so you could go home, but they wouldn't budge.
It wasn't until a voice came from behind them that the situation resolved itself.
"If you can't afford it, then just say so and move on so the rest of us can have our turn."
You craned your head back, meeting a pair of green eyes that you could swear you've seen before. It reminded you instantly of the volunteer who doted on you when you were still at the facility. But this woman had reddish-orange hair and no accent in her voice.
The customer's face turned beet red. They finally tapped their card against the reader, grabbed their bags, and walked away muttering under their breath.
The woman stared the customer down all the way until they exited the sliding glass doors. The moment she looked back at you, her expression instantly softened into something bright.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with customers like that, sweetheart. I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Wanda. What's your name?"
There was something about the cadence of her voice that made your heart beat faster. The array of crayons on the small table back at the facility immediately came to mind. You quickly shook the thought off when she gazed at you expectantly.
You introduced yourself shyly, admitting it was your first day.
It took off from there.
Wanda visited a few times a week on random days, except for Fridays, which were a constant. You'd share short conversations with her. She'd stay longer sometimes on days where there was no line, chatting about her own time in university and letting you vent about stuck-up professors
Thankfully, today is Friday.
Unfortunately, you're exhausted from classes and your roommates being loud in the living room. It was taking everything in you to not close your eyes. The sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot were simultaneously blinding you and keeping you awake, but it was getting harder to keep your shoulders upright.
You take a breath, forcing a smile onto your face when you notice Wanda helping pack her groceries. You've reminded her over and over that this is part of what you're paid to do, but she never listens.
"They might replace you with me at this rate," you say jokingly, the tiredness dulling the inflections in your voice.
Wanda looks up from one of the bags, raising a brow. "Then would you be the customer?"
You huff out a little laugh. "This grocery store is a bit out of my price range."
"Then that arrangement won't do," she responds with a small smile, looking back down. "How else would I see you and that shy smile?"
Your gaze drops down to the scanner, heat rising up your neck to your cheeks and ears.
"See?" Wanda points out, laughing brightly.
Suddenly, her voice drops into something quieter. "Are you sleeping enough, darling?" she asks, gathering her bags nonchalantly. You see her peering at you when she thinks you don't notice.
Don't bother her with your problems, the rational part of you reminds you. It was one thing to complain about professors. It was a whole other thing to tell her about your living situation.
"I slept enough," you respond, meeting her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
She stares at you, scanning your face carefully before giving you a quick smile, like she's thought of something satisfactory.
"Do you get off soon?" she asks, glancing at the watch resting on her left wrist.
You glance at the register screen, finding that you're almost at the finish line.
"I only have around ten more minutes." You breathe out a sigh of relief.
She looks to the side for a moment, nervously biting her lower lip.
You can't help but find her beautiful with the way the sunlight shining in splays perfectly across her face. She's wearing a plain blue blouse and white trousers. No logos. No heavy gold rings or designer bags like the women who usually patronize this neighborhood. Just a silver watch on her left wrist. That modesty was one of the things that had made it easier for you to talk to her.
"I know your parents probably told you not to follow strangers. But hopefully, I'm not a stranger at this point," she starts, speaking quickly. "Would you like to take a walk with me after this at the park across the street? I saw there were a few food trucks, so maybe we could grab an early dinner?"
Frankly, your parents hadn't told you much of anything. You had figured out how to navigate the world on your own. But Wanda isn't a stranger, and the park across the street is always crowded. You wouldn't be in any danger. Perhaps it was naive of you, but with Wanda, you never felt afraid. Just her presence made you feel safe.
The prospect of spending more than a few minutes with her makes something in your chest flutter. It's a feeling you haven't felt since you were six years old.
"O-okay," you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for the slip.
Wanda beams at you, adjusting the bags of groceries hanging on her wrists. "I'll be waiting outside for you, honey. Take your time coming out," she calls out, already turning around and walking out the door.
You watch her walk away before finally turning back to the register. You stare down at the scanner in front of you. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth, but it doesn't stop the smile forming on your lips.
The sound of footsteps approaching cuts the moment short. You quickly smooth down the front of your apron, erasing the smile from your face before looking up to meet the next customer a few paces away.
"Next," you call out politely.
—
You step out into the parking lot, squinting against the blinding rays. Lifting your arms, you stretch your tight shoulders and release a yawn. Your t-shirt rides up with the motion, the hem resting just above your belly button before you finally let your arms drop.
Looking around, you find Wanda leaning against her car a few paces away. She's already staring in your direction, but her gaze is low. It takes a few steps in her direction before she finally glances up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly slaps a smile onto her face.
"Ready to go, darling?" she asks, her voice a bit breathless.
You adjust your bag hanging on your shoulder before responding. "All set."
It's a quiet, comfortable walk across the street. You and Wanda stroll between the food trucks, pointing out options before ultimately deciding on sandwiches. Wanda pays for the food before you even have a chance to unzip your wallet.
"I-I could've paid for my own food," you mumble, a stubborn pout forming on your lips.
You both take a seat on an open bench facing the pond. Wanda turns her torso toward you, her expression softening into something you can't quite name. There's a distant sadness in her eyes that doesn't match the small smile on her face.
Before you can think to look away, she reaches out and pinches your cheek gently between her index finger and thumb.
"Let's just say I wanted to treat you. I'm the one who invited you out, after all," she says gently.
Her hand falls away, but her fingers linger close for a moment. Her gaze remains locked on your face, watching you quietly, as if she's studying you.
You stare back at her, your eyes wide. The familiarity of the gesture has your mind racing, your thoughts rushing straight to the one person you could never forget. You never allowed anyone to touch your face like this. Even when friends tried to do it jokingly, you always flinched away. It felt like if you allowed anyone else to repeat the gesture, you would start forgetting her. The memory of the first person who loved you.
Wanda isn't her, you chastise yourself internally.
Your heart twists sharply in your chest. A wave of guilt washes over you, eating away at your stomach just for letting Wanda cross that line without a fight.
But for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Usually, when others even reached for your face, you felt a wave of unease. If anything, Wanda's touch felt like coming home. The realization makes your heart ache—you don't want the volunteer to fade from your memory.
You look down at the bench, focusing on the arm's length of distance separating you two. The sandwiches she bought sit untouched between you. For a few long moments, the chatter of people walking by the pond fades into background noise as your thoughts consume you.
It isn't until Wanda speaks that you finally snap out of it.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling," she starts quietly. Her expression looks distant, as if she's watching old memories float past.
You open your mouth to tell her the truth, that it didn't make you uncomfortable at all, but she continues, forcing your jaw to snap shut so you can hear her clearly.
"There's someone I've been missing for a very long time. Your smile and that cute pout... they remind me of her so much," she whispers, meeting your eyes with a sad smile. "She would be your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what she's doing. If she's eating okay, if she's receiving the love she deserves... if she still remembers me. But I always hope she's happy, even if that happiness didn't come from me."
The ache in Wanda's voice is almost palpable. It makes your chest tighten in the same way it does whenever you let yourself look back at the past.
Wanda's expression suddenly morphs into a grimace. "Maybe this is just me easing my own guilt. I'm sorry if this is bothersome, sweetheart. It must be weird, being compared to someone you've never met. But talking to you recently... it's been making me think of her more."
Her eyes widen suddenly, her posture stiffening as her voice turns frantic.
"That's not why I've been talking to you, though!" she exclaims, her voice rising enough to draw a glance from a passing couple. "I love our conversations. Genuinely. Seeing you so tired today just made me want to do something to help, even if it wasn't much."
You look out at the pond, watching the light breeze track ripples across the surface.
So she's missing someone too, you think.
The realization eases the guilt churning in your stomach. The puzzle pieces fit together now. The comfort and protection you only ever found from one person—the most important person in your life—had suddenly reappeared in a matter of weeks through Wanda. It makes sense now.
Wanda reminds you of her.
Secretly, you've known this all along. Probably from the very moment you locked eyes with her at the register.
You're not replacing her. The thought immediately making your frantic mind rest. She'll always be your mommy.
You and Wanda are just finding comfort in each other.
"Can we keep meeting like this?" you ask shyly, turning your head toward her. You let your eyes drift up to the sky. "There's someone I've been missing too. When I talk to you, I feel like I remember her more clearly."
You let your gaze drop back to Wanda's face. She's staring at you, her green eyes bright, as if she's looking right at a memory.
"Of course," she breathes.
You shift on the bench, scooting a little bit closer to her. It reminds you of when you were younger—the distance closing slowly, piece by piece.
—
You step into your shared apartment, barely sparing a glance at the kitchen counter littered with dirty plates and utensils. You make your way down the hall, feeling the heavy bass of music vibrating from beneath one of your roommates' doors.
Closing your bedroom door, you lean your back against it and finally breathe out. You let your bag drop to the floor, the heavy thud of it barely audible over the noise outside.
Reaching up, you let your fingertips brush slowly across your cheekbone. You can still feel the lingering warmth from where Wanda’s hand had cupped your face before you parted ways. Her eyes had locked onto yours for a long second before she finally turned around.
You can't help but wonder who it is that she's missing so desperately. But you didn't want to ask. You know that if she threw the question back at you, you would have a hard time answering.
How do you explain to a woman you just met recently that you miss a teenage volunteer from fourteen years ago? How do you explain that you still can't forget her? It would be like admitting to Wanda that she reminds you of the only person you ever viewed as a mother.
You walk across the small, cold space of your room and pull open the bottom drawer of your desk. Reaching inside, you run your fingertips across the rough, waxy lines of the papers hidden at the bottom.
All of her drawings are stored here. Some are messy pieces you had colored together. Most are the clean, detailed sketches drawn just by her.
You miss her so much it aches. The parallels between her and Wanda are almost eerie, pulling your heart in entirely different directions.
But it's exactly that conflict that makes you want to see Wanda again. You want to feel that safety you haven't felt since you were six years old.
You pick up the very first drawing she ever gave you. The sketch of you sitting and drawing at the table.
"Is this okay, mommy?" you whisper into the quiet room, the memory of her smiling green eyes flashing behind your eyelids. Wanda's face appears for a split second before fading away.
—
You start meeting with Wanda every Friday after your shift. She's always waiting for you, leaning against her car, her smile dazzling the moment she notices you.
The second time you meet, she takes you to a cute bakery down the street. You've noticed the inviting exterior before, but knowing the area, you knew it would be far out of your budget. Wanda doesn't let you pay, even when you try handing the barista your card. She just glances at you, raising a single brow. Your arm automatically lowers, and Wanda pays anyway.
It reminds you instantly of the look She would give you when you tried to avoid bedtime at the facility, just wanting to spend more time with her. You would automatically listen back then, wanting to be her obedient baby.
With Wanda, you get to experience many of the things you never could in the city. A flaky, buttery croissant at the bakery. A French restaurant you always wanted to try but could never get a reservation for even if you could afford it. Even just sitting peacefully on the park bench. You're always in a rush, jumping from classes to work, then back home to study. This is the first time you've truly gotten to take in the city you've lived in for fourteen years.
You and Wanda always end up at the park, no matter where you go first. You sit on the same bench in front of the pond. It's where you have the deep conversations that aren't just about university or daily life. It's there that you find out Wanda is the chairwoman for a massive charity—one even you've heard of. She tells you it was something she always wanted to do. To do something meaningful with her life.
The phrasing is so familiar. You remember Her saying the exact same thing. It makes you look at Wanda differently. The passing interest you had because of her looks and her similarities to the person you miss, growing into something much greater with every meeting.
It's your third meeting when you learn more about the person she's missing. You make a passing comment without really thinking. It's only then that you realize how much more willing you're to speak lately, usually being so reserved.
"When I was a kid, I used to think all ducks were yellow," you recount, your voice airy from reminiscing. "Then I found out only the ducklings are."
You let out a little giggle. Staring at the ducks slowly crossing the pond with little ducklings following behind, you think of the yellow duck drawing you made the day you first traded drawings. Your feet swing back and forth beneath the bench, your fingers curled tightly over the front edge of the wood.
It's a few moments before the heavy silence really hits you. You turn your head to look at Wanda. She's staring straight ahead at the pond. You track her eyes, finding that she's fixed on the tiny ducklings trailing behind the mother duck.
Her voice is shaky when she finally speaks.
"My precious baby thought the same thing," she says, a watery smile stretching across her face.
Precious baby.
You close your eyes, biting the inside of your mouth to stop the emotions threatening to surface. You haven't heard that phrase in fourteen years. Her smiling face immediately comes to mind—the way she would look down at you, crouching to be at eye level before gently stroking your cheek.
"My precious baby."
You always loved it when she called you that. Your lips would immediately curve into a wide grin before you called her your mommy.
Remembering it makes your heart ache for Wanda. From what she's told you, it seems she had to let go of someone she loved, just like you did.
You scooch a bit closer to Wanda, though a sliver of distance still remains between you. As you move, the scent of sweet flowers suddenly washes over your senses.
The swing set. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder.
Your head snaps up, looking for the source, but the tree branches above you just sway gently. It must be the breeze, you think wryly.
But it's that familiar, comforting scent that gives you the confidence.
You reach out, your fingers gently tugging on the hem of Wanda's blouse.
She turns to you. Her green eyes are wide, glimmering with unshed tears, and her mouth is slightly agape. She looks at you as if she's staring straight at a ghost from her past. You figure she must be reminiscing just like you are.
"I'm sure she's out there thriving," you say, your voice adamant despite the slight tremble of your shyness.
Wanda holds her gaze on you, not saying a word. You peer up at the sky, anxiousness setting in the longer she stays silent. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything.
It's only when you feel Wanda's warm palm settle against your cheek that you meet her eyes again. Her expression is soft, her lips curved into a gentle smile. But it's the delicate affection in her green eyes that makes your heart jump. It's how you know she's only looking at you, completely tuning out the crowds of people sitting on the grass and walking by the pond.
Her thumb brushes your cheekbone before tracing lower, brushing slowly against your bottom lip instead.
You feel her movement freeze suddenly. The affection in her eyes remains, but you can see a layer of guilt churning just beneath the surface. She pulls her thumb away from your lip but keeps her palm resting against your cheek.
"I'm sure she is," Wanda whispers. Her voice sounds hopeful, but it's swirling with an array of heavy emotions you can't decipher.
—
With every meeting, you and Wanda only become closer.
Sometimes you’d catch her staring at you in your peripheral vision whenever you looked up at the sky. Watching the clouds drift by and finding shapes in them had become a habit again, just like when you were younger. On clear days, letting the blue expanse amaze you cleared your mind.
You figure that maybe the person Wanda misses used to do the same. The first time you noticed her doing that, you’d honestly felt a bit uncomfortable, but a mixture of guilt lay within that as well.
Because you weren't the person she was thinking of. Maybe seeing you was hurting her more.
It wasn't like you couldn't relate.
After the day Wanda had brushed your lip with her thumb, her touches became more constant. Sometimes she’d rub away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth after you ate a pastry. Sometimes she’d run her fingers through your hair and carefully move stray strands out of your face. Sometimes, when you were sharing a funny customer interaction, her hand would land on your thigh, squeezing it gently as she laughed.
Shame would creep up your neck when your body reacted. You’d press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache settling in your lower stomach. Your chest warmed from the familiar, comforting touch that you'd only experienced from Her, but now you were feeling the exact same way from Wanda.
Some days, you felt like you were betraying the person you had been forced to leave behind. Even after you were fostered, you had never found that same love. It was a rare, safe feeling that you had reserved just for Her.
But here you were, opening your heart up in the exact same way to someone else.
It was a constant push and pull. You keep reminding yourself that Wanda is a completely different person. They just happen to be similar. You weren't replacing Her. You refuse to.
And it wasn't like you could just walk away from Wanda now. Even in the short period of time you've known her, you've become deeply attached. You sought Wanda out whenever you needed advice, had questions about your university classes, or really just wanted to talk about anything at all. She listened every single time, even when the things you said didn't make much sense or lead anywhere.
Wanda's touch was always kind, but slowly, it began to cross the blurry boundaries between you two. Her hand began to linger higher up your thigh, holding it there and squeezing occasionally. You remembered the intense heat burning through your skin the first time she did it. But whenever you looked up at her, her green eyes were always full of that same gentle, consuming affection.
Sometimes when she looked into your eyes in these moments, her gaze would immediately avert, her lips curving downward like she was upset with herself. She'd blink a few times, her eyes brightening more with every blink before she'd look at you again and let her fingers curve around your thigh confidently.
You know this desire you feel for Wanda is twisted. Wanda reminded you of the only mother figure you had in your life. But, you like Wanda, and being around her feels like you're creating memories that you should've had with Her.
—
It's a month and a half later when you first slip up and tell Wanda a little bit about Her.
You're sitting on the park bench like usual, your arm pressed against Wanda's. You and Wanda had started a book series together. Wanda had the second volume in her hand, reading aloud to you. Your head slowly drifted to the side until it landed on Wanda's shoulder.
You noticed you'd been doing this more often, subconsciously, finding comfort in Wanda whether it be emotionally or physically.
You could hear the smile in her voice as she continued reading. Birds chirped in the distance. Children giggled behind you. But Wanda's voice drowned them all out. It reminded you of sitting outside with Her in front of the swing sets, sitting in her lap as she read one of your picture books to you while pointing at the pictures she liked. You found yourself speaking before you could even think to stop.
"This reminds me of when I was a kid," you murmur wistfully, closing your eyes.
"Did someone else use to read for you?" Wanda asks, her voice unusually tight.
You nod softly, your cheek swishing against her shoulder. "Mhm," you confirm, your voice relaxed. "My mo—"
Your eyes widen. Your posture straightens out. Gnawing lightly on your bottom lip, you look away. You've never talked about Her with anyone before. It felt sacred, like something that was just for you. Your hand tightens around the front of your shirt.
It's confusing. All these habits you used to have starting to come back since you met Wanda.
Wanda’s hand envelops yours, her touch gentle but firm as she coaxes your fingers to release the fabric of your shirt. Sliding her palm against yours, she interlocks your fingers together. She rubs her thumb in slow circles against the back of your hand.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about the person you miss," she starts slowly. "But if you do... I'm always here, darling." You turn your head automatically, wanting to see Wanda's face that always manages to comfort you.
You don't know how she knew who you were talking about. It feels like Wanda is able to read you with a single glance. It makes you a bit anxious if she can see the feelings you have for her that are muddied by your past.
You meet Wanda's eyes. She's looking at you with an aching softness that you can feel in your bones. Your shoulders droop, melting at the comforting warmth coming from her hand.
Tears glisten in your eyes despite yourself.
It's confusing.
The complicated, messy feelings swirling inside you. There's the intense comfort you're receiving from Wanda, slammed right against the terrifying feeling that you're somehow betraying Her.
But you find your fingers tightening, squeezing Wanda's hand anyway. The motion reminds you instantly of when you used to swing Her hand back and forth while walking around the playground. You tilt your chin up, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill over your lashes.
You hear Wanda inhale shakily. Maybe this is too troublesome for her, you think, trying even harder to rein in your rogue emotions.
