𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟

Jealous. 

Polyamory was something you’d experienced before. You’d dated in threes a few times in fact, centuries ago.

Agatha Harkness, a centuries-old witch, had not. And it showed. 

And more importantly, Agatha had never learned how to share. I don’t just mean in a relationship. I mean that if you put your witch girlfriend in a sandbox, she’d probably bite a kid, again.

So when Rio and you, on a Saturday morning, when a sleepy Agatha was grumpy and didn’t want to get up, you went to a local bakery early. 

You came back to an even grumpier agitated Agatha. Rio set her keys down in the bowl and started in on Ags.  

“Oh my god, you are ridiculous. We brought you a dirty chai with pumpkin, even though you swear you hate pumpkin spice. ANNNnnnd we got you a chocolate donut detective!” Rio waved the white bag and the drink at Agatha. Who didn’t budge, but she reached for the cup. 

Rio pulled it back and shook her head. Agatha’s smirk emerged, and she leaned in and kissed Rio in gratitude, and only then did Rio give your grumpy girlfriend her breakfast. 

These moments happened a lot, which was silly because you all worked hard to communicate, ok, you worked hard for everyone to communicate.

 But you all wanted to have equality and no one left out. You had rules and things you didn’t do without each other.

One of those things was not watching your TV shows without the other person. You’d learned this the hard way. 

You and Rio had been watching Twilight Zone reruns, you were drawing and Rio was being your big spoon. 

Agatha came in from the basement where she’d been working on magic. She eyed the screen before you or your girlfriend could welcome her back into the land of the living. From being in the basement for hours. But Agatha turned hurt cold in her whole being. 

“You're watching TV without me?”

“They’re from 1959, Ags, these episodes are all reruns.” Rio teased, which wasn’t the right thing in that moment because Agatha’s lips pursed, and she glared at Death. 

“I was a little busy in the 50s! I missed them. You are watching TV without me! That’s against the rules!” Agatha would never like to be considered a person who whined, but that was exactly what was happening. 

“What? No way! This isn’t one of ‘our shows.’” Rio threw back, and that started the argument for an hour. 

You realized in that moment it wasn’t a matter of what show it was, it was being left out. 

Agatha was chronically jealous. 

The TV was no longer something you and Rio did without Agatha. Which was hilarious because Agatha didn’t even want the TV in your home. And now she owned it, like a kid who licks a cupcake to own it. No one else could touch it.  

You could name a million times these tense times came into view. 

Agatha was a control freak, and Rio and you just kinda understood that it wasn’t actually about Twilight Zone or baked goods. Agatha hadn’t been wanted by her own mother. 

And she forgot sometimes that you and Rio wanted her more than anything. 

So you and Rio would wordlessly communicate through the space and make little changes to keep Agatha’s safety. 

You were hunched over in the backyard picking vegetables from the garden you and Rio tended to. The sound of the sprinklers in the neighbor's yard and crickets starting up before the sun even set. 

That’s when you felt the depression bug creep in. You pushed it down. 

You pushed it down as you three made a large dinner. Working hard to fake it until your mind would catch up to the new idea. You got a few long glances from Agatha and Rio but you worked hard. 

Two days had passed and Rio had to work, so you and Agatha were going on a walk. 

You were doing ok, not great, but ok. 

And then you saw a kid who looked like Nicky. Your heart dropped.  

You calmly asked Aggie if you two could go home. Your girlfriend wasn’t stupid. But she laced your fingers together and walked you home. 

You took off your outside clothes and dove into the bed. And you stayed there for the rest of the day, and the night, and the next morning, and that afternoon. 

Agatha brought food and endless mugs of tea. She held you, and kissed your head. She tried to get you out of bed. But you were glued, you didn’t want to worry, Agatha. 

But you just couldn’t try anymore. 

You didn’t have the fight. 

The black dog had won, and you were letting it feast on your bone marrow. 

Around 3pm, you heard the door open again, Agatha hadn’t really left your side except to maek you tea. But she’d gone downstairs an hour ago and not returned. 