Suddenly, Wanda pulls you in closer by your interlocked hands. Her free hand rises to rest firmly against your cheek, her fingers spanning your jaw as she tilts your face up to force you to look at her.
"It's okay to cry," she whispers, her tone incredibly low and soothing. "My baby."
Your eyes widen, a wave of panic hitting you. You know Wanda is probably just seeing someone else in you. You know you shouldn't be letting her call you that. Only one person was ever allowed to use that title.
But you don't stop her.
Instead, a consuming warmth blooms from your chest and outwards. You squeeze her hand tighter. Her thumb brushes slowly against your lips as she gazes down at your mouth. You expect her to freeze like she usually does after a few moments. For the guilt to make her pull away.
But this time, she just continues.
—
Every time you come back to your apartment after meeting Wanda, you always go straight to your desk. You pull out the bottom drawer, running your fingers along the rough, waxy lines of the crayon sketches.
The guilt is starting to ease the longer you meet with her.
This isn't you replacing her, you remind yourself, staring down at the stack of drawings. You're finding something else in Wanda.
You try to ignore the nagging question in your head—the one threatening to shatter the fragile resolution you've finally found.
But what is it that you're finding in Wanda, then?
—
You're sitting on the park bench with Wanda. Your legs are stretched across her lap, your hand locked firmly in hers. Her other hand rests on your knee, her fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh.
She's telling you about her day while you listen silently, absorbing every word. Your gaze tracks the ducklings as they follow the mother duck across the surface of the pond. Something about the scene makes you speak up suddenly, cutting Wanda off right in the middle of her sentence.
"—and then he told the staff that he knew me, and that I would—"
"Wanda," you interject.
Her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly as she turns to look at you. You're normally polite, always staying quiet and listening intently until she finishes her thoughts.
"Yes, baby?" she responds, her voice soft but clearly confused by the interruption.
You turn your head toward her. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your throat tight as the question finally slips past your lips.
"What are we doing?"
She tilts her head, her expression full of feigned confusion, but her eyes tell you everything. She knows exactly what you're referring to.
"We're spending time together," she says with a light chuckle. She brings your joined hands up to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your hand.
"I… I know that," you start, your confidence beginning to wane. "I just mean..."
You trail off. You can't bring yourself to say it out loud. You can't ask if she's projecting, or tell her that she somehow makes you feel the exact same safety your mommy did while you also crave a romantic connection. Instead, you just freeze under her gaze, your lower lip trembling slightly.
Wanda leans in closer to you. Her hand slides higher up your thigh until her index finger rests right in the deep crevice where your leg meets your hip. Your breath hitches when she taps her finger in slow, rhythmic beats against the sensitive skin there.
"I know I shouldn't feel this way," she starts. Her face showing the conflicting, messy emotions that are churning inside you. "Not when you remind me..."
She trails off, refusing to finish the sentence. Her lips curve into a soft, vulnerable smile.
"But being with you brings me so much joy," she whispers, her thumb grazing your hip. "I love when you get crumbs all over your lips and I have to brush them away for you. I love when your feet swing under the bench when you're happy. I love hearing your little ramblings. Can that just be enough for now?"
She looks at you, her green eyes wide, desperate, and hopeful.
"Being with you makes me happy too," you admit in a whisper.
Wanda beams at you, the warmth of her hand making your own lips curve upward as well.
Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzes against your side. You pull out your phone, finding a new text message from your parents. They've been reaching out more often lately. Something about wanting to make up for the time they should've spent being real parents to you.
Are you okay for rent this month? We can send money if you need. Let's meet sometime to catch up over a meal.
You release a tired sigh as you read the text from your adoptive dad.
"Everything okay?" Wanda asks, her voice tinged with worry.
You lock your phone screen without responding to him, looking up with a small smile that falls flat. "Everything's okay," you respond, trying to keep your tone bright. "It's just my parents."
Wanda's hand tightens around your upper thigh suddenly, making you jolt slightly on the bench.
"Did they need something?" Wanda asks.
Her voice is colder than you've ever heard it. The gentle, soft lines of her face are completely gone, her lips pulled into a rigid line.
"Yeah..." you start slowly, still in shock from the sudden shift. "They were just checking to see if I have enough for rent. And... if I want to meet up for a meal."
Her fingers tighten even more against your skin, making a sudden swarm of butterflies erupt in your lower stomach. You try to look away, but Wanda releases your joined hands, bringing her palm up to scoop your jaw and tilt your chin back up.
Her eyes are incredibly dark as she stares down at you. You know you should probably feel afraid of the intensity radiating off her, but instead, the butterflies morph into a low, throbbing ache that makes you shift slightly.
"If you don't have enough for rent, then I can take care of it," she says. Her gaze never wavers, making you realize she's dead serious.
You release a shaky laugh. "I'm okay for rent, Wanda. I promise."
"Then are you meeting them for a meal?" she asks quickly, her tone demanding as she watches your eyes intently.
You shake your head as much as you can while she holds your face in her palm. "No. There's no need to," you start, a wry smile pulling at your lips before you grin up at her. "I'd rather eat with you."
You wonder if she knows just how true that is.
Her tight grip finally releases on your face and your thigh. She uses her thumb to softly stroke the skin of your chin where she had held a little too hard. Before you can even blink, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your chin before pulling back with a thoroughly satisfied smile.
"I'll have to take you somewhere nice then," she says simply, the warmth returning to her voice.
She pinches your cheek lightly between her index finger and thumb. Your eyes close automatically, your head leaning heavily into her hand at the familiar gesture.
You both sit there like that for a long while. Her hand remains resting on your thigh, while her other hand releases the soft skin of your cheek, pressing her warm palm against your face instead. You giggle brightly when the tiny ducklings try to snuggle up against the mother duck's feathers.
Wanda chuckles beside you, her thumb stroking your cheek delicately like you're something precious.
"What's funny, baby?" Wanda's voice raises a pitch, like the way you naturally do when you're speaking to a child. But for some reason, it doesn't bother you. It reminds you of Her and the way her voice would brighten when she'd see you.
You turn your head, giving Wanda a cute, little smile without really thinking about your words.
"They look like us."
Her eyes soften immediately, and she leans forward to press her lips softly against your cheek. "They do," she agrees, pulling back just enough to give you a smile filled with pure affection.
You both stare at the pond for a while, until Wanda glances down at her watch. You hear her take in a sharp breath before she finally releases your face. Her hand slides away from your inner thigh, leaving a sudden, chilling patch of cold skin behind.
"I'm sorry, baby, but I have to go now," she says quickly, though the profound softness remains in her voice.
Your lips instantly jut out in a pout. You move your legs off her lap, shifting on the wooden bench so you're sitting properly again. "Okay," you respond, your voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "I'll see you next time."
You force a wide smile onto your face, desperately reminding your frantic mind that you'll see her again soon.
She stands up, turning around to give you one last bright smile. "See you later, alligator," she says, her voice raised to that higher pitch again.
"Bye-bye, mommy," you respond automatically, waving your hand at her.
It's only when Wanda takes a few slow steps down the gravel path that your blood turns to ice.
Wanda freezes, suddenly coming to a stop. It feels like everything around you has paused, only Wanda's motions continuing. She turns around slowly to face you.
"S-Sorry," you stutter, your pulse hammering in your throat making your mouth turn dry. "I don't know why I said that."
She stares at you. Her green eyes are blown wide, her mouth agape as she looks at you with breathless intensity.
"Are you—"
"Moya lyubov, I'm here to pick you up," a raspy voice sounds from right behind Wanda.
Wanda's mouth freezes, but she doesn't turn around, her eyes staying on you. Your heart is beating erratically, the pounding of it almost making your ribs ache.
"Wanda?" the voice asks, but she still doesn't move, like her gaze can't leave your body.
You lean forward slightly, meeting a pair of green eyes, slightly more vibrant than Wanda's. Her hair color is similar to Wanda's, but this woman wears a power suit, nothing like the comfortable, modest clothing you see Wanda wear.
The woman walks past Wanda to you, shaking Wanda out of her stupor.
"Natash—"
"Hi, you must be the one that Wanda's been talking about," the woman starts. "I'm Natasha. Wanda's wife." Natasha lifts her hand up to you for a handshake.
Your hand lifts automatically, though it feels like your mind has gone completely blank. You shake her hand, her firm grip doing nothing to bring you back to reality.
Wife? you think frantically.
Your gaze darts down to Wanda's left hand, tracking a gold band resting on her ring finger. A ring you're absolutely certain you've never seen on her hand before today.
Then what was all of this? Eating together at restaurants, sitting side by side. Holding hands at farmer's markets because Wanda didn't want you to get lost. All the conversations you've had here a this bench.
Natasha's hand continues to hold yours in a firm grip. She scans your face, observing you closely.
"I can see why Wanda is so taken with you," she says with a small smile, though there's something else brewing behind her eyes.
You look past her to Wanda. Her eyes are wide, her face pale, like she's been caught in a terrible lie.
But Natasha knows about you. Wanda's talked to her about you.
You look back at Natasha. She doesn't look angry. Rather, she looks down at you with pity in her eyes, her lips pulled downward. The betrayal you expect to see on her face, replaced by something else entirely, sends your mind into a blur.
"What…" you start, your voice barely a whisper.
What did you just get yourself into?
—
A/N: *laughs nervously* a bit morally ambiguous here huh? i was going to make it a bit spicier, but i felt like it was a waste of the concept to rush it. idk if i'm going to leave this as a one-shot or make it into a miniseries of sorts. let me know what you think ♡
summary: a stressful day pulls you back into your own hyper-independence. luckily, you have two unwavering dominants at your side to lovingly remind you of your role.
authors note: part one is hereee! so, so excited for this au, you have no idea. i’ve noticed my writing has been wanting to lean much more into the softness and vulnerability that can come with being a submissive. kink and smut will still be intermingled with all of this, but i hope you all still enjoy some slower-paced, emotional fluffiness <3 this is not proofread. men & minors dni.
content warnings: age gap relationship, bdsm dynamics, emotional confrontation, guilt, crying, consensual punishment, spanking, aftercare
to be carried: masterlist
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you stir the batter in the bowl more vigorously than before. this was the third time you had tried to perfect the consistency. it either had lumps impossible to beat, or was too runny to pour onto the hot skillet. normally, pancake batter wouldn’t hold so much importance, but today, you needed this one thing to go right.
last night, you’d been tossing and turning through most of the evening. when the sun started to peak through the curtains of your bedroom, you sighed and quietly slipped out of bed, abandoning all hope of feeling rested.
today, your boss’s boss and several colleagues were visiting the office. as office manager, any shortcomings from your team had a way of becoming your responsibility. the thought alone made your stomach curl. handling failure has never been one of your strengths.
lost in thought, your whisk scraping loudly against the porcelain bowl, you accidentally splash yourself with some of the batter. you hardly notice as you stare straight ahead out the glass window in the kitchen. bacon sizzling on the stove next to you pops in protest, being left on one side for too long.
“shit.” you mutter to yourself, setting the bowl to the side. you grab a pair of tongs, flipping the pieces of bacon you had haphazardly lined the pan with. you scrub a hand over your face, trying to take a deep, regulating breath.
“i see my busy bee is already buzzing this morning.” you hear a voice, still raspy from sleep, ring from the entryway to the kitchen. you turn, your face a little flushed as you’re faced with your favorite pair of sage green eyes.
“i’m sorry, did i wake you?” you ask. suddenly, you feel a little self conscious about the mess coloring the counters. not to mention, you’re sure your face is a clear reflection of your current state.
“yes, but i don’t mind.” wanda shuffles closer to you when you make no move to close the gap. her hands find your waist with easy recollection. she holds you steady—you didn’t realize your body was nearly vibrating before. her thumbs stroke you through your pajama shirt. you look at her, feeling something tug in your chest at the way she looks at you. she studies you carefully. you try to mask the worry and stress on your face, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“you know..” wanda starts, reaching up to wipe away some wayward flour that was caked onto your cheeks and chin. “breakfast is usually my job.” her hand returns to your waist, pulling you an inch closer. you exhale shakily. something about the warmth of her body pulls you from your thoughts.
“i like to do it sometimes.” you insist, reaching behind you for a cup meant to pour the pancake batter onto the pan. wanda regards you for a moment and then releases your waist. she grabs the cup from your unsuspecting hands.
“i’ll help.” she says, and the way she says it leaves no room for argument. she steps around you, taking your place in front of the stove. you stare at her back, swaying on your toes.
“wanda, you really don’t need to help.” you step closer so you’re shoulder to shoulder.
“and you don’t need to make breakfast. sometimes we do things we don’t have to do.” she pours generous sized circles of batter onto the heated pan. they sizzle, smoke rising off them. she reaches for the temperature knob, turning the heat down.
you exhale through your nose and step aside, bumping your shoulder lightly against wanda’s before reaching for the coffee mugs instead.
“do you think ‘tasha will be up soon?” you ask as you place a coffee pod into the machine. you’re the only one who uses the flavored pods—wanda and natasha prefer the plain coffee grounds.
“she was starting to wake up when i left the room.” wanda replies, flipping the pancakes. you nod, getting a third mug out of the cabinet.
as if on cue, you hear natasha’s footsteps coming down the hall, always louder when her body is heavy with sleepiness.
“it’s 6AM.” natasha grumbles, her eyes squint to adjust to both the sun streaming through the open window and the kitchen lights you had turned on when you first started making breakfast. she looks so soft standing there that guilt tugs at your chest for waking them both.
“the sun is coming up?” you offer, your shoulders shrugging. she can read the guilt creeping into your expression. she scrubs her hands over her tired face.
“come here.” she holds her hands out in front of her. you abandon your spot in front of the coffee maker, padding into her open arms. she gathers you against her with the same practiced familiarity as wanda. the embrace is heavier though, drawing you closer.
“you were tossing and turning most of the night. you wanna talk about it?” her hands glide lower down your back, her hands warm even through your pajamas.
you shake your head. “no, i’m okay. or i will be later …maybe.” you shrug. you look off to the side, suddenly finding a spot on your wrist very interesting.
you feel her hands tighten around your hips until you’re suddenly being lifted into the air, your bum now resting against the cold granite top counter. you shiver at the unexpected temperature difference. you cross your ankles, but natasha steps between your legs before you can, her palms resting flat against your bare thighs.
“you’re not wiggling out of this that easily, little bee.” her voice is firm, but there’s a softness to her eyes that tells you she’s not actually upset. “you’re stressed about the people visiting your work today.” it’s not a question. you frown, squirming under her close observation. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?” her finger gently pokes at your forehead.
you look at natasha through your lashes, your eyes darting to wanda who still has her back to you as she wraps up breakfast. you watch her plate the food and your stomach almost turns at the sight. you’re really not hungry. making breakfast had simply been a distraction.
“(y/n).” natasha calls your attention back to her. your eyes find her emerald green ones. you frown deeper, your posture falling.
“i don’t know… i’m just stressed. what if i fail? what if i’m held accountable for something i didn’t do wrong, but my team did? you know my boss is a total asshole and he always makes me feel stupid—like nothing i do is good enough. i just really don’t want to be reminded of that today.” you exhale forcefully when you finish. your body is tense with the confession.
natasha reaches up to cradle your face with gentle, yet firm hands. “hey, listen to me.” she doesn’t continue until she can tell you’re really listening to her. it takes a few beats.
“it’s going to be okay—really. you’ve been doing a very good job about helping your team stay in line. plus, they all love you. i’m sure they’re just as eager to perform well today for your guests as you are to please them.” she speaks with such a surety that you almost internalize her words. you think over them for a second, and then your boss’s face flashes into your mind. you sigh, eyes closing, shoulders falling again.
“natasha’s right, (y/n). you have nothing to worry about. you’ll see later tonight once this is all over with.” wanda chimes in, sliding your refillable water bottle over to you. you don’t reach for it.
“i want it to be over with now.” you groan stubbornly. it’s so petulant sounding, it has both of them chuckling softly despite themselves.
“i know, sweet girl. it’ll be okay.” wanda assures, standing next to her wife now. “for now, let’s try and get some food in that tummy. then after we can talk about it a little more before sending you off to work.”
—
“hey, (y/n), did you grab yesterday’s report off the printer?” your coworker kate asks. she was basically your unofficial assistant, always running around with you, willing to tackle whatever task you needed to take down. you were grateful for someone like her. sometimes she was the only thing keeping you sane throughout the work day.
“yep. first thing i did when i walked in this morning.” you nod your head, your fingers vigorously typing away at the keyboard in front of you. kate lingers in the doorway to your office, rocking back on her heels.
“what’re you typing up?” she asks curiously, stepping into the room.
“notes i forgot to add to yesterday’s report.” you mumble, eyes not even sparing a blink until you had the revised version ready to go. your “special” guests were due to arrive any moment now. you needed this done.
your phone buzzes next to you on your desk. your eyes don’t even glance in that direction. kate, being the nosy thing she is, steps closer, looking at your lit up phone screen.
“it’s natasha!” she declares cheerily. she was particularly supportive of your throuple relationship. she was also the only one in the office that really knew. she steps closer, getting a better look at the text before the screen goes dark. “she asking if you got to work okay.” she reads, taking a step back.
“shit.” you mutter, your hand on the mouse as you navigate to the print button. “i’m supposed to text them when i get to work. making sure i’m safe and all that.” you click on the print button. “i’ll text her back later.”
before you can think about it any longer, someone calls your name from the conference room.
—
“jesus christ, they were intense.” steve comments when your whole team is huddled together in the break room at the end of the work day.
your visitors had come and gone, all without rattling the office too much. everyone was on their best behavior, which you were very grateful for. even steve and bucky seemed to keep their obnoxious inside jokes to a minimum around prying ears.
“i’ll say.” you agree, smoothing a hand over your hair.
“i’m glad that’s over with.” kate comments, clutching her water bottle close to her chest with two hands. “this one has been extra stressed more than normal for weeks.” she jabs a finger in your direction, her eyes light with her teasing comment. your whole team chuckles softly at your expense. you roll your eyes.
“okay, yeah, yeah, yeah. laugh it up. they could have had my ass if they found anything wrong today.” you try to defend yourself, but you can’t hide the smile threatening to stretch across your face. it was such a relief now that they were gone.
“oh, please, (y/n), you’re the best of us. the only reason tony gives you shit is because he’s probably threatened by you,” carol chimes in. you snort at her comment.
“threatened? please. like i’d want his job.” you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. you pick it up without thinking too much about it. it’s from wanda.
We haven’t heard anything from you today. Did everything go okay at work?
you curse under your breath. you forgot to text both of them all day today. you know their expectation is at least one check-in. you quickly type out a brief response as the rest of your team talks amongst themselves.
went great. talk more about it a little later.
you hit send, shoving your phone back into your pocket.
“ready to go, everyone?” you ask, gathering your personal items you had set on a little table. your water bottle feels heavier than it should at the end of the day. you can’t remember taking a single sip.
kate walks you to your car once the rest of your team parts ways. “proud of you, chica. everything went amazing today.” she compliments as you round the drivers side of your car.
“couldn’t of done it without you katie girl.”
—
the house is quiet when you step inside. you shuck off your shoes, placing your car keys on a small table under a mirror that hangs adjacent to the front door.
the house feels still without wanda or natasha. they must have gotten called into the office for the day. you guessed they would be home in a little bit, but for now it was just you in the empty space. you place your empty water bottle on the kitchen counter. it waits there, beads of condensation trailing lazily down its sides. it sat there almost as full as it had been that morning. your stomach twists at the realization of disregarding yet another rule today. it wasn’t on purpose.
you stare at it for a moment longer before picking the bottle back up to take a small sip. you still didn’t feel very thirsty. you set it back down, leaving it to sit alone on the edge of the counter while you head for the couch in the living room.
the soft cushions envelop you as soon as you sit down, and you sigh heavily. more silence surrounds you as you lean back against the cushions, your eyes fixed on a random spot on the ceiling. your hands are clasped over your stomach, fingers tapping back and forth absentmindedly. you wait for the relief you’d been promising yourself all day.
it never comes.
you’re unsure how many minutes have passed when you hear the soft hum of the garage door opening through the walls. you sit up at once, a soft smile on your lips you didn’t even realize is there.
they’re home.
voices drift in from the entryway and you can feel your body relax at the sound. you glance towards the walkway, your eyes landing on your water bottle perched on the kitchen countertop. evidence. you look away before either of them can follow your gaze.
natasha rounds the corner first, her expression warm as her eyes find you. “hi, honeybee.” you’re already crossing the room before she can reach for you. her embrace eases an ache you’d been carrying all day. “hi.” you mumble into her shoulder, your arms wrapped tightly around her waist. she presses her lips to the top of your head, lingering there before she feels you loosen your arms to greet her wife.
wanda smiles warmly, her gaze taking in your small frame. she pecks your lips before you can bury your face into her neck, her arms wrapping around you automatically. you inhale her scent, the action just as comforting as her arms around you. she sways back and forth just a little as you linger in her arms.
“what do you say we make dinner?” wanda murmurs next to your ear after another beat of silence. you nod into her neck, loosening your grasp as you step back from the embrace.
the three of you moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. dinner was made, plates were set and you were all in your respective seats before you knew it.
“i wanna hear all about your special visitors today. how did it go?” wanda asks as she cuts into her steak.
“it actually went really well.” you start, smiling a bit as you recall your surprisingly successful day. “kate was a huge help. she reminded me to calm down whenever i was getting a little too stressed out. steve too. he kept trying to make me laugh. i was able to share my reports without forgetting key things or stumbling over my words. it almost went too well. like i was waiting for the other shoe to drop the whole time,” you stab a piece of steamed broccoli with your fork, popping it into your mouth when you finish your sentence.
“i’m not surprised to hear that it went well. i knew it would.” natasha says. you can hear a twinge of pride in her voice.
“we’re very proud of you, little love.” wanda places her hand over yours, giving it an affectionate squeeze. you glow under her praise, your stomach fluttering at both the gesture and her words.
“thank you.” you reply in a soft tone, your gaze falling towards your plate as you smile gently.
forks and knives clank against plates as you all enjoy your food. you reach for your water that natasha had placed in front of you when you first sat down. she hadn’t said anything about it being full, and neither did wanda. perhaps they forgot to mention it.
“how was work for you guys?” you ask before you take a drink. they recall their day, which sounded like it was just as successful as yours had been. the call into work had been unexpected, but they were able to smooth all the ruffled feathers. they’ve always been good at that.
after you were all done eating, the three of you work together to clean up. wanda stood at the sink, washing the dishes while natasha wiped off counters and you put away the leftover food.
you open the fridge, setting the tupperware of steamed vegetables on the top shelf.
wanda becomes more quiet, her movements slowing as she scrubs each plate before carefully placing it in the dishwasher. natasha doesn’t ask any more questions or spark up a new conversation as you all work together. she doesn’t glance at you even as she can feel you watching her, instead turning to wipe down the table.
you linger where you are, eyes darting between them. the silence makes your belly curl.
you forgot to text them. only after being texted multiple times did you reply, and even then, it was very brief. you also had neglected your water almost all day. the expectation was at least one gone by the time you got home.
your disobedience wasn’t intentional, just small actions you told yourself you’d eventually get to and then never did.
you watch wanda place the last dish into the dishwasher. her back is still to you as she dries her hands. she uses the same small towel to dry splashes of water that had gotten onto the counter surrounding the sink.
“little bee?” natasha’s voice cuts into the silence. your eyes dart to where she stands several feet away. “can we talk for a minute?”
the knot in your belly tightens, but you nod regardless. subconsciously, your legs carry you over to the living room couch. you sit in the middle of the long sofa, a practiced routine as wanda and natasha assume their spots on either side of you.
you stare at your hands in your lap. wanda curls one leg under the other as she faces you, the other hanging off the end of the couch. natasha sits with both her feet flat on the floor, her torso twisted to face you. silence settles over the three of you for a long moment.
“bee, look at me.” wanda says gently. she doesn’t reach for you yet. you lift your head, sage green eyes boring into yours with a softness you’re not sure made you feel better or worse. “did you drink your water today? or was what we saw from when i filled it this morning?” they’re both almost positive it was the latter, but she wanted to double check just in case.
“from this morning.” you mumble, eyes falling back to your lap. this wasn’t the first time this had happened. you hear natasha exhale through her nose beside you. it’s quiet for another few beats.
“this is becoming a pattern, isn’t it?” wanda still speaks gently. the words echo in your mind. memories of other instances you’ve neglected the small tasks begin to run through your mind.
“i don’t mean to do it.” you whisper, your fingers fidgeting with the hair tie you always kept on your wrist.
“we know.” wanda replies. “but it's still happening.”
more silence washes over the room. it’s deafening. the knot in your stomach twists even more.
“none of this is about the water bottle.” natasha speaks, her words echoing in your right ear.
“the water isn’t important because we want you hydrated. it’s important because we asked you to take care of yourself.” she adds, her voice even, without a trace of harshness.
“when you don’t, you tell yourself you’ll do it later. later becomes tomorrow. tomorrow becomes next week. eventually your needs become the last thing on your list.” your shoulders fall when wanda speaks again. her words begin to resonate as you listen to them, almost as if she’s painting the full picture of which you’ve never fully looked at before.
“i… i guess it’s just a habit. it’s not on purpose.” your defense is weak, but you have nothing else to offer but the honest truth.
“we know, honey.” wanda soothes.
“intent explains behavior. it doesn’t erase the impact of it.” natasha adds. you feel tears begin to prick your eyes, your cheeks growing warm. it’s silent for another couple seconds.
“this morning you didn’t let me make breakfast.” wanda says. you glance up at her for the first time in several minutes. you’re slightly confused at why she brings it up.
“today you wouldn’t let yourself drink water.” she continues. she pauses a moment, letting it sit there before going on. “you let us hold you when it’s easy. when you’re exhausted or falling apart..” another small pause. “but the little moments before that…you decide you can carry those alone.” a tear rolls down your cheek you didn’t realize was balancing on your lower lid. the weight of what they’re saying begins to wash over you.
you sniff, the clock ticking on the wall the only other sound in the room.
“this dynamic doesn’t work unless you allow us to take care of you. we can’t carry something you won't hand to us.” natasha speaks again. you can’t look at either of them, your vision suddenly blurry as more unshed tears brim in your eyes. you twist the hair elastic around your fingers with trembling hands.
“i didn’t really realize it looked like that.” your voice cracks at the end, another tear slipping down your cheek.
“we know.” they both say in unison.
they don’t fill the gaps of silence as the three of you sit there. wanda watches your face carefully as the realization washes over you in waves. neither of them rush to comfort you, instead letting you linger in the silence. when your shoulders begin to shake and the hair tie slips from your fingers, natasha places a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. wanda lifts your chin, tilting your face towards her. you blink, causing a couple more silent tears to fall. she wipes them away with her thumbs, cradling your face with tender hands.
“we’re not mad, little bee.” she assures, stroking your cheeks until your eyes finally meet hers.
“we’re very proud of you for hearing us.” her gentle praise causes warmth to bloom in your chest despite everything else.
you sniffle, blinking away the rest of your tears. natasha reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, handing the tissue to wanda. she gently wipes away the salty tears, running the tissue under your nose that was getting a little runny. you exhale slowly through your mouth, letting the emotion run through you.
natasha leans forward, her face coming into your peripheral vision. she squeezes your thigh again, a silent call for you to look at her. your eyes lift to her gaze without much thought.
“understanding why this happened doesn’t mean we skip our responsibilities.” she says.
you cast your eyes back down to your lap.
“i know…” you say, resigned.
“do you understand why there still needs to be accountability?” she asks.
you nod.
“can you tell us why?” she presses gently.
“because if we only talked about it…” you swallow before continuing, “i’d probably tell myself i’ll do better,” you exhale shakily, “and then i’d do the same thing over again.”
“exactly.” natasha reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear before lifting your chin.
“we still love you very much.” she reassures, her eyes are tender but firm, conveying the weight of her words. your lip juts into a pout without consciously thinking about it, the softness of the moment almost overwhelming.
there’s some more silence as you hold her gaze before she speaks again.
“stand up for me, baby love.” you stand on slightly shaky legs, turning slowly until you’re standing facing her. her hands find the button of your pants, fingers pinching to undo it before she slides down your zipper. it echoes in the otherwise quiet room. your heart begins to race in anticipation.
she peels your pants down your legs, and you place a hand on your shoulder to steady yourself as you step out of them. she takes her time to fold them carefully before setting them aside.
“com’ere.” she murmurs gently, holding her hands out. she helps to guide your body down into her lap. your head rests comfortably in wanda’s lap, propped up by your folded arms while your lower half is draped across natasha’s. you exhale shakily as natasha hooks her fingers into your underwear, carefully shimmying them off your hips until they’re bunched at your thighs. you shiver at the new exposure, feeling the cool air on your legs.
“you don’t need to count, little bee. just lie your head there in mommy’s lap and feel.” she smooths a palm over your bare asscheeks. wanda runs a hand down your hair at the same time.
you nod when natasha doesn’t continue, figuring she was waiting for your acknowledgment.
your body tenses slightly as you lie there in anticipation. you flinch when her hand comes down for the first time. the first always felt like a shock to your system.
she rubs out the sting and then hits you in the same place. your asscheek begins to bloom with heat, the weight of her hand heavy against your sensitive skin.
her palm comes down on the other cheek. this time, she doesn’t soothe the sting before hitting you again.
she builds a predictable rhythm, careful not to spank you in the same spot too many times without rubbing your increasingly sensitive backside.
the more she hits, the more inflamed your skin becomes, each one hurting more than the last. tears begin to prick your eyes again.
another slap lands in the spot where your buttcheek and thigh meet, the sensation causing your whole body to jerk. she spanks you there twice, a sob ripping up from your throat. your fingers curl around the material of wanda’s pants, your knuckles turning white from how firmly you were grasping on.
“that’s it, honey. let it all out.” wanda encourages as her nails gently scratch along your back.
natasha doesn’t let up, maintaining her rhythm until she can see the visible shake of your shoulders—like the weight finally lifting off of them.
“there we go, baby. just feel.” natasha croons, another smack landing on your left asscheek. she soothes it this time.
“doesn’t it feel good to let us take care of you?” natasha murmurs, hand coming down on your right cheek again. you sob, nodding your head against wanda’s leg.
you can feel when the last of the tension dissipates from your body.
your weight suddenly feels heavier in their laps as your body fully surrenders to them. you even feel it in your mind; the thoughts quieting, the pressure to carry everything all on your own fading into nothing.
natasha spanks you twice more, sealing the end of your consequence. your whole body shakes with sobs. the release feels euphoric.
your limbs are heavy as wanda carefully gathers you until you’re sitting in her lap, your body pulled tightly against her as her arms wrap around you. she doesn’t shush you, simply rocking you back and forth and stroking along your spine as you ride out the emotion.
you’re unsure how much time passes as she sways you back and forth or when you finally stop crying.
it’s not until your sobs die down and turn into sniffles that you finally lift your face from where it was buried in wanda’s neck.
you glance around you, slightly disoriented as you sway in her lap. your cheeks are pink and tear stained, eyes puffy from all the crying, but you feel lighter than you’ve felt in weeks.
“there’s my little honeybee.” wanda cradles your face in her hands. her green eyes are endlessly soft, a gentle smile on her face. you sniffle, her hands wiping away the wetness on your cheeks.
natasha appears in your vision, sitting closely next to her wife. she’s holding a bottle of water.
she smiles, wanda chuckling affectionately when you lean forward and your lips part, like you’re waiting expectantly.
natasha unscrews the cap, bringing it to your lips and carefully tipping it back. you swallow the liquid easily, suddenly feeling very thirsty after everything that just happened. when you pull back, natasha pulls the bottle away, screwing the cap back on.
“you did so good, baby.” she praises, caressing your cheek.
“so good.” wanda echoes.
your mind is hazy, full of nothing but the warm fuzziness of your submission. you look between both of them with glossy eyes.
“next time, we’ll carry it together.” wanda says, hands holding firmly to your hips in a grounding manner.
“together.” you nod, the word barely above a whisper.
summary: sometimes letting go is harder than holding on. when two married dominants quietly dismantle the life you’ve spent years building around self-reliance, you’re forced to decide whether being cared for is as terrifying as it feels, or as freeing as they’ve promised.
au/background: you’ve always known what submission was. wanting it has never been a problem—but letting someone have it was. years of taking care of yourself have made independence feel like the safest route to life. then comes wanda and natasha—married dominants who don’t expect perfection, only honesty, patience, and a willingness to meet them halfway.
this series will start in an already established relationship through snapshots of time. anything from quiet moments, difficult conversations, gentle (or not so gentle) lessons that come with learning trust, and allowing yourself to be cared for.
authors note: welcome to my newest wandanat au <3 i’m very, very excited for this one. we talk about submission a lot, but something i don’t think we highlight much is the struggle sometimes to fully let go and let someone hold us. this au will be dedicated to moments with softer dominance (though there will still be strict & hard moments as well) and all around healthy dynamics.
warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady! wanda (32), mommy kink, yearning, fluff, smut, dommy wanda, fingering, hint of cunnilingus, dirty talk, horny thoughts, angst, mention of abuse, mentions of assault, mentions of the word suicide, slight injury, death. minors, DNI.
a/n: this chapter took longer than expected, but i didn't want to rush the goodbye to this story. i hope you enjoy the finale as much as i did writing it. this one's close to my heart. happy reading :) previous chapters linked up above. - xo, saph.
agatha’s neck strained as she looked up at the towering building, and then, as she eyed the large letter m that displayed itself proudly on the front of the high-rise, a shudder ran through her.
whether it was caused by the daunting feeling of something so huge looming over her or the gust of wind that picked up and blew against the back of her neck, the brunette was unsure. but… what she did know was that she had come to this building with a purpose: to try to protect you.
so, as agatha removed her hands from her coat pockets, she wormed her way through the swarm of strangers who rushed past her on the pavement and stalked towards the entrance until she was in front of two glass doors.
a right hand reached for one of the solid brass silver pull handles, and with the metal feeling icier than her palm could handle, she rushed inside.
“evening, ma’am.”
with her hands smoothing her jacket, agatha raised her head to be greeted by a tall man in a black suit and an earpiece. he stepped towards her from behind an access-control barrier, and she couldn’t help but look back and forth between the electronic sensor and the man’s appearance.
“oh my,” agatha chukled, albeit awkwardly. her hands moved to tidy her wind-swept brown hair, and with a curious tilt of her head, she said, “you look like men in black.”
the security guard, who seemed unfazed by the comparison, took another step forward and shot her a soft smile. “how can i help you?” he asked, and when the words left his lips, agatha paused.
a moment of doubt settled in her chest along with the feeling that this somehow felt like a betrayal to you… like she was going behind your back.
but, with the reminder that trouble was in your life, she shoved away the saddening feeling and smiled - a little tightly - at the man. “i’m here to see miss maximoff,” she replied.
“do you have an appointment?”
“no…” agatha drawled. “though, and i’m sure you’ve heard this before, i don’t need one.”
the security guard tutted as he stepped back from the sensor. “i’m sorry, ma’am, but without an appointment, i’m afraid there’s nothing i can do.”
“you don’t understand i-”
“i understand completely, but it’s protocol and policy…” his eyes glanced to the security barrier in front of him.
agatha followed his gaze and looked at the electronic gate that separated her from wanda.
she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as freely walking in, finding her office floor and talking to her. no, with a stature like the redhead’s, she’d of course have security during work hours.
but agatha was determined, whether she needed an appointment or not, so with a rise and fall of her shoulders, she told herself to remain steadfast. “that being said, it’s important that i see her,” agatha maintained, and with a movement towards the split-half doors that remained locked, her eyes returned to the man’s. “if you could please-”
“ma’am,” he interrupted, and with a soft sigh, he stepped back once more. “i’m not even sure if miss maximoff is in the building right now. you may be wasting your time…”
“she has to be,” agatha declared, her eyebrows creasing in slight frustration. she wasn’t a simpleton, and with a phone call to your landline a couple of hours prior, agatha had eventually, and casually, broached the question of whether you were spending the day with wanda. to the brunette’s relief, you had said you wouldn’t be and stated that wanda would be in the office for most of the day. but now… did you lie to her? agatha shook her head at the thought. “can you check? i was told she would be.”
“no can do, i’m sorry.”
“look!” agatha spoke, her voice louder than intended, and she took a step closer until the barrier pressed against her hips. “i- you’ve got to help me out here, man… i cannot begin to explain how important it is that i see wanda.”
“agatha?”
the brunette’s eyes widened upon hearing the familiar voice, and with a snap of her head to the left, she watched the redhead stalk over to the barrier, papers stacked in the crook of an arm and a puzzled look on her face.
“wanda!” agatha chorused, and if she wasn’t so thankful for the chance of the redhead walking through the foyer, she would have shot the security guard a look of vindication.
but, instead of acting on the petty feeling, agatha’s eyes stayed focused on the redhead as wanda motioned for the man to let her through.
when the machine chimed and a green light lit up, the split-half doors opened, allowing agatha to enter. with a glance at the man, she watched as wanda thanked the security guard, and then she turned on her heels.
agatha immediately followed the redhead, and as her eyes roamed over her form, agatha wondered how much the maroon tailored suit she wore cost her. she looked expensive.
“what can i do for you agatha?” wanda asked, her heels clicking hard against the tiled floor as she strode past a sitting area and towards the back of the foyer, where three lifts were located.
agatha persisted with the pace of the businesswoman, who was surprisingly brisk considering the type of shoe she wore, and, as they drew closer to the section with lifts, she felt a surge of panic at realising that wanda was clearly too busy and most likely heading back to her office floor.
“well i…” there were people all around, and she knew this conversation couldn’t happen here. “i need to talk to you,” agatha replied, her steps finally slowing as did wanda’s.
the redhead shot her a look, and with furrowed eyebrows, she pushed one of the connected buttons. “i will say, you visiting here was foreboding enough. but… i’m all ears.”
the lift in the middle sounded as it began to descend to the ground floor, and agatha felt a little ashamed at not thinking about what wanda might have assumed when she stepped through those doors and stressed that she needed to see her.
but, instead of apologising, which rested on the tip of her tongue, agatha moved a hand to wanda’s right elbow. “is there somewhere private we could go?”
wanda’s eyebrows weren’t furrowed anymore, but she did arch one as she looked down at the contact. “you grow more intriguing by the minute, agatha.” the remark made the brunette return the hand by her side, and before she could utter another response, wanda spoke again. “look, i-” she glanced at the analogue clock that hung above the middle lift, “you’ve caught me at a bad time. i have back-to-back meetings all day, and i’m actually running behind for one now.”
there was no way agatha could let the day pass and end without explaining the interaction she’d had the night prior. “but it’s about victor.”
the redhead whirled to agatha, and as a loud ding sounded, the doors opened, and before the brunette knew it, she was being pulled by her forearm and into the empty space of the lift.
“jesus…” agatha muttered. her thick hair swayed in front of her face, and as she felt like she’d been whiplashed, she heard the lift doors close behind her. “you are surprisingly strong.”
“what do you mean, it’s about victor?” wanda whispered harshly, ignoring the comment, and with her free hand, she pressed the button to the sixteenth floor before facing the brunette again.
agatha tried not to think too deeply about the fact that they were about to ascend close to the top floor of the building, and with the daunting feeling kicking in as the lift started to move, her right hand grabbed the handrail that travelled around the walls. “he visited the club last night.”
wanda’s face hardened, and with a flare of her nostrils, her eye contact with agatha broke as she looked at the digital screen in the lift, which displayed the floor number; she turned her gaze too, watching as it counted up.
one.
two.
“what did he say?” wanda asked lowly. agatha looked at her again, and when the redhead turned to face her, the brunette caught sight of green eyes brimming with tears.
“he…” the daunting feeling of travelling higher was subdued by the staggering urge to check on wanda, and with her grip on the handle loosening, agatha stepped closer to the woman before her, and placed a comforting hand on her bicep. “he said a lot of things.” agatha answered, and the look on wanda’s face made her heart ache. “he knows my doorman’s name, he knows my name, he knows…” the words died on agatha’s lips. the very ones she had come to utter. but now that she was here and about to voice them out loud, it made her want to cry and throw up all at the same time. “he knows…” agatha tried again, her hand on wanda’s arm falling back to her side.
the way the brunette struggled to finish her sentence made wanda crinkle the stack of papers in the crook of her arm, and as it resounded in the space, she took a deep breath. “he knows who she is, doesn’t he?”
agatha could only nod. she briefly glanced at the lift's display again as she felt the familiar feeling of her throat tighten. this was a fear being made real for her; the promise to your mother potentially being broken. the brunette took a step back, and her palm found the handrail again.
five.
six.
a brief silence filled the space, and then, as wanda’s free hand pressed another button, this one for the eighteenth floor, the sound of wanda receiving a phone call reverberated in the lift.
it didn’t take long for her to reach into the right pocket of her maroon trousers, and with a soft “oh” falling from wanda’s lips, she cleared her throat before putting the phone to her ear. “hi darling,” the redhead greeted.
agatha blinked at that. what were the chances? she thought.
wanda hummed into the phone. “work is going well,” she said, and with green eyes landing on her face, agatha felt the unnecessary need to hold her breath. you couldn’t know she had visited today… what if wanda tells you that she is looking at me as you speak? “oh, you know the usual, meetings upon meetings today….” wanda’s gaze turned from the brunette's face, clearly feeling the familiar guilt from leaving an important detail out, and she looked at the digital screen again.
nine.
ten.
“that’s a nice idea.” wanda spoke again after a moment as she began to smile. “i think i’ll be back by then; if not, i’ll be slightly late.” turning back to face agatha, she continued. “something has come up… i know, honey. okay, i’ll see you later.”
agatha watched as the redhead ended the call, and with the phone slipping back into her pocket, she quirked an eyebrow at wanda. “you didn’t tell her?” she asked hesitantly, a hint of gratefulness in her tone.
adjusting the stack of papers in the crook of her arm, she shook her head. “no, y/n doesn’t-” wanda looked down at her heels briefly. “she seems less anxious, especially this past week, and…” she shook her head slightly and with a look back to the digital display, wanda continued. “she doesn’t need to know just yet.”
agatha wholeheartedly agreed, and she followed her gaze. with a wishful guess that they were almost finished in what felt like riding the box of death, she almost groaned at seeing what floor they were on.
twelve.
thirteen.
“apart from her name,” wanda started, looking back at the brunette. “what else did he say?”
the act of reiterating his words made her feel nauseous all over again, and with her grip on the handrail hardening, she gazed back at the display.
fourteen.
“that he’s been watching you two,” agatha stated, turning to the businesswoman again. “when i ordered him to leave, he just looked at me like…” and with a knowing gaze from wanda, a look of ‘he enjoyed it, didn’t he?’ agatha let the sentence linger in the air. if anyone could imagine what victor had been like, the redhead was the person to do it. “he told me that you would come back to him eventually.”
wanda shook her head in disbelief, and her attention was brought to the digital display when the lift came to a stop. agatha looked too as another ding sounded.
sixteen.
wanda didn’t move, nor look at the brunette, and as she watched the doors linger wide-open, agatha wondered what she was doing. why had she pressed eighteen?
the lift doors closed, and with her hand gripping the rail harder, she cleared her throat, “then he called y/n a whore and a problem.” silence filled the space again, and agatha’s heart started to beat wildly in her chest as it continued to ascend. “i… i slapped him, wanda.”
the redhead’s eyes remained on the screen, and agatha wondered if she had just broken the woman.
then, with bated breath and a passing thought that she wished she had the magic to read wanda’s mind, the brunette watched her finally look away from the display.
seventeen.
“then what?” is all she asked, her voice low and bitter. as wanda’s jaw tightened and her eyes looked back at agatha, hard and unblinking, her heels clicked twice as she moved to stand between the lift doors; ready and waiting.
with a shaky exhale, the brunette responded. “then nothing. he left…” agatha ignored the way the woman’s demeanour, which had grown cold, spooked her and instead focused on the gnawing question that lingered in her mind. where are we going?
“he didn’t touch you?”
agatha shook her head. to her surprise, he didn’t, and though she would do it all over again to defend your honour, the brunette was wholly grateful victor hadn’t retaliated.
wanda chuckled sardonically and turned away from the brunette to face the lift’s doors. “well, that’s a first.”
eighteen.
a ding echoed in the lift, and with a faint mechanical hiss sounding, it settled, and the doors opened.
before agatha had the chance to ask wanda, if that meant what she thought it meant, the redhead hightailed it out of the lift. she strode through a sprucewood corridor, and with the doors about to close, agatha hurried to catch up.
“wanda? where are we going?”
“to see my father.”
ᗢ
the door to olek maximoff’s office swung open, and as the redhead stepped through, agatha in tow, she tried to calm her racing thoughts.
ones that ranged from protecting you to ways of ridding victor, and to her astonishment, the question of: if he didn’t hit agatha, then why did he hit me? it was pointless to ruminate on, but it made her want to scream and throw one of her father’s chairs out of the large window that faced away from her as she entered the office.
“oh, my cherub,” olek chirped, his eyes widening. he looked past two bald-suited men who sat in front of his long mahogany desk and grinned at her. “we were just talking about you.”
the term of endearment would usually have made wanda smile, but not even she could force her lips upwards; instead, her hardened face looked at her father, then at the two men who faced away from her. “rob… bradley, i require the room with my father,” wanda announced, “i apologise for the inconvenience.”
It didn’t take more than a few seconds for the two men to rise from their seats, and as agatha stood close to her, she watched as the men bade goodbye to olek and then swiftly left through the door that sounded with a thud as it closed.
“wanda…” her father uttered, his voice a mix of reprovement and surprise as he leaned back in his large leather chair, his eyes glancing to the quiet woman beside her.
“father, please,” wanda hushed, her tone low as she felt herself almost crying abruptly. a sensation of weakness travelled to her knees, and it took everything in her to hold herself upright; she wanted to fall to the floor in exhaustion. the mental load that came along with victor was overbearing, and the only person she knew would help her, as he’d done in the past, was the man before her now. “it’s about him,” she added, wearily.
her father’s face dropped. “what?” olek asked through gritted teeth. “what are you talking about?”
she turned to agatha, and with a motion of her head to the two empty chairs, she forced herself to move; if she could just sit down, then maybe the trembling in her legs would subside.
the brunette followed in her footsteps, and as wanda took the seat to the left, agatha sat beside her.
“i haven’t…” she looked down at her lap, feeling regretful about her lack of sincerity when it came to you. the night of the corporate party, she hadn’t told him what you did for work, and when you spoke the half-truth to her father, wanda let it justify the urge to keep pretending like you had met under different circumstances. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about y/n.”
he quirked an eyebrow out of curiosity, but instead of replying, he nodded for her to continue. one of the many qualities her father had was that he always listened to her first; he was truly the only man who heard her. because despite pietro caring, his witty mouth usually got the best of him…
“she works at a nightclub, yes,” wanda began. “but a specific type...” her head turned right, her eyes landing on the brunette, who was already looking at her. “y/n works for agatha here, at a place named house of harkness,” she looked back to her father, who frowned slightly, still confused. “it’s a strip club.” she declared.
olek’s eyebrows raised, and wanda couldn’t help but notice the way his lips twitched with a small smirk. the sentence was clearly amusing to him, but he leaned forward, now even more confused. “okay,” he drawled, unsure where the conversation was leading to. “continue.”
with a deep rise and fall of her shoulders, the redhead told herself to stay composed as she continued with her explanation. “two months ago, he visited house of harkness,” wanda stated. “i think victor saw a paparazzi photo of us together, and he must have followed the breadcrumbs… when y/n told me what he’d done, i threatened him to leave her alone, and i even mentioned the time you got involved after the annulment but…”
despite the information that was spewing from wanda’s mouth, her father remained remarkably calm and listened closely. “but, what?” he asked.
“but last night, he told agatha that he’d been watching us from a distance, and then he spoke y/n’s name,” the redhead continued, and with a look down at her lap, tears welled in her eyes again. though this time, she couldn’t will them away as she had done in the lift. “but papa, if he-” her throat tightened, and as her vision blurred slightly, she looked back at him. “if he knows her name…” she quavered. then he knows where she lives, she finished in her mind; it had been at the forefront since agatha told her.
a hand touched her right, and as the redhead turned at the contact, agatha was gazing at her with a hard frown. the touch made her feel grounded, and with a clasp of the woman’s hand, wanda felt tears fall down her cheeks. then, with her left hand wiping them away, she said: “i need your help again.”
wanda watched her father and the cogs turning behind his eyes, and if it weren’t for the reality of the situation, she’d be sighing in relief at finally vocalising all of this to him; a weight on her shoulders had been lifted just an inch, but that inch wanted to travel a mile.
olek gazed back at the redhead, and then, without uttering a word, he turned to agatha. this made wanda’s eyes follow his, and the woman beside her darted between her and her father, warily.
“agatha, was it?” he asked, his voice wavering just slightly as anger threatened to break his exterior. “thank you for bringing this information to wanda… but most importantly, to me.” then with the sound of wheels rolling against the wood floor, wanda turned her head to see her father standing. “but i’m afraid our conversation ends here. do you need a ride home? i’d be happy for my driver to escort you.”
wanda knew instantly what her father would want to happen, and agatha could not be around to hear it. as she turned back to the brunette, her lips parting slightly, she knew, for agatha's sake, it was best she left.
with a soft smile, wanda rose from her seat. “i’ll walk you back to the lift.”
agatha glanced to olek, and as she mirrored wanda, she cleared her throat and smoothed out her jacket. “of course, and thank you, but i’ll be fine,” she smiled at him.
she faced wanda once more, and agatha walked with her towards the door and back through the hallway again.
“wanda…” agatha voiced her name hesitantly, and as they both moved closer to the lift, she glimpsed orange hair that covered a part of the woman’s face. “whatever you talk about in there. whatever plan you make, will it be worth… would it not be better to let y/n go?”
the redhead’s pace faltered slightly, and with a frown, she glanced from her view of the lift to agatha. “no, she- that’s exactly what victor wants.” with her left hand raised to press the button to signal the lift, she felt such frustration rumbling in her chest that she was worried about what she was about to say next. “just give me some time,” wanda insisted, and then as the lift’s display blinked with an arrow pointing up, she took a step back. “i can fix this.”
ᗢ
as the sun cascaded in your living room, you sat in front of the tv. the warmth of it was shining across your bare legs, and as you adjusted a stiff-feeling one from under you, you rose from the couch-sofa. you had been watching your favourite show for the past couple of hours whilst you waited for wanda, and with your eyes still on the screen, you stretched.
in only a t-shirt and underwear, it rode up slightly as your arms moved above your head, and as the thought of grabbing a drink passed your mind, you stopped stretching and rounded the couch to step towards your kitchen.
then, with the sound of a key turning in your front door, you turned your head to the left. wanda… you mused with a smile.
you walked towards the space of your open doorway, and as you made your way toward it, you caught a glimpse of the door opening, and red hair swayed into view.
with the sound of shuffling and a frustrated groan falling from wanda’s lips, you frowned and stepped closer. “mommy?” you asked, tentatively, your eyes falling on two black duffel bags in her hands. then as you looked back at the redhead, you frowned even harder at the look on her face.
“wha-” you strode towards her in a panic, and with your hands moving to her cheeks, you chewed on your bottom lip as you examined her. “wanda, what’s the matter?”
“it’s okay,” she whispered, and the dull thud of the bags being dropped to the floor resounded as you continued to gaze at her. her skin was flushed, her eyes were bloodshot and slightly puffy, and she looked beyond uneasy. “it’s okay, you’re right here.” her voice was hoarse, and before you could linger on what she had said, wanda pulled you in for a hug.
the action almost knocked the wind out of you, but you blinked, confused and surprised, and your arms moved around her neck. “of course,” you breathed out after a moment, “i’m right here.”
wanda was silent for a minute, and as you continued to hold her, you heard the intro of your favourite show play in the background as a new episode started. apart from wanda’s slightly laboured breathing, it was the only thing that could be heard throughout your home… minus your heartbeat that thumped loudly in your ears. you were so puzzled and concerned; you didn’t know what to think.
“we need to talk,” wanda murmured against you, and with her body moving out of the hug, her hands moved to grasp yours. “we need to stay somewhere else for a little while.”
your face contorted in confusion, and you took a small step back at the unexpected words. “what do you mean?” you asked.
the redhead’s gaze dropped to the floor for a brief moment, and a look of shame flashed across her face. “i’m sorry…” she sniffled. “victor he…” wanda glanced behind you, and with her eyes landing back on your face, she continued. “let’s go sit down, shall we?”
the disappointing thought that you had just started to feel secure made your bottom lip jut out slightly, and at the mention of his name, a jolt of trepidation shot through you. “what are you- what did he do?” you stammered.
you felt wanda’s hands, which still held yours, squeeze softly. “please, let’s not stand here,” she replied.
with no answer to your question, you frowned impossibly harder and pulled your hands from her hold with another step back. “wanda, tell me.”
the redhead looked down at her empty hands, and as she returned them to her side, the sight of her demeanour stung; hurt, fearful, and most of all surprised. “honey,” she quavered, “don’t be mad at me.”
wanda’s equivocal response made your mind jump into a frenzy, and at the rash thought that victor had seen her today, your posture straightened. “did he do something to you?” you asked, your tone now firm.
“no, he-” wanda shook her head. “there really isn’t an easy way to say this….”
as the redhead explained that agatha had visited her at work and what she had said, you listened attentively, and with each passing second, you could feel dread and anger swirling in your chest like a bad storm.
you couldn’t stay in your doorway anymore, and without thinking, you started to retreat towards the kitchen after wanda had finished.
“y/n, wait,” you heard her utter behind you, her heels clicking against the floor as she followed. “i’m sorry.”
with a shaky breath, you paused near your fridge and spun around to face her. “this is fucking exhausting,” you fumed with a heavy sigh. “i just want you.” a derisive laugh fell from your lips as a seemingly impossible thought came to mind. “will i get that?” you asked, voicing the notion. you gazed down at the tiled floor as you rested your lower back against the kitchen countertop.
“baby,” wanda muttered with a glower, “you already have me.” she slowly stepped closer to you, and her right hand tilted your chin up to look at her. “i-” her eyes glanced down to your lips briefly. “i care about you a lot. do you know that?”
her words and her voice began to muffle the turmoil inside you, and as you gazed at piercing green eyes, you nodded in her hand; you did know. it was written in the way she looked at you, touched you, spoke to you, and embraced you.
“good,” a gentle smile spread across her plump lips. “and though it hasn’t been said yet…” she spoke softly, “it’s you and me, together. girlfriend, partner, or whatever you’d like to call each other.” wanda’s hand moved from your chin to your right cheek, and with her thumb stroking softly against your flushed skin, she continued. “my father and i will fix this, we just need to get away from your place for a little while, okay?”
your heartbeat was in your throat, and you couldn’t think of anything else but wanda’s words: you and me together. girlfriend, partner.
you surged forward, and with a surprised squeak coming from the older woman as your lips connected, you kissed her. wanda melted into it, and with her hand hardening against your cheek slightly, you felt her chest press against yours.
you pulled away from wanda with a smile, and as her hands moved to rest on your hips, her fingers grazing your underwear under your t-shirt, your right hand landed on her bicep, squeezing it softly.
“you and me together. girlfriend, partner. i like that.” your words ghosted over her lips, and a soft laugh came from you when she stole a kiss. you mimicked wanda, and as you pulled away from her mouth once more, you spoke again. “where will we- wait…” your eyebrows furrowed as the latter of wanda’s words hit you. “your father?”
“yes, he…” the redhead wavered, and there was a look on her face that doubted whether or not she should continue. “after the annulment, victor became more troublesome, and one day… my father ensnared him and broke three of his ribs.”
a soft gasp fell from your lips at the unexpected words, ones you could not have guessed wanda would have uttered. “jesus…” you whispered, “and that’s why he left you alone for a while?”
wanda nodded. “yes, until recently.” she glanced down at her heels for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking again. “agatha she… she asked me if the plan would be worthwhile, and if it would be better to let you go instead, but…” wanda’s hand on your hips grew hard. “how could my life be better without you in it?”
your lips parted. “she asked that of you?” you didn’t know whether to be offended or grateful that agatha would do such a thing. it was meddlesome, that much was certain, though without your mother, you knew the brunette had a responsibility to you that you couldn’t deny was there. “agatha’s just-”
“i know,” the redhead interrupted with a smile. “i understand why she’d do that, and i guess if i wasn’t so selfish, i would agree with her. but i need you, y/n,” her nose lightly nuzzled against yours, and then, as her lips lingered, you could feel her breath against your mouth. “i need you,” wanda repeated, her voice just above a whisper.
the redhead’s hands still grasping your hips pulled you closer, and your pelvis was now flush against hers.
you hummed at the sensation, and you felt your stomach backflip at the way wanda spoke those three words so hotly. your hands moved around her neck once more. “say it again, mommy,” you breathed. “please.”
the redhead’s mouth opened into a grin, and her hands on your hips snaked down to palm your ass, and with a soft moan falling from your lips at the touch, you could feel every bit of chaos within you ceasing.
“i need you,” wanda expressed again. her right hand travelled from behind you, and with it moving to your neck, she tilted your head back to create space. “more than anything,” the redhead added, her breath hot against the skin of your neck.
your eyes fluttered closed, and when the flat of wanda’s tongue travelled upwards until the warmth of it touched your jawline, another moan came from you. “i need you too.”
you could feel yourself becoming putty under her touch, but before you could relish the feeling, the redhead stepped back a pace, and her hands moved to your underarms. in a swift and surprising motion, you felt the coolness of your kitchen counter hit your skin as she sat you on top of it. “wanda,” you gasped with a slight giggle escaping you.
“listen to mommy,” the older woman said as her hands moved back to your hips. “this is important.”
with a soft bite on your bottom lip, you nodded at wanda and tried your hardest to focus on what she was about to say, instead of the way her hands felt against your skin and the way your clit throbbed gently against your underwear.
the redhead smiled at you and placed a kiss on your left cheek. “after, i’m going to help you pack what you’ll need, and then i’ll have a car take us to a penthouse i have near my office.”
“okay.” you voiced with another nod, not at all shocked that wanda would have another place than the one you knew of. if you had her millions, you certainly would too. “but, after what?” you asked, bemused.
with a smirk beginning to twitch at wanda’s plump lips, you assumed the answer instantly, and when her hands hardened against your hips and she pulled you to the edge of the countertop, the action concreted the notion you had. a quiet moan fell from your lips whilst you watched in amazement as wanda began to retreat to a kneeling position on the floor.
ᗢ
a breeze passed by the back of your neck, and as you marvelled outward, with your eyes focused on the sunset, you heard the sound of the penthouse’s sliding door open and close from behind you.
the wine glass in your right hand that you had been nursing for the past twenty minutes was almost empty, and with one last gulp, you turned your head around.
“you really enjoy this view, don’t you?”
with your lips turning into a bright smile, you set the empty wine glass on a small table closest to you and watched as wanda walked towards you as you stood on the terraced space before the frameless glass railing.
“it’s amazing,” you replied, looking back to the blood orange sky that highlighted a large cloud that hung over several tall buildings in your view. “i could never grow tired of this.”
wanda giggled as she drew closer to you, and with her arms moving around your waist, she stopped behind you. “i think you’d get more use out of this place than i do.”
“why don’t you sell it?” you asked, pulling your gaze from the sky that you had been looking at every night for the past month and looking down at the redhead’s hands. with her chest pressing against the back of the maroon turtleneck you wore, you hummed and leaned back into her touch. “and buy one that you would use.”
“honestly?” wanda uttered against the back of your head, “this was my safe haven before i bought the house. selling it… i don’t know, i think i like knowing i still have a place that’s hard to get to.” the older woman nuzzled her right cheek against the back of your head, and the warmth that radiated from her made your eyes flutter closed for a brief moment as you relished in it. “it’s not like the paparazzi can get all the way up here.” wanda joked.
or victor… you thought, bitterly; the man who had been in your life for three exhausting months, and with each passing day, you knew he was somewhere on the outside looking in. wanda had since told you that her father had no idea on the man’s whereabouts, and must have realised olek’s hunt to find him.
victor was nowhere to be seen; it was a sickening notion. but… instead of letting the haunting feeling settle within you and ruin the good mood you were in, you turned in wanda’s hold and placed your hands on the back of her neck.
“it’s just you and me, together.” you smiled, your fingers threading through thick red hair that hung over her back.
“girlfriend, partner…” she beamed at you, her green eyes illuminated by the bright sunset. wanda’s hands around your sides shifted, and you felt her fingertips softly crawl up your waist from your hip bones. “mommy’s girl,” she added lowly, and as an involuntary laugh fell from your lips, wanda’s hands ceased their moments before they became fiendish.
you bit your bottom lip as the last of your breathy laugh left you, and as your fingertips scratched softly at the nape of wanda’s neck, you inched yourself forward until you were flush against the front of her.
“god, please don’t say that,” you whinged as you felt your body temperature rise at the nickname. “i’m meeting agatha at the bar on the corner and i don’t want to be late…or show up flustered.”
“no, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” wanda laughed softly, and the playful, devilish smile on her lips made you want to drop your plans and drop to your knees.
you shook your head at her, ignoring the enticing urge. “you’re sure you don’t want to come?” you asked softly. she had kindly declined when you asked her the day before, but you loved having the three of you together; it felt right, and it wouldn’t hurt to double-check with her.
“i’ve got to go catch up on a few things at work,” wanda smiled, “my penance, if you will, for staying in bed with you this morning.” her hand moved from your waist to the small of your back before continuing, “but it’s only four o’clock right now, so if you are still there in a couple of hours, i’ll join you?”
“yes,” you said a little too quickly, and wanda chuckled at your eager response. “if i’m still there... i’ll call you from agatha’s phone?” you replied as a shiver ran through you at another gust of chill that blew across the terrace.
“actually…” wanda began, and her hands slipped away from your back and moved to grab yours from her neck. “i have something for you.”
her right hand interlocked with your left, and as she led you towards the sliding terrace door, you gazed at orange hair with confusion written across your face.
“for me?” you voiced, and as you stepped through the threshold of her penthouse after wanda slid the door open, you watched her close it and turn the rotating lock. “i’m having flashbacks to you presenting my dildo to me,” you tittered.
a look of surprise at your words flashed across wanda’s face, and with a slight flush starting to spread across pale cheeks, you had a feeling she was reminiscing about that night; a common occurrence for you.
“that is safely tucked away,” wanda replied with a wry smile, then with her hand returning to yours again, she continued. “this is something for you only.”
“you’ve just set me up for a perfect vibrator joke,” you retorted with a grin, and like music to your ears, a laugh from the redhead sounded in front of you.
your gaze became curious again as she led you through the open living room and past a set of wooden stairs.
then, with a short right turn, you entered the space of her large kitchen - one you adored vehemently - and you spotted something new placed on the oak island ahead of you.
“wanda?” you voiced, glancing at her before looking back at the shape. “is that a….” you narrowed your eyes slightly, and with the distinct look of a boxed phone in the middle of the oak island, you felt your heart rate pick up.
then, with another glance at wanda, you saw the tentative smile on her face and realised she wasn’t flustered from intimate memories anymore; she was flustered from apprehension.
“i hope you won’t be stubborn with me on this…” wanda faltered, and as you both stopped in front of the island, your eyes shot from the older woman to the oak surface. it was indeed a boxed phone. “and if it helps any,” she continued, “i didn’t buy you this; it’s one i don’t use. but, it works like new, and i got a new sim for it… you don’t even have to use it completely. you should- please keep yours if you want, but this too… i need to be able to know you’re safe.”
as you looked back at wanda, you took in everything she said, and despite what you told her of your obstinate view - until your current phone broke, you wouldn’t replace it- all you could think was the significance behind wanda’s gesture.
“okay,” you breathed out, your lips turning into a smile. “thank you.” you felt your chest whirl with warmth, and after you let go of the redhead’s hand that still held yours, you outstretched it to the box.
“okay…?” wanda asked, perplexed, and a laugh of relief fell from her lips. “that was… easier than I thought. why aren’t you debating me on this?” though wanda looked dubious, you watched as your simple answer caused her apprehensive demeanour to fade.
“i couldn’t be stubborn with something as sweet as this,” you laughed softly at her response, and you slid the new phone closer until it rested in front of you before the oak edge. then, with a slight lean to your right, you kissed wanda’s cheek. “if you want me to have it, i will.”
“i do, very much.” the redhead smiled. “I put my number in there already, so all you need to do is call me later…” she took a step away from you and walked around the opposite side of the kitchen island to the black refrigerator that faced you - one you had marvelled at a month prior when you immediately noticed the ice and liquid dispensers on one of its doors. “I’ll meet you at the bar if you’re still there, or we’ll meet back here, okay?”
“whatever you say, gorgeous.” you beamed as your eyes dropped to the phone, and as you heard wanda open one of the refrigerator doors, you bit back an even bigger smile as you slid the box's top lid off and looked at the phone inside.
ᗢ
the loud clatter of balls scattering around the pool table echoed as you and agatha stood around it, and with you at the end where the headstring was, you watched as two solid numbered balls sank down two different pockets.
you had made a clean break, and with pride swirling around your chest, you rose from your bent position and straightened.
“good one,” agatha smiled opposite you, her eyes on the table as she watched the rest of the balls come to a halt in a widespread position across the red velvet. “but remember, there is a drink on the line… don’t go messing this up.”
you rolled your eyes at this, and as you moved around to the left side of the table to where the white ball had landed, you shot agatha a sceptical look. “i know your game, and i bet my mother did too.”
“oh please,” the brunette chuckled, and as she spun the cue between her right fingers and thumb that she held standing up, agatha briefly shook her head. “she was terrible at this. the amount of times henry and i would play each other because she refused to watch herself lose again…”
“or,” you responded with a laugh, “like mother, like daughter; she refused to be a part of your drink scheme.”
as you looked at the table again, you looked around for possible shots. with your eyes settling on a purple ball with the number four on it close to the top-right corner pocket where agatha stood, you readied your cue in your hands and leaned over again to aim.
“yeah, yeah,” the older woman drawled, “don’t let your mouth ruin this shot.” then you heard her step closer to the table. “i win my drinks fair and square,” she added, and as you raised your head slightly, her left hand, free of the cue, moved to the corner you were aiming for. “aim,” agatha’s index fingers touched the wood around the pocket, “right,” she elogenated, “here.”
“where is a referee when you need one?” you huffed sarcastically, and with your eyes returning to the purple you aimed for, you pulled your cue back and hit the white ball with a bit of power. as it rolled forward and tapped the side of the number four ball, you watched it roll gracefully until it sank into the pocket. “oh my god,” you laughed as you straightened up. “i don’t even need one.”
“i bet if red were here you’d be playing as terribly as your mother did,” agatha retorted, and she retreated a couple of steps from the pool table and turned around to the small wooden table with two chairs that held your drinks.
“my ego would actually be on the line if wanda were here, so i think i’d be playing even better,” you quipped, and with your left hand gripping the cue, you walked around the pool table to reach for your glass. as you sipped the rum and lemonade, you felt the gifted phone in the left back pocket of your black jeans buzz and smiled instantly. “oh, speak of the devil.”
you had yet to install anything on the phone, and the only notification you knew you’d received would be from the redhead herself. so, as you set your drink down on the table, you excitedly reached into your pocket and looked at the lit-up screen.
a soft gasp fell from your lips upon seeing the name wanda had set for herself, and your left hand hardened against the sides of the phone.
mommy: hi darling, how’s it going?
“what’s wrong?” agatha asked, and as you felt her shift closer to you, you pressed the lock button on the phone, and your head shot to the brunette as the display blackened. she looked at you, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, and as agatha parted her lips to speak again, you knew you had to beat her to the punch.
“nothing, sorry i-” you sputtered out, and you propped your pool cue against the edge of the table in front of you. “don’t cheat while i’m gone; i just need to call wanda really quick.”
agatha feigned a quick gasp with a hand against her chest, “how dare you… just wait until it’s my turn.”
ᗢ
with a sigh falling from her lips, wanda blinked at the papers she held before her: an operational budget that she had to look over. then, her phone, which was placed to her right on the desk, shattered the silence on the empty office floor as it rang. wanda tore her eyes away from the numbers she felt like she wasn’t registering and smiled upon seeing a call from you.
eagerly, she reached for her phone and answered before raising it to her left ear. “hi honey!”
“well, hello there,” you pronounced through the phone, “that’s quite a contact name you put for yourself.”
from the tone of your voice, she could tell you were flustered and assumedly frustrated, so as her smile grew wider at the reaction, wanda placed the documents down and spun around in her chair. “oh,” the redhead breathed, “am i mistaken? i could’ve sworn you’ve called me that… several times.”
“wanda,” you whined into her ear.
the sound made her cross her black jean-clad legs as she felt that familiar tingle between them, and she glanced at the digital clock to her right that sat on a wooden table. she couldn’t wait to see you again. how had it only been an hour?
“so,” she grinned, ignoring your response, and she leaned back into the chair, with her right hand moving to the dark leather armrest before she continued. “tell mommy how it’s going.”
“it’s-” you began, and with a sigh sounding through the phone, wanda wished she could magic the view of you: the gifted phone against an ear, looking hot and bothered. “it’s going good,” you spoke again, ”agatha and i are playing pool right now, or we were… but i’m now standing out front.”
“who’s winning?” wanda asked, the smile still on her lips as the conjured image in her mind changed to picturing you laughing and having fun with the brunette.
“so far, me, and i intend to keep it that way,” you laughed softly.
the answer made wanda bite her bottom lip softly; she had no idea, and the newfound knowledge of the skill was attractive to her. “well done, baby,” the redhead uttered, and glanced back at the digital clock to see only a few minutes had passed. “i miss you.”
“mommy,” you whispered into the phone; your hushed tone was laced with yearning. “i miss you too,” you replied, your voice returning to normal volume. then, you paused before speaking again. “how’s work going?”
“it’s going…” wanda chuckled, and as she spun back to face her desk, she looked at the rest of the papers she had yet to read through. “i think i’m the only one left in the building now… except the third floor; they’re notorious for staying after hours.”
“they purposely stay there? doesn’t everybody finish early today?” you asked, a sound of displeasure following it. “surely your father doesn’t pay them that much.”
“you would think,” wanda hummed with a soft chuckle, “some people’s entire lives revolve around work, i guess, but i’m not complaining too much; it’s slightly relieving to know i’m not totally alone in this building.”
“well in that case, i’m glad they are…” you replied. “i’ve got to go back in now, but i can’t wait to see you. be safe, and i’ll call you in an hour?”
wanda smiled. just an hour left, she mused; that’s all she needed, and then she’d be done for the evening. “yes an hour, honey, and i can’t wait to see you too. speak soon.”
ᗢ
as the digital timepiece flashed six o’clock, the redhead sighed as she neatly stacked documents together with a paperclip, and after she placed them to her left on the desk, she rose from her chair.
as she rolled the sleeves up of her black jumper as she stood upright, a muffled clatter outside her office door sounded, and with wanda’s ears pricking at the noise, her eyebrows furrowed with her gaze landing on the closed blinds that hung over the length of the door.
wanda could feel the atmosphere change before the strange tone had even seeped in the space of her office. so, with a quiet, hesitant step to her left, despite the insulated frosted glass that surrounded her, she stalked around her desk and paused to listen.
she waited a few moments, and she was greeted with nothing but silence. with one last look of scepticism toward the door, she let out a shaky sigh and turned around to collect her things from the desk.
as she opened up the small handbag placed near her phone, a metallic click resounded from behind her, and with the familiar sound of the doorknob completing its rotation, wanda’s gaze shot up from her bag, and she froze. her heart rate picked up moderately at the unexpected noise, and as she forced herself to turn around, nausea and fear hit her all at once.
“oh my love, i’ve missed being this close to you.”
ᗢ
as you pulled away from agatha’s hold, you smiled at her and then turned to your left, where her taxi had pulled up beside the pavement. “i’ll see you soon?” you guessed, looking back at her. “wanda and i have plans tomorrow, but how about we meet at the cafe across the street the day after?”
“sounds good, kid.” agatha smiled. “is wanda on her way?” she asked, her tone full of worry as the evening sky sat dark around you both. the sun had long since set after your view of it on wanda’s terrace, and she was understandably feeling guilty about parting ways.
“it’s just past six now, so she might be, but i told her i’d call her. so i’ll wait in the bar until she gets here,” you replied. with a right hand squeezing her arm reassuringly, you spoke again. “you go on ahead! i’ll be okay.”
“text me when you’re safe,” she uttered sternly, and with a step backwards, she glanced at the taxi before smiling at you. “thank god for red; now you are finally reachable.”
you chuckled softly, “i will.” and with a small wave, you watched as she walked to the back passenger door and swiftly entered the car.
with your hand reaching into your back pocket for your new phone, you felt it buzz in your hold and with a thought of… another odd timing striking your mind, you looked at the notification on your lock screen and saw the knowing text from wanda.
mommy: hey sweetheart, come to my office? i have a surprise for you here.
with an eyebrow raising slightly at the nickname wanda had never called you before, you pushed it out of your mind and blinked at the latter part of her text. two surprises in one day? you thought.
you: another one? colour me shocked. i’ll call a taxi from the bar. agatha just left, and you’ll be proud to know i won three more games after we last spoke!
you swiped off the messaging app and clicked on the one with the keypad to make a call.
as you entered the number for the local taxi firm, you waited for it to ring out, and soon enough, a click sounded before a woman spoke. you told her of the bar's address and that you wanted to go to maximoff industries, and with the promise of a five-minute wait, you hung up after thanking the operator.
with the curious thought of what wanda had planned for you, you entered the bar again and waited near the glass door until you saw your driver pull up.
ᗢ
“hi, it’s wanda. i can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message, and i’ll call you back.”
before the beep sounded against your ear, you pulled your phone away from it, and with your eyebrows furrowing, you ended the call and swiped to the messaging app.
you eagerly typed as you stood at the entrance of a very tall building that felt like it travelled higher into the sky as the darkness of the night engulfed the top of the high-rise.
you: i’m here, gorgeous. do i just walk in?
from what you could see, and like wanda had mentioned, the third floor was lit up, and then, as you eyed higher than that, you saw a faint glow of light at least ten floors up. that had to be wanda, you thought.
as the gifted phone buzzed in your hand, you looked down to see she had responded.
mommy: yes, the door’s open and security barriers are too. use the elevator. floor sixteen, scarlet ;)
you: why the alias? you really are full of surprises today… see you soon, beautiful.
“scarlet?” you murmured to yourself, and as you practically frowned in bewilderment at your phone, you pushed it into your back pocket again and reached for one of the solid brass silver pull handles.
with a gust of wind blowing behind you again, you shivered, but even with the thankful relief from the cold in the maroon turtleneck you wore, you quickly stepped inside.
as you eyed around the dark foyer, your left hand brought the door to a slow close before it eventually shut.
the deafening silence radiated through the empty floor, and it made your heart beat slightly faster as you looked at the open security barriers wanda had mentioned. you stepped through and stalked towards the right side of the building and away from the front desk and entrance.
then to your left, you saw, at the end of the room, three distinct lifts situated there. so with a curious thought of what it would feel like to travel so high up in a building, you walked swiftly to them and eventually pressed one of the buttons to signal a lift.
with the lift on the left coming to life as it descended, you waited until a ding sounded, and after a moment, it echoed in the empty foyer, and you watched the doors open.
the entire time you rode up to the sixteenth floor, you watched the numbers grow higher. then, with the sensation of your stomach doing a backflip as the lift shifted slightly and began to slow, you gazed at the digital screen.
fifteen.
sixteen.
another ding sounded, and as the doors opened, you were greeted by an empty hallway that had dim lights hanging overhead. stepping out, the lift closed behind you, and you looked at a few doors with names unknown to you attached to them.
you continued your walk through and past the empty rooms, and with only a right turn at the end of the hallway, you veered and had your eyes peeled for wanda’s name. after a forced turn, this one left, you saw a sizeable frosted glass room at the end of the hallway.
eyeing it, you drew closer, almost certain it would be the redhead’s office and not a meeting room and then, on your left, was the opening you were looking for.
w. maximoff was written in block letters on the door that had closed blinds hung on the inside, and as you knocked on the glass, you waited a brief moment before turning the doorknob.
“wanda?” you spoke out hesitantly as the door opened, and with your eyes peering into the room only lit by a lamp, you frowned at the emptiness. “what the fuck?” you whispered to yourself.
in the back pocket of your jeans, you felt the phone wanda gave you buzz violently and with your left hand reaching into it, you saw a call from her displayed on the screen. with a sigh, you guessed she was about to tell you that she was waiting for you in the foyer, so as you answered, you put it against your ear before speaking.
“hey, where are you?” you asked, your hand on the doorknob hardening as you pulled it towards you and closed it. “i’m at your office door.”
“you know, scarlet… or y/n,” you heard victor chuckle darkly into your ear. your body immediately tensed, and as you felt your heart start to thump hard in your chest, your hand slipped from the doorknob whilst your stomach dropped. “god, it’s nice to call you that,” he crowed, and with your eyes darting back down the hallway you had walked, you felt overwhelming panic begin to hit you. “i wish i could see the look on your face right now, but i’m on the tippy top of this building with our beloved.”
ᗢ
your legs, which started to feel like jelly, pounded against the floor as you turned left, and with the lift now in view, you gasped softly, and your right hand flew to the button to signal it to the floor.
two of your fingers hammered against it, and with one last push, you took a slight step back and watched as the digital screen showed an arrow pointing up.
“get back in that lift and come join us!”
“how do i-?” you faltered, your hand on the phone hardening as your mouth grew dry. “is she really with you?”
“and looking as gorgeous as ever…” victor retorted. “time’s ticking, little miss dancer; get up here.”
the lift dinged, and as your right shoulder nudged the sliding door as you entered with haste, you scanned the buttons below the digital screen and looked for one that vaguely could be considered the roof. you were unsure, and you just wanted to yell: take me to wanda.
with a button separate from the numbers labelled ‘rt’, you pushed it and waited with bated breath for the lift to move. a mechanical sound reverberated from the lift after the doors closed, then it soon began to rise.
as you glanced up at the digital screen, you felt your eyes beginning to burn with tears.
eighteen.
nineteen.
then, after a few moments had passed and you had willed yourself not to cry, the lift opened into a dark room with a staircase that rose in a z-shape to an exit.
you sighed heavily upon seeing the door to the rooftop, and with the lift’s ride terminating and the doors shutting behind you, you climbed the stairs with nothing but wanda in your mind.
your breath hitched in your throat as your hand flew to the doorknob and, with a twist of it, you stopped dead when you felt it refuse to move… as you hastily looked down the staircase and back to the door, your gaze rose from the doorknob to a black scanner above it.
with your lips parting slightly, you realised you couldn’t get through without some sort of keycard. “wanda,” you spoke, your voice tight as your right hand balled into a fist. you raised it to hit against the silver metal door, “wanda! i’m-” you hit it harder. “victor, let me through!”
despite knowing the doorknob wouldn’t turn, you twisted it anyway, and as you continued to pound against the door, your right hand began to grow tired against the metal.
though, with the thought of wanda alone with him, you didn’t care. you would pummel the door for as long as it took.
suddenly, you felt your body jerk forward harshly, and before you knew it, you were falling forward and onto your knees. as hard gravel came into contact with the palm of your hands, you braced for impact, and with a groan, you hissed as you confusingly raised your head from the ground.
to your right, close to the roof door that was wide open, were black leather pointed shoes, and as you continued to look upwards, the looming sight of victor in a dark suit gazing down at you made you feel sick.
“you needed wanda’s master key, silly…” he smirked, holding a black card in his right hand and giving it a wave above you. “how do you think i got on here?”
“where is-” your words were cut off with another hiss as you pushed yourself onto your bent knees. then, your eyes glanced down to see a bloody graze across your left palm. “wanda?!” you panted, ignoring the sting that came from it and instead glancing around the large roof that was almost void of light beside the moon that beamed overhead and a small light that hung next to the roof door.
“she’s here,” victor cooed with a simpering smile on his lips, and your eyes followed him as he stalked around your form before pausing to stand in front of you.
the roof door came to a slow close behind you, and as your head snapped to it, the daunting thought came that whether or not wanda was on this roof, with the keycard in the man’s hand, you were trapped up here with him.
“you know what’s funny?” victor asked rhetorically, and with your breathing ragged as you stood up on shaky legs, he continued. “you’ve been on my mind so much, i hardly thought about olek… i had to leave for a little while…get away from him and the two bastards he brought last time.”
“if someone…” your eyes glanced around the roof, and with a slight step to your left, you peered for any sight of the redhead. “broke my ribs, i wouldn’t let them slip my mind.”
“oh?” the man voiced, his tone full of intrigue, and it caused you to face him again. victor then shot you a look of surprise. “bedroom talk…?” he winked. “well, i guess you are right,” he said with a tut, and then took a step back from you.
you watched his every move with your heart in your throat, and as he walked past the gap between the roof door and large vent to your right, he spoke again. “but you have no idea what it’s like to see someone you love with a twenty-something slut,” he chided, and his form disapeared as he then rounded the large vent. “it does nothing but consume the mind.”
you paid no attention to the insult as you sank into deep apprehension and your hands tingled with adrenaline at the sight of the man stepping back into view with a limp wanda in his arms.
with a gasp, you watched in repugnance as he looked at her and then your eyes fell to her face, which had a cut along her left cheekbone.
victor laid wanda along the roof, and with a glance at you, he turned back to what your eyes bore into. “that was a mistake…” he mumbled. “but this is not.” and as he swiftly strode around wanda’s body and towards you, your stomach lept as you stumbled to press your back against the door. “you, y/n,” he uttered through gritted teeth as his right hand gripped the hair at the back of your head with a tug. “are going to take a short trip to the ground floor.”
your eyes widened as your hands flew to his large one that grabbed at your hair strands even harder.
“wanda!” you yelled with a groan, your eyes clamping shut at the firm grip victor had on you. “wake up!” your scalp stung, and with another yell of the older woman’s name, your chest heaved as the threat from victor filled you with horror.
a moan sounded in front of you, and as your eyes flew open, you saw the redhead’s face contort before she shifted slightly on her right side.
“wake her up,” victor chuckled. “what do i care? let her watch.” then, as he pulled your body away from the roof’s door slightly, he barked wanda’s name. “my love, your pet wants you to wake up.”
wanda’s eyes fluttered open; you felt yours burn with tears again, and a sob broke out from you as you watched her stir awake.
with a groan and a narrow gaze, she looked at you, and then at victor. then, as she gasped, wanda’s eyes widened with her mouth agape, and she scrambled to stand up as she looked at you and the tears that began to stream down your face.
“y/n,” she whimpered out, and with a hiss, she raised a hand to the cut on her left cheek. “stay…” the redhead breathed out, shooting the man who had you firmly in his grip a horrified glance. “stay calm.” she lowered her hand from her cheek and took a shaky step forward. “i’m so sorry, i don’t know what happened.”
“you got careless, wands,” victor seethed next to your ear, causing you to wince, and as you did, the hair in his hold pulled tighter, and you squeaked in pain as your fingers clawed at his hand. “that’s what happened.”
“don’t call her that!” you yelped, your fingers shifting to his in an attempt to pry them from your hair, and with the inch you felt of freedom, your shoes hit the gravel, and you tried to surge your body forward.
“get…” you felt victor grip harder, and with a yank of your hair towards him, you stumbled into his chest with a moan. “back here. i’ve told you where you are going…”
“please,” you mewled, and your vision began to blur as more tears came and the pain in your head heightened. “let go,” you begged. you couldn’t die here, not now, and not like this.
you heard a panicked yell sound from wanda as she scrambled forward. “victor, what-” the redhead gasped out as you blinked away the tears. wanda became clear in your vision as she moved until she was close enough that you could clearly see the dried blood along the cut on her cheekbone. “what is your endgame here?” wanda asked, her voice trembling.
“you know what i want!” he barked desperately, then, with a deep sigh into your ear, you felt his fingers tense against the strands of your baby hairs. “you know what i want…” victor said again, his voice attempting to be calmer. “just me and you, dearest.”
you wanted to cry out, yell that she was yours and that you were hers… but the fear of victor potentially ripping your hair out grew stronger, and you felt your body unable to move. “wanda,” was all you could muster, and with another sob leaving your lips, you closed your eyes as you felt the world coming down on you.
“hey. no, no-” the redhead hushed out frantically. “y/n, look at me,” she ordered.
reluctantly, you opened your wet eyes, and with your tired arms falling from victor’s hand to your sides, you looked at wanda.
“i’m so sorry…” she breathed out with a shake of her head. “but i have to do this.” wanda stepped closer and looked at victor, a heavy sigh falling from her lips. “fine.” was all she said. “just give y/n the key.”
as your eyes widened at wanda’s words, you followed her as she grew closer to the tall man and his unrelenting grip on your hair. “wanda?” you voiced in disbelief, and you frowned hard at the woman as her gaze remained on victor.
“you mean it, baby?” the suited man asked, his voice laced with hope as his hold loosened against your head. “i promise it won’t be like before.”
yes, the world was definitely coming down on you now, and as you listened to wanda speak a soft yes to him, you felt victor let go of your hair.
he pushed you by the back of your head until the roof suddenly grew closer and loose gravel dug into your palms once more, and with a groan on impact, you breathed out and turned your head.
the redhead didn’t face you, not when you hissed as your already grazed palm burned with pain, and not when you sobbed her name.
“now my key…” wanda murmured, and with her right hand raising to his suited arm, you felt nausea whirl within you at the contact. “let her at least get out of the door first before i kiss you.”
her words stung, and as your bottom lip trembled, you moved to sit on your legs as you felt your chest begin to ache with grief. your palms throbbed and your knees hurt, but all you could focus on was the scene before you; a tragedy. “please,” you pleaded. “stop.”
before you had registered victor’s movement, he tossed the master key card he had used to let you on to the roof, and as you looked down at it on the gravel in front of you in despair, you returned your gaze to wanda… who still wouldn’t look in your direction.
you needed her to look at you; you needed to see her face and the look on it that would tell you she didn’t mean a word of it.
“y/n,” wanda spoke firmly as she looked at victor, and with her left hand moving to rest on his chest, she guided him backwards slightly until he stood out of the way of the exit and in the gap between the hinges of the roof door and the large vent. you kept your eyes trained on her, and as anger and sadness swirled in your chest, which threatened to rise like bile, she spoke once more. “stand up and take the key.”
you didn’t want to, and even if you did, you weren’t sure your legs would stand the weight of your turmoil. “don’t…” don’t do this, you thought, and the urge to lower your head built within you as victor grinned at wanda.
“now.” the redhead insisted.
with another sob coming from you, you outstretched your right arm, and with a trembling hand, you picked up the card and pushed yourself off of the gravel that dug into your jeans as you rose.
then, with your eyes landing on wanda’s hands that touched his chest and right arm, you sluggishly walked forward and turned to face the door. with a heavy heart and your right hand raised, you touched it against the black scanner above the doorknob.
as you saw a small flash of green light on the device, your left hand moved to the doorknob, and you twisted it to pull it open.
“victor,” wanda said to your left, “i promise… i will not miss you.” in the blink of an eye, the redhead rushed forward, and a yelp of panic from victor sounded as he lost his footing.
wanda’s hands let go of him, and she quickly threw herself onto her back with a groan. as the man’s hands frantically grasped for nothing in the air with fear on his face, you watched as he fell over the edge of the roof and out of your view into the darkness.
you gasped loudly, and your hand that was on the doorknob flew to your mouth as you heard victor’s cry of terror start to fade and the roof door slowly closed once again. your chest heaved, and as the loud and sharp sound of his body hitting concrete resounded, you could only look forward at the night sky that faced you in stupor and repulsion.
ᗢ
the tragic death of victor von doom: suicide and sadness
another linked article on twitter caught your eye, and with a sharp intake, you swiped the app away from your phone’s screen and looked towards your left and out toward the skyline as you sat on a chair on wanda’s penthouse terrace.
with a sigh, the urge to use your phone faded quickly, and you turned your head and placed it on a small table to your right.
“honey?”
you looked up to wanda staring at you, as she sat on a matching chair, and as she reached her right hand up to her sunglasses, she tilted them down until green eyes gazed back at you.
“even after death, that man is still creeping around my life,” you muttered darkly, and with your arms clasped across your chest in frustration, you looked away from her.
“they’ll stop talking about him eventually,” wanda replied knowingly, her tone soft. you felt one of her hands touch your right bicep, and as you looked back at her, you saw she had removed her sunglasses, and her eyebrows were furrowed as she pouted slightly. “it’s only been two months; just give it time.” she motioned her head to the view of the blue sky around you, and with the winter months now fading away, she shot you a smile. “enjoy the sun, baby. it’s been gloomy for far too long.”
you weren’t sure if that was a euphemism or not, but regardless, she was, of course, right. it had been a while since you felt the sun on your skin like this, and since that evening on the rooftop of the office building, you knew your life was different now… safer. you should enjoy it.
there was no certain blame here; there are no cameras in the maximoff building to show you three were in there that night, and with only a guess in an open-and-shut case by the police that victor climbed the fire escape of the building opposite the maximoff office and took his life in a frenzy or drunken accident, you and the older woman finally felt free to do as you pleased without anxiety lingering around.
“you’re right,” you spoke, a smile on your lips as your arms unfolded. you shifted slightly in the chair to lean to your right, and took wanda’s left hand, which was on your bicep, to hold it. “how about…” you intoned, your smile growing bigger as the thought of victor grew smaller in your mind. “we talk about the dream i had last night instead?”
“how intriguing,” wanda grinned at you, sitting up straighter as she listened, and as you looked at her face and her left cheekbone that was now rid of the mark victor had inflicted upon her, you hummed agreeingly.
“just before i met you, i travelled to england,” you began to explain with a smile, your mind flashing with the sights you had seen when you’d visited. “and on my journey home, i told myself i would visit scotland next…” wanda looked at you curiously as she listened, biting her lip softly. “i will tell you all about it in a moment…” you added with a giggle as you saw the urge in the woman to ask questions about your time there. “i can’t believe i haven’t told you about that yet. but i had a dream of you and i in scotland, and i- i want that.”
“oh my sweet,” wanda cooed, her grin unfaltering as she leaned forward slightly. “i would love to.”
“yeah?” you gasped excitedly, sitting up in your chair at the words and dream that would come into fruition. the trip was one you had already been excited for, but now with wanda coming with you… you couldn’t think of anything better.
wanda smiled at you with a small tilt of her head, “without a doubt.”
ᗢ
as the redhead grinned at you, you pulled your gaze away from her with a turn of your head to agatha who stood to your right. “and this…” you bubbled, your hands motioning at the towering and charming country house that faced you. “this is where we’ll be getting married.” you smiled at her.
with a gasp falling from her lips, agatha took a step back and admired the ivory walls of the large house that wanda had rented out for the two of you in dundee when you had visited two years prior.
you had a phenomenal time with her, and the day after wanda proposed to you - two months ago, with her heart on her sleeve and on one knee on her lit-up terrace- you had the awe-filled thought that scotland is where you wanted to marry her.
“this is gorgeous,” agatha breathed out with a smile, “and you’re sure you want me to be your maid of honour?” she questioned hesitantly.
“of course!” you exulted. “that, and to walk me down the aisle…” you added, a flush of heat spreading across your face as you saw agatha’s drop and her eyes, which welled with tears. the brunette turned away from you briefly, and as she cleared her throat, you spoke again. “only three months left to go.”
ᗢ
“what do you mean, you don’t want it?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at wanda. “you said you liked it when i last cooked it for you.”
“i did,” wanda laughed softly as she sat to your left at the hardwood circle table in wanda’s penthouse kitchen; the safe haven she chose to keep even after the time that had passed since you both cried happy tears when you spoke the words “i do.” five years ago.
the tall building had long since started to feel like a safe place for you too, especially since you moved out of your apartment after victor’s death. you had no need for it, and wherever wanda wanted to reside, well… that’s where you’d be.
“but i didn’t like the burn that came with it,” wanda continued, her orange hair moving around her face as she shook her head slightly. “i just think, out of the two of us, my love… i should watch the food instead.”
you gasped, shifting in the chair as you sat up with offence evident in your demeanour. “it wasn’t that burnt!” you attested, and with your eyebrows raising slightly, you thought of the reason why the meal you had been making for the two of you hadn’t been perfect. “and need i remind you why that occurred?”
wanda’s lips twitched with a smirk, and she leaned forward slightly, her gorgeous face growing closer- thirty-nine had never looked better on anyone else - and she outstretched a hand to one of yours and pulled you by it until you rose from the chair. “i think it went a little something like this…” she uttered whilst she guided you towards her, and as you straddled the soft cotton of her trousers, you bit your lip as déjà vu struck you, and her hands landed on your hips.
“mommy,” you gasped out as you rocked yourself on two of wanda’s fingers that she had rested firmly on her lap as you straddled it in black shorts and a matching bralette.
the edge of her palm hit your clit deliciously, and as her slender digits touched you in ways that made you pant desperately against her left ear, you felt her hum against your neck.
“you feel so good,” wanda spoke against the skin she had been softly sucking on, and with a warm tongue running up to your jaw, she groaned as you felt your walls contract around her fingers that had pushed past your shorts and underwear. “and you look so hot like that.”
the drilling thought of the oven cooking what you had prepared had since left your mind, and with the noises from wanda’s lips residing there instead, you continued to fuck yourself on her digits. “you’re so hot, mommy. all mine….” you gasped out with a moan. “my wife.”
“fuck, y/n.” wanda cursed with a groan against your neck, and as she returned her lips to the skin, you could feel your orgasm building as the knot in your stomach twisted tighter.
“fine,” wanda voiced, pulling you from your thoughts as green eyes gazed at you. “i admit it’s not entirely your fault.” she smiled, her breath ghosting your lips as your face stayed close to hers. “you can redeem yourself and cook it again… but,” she pronounced teasingly, and her hands on your hips squeezed softly. “instead of during cooking time, i take you right now.”
you moaned softly at her words as your stomach jumped with excitement. the spark of arousal that had transpired when she guided you onto her lap a few moments ago then ignited into a roaring flame, and you closed the small gap and kissed wanda.
since the day the redhead came back to house of harkness and asked for a dance from you, you couldn’t believe your luck. you still couldn’t… and now, after the years that had passed with wanda remaining a perfect constant in your life, you looked at the woman before you in pure adoration. despite what had happened and the danger she put herself in to rid victor from both of your lives, she was under you, warm and safe; all yours.
you cherished her so much, and you needed to voice it. with a gasp, the redhead deepened the kiss, and as your mind reeled at the sensation of her tongue against yours, you slowly pulled away from her lips to speak.
A/n: this makes no sense and is hella rushed, but fuck it
Summary: All you wanna do for the summer is work as much as possible to avoid your new stepmother, no matter the cost on your body and mind. Your rich stepmother seems appalled by the idea, forcing you on a weekend getaway with her to... bond.
Wordcount: 4k
Warnings: Step-parent, the most unoriginal plot in existence, mommy kink, dom/sub, mock sympathy, pet names, praise kink, age gap (R=mid 20s, W=early 40s), smut, somnophilia, grinding, mild dub-con, humping, fingering, perv Wanda, rich people
The cracked handle of the broom is clutched loosely in your hand as you take in the massacre before you.
Countless cereal boxes are scattered along the floor, some slowly seeping out more work for you as pebbles and crumbs ooze from the broken plastic seals. Drifting in an ocean of Captain Crunch, Lucky Charms, and Cheerios, you get closer to the source of your interrupted break.
It seems that during your fifteen-minute lunch break, the cereal aisle exploded.
Clusters of cereal lie strewn along the floor with strange voids in the middle, like a shitty murder mystery, just that instead of a body being outlined by white tape, it was more like a blob monster drawn with Cheerios.
It wasn’t the first time either- this is the third time just this week that you’ve had to clean it up.
Safe to say, your workplace has a cereal killer on the loose.
The squeak of obnoxiously loud sneakers screeches to a halt on the opposite side of the murder scene. A shadow falls across the dire situation as murder suspect #1 completely disregards the mess in front of you. Instead, the boom of hands colliding with each other has you raising your brows in annoyance.
“Why are you just standing there? Come on, we need you at the registers, chop chop!” Kyle, your asshole of a manager, doesn’t waste a second to hear your response, already halfway across the room before you can open your mouth. His condescending clapping still echoing down the hall with his retreat.
If it weren’t for the fact that he always gave you the shifts you wanted, you would’ve made him the murder outline by now. However, as it stands, he’s the only reason you get out of the house as much as you do, so with a huff, you get to work.
To say your time back from Uni has been dull would be an understatement. The thought drifts somewhat loosely in your head as you clock out at the end of your shift. It’s late, the time trickling into midnight as you make your way across the parking lot.
Mindlessly kicking a rock around, it jumps over bumps and crashes against divots in the pavement. The gentle clatter of stone striking is suddenly overpowered by the honk of a car.
The air shifts, her presence layers itself like something tangible until it slathers against the inside of your throat. You can’t escape the jump of your pulse or the squeeze of your lungs as headlights illuminate you in the darkness.
You attempt an on-foot escape from the familiar Porsche closing in on you. Your shoe digs into your heel, the bent material has become a near-constant ache as it aggravates the blister that brewed long ago. A slick dribble of blood smears itself against your white sock, spreading until a ring of red peeks over the edge of your shoe.
The voice of your stepmother follows your hasty retreat, but your ignorance is short-lived as Wanda points an accusatory finger through her rolled-down window.
“Nuh uh, no avoiding me today, baby Bambi.” The pet name runs through you like a splash of cold water, sending chills down your spine as you freeze in your path.
Wanda points to the passenger seat, undeterred by your initial resistance. It has become a dance between you and your stepmother since you came home for the summer. She would insist that you both do something together, to bond or whatever, while you would take on extra hours and avoid her religiously.
She has tried to pick you up from work multiple times now, but you would pretend you didn’t see her, simply walking past or hitching a ride with a coworker.
You know it’s rude, but you’d rather be rude than admit that you have a crush on your own stepmother.
There is no telling how it festered, but since the moment you laid your eyes on her, she’s consumed you. The idea of spending more time with her than strictly necessary sinks like a weight into the pit of your stomach.
You’d rather she hate you than be disgusted by your perverted crush.
Besides, you are well over the age where you need to bond with your father’s partner. It’s not like it will last anyway, anyone with a pair of eyes can tell they married for business’s sake. Your father owns a rather lucrative business in the corporate world, a business that just so happens to have been your stepmother’s business rival until the two CEOs supposedly found love.
Yeah, love is what you would call the new car in your dad’s driveway and him stepping down to let Wanda handle both businesses.
There was no telling why she hadn’t left him yet.
Today would be another one of your elusive instances if it weren’t for the look she is giving you. It’s stricter than usual, with a tightness around her mouth and firmness in her eyes.
With a sigh, you climb into the passenger seat. A waft of rich perfume engulfs your tired frame. It creeps over your skin like a second layer, spreading the warm scent of cinnamon and cherry over your sweat-stained uniform. Wanda regards you with a strange fondness in her eyes as your slumped frame not so subtly leans toward her in pursuit of the smell's source.
Wanda is dressed more homely today, her blond hair slung into a side part and her face void of makeup. Even her clothing choice is far beyond the usual. You’ve gotten used to the blazers and form-fitting dress pants over the past few weeks, but today she’s in a simple white shirt coupled with some washed jeans.
The sluggishness of your exhaustion must be doing a number on you, as you don’t even realize you’re staring until a touch against your leg startles you.
A hand settles, palm up, on your thigh as she drives out of the parking lot. The shitty fabric of your work pants does little to diffuse the heat that radiates from her. A strange lump forms in your stomach at the thought of heat spreading elsewhere, as her patience seems to run thin. “Come on, hand it over.”
You blink in confusion, looking over to where her eyes stay glued to the road, in question.
She glances at you, a hint of amusement and something you’ve never seen on her, flashing across her features, “Your phone. You know the rules, honey.”
Ah right…
It was one of the weird things she had started implementing into your life.
The rules.
Most of them were fairly easy: keep your room clean, wash the dishes when it’s your turn, and help make dinner when you aren’t working. Then there were the stranger ones. Suddenly, you had a curfew at 10 pm outside of work hours, you weren’t allowed on your phone in Wanda’s vicinity, and only approved guests could stay over.
Knowing there is no point in making a fuss about it, you fish your phone out before dropping it gently into Wanda’s waiting palm. She opens the middle console and puts it in before leaning over slightly to pat your thigh in reward.
“Well done, darling. Thank you.”
The pet names are another odd addition to Wanda’s involvement in your life. Though they are always sweet, they make you squirm. People in your life never really use nicknames, or pet names, or anything other than your name when they are referring to you.
Wanda is an anomaly in your preferably predictable life.
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires lulls you out of your thoughts. The car drums gently atop the small rocks, some of them knocking against the rim in a soothing hiss that rings through the quiet car.
However, it does confuse you. The road back to your dad’s place doesn’t have any gravel roads. Now that you’re thinking about it, you're pretty sure Wanda is driving the wrong direction altogether.
“Where are we going?”
The slim silence while Wanda seems to ponder her wording makes a drop of sweat drip down your back, “My apartment. Your father is gone for the weekend, and I thought we girls should bond a little.”
Your sluggish mind takes a moment to catch up, merely staring at her, until it hits you like a slap in the face. Spending more time with her addicting presence is the last thing you should be doing. If Wanda had any sense in her, she would see why you avoid her and run for the hills.
“Wan-”
Her hand, not currently occupying the steering wheel, is in your face. Squishing your cheeks together harsher than necessary, Wanda tsks, “No. I don’t want to hear it. Is it really that horrible to spend time with me?”
Fingertips release you from her hold, instead, they glide softly along your cheek. It hypnotizes you, your need to comfort her is stronger than your will to stay away: “No, of course not.”
A happy hum is all you get before her warmth is gone, both hands on the wheel and eyes staying strictly forward as Wanda keeps driving. “Good. Then it’s decided.”
You sigh your agreement.
────୨ৎ────
A lone chair sits in Wanda's luxurious hallway. It’s the first thing you notice, its rich brown color absorbs some of the warm light filtering from above. It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the white hall.
Paintings are scattered across both sides of the hallway, the illustrations vary, some abstract pieces hanging above the coatrack while a far too explicit painting of a woman engaging in… some interesting acts… sits atop the door that you assume leads to the living room.
You squirm where you stand, twisting your fingers as blush crawls up your neck. Wanda’s soft chuckle directly behind you does little to diffuse the sudden tension tightening your stance.
“Come here.”
There is no time to react before Wanda pushes you onto that neat little chair.
The groan of wood falls on deaf ears as all your senses hone in on Wanda’s hands. Fingers slide against your knees, the pressure of her fingertips pushing against the stiff material of your pants before grasping your ankle. Words choke themselves, stuck as your stepmother inspects your bloodied sock.
Blond tresses sway against your exposed skin as she lifts your pants for a better look. A dried slab of blood clings to your skin, a smudge of red festering on the back of your shoe where the broken back resides.
A suspiciously handy med-kit resides under the chair, Wanda getting to work with a quiet, “Poor baby.”
You stay silent as she goes through the motions of cleaning your bloody blister before adding a silly-themed band-aid over it. Leaning back on her knees with one last pat to your heel, Wanda eyes your destroyed shoes before looking back at you.
“I fear those will have to go.”
You know she’s right: if not for your bleeding heel, then the fact that the soles are practically nonexistent by now. Still, you can’t help the tears that build in your eyes at the news. You know you’re just tired and being stupid, but you really like these shoes.
The thought of fighting against her words must flash across your face because Wanda clicks her tongue before you have the chance to open your mouth.
“Now now, I know you’re tired, but there is no reason to throw a tantrum, baby Bambi.”
A stunned stillness settles over you at her words, it’s infuriating how she belittles you, yet some small part of you blooms under the condescending tone that drips so sweetly from her tongue.
The pitter-patter of Wanda’s socked feet hitting the wooden flooring as she starts walking away from you almost has you on your knees begging for forgiveness before she stops.
Illuminated by the bathing light of the living room, Wanda stands directly under her unique art. The warm orange bounces against her loose curls, leaving a strange dreamlike effect as her words float around the far too empty space between the two of you.
“Now, come, it’s late and mo- and I don’t want more attitude in the morning.” The soft murmur of her voice fades away from you as she turns, leaving you to force your depleting strength into your muscles and dart after her at what you hope is an appropriate speed.
Wanda leads you into a guest room, leaving with a curt goodnight.
It all seems awfully rushed to you. You know it’s probably for the best, the mere sliver of affection she granted you today already having left an addiction buzz inside your head.
But you’re greedy.
You want more.
It’s the last thought you have before you succumb to the strangeness of tonight, drifting in an ocean of cinnamon and cherry as your head hits red silk.
────୨ৎ────
The cusp of darkness lies like a shroud above you as you wake up. Something is pushing toward you, heat engulfing your tired frame. Seconds tick by in a meaningless fashion before your mind catches up to the tickle of blonde tresses against your back.
It seems that sometime in the night, Wanda has come back for you. She cocoons around you, pushing in at strange intervals.
You almost ask her if something is wrong before a sound submerges your train of thought.
Wanda’s scattered breath weighs heavily in the air. Sounds you have never heard from her before now moaned directly into your ear.
It stuns you into silence as you focus on her movements.
Hips buck against your back, seeking pleasure in your unassuming form. Wanda grinds gently, like waves cruising along the coastline, back and forth in smooth motions. Her sleeping shorts ruffle on your lower back, bunching with the movement of her hips and pressing into you.
You can hear her breath grow heavier by the second, puffing against the shell of your ear. The last remnants of slumber burn away from you as your own breath hitches in your throat. You wonder what she’s dreaming about.
At least you think she’s dreaming…
The lips resting against your neck expose Wanda's pleasure as she moans silently, “Fuck, I can’t stop… Baby Bambi, fuck.”
The sound of her sends a shiver through you. She isn’t dreaming. Your stepmother is humping your sleeping form because she wants you.
Needs you.
You have to suppress the need to grind back into her desperately. It’s like a sickness, her desperation bleeding into your own as your breath grows quicker.
A hand sneaks beneath your t-shirt. The warmth of her palm travels up- up- up until she’s cupping one of your tits gently. Fingers circle the sensitive flesh of your nipple, not hard enough to rouse any real reaction, but constant enough for the wetness between your thighs to grow.
“You feel so good, baby Bambi.”
The ache in your chest explodes at her words, leaving you to pant against the sheets as you try to keep quiet. You fear what would happen if she knew you were awake, the thought of her stopping almost lets a whine slip past your slack lips.
Her other hand palms against your side now, gripping your hips lightly before braving the path down. She skims over your lower stomach, pushing you deeper against Wanda’s moving hips before she’s rubbing a teasing pressure against your underwear.
Two fingers rub in circular motions, only interrupted by her wild jerking. Wanda’s fingers drag a path across the sticky wetness of your pussy. She tests the stretch of your underwear, pushing against your opening before retreating and returning to your clit.
The bucking turns rougher, with sporadic jumps followed by a drawn-out “Baby, fuck-”
You squeeze your eyes shut, begging for the mercy of her mounting pleasure before you come in your panties, untouched, and reveal yourself. Instead, there is a murmur against your neck, something that sounds suspiciously like “fuck it,” before soft lips trail kisses against the back of your neck.
The movement of her hips stops, then her haughty voice breaks the newfound stillness: “I know you’re awake.”
For a moment, the world freezes as a thousand thoughts drift through your head.
Has she known the entire time?
Were you not supposed to wake up?
Is she mad at you?
But your inner panic is cut short as a thigh pushes itself between your legs. The warmth of her is a stark contrast to the wet patch sticking to the inside of your thigh.
Her hands shift to hold your hips firmly as she starts rocking you with her movement, surrendering you to her mercy as she drags you against the meat of her thigh. Your swollen clit strains against the soaked fabric of your underwear, the flimsy material the only hindrance between your flesh and hers.
“Let mommy take care of you, hm, what do you say, baby?”
A desperate keen is the only response she gets as she flips you.
The weight of a body pins you flat against the bed, coarse fabric pushing along your back as her chest settles atop you. Rougher hands lift until your hips wag in the air.
“You really thought mommy wouldn’t notice, baby?”
There is not a moment of wasted breath before your underwear is quickly pushed to the side and her fingers plunge into you. The naughty noise of wet squealing and your surprised moans bounce against the bedroom walls.
“Fuck, well done, baby Bambi, you take me so well.” The hair on the back of your neck drifts with her words as they blow over your skin. Wanda’s pushing against her hand, humping you as she fucks you roughly.
She grunts deeply, “Can mommy tell you a secret?”
The pads of Wanda’s fingertips rail against your sweet spot repeatedly, her words barely hanging on to meaning. She laughs at your pathetic cries, pushing your head further into the sheets. A pool of saliva turns the white fabric sheer.
Her moans grow in volume with your own, the both of you speeding toward pure bliss.
“Shit, I've been thinking about this for so long.”
Your skin surrenders to her teeth as they lodge into your shoulder.
“Ever since I first saw you, mommy knew you needed her.”
She forces your head to the side before she’s kissing you deeply, a tongue forcing its way down your throat. Wanda licks into you as if she's starving, drinking your spit like it’s one of her expensive wines. Her pace speeds up, hurling you toward pleasure faster than you can keep up.
The pressure in your stomach grows and grows, your crying spreading spit across both of your faces.
Wanda hushes you, “Oh, I know, baby, I know.”
“You’ve been working so hard trying to hide from mommy, haven’t you, baby Bambi?”
Her voice grows louder, hinting at how deeply she is affected by her own words.
“It’s why you’re going to quit your job and spend your time with me.”
The fingers inside of you are the only thing you can focus on as you moan your answer.
Wanda releases you from her hold, sitting up on her knees until she towers over your frame. The sweet bliss of your orgasm fades away as she takes her fingers with her. You whine, tears springing to your eyes as the taste of your denied relief sits strong on your tongue.
“Will you do what mommy tells you?
Your ass pushes against her crotch, a small cry of frustration the only sound you manage to make as she palms your ass. You twist your neck all the way to see her, her question going unheard as the sight of her licking your arousal off her fingers consumes you.
The pink of her tongue curls around her digits, dragging across the wet pads of her fingertips seductively slowly. Wanda holds eye contact all the while you watch helplessly, wanting nothing more than for the fingers to drive back into you. A moan rumbles from deep in Wanda’s throat, your answering whine going ignored as she refuses to touch you.
Wanda clicks her tongue, the mental timer ticking down to its end tally.
A slap rings through the bedroom like a gunshot, almost louder than the keening moan that tears through you.
It startles you enough to have words spilling out of you faster than you can comprehend them,
“Yes! Yes, whatever you want! Please, mommy, anything!”
You barely know what you’re saying. Your words are nothing more than nonsensical babble, but it must have made her happy because her fingers come back, railing you harder than ever before. Wanda is back to humping you too, pushing her fingers deeper as she grinds into you.
“There you go, good girl!”
You can’t hear her anymore, the pressure in your stomach is now balancing on a needle’s point. It’s overwhelming: the thickness of your desire choking you, and you begin to fight against her grip. You don’t know what you’re doing, your mind far away as your body fights the inevitable.
Her weight settles back over you as she shushes you gently, her words soft even as her fingers continue their drilling into your wet hole.
“Hush, baby, you’re okay. You’re okay, give in. You can give in now.”
You whine, a panicked noise your only response as the feeling inside of you reaches its limit. It feels like you’re going to explode, the feeling stronger than you have ever felt it before. It blisters inside you, festering onto every nerve, expanding the numbing pleasure from the tips of your fingertips and down to your toes.
Wanda pushes your face into the pillows, the suffocating lack of air, strangely enough, sending you flying over the edge. The loud moaning and jerking against your back tell you that Wanda came right with you.
It’s the last thought you have before the void plunges you in headfirst.
A hazy flicker of static hums inside you as you float far above your own mind. Dim lights simmer beneath your eyelids, a pattern of no sense or reason drawing across your mind like a gentle embrace. Warmth envelopes you, a soothing voice cooing at you while wetness and sweat are wiped away with soft hands.
You’ve just returned to your body when Wanda slides back next to you in bed—all resemblance of space a laughable notion now. Her voice drifts along your residual softness, “Well done, my beautiful girl. You’ll call your manager in the morning, and then we’ll talk. Let's sleep.”
Her palm brushes your cheek before she leans down to plant a sweet kiss atop the red flush. You hum your agreement, the previous conversation long gone from memory. But if it’s what mommy wants, then it’s what she’ll get.
Wanda wraps around you, her body curling into your own as her hand cups you carefully.
she told you not to mess around with the runes. wanda's voice is replaying in your head: "yn, i'm going to be right back, don't touch anything."
of course, you disobeyed. now, you find yourself all stiff and struggling to undo the ice holding your feet in place. (thank god you wore thick sneakers today, your feet would necrosed by now otherwise.)
speak of the devil, you hear her clear her throat behind you. you do your best to turn, eyes narrowed, but you only turn about 25 degrees before the ice stops you.
"hi," you greet, casual.
"hi," she replies, amused.
there's a moment of silence. you can just imagine her frustrated expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes disappointed. oh god. now you're all upset because you pictured her being disappointed of you, poor you. then again, you are the one doing all the thinking and—
"do you need some help?" wanda asks, shaky, barely containing her exasperated laughter. she doesn't know whether to laugh or lecture you.
"i'm okay," you reply, automatic, stubborn. "just... cold," you add.
"right," she hums.
you can see the red glow around you and you suddenly slip. of course she'd melt the ice instead of getting rid of it. "asshole," you hiss.
okay okay wanda making u talk to someone u know/ someone she knows (maybe ur dad or nat or somebody idk lol) and she like starts to touch u and stuff and moaning and eventually you give up.
i’m sorry if you’ve done this before i just LOVE smut involving phones
mmh yess i love this. she walks into the room whilst your on the phone and can hear your dad’s voice flowing through the speaker as you converse about how college is going and so on. she sneaks up to where you’re sitting and puts her finger over her mouth to signal that you should shut up. you quizzically tilt your head, giving her a look of confusion but go back to talking with him. then she hovers over you - her hand snakes down to your skirt and she pulls your panties to the side, making you gasp, which earns you a slap on the thigh.
her fingers circle over your clit and you try your hardest not to make a sound, muffling the speaker when you let out a little squeal as she rubs harder. “mm—yes d-daddy, i made loads of f-friends.”
your back arches off of your desk chair and you dig your nails into the hard plastic, holding your phone out in an attempt to quiet all the dirty noises your making. but of course, she grabs it and brings it closer to your mouth, quietly whispering into your ear. “keep talking, bunny.”
she eventually sticks her middle finger in your leaking pussy, curling it and pounding into you with no mercy. this time you let out a filthy, high pitched whimper, prompting your dad to ask about what is going on.
“n-nothing,” you reply, unbelievably, as wanda’s free hand pulls your shirt up and pinches your sensitive nipples. she grins at your persistent effort to remain calm, knowing that it’s no use because her other finger slides into you, making your walls clench around her and another wrangled noise erupt from your throat.
your eyes close and you struggle to keep the phone in your hand as your head becomes a fuzzy mess. “m-mommy,” you cry, and she just places the speaker closer to your mouth.
“what was that, darling? is mom there?” your dad asks, making your eyes blink open and a shot of fear flow through you. you grab at her hands, silently pleading with her to stop but she continues, kissing all along your jawline in the process.
“n-no…mommy—she’s not here.” you quickly save yourself, telling him that you were going to ask him about how their anniversary dinner went the previous week. wanda curls her fingers deeper into your dripping hole, watching with a satisfied expression as you try to keep up with the conversation - strained little rasps coming out of your throat that you try to hide with your hand.
and again, she slaps it away. “don’t test me, little girl,” she silently mouths, her lips pursing in a way that makes your tummy churn. but you just don’t think you can take it anymore - you can barely answer your poor father, who’s left wondering if your having a medical emergency of some sort.
“i-im fine, dad. j—just tired,” your voice cracks as you helplessly rock your hips down against her fingers, your body surrendering before your mind.
wanda starts mouthing at your boobs, taking your right nipple in between her teeth and biting softly. your head tips back against the backrest of your chair and the wheels jitter against the floor when your legs squirm. you can barely even make out what your dad is saying at this point - just a blur of random words drifting off into space.
“pumpkin?” he mutters, and you can’t even speak. your finger hovers over the end call button but you can see wanda’s side eye in the peripheral of your blurred vision, letting you know that it’ll be a big mistake.
you’re so fucking close that all it will take is one more press against your cervix before your coming and wailing down the phone. “p-please,” you whisper loudly, giving wanda the best puppy eyes you can manage, but all it does is turn her on even more.
she pulls out for a second, licking at her slick covered fingers. you think it’s all over - you pant heavily, trying to catch your breath, and just as you can manage another sentence she pounds her fingers back into you roughly. this time you moan so loudly that anyone who doesn’t have a head full of rocks would know what’s going on.
“y/n, what are you doing?” your dad’s voice sounds harsh now, and he waits for your answer, though it never comes because all the energy you have left in you is spent on trying not to escalate the situation further - trying to be good for your mommy, but trying not to make your dad any more suspicious than he already is.
“c-can’t,” you murmur, to who? you’re not sure, maybe both of them. wanda’s fingers dig deeper and deeper and you gasp for breath as you come close to the edge. she has you right there, one second away, watching as you pathetically whine and tug at her sleeves. “please…”
she finally gives you grace, pressing her thumb against the red button before you lose all control and your walls contract around her fingers. you let it all out when you see the blank screen of your phone, crying out into the air like you haven’t made a noise in days.
wanda brings her fingers to your lips and forces you taste yourself. you cling to her hand, your tongue stroking up and down her wet skin as she strokes your hair, gazing down at you with a look of almost disappointment while you lick her fingers clean.
thinking about mommy wanda using a vibrator on her sweet girl, keeping her on the edge because she said so.
request from sweet @maximoffsbutch <3
“Uh-uh, sweet girl,” She purred, her voice a low, raspy velvet that vibrated straight to your core—or was it not the toy tucked nicely in between your legs?
You were entirely at her mercy, pinned beneath her weight. Wanda hovered over you like a dark, intoxicating shadow, her dark eyes hooded and heavy as she watched every single twitch, every shiver, and every desperate arch of your hips.
The bedroom was thick with heat, the only sound being the quiet, unrelenting hum of the vibrator pressed firmly against your cunt and the erratic, frantic rhythm of your own breathing.
She had been doing this for what felt like an eternity.
Every time you reached that breathless, agonizing edge—every time your thighs began to tremble violently and you tried to chase that final, overwhelming release—Wanda would pull the toy back just an inch, reducing the intensity to a excruciating, maddening buzz.
She leaned down, her lips brushing the sensitive line of your jaw, her warm breath making you shudder. “I didn't say you could finish yet.”
“Mommy, please,” you sobbed out, your voice cracking, completely undone by the torture. Your hips instinctively tried to rise again, desperately seeking the pressure, but her grip on your wrists tightened just enough to anchor you, keeping you entirely helpless beneath her.
“I know baby but...You don't get to come yet, sweet girl," she whispered in a faux-apologetic tone, her hand brushing away the few strands of hair that fell down your forehead — lips brushing yours in a teasing, maddeningly soft kiss. “You have to understand that Mommy wants you needy. You're going to stay just like this for me until I say otherwise.”
You whined, not content of the denied pleasure but you also knew you had no other choice but listen to what your Mommy commanded from you.
A slow, devastating smile curved Wanda’s lips. She loved this stage—the complete surrender, the way your body glistened with sweat, the frantic, desperate way you looked at her like she held the key to your entire world.
Because right now? She did.
“Look at you,” she whispered against your lips, her free hand adjusting the dial on the vibrator, turning it back up to its highest, most punishing setting before pressing it directly back against your wet, aching center. “Trembling so hard for me. So sweet, so needy...”
You gasped, a high, broken sound escaping your throat as the intense friction hit you all at once. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, your toes curling into the sheets as you reached for the edge again, practically drowning in the heat.
“Please, Mommy, let me come, please. I promise I'll be good..” you begged, tears of frustration pricking the corners of your eyes, your entire body humming like a live wire.
Wanda held the toy perfectly still, letting you ride the absolute brink of it, her dark eyes alight with a fierce, possessive satisfaction as she listened to you beg for her. She loved hearing her title on your lips, loved knowing that she was the only one who could make you lose control like this.
“Say it again.” The auburn haired elder commanded softly, her thumb brushing a tear from your cheek, her voice dripping with absolute authority and deep, intoxicating affection.“Tell Mommy whose good girl you are, and maybe I'll let you come.”
author's note ; first time trying this concept and to be honest? i deleted and rewrote it too many times to count but i think i prefer this version better :) hope it's not to cliché/basic.
. . . . .
feedback's always welcomed ! ﹙check out my other works 💌 masterlist﹚
karina swore she would never get involved with a fan, but as certain groupie has her rethinking the rule
content: fem!reader, groupie!reader, drummer!karina power imbalance, suggestive, one night stands, guys please don't get in a car and then hook up with someone you don't know this is just fiction, suspend your belief for a sec, implied off page threesome mentioned (not with karina or reader though), karina is a lover girl, light cursing, this is set in the '90s/early '00s in my heart, like two uses of y/n, inexperienced!karina x experienced!reader, car....activities, shy!karina, she's so babygirl word count: 2.2k note: i imagine their style of music as more along the lines of can't help myself (hence the song title) and rock bands!!
it's seven pm, a few hours before they're set to go on stage, when giselle and ningning finally stumble into the practice room, their whole energy radiating hungover.
"you guys are unbelievable," karina scoffs, glancing up from where she's setting up giselle's bass guitar. "where have you been?"
"please, jimin, we know where they've been," winter remarks. she's sat with her back against the wall, resting her notebook against her knees as she writes lyrics she won't share with the rest of the group.
karina can admit that it's been nice to just sit and talk with winter, occasionally going to her drums to brush up on her already perfect skills or listening to her bandmate play a riff, but the other girls should've been there too, not off hooking up with lord knows who. "practice started hours ago."
"it was a wild night, what can i say?" giselle shrugs, taking her bass off karina and slinging the strap on. she looks slightly apologetic, but if given the option, she'd probably do it again.
"please don't tell me you were with one of our rival bands," karina near begs. the paparazzi love to sink their teeth into ningning and giselle's late night escapes, the duo often being photographed sneaking out of hotels with satisfied smiles or messing around before the show. if rumours got out they were fraternising with the enemy....
"no, we were with fans," ningning supplies. she takes her time getting to her keyboard, already knowing her skills are perfect.
karina sighs, "that's worse. you do realise that's worse, right?"
"what is it with you and fans, anyways? you have thousands of beautiful women ready to do whatever you please and you just......miserably go to bed?"
"i'm not miserable," karina weakly protests. ningning isn't wrong, though. once she exits the stage, all the energy leaves her body and she's left feeling empty. groupies outside the arena practically beg for her, yet karina always walks past them, returning to her hotel to do nothing but toss and turn with need in bed. "you guys know i have a rule against being with fans. it's too complicated."
winter is rather content to stay out it, keeping her eyes down so they don't rope her into the conversation. giselle notices but doesn't say anything, instead asking, "complicated how? just use protection and you'll be fine."
"getting into a relationship with one of our fans? that's crazy. how are we supposed to manage our schedule and the power imbalance and—"
ningning fails to repress her laughter, cutting karina off. at least now they've gotten to the root of the problem. sweet karina, always thinking about commitment first.
"we're not talking about starting a relationship with these girls, jimin, we're talking about a one night stand. ever heard of those?"
oh.
karina can't help but instantly think of you, her favourite groupie. you've never directly made a proposition, but you've given subtle hints that you're down for something more: a wink from the crowd, a lingering touch when getting her signature. hell, just the way you look at her is confirmation enough.
she always thought your something more meant a relationship, a thing she was sure to fuck up. but maybe you were looking for a one night, no strings attached kinda thing? karina can do that.
sure, she's never separated feelings from sex before, and sure, she has a tendency to get attached, but she can do this. one time to get it out of her system, that's all. then she'll be able to go to sleep without playing the way you bite your lip at her on repeat, pressing her thighs together and wishing she had her bandmates nonchalance.
karina realises she must've made a face because all eyes are trained directly on her, even winter's, who's abandoned her writing to assess karina with an unreadable look.
"oh my god, you have someone in mind," ningning says. it's not a question.
"our karina, all grown up," giselle teases. she honestly thought she'd never see the day, but here karina is, explicit thoughts clearly written all over her face.
"shut up, we have to perform in three hours," karina deflects. it's torture that she has to wait so long before she can see your face. she needs the time to pass as quick as possible, and there's no way that's happening with her members pestering her about you. "get practicing."
like always, the crowd is electric. fans push up against the barricade, arms held out like a brush from one of the girls fingertips will make their whole year. karina winces at the flash of the paparazzi's cameras, grateful her sunglasses shield her from the worst of it.
it's all so disorienting. the four of them left the venue just moments ago and fans are already enclosing in on every side. some of them have even been camping out since this morning, skipping the show just to be first in line to see them when they come out.
karina can admit she was distracted throughout the performance. everyone played well, and no one missed a beat, but her mind wandered as she performed. all she could think about was you and what ningning said.
could you really have a one night stand? how would that even work? does she just come up to you and ask? she hates the fact that it's so clear she's never done this before.
you probably have a lot of experience under your belt. not that she'd have any way of knowing, but still. she'll ask you what to do and you'll laugh in her face, she's sure of it.
she suddenly regrets not asking her bandmates for advice. all of them seem so good with women, and then there's her, who becomes a fumbling mess the second she's face to face with someone pretty.
"are you okay?" the question snaps her out of it, asked by a concerned looking fan whose album she was signing. half way through, her thoughts must've taken over, because her pen stilled on the paper, ink bleeding through to the other side. she bets it'll sell for hundreds.
"yeah, sorry," she apologises, shaking her head and moving on to the next fan without even looking up. god, she needs to get a grip.
"you gonna stain my album too?"
karina's head snaps up immediately. in the grand scheme of things, she's only heard it a couple of times, but she'd recognise your voice anywhere.
you look back at her with amusement. she's so flustered, it's cute. "no but seriously, you good?"
"can we talk?" she blurts out.
people are screaming so loudly you have to strain to hear what she's saying, some fans shouting praises and others complaining she's taking too long to get to them. a lot of them even reach out to grab her, to which her bodyguard has to fend off. "here?"
she shakes her head, clearly thinking what you were, "no, not here. just— hop over the barricade?"
she expects you to act surprised, but you barely even blink, jumping over and landing on your feet with an ease that makes karina think you've done this before. do other musicians regularly ask you to jump the crowd and come to their hotels? the thought makes her more jealous than it should.
she says her apologies to the other waiting, now disappointed fans and takes your wrist, enclosing it in her clammy palms and leading you to the black car waiting for the group. she knows the tabloids are gonna be all over this in the morning.
you both climb into the sleek back seats. the driver does a double take at the sight of karina, of all people, with a girl, but other than that she minds her business. that's what they pay her for.
"do you regularly get into the cars of strangers?" karina asks. she's trying to be flirtatious, but it comes off as more of a serious question than anything else.
"i don't know, are you a stranger?" karina, an extremely famous celebrity, just told you she needed to talk and then practically dragged you to her car, and yet you're confidently flirting with her. she could be trying to kidnap you for all you know. "what did you wanna talk about?"
right, the whole reason karina brought you here in the first place. "do you...like me?"
"you're gonna have to be more specific than that."
"do you wanna sleep with me? cause i wanna sleep with you, but i don't know how people do this. i just ask and then we...? but obviously you can say no! i've just been getting all these signs that you might like me back? and i've been so nervous to make a move because of what that would mean, but then yizho said it's not like we had to get married or anything and we could just hookup. if you're down that is? fuck, that all came out wrong, i—"
fucking finally.
you would've stopped sending karina signals months ago if you didn't think she was into it, but she got flustered every time she saw you at shows and always looked at you like she was trying not to undress you with her eyes. she wanted you as badly as you want her, she was just too nervous to do anything about it. until now.
"karina, i've never been more fucking down in my life. i've been down since the day i came to your first show, but i heard you don't mess with fans, and you never made any moves so i didn't want to pressure you. otherwise, we would've been doing this a long time ago."
"oh thank god," she lets out a sigh of relief, sinking back into her seat. when she thinks about it, the roles really ought to be reversed. she's the world famous rockstar, so she's supposed to be the confident one here, and instead she's resting the urge to hide away in embarrassment while you look completely content, if not even amused.
"sorry, i don't do this much — ever, actually — so i'm not..." she trails off, avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it.
"hey," you cup her face in your hands, voice taking on a more gentle tone. she relaxes into your touch. "we'll go at your pace, okay? we can stop at any time. and there's no strings attached, so there's no pressure."
no strings, she nods and tells herself she can do that. how hard can it be?
taking the movement as confirmation, you slowly shift so you're on top of karina, knees bracketing her thighs. she gasps when her back hits the base of the seat. "just relax and let me do the work, hm?"
you start pressing kisses against her jawline, working your way down to the base of her neck and collarbones. one of her hands finds its way to your back, nails digging into the soft material of your shirt as you pull on hers.
"ma'am?" karina can barely form words, but she gets ahold of herself enough to turn her head to call the driver who's suddenly gotten very interested in reading the information on the back of her food packet and call out, "you can start driving now. back to the hotel, please."
usually, the four girls travel together, but tonight it's just her. before the show, winter said she had plans and had her own ride, while giselle and ningning seemed to be setting up an impromptu interview with a journalist and waved at her to go ahead. seeing you with her, they probably had an idea of what was about to go down and decided better of it.
"and roll up the partition too," she breathlessly adds.
karina wakes up to the sunrise creeping in through the window, having forgotten to close the curtains last night. her body aches as she stretches her arms, but at the same time, she feels more refreshed than she has in months.
she rolls over in bed, almost slipping back into sleep. except, just before she can close her eyes, she notices a crumpled up receipt on her pillow. scribbled on the back of it, reads:
took you long enough ;)
- y/n
the night comes back to her in a blur: you and her, slow and tender in the car. then, once she'd picked up the pace, a bit more intense in the hotel bed, followed by the floor, up against the wall, the shower, then back in bed, then—
karina re-reads your note, talking in every stroke of your handwriting, and smiles. she imagines you padding over to her side of the bed, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt of her band, and trying to find a pen without waking her up. she wonders if you would've paused your writing to admire her sleeping, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest as she peacefully dreamed — about what, she can't remember anymore. maybe you hesitated before slipping out the door.
fuck, she's in too deep. as much as she's trying not to get too attached, her heart has already latched on. something tells her this won't be a one time thing.
something won't let it be.
like this? click here for more!!
note: if you're wondering if something's going on with winter....you'll just have to wait for her part ;) and ningselle's....but shh i didn't tell you that. and please don't ask me how their position in the car works....baby idk either (●‿●)
author's note 𖦹 I wanted to recreate something similar to what I did in my 8k event
Welcome to another celebration of a milestone!! I'm so happy to reach 12k and I wanted to do a little event because it's been a while since I don't do one<3
This time, the event is easier, requests are open only for SHOKO IEIRI, because that's the theme of this event. I've been obsessed with her for a long time and she deserves wayyy more fanfics
Basically, you can requests either smut, fluff or suggestive, add a little prompt, some type of plot or maybe just give a vague idea for the vibes and I will write something for her.
Every request that isn't about Shoko will be blocked immediately.
There are seven slots in this event + two slots for polyamory requests (think: shokoyuki, shokohime or sugushoko). My idea is writing them all and then post them all in one week, something like a Shoko week.
✶◟MASTERLIST
doctor!shoko and nurse!reader ── fluff
showing shoko your bikini collection ── suggestive
sorority girl!shoko x loser lesbian!reader ── smut
morgue coworkers ── smut
smoke shop worker!reader and her favorite client ── fluff
[free slot]
[free slot]
butch!suguru x reader x femme!shoko ── fluff
shoko teaching you how to ride utahime's strap ── smut