And when the sound came from teh floorboard you hated yourself for her worry. And you tried to pretend you were sleeping, knowing it would never work. But the bed dipped, and you flinched. You didn’t want to keep feeling this way and you didn’t want the unending shame for the look on Agatha’s face. 

But you felt another set of hands. One you’d known for a long time too. 

“My love, my sweet carino, it’s one of those days, huh?” Rio says, and you flip over and grab her shoulders. Rio lies down with you. And you cry from deep inside, and Rio doesn’t shy away, doesn’t tell you that Nicky is gone. Doesn’t remind you how long it’s been since he died. She just holds your body, like it’s sacred. 

When you finally stop sobbing, you pull back to look at her eyes. 

“You got here fast. Did Agatha tell you to come home?”

“I was in Mississippi, a guy got eaten by a tractor, blood everywhere. He kinda looked like a tube of toothpaste splattering.” Rio tells you, and you laugh at her dark humor. You put your face into her neck, and she rocked you. 

Rio whispered a song to you, one she’d sing to you when she dropped her work to come home. You’d played it one day, and Rio had told you it’s how she felt when she knew you or Agatha needed her. 

She’d drop her work and get to you two as fast as she could. So when she sang it, your heart broke in two. 

‘Cutting through the country, on my way to you

Runnin' out of Reds, comin' up with truths

I'm cutting through a cornfield, talkin' to myself

Hookin' up with strangers, askin' them for help

You reveled in Rio’s voice and her tender touch, and your body relaxed for the first time. Since you’d been on your walk. 

Waitin' for forever, waitin' for your call

I know it sounds crazy, we could have it all

If you needed someone, if you needed proof

I'm cutting through the country, I'm on my way to you

You bit your lip, and Rio kept singing to you. Knowing that you needed to hear it, needed to hear her. Need her.

I'm cutting through the country, listenin' for you

Someone I could trust, wishin' it was us

Yeah, nothin' lasts forever and everybody dies

I don't wanna leave, unless it's here with you tonight

And I'm pullin' from a bottle, flippin' on my phone

Lookin' for a life, lookin' for a home

Cutting through the country, call me when you're up

Nothin' lasts forever, but I'm not in a rush

Every day's a movie and I've already seen

I'm cutting through the country, I might fall asleep

Wake up in a cartoon, fallin' through the earth

Give me somethin' real, babe, and nobody gets hurt’

She stopped when you turned to look at her once more. 

“Agatha really called you, huh?”

It felt strange because Agatha was so good at soothing your frustration. But Nicky was a hard thing for any of you to talk about. You wondered what drove her to ask Rio for help. Because she couldn’t mourn with you? No, Agatha had mourned with you plenty. 

“Ags may be chronically jealous. But she loves you more than anything, Sweets. She’d give up her powers forever if it meant you didn’t feel another moment of pain. She knew you needed me, too. She can’t always communicate the right thing, hell I fucking can’t either. But you are so important to us. So I’ll always drop everything, and Agatha will break her pride and call me.”

Rio told you, and your bottom lip wobbled, and Rio’s face softened even further as she hugged you back to her chest.

You got out of bed that night and ate dinner at the table with your girlfriends. You sat on Agatha’s lap as Rio picked a scary movie. Agatha’s hands held you tightly, and you knew she wanted to say a million things. But her hands worked against your skin and you didn’t need her to speak a word.  

It was quickly Beltane, time the only thing that was constantly passing. 

And you were loving going to this huge witches' gathering. You knew the coven was too, but Billy had never been to a Beltane celebration. 

So you pulled him into little witches' booths and bought him cobbler and new rings. Explaining the fruit in it was important for Beltane and the whys. Lilia was running a tarot booth, and you’d brought her iced tea and poppy lemon cake. She’d kissed you and given you a big hug. Wishing you a happy, fruitful Beltane. 

Rio and Agatha held hands and walked behind you as you gushed over the history of Beltane to Billy. Who was just as bubbly, he’d bloomed this year into a more confident witch. Agatha told you it was because of you, but you didn’t take the compliment at all. 

But Billy had sort of adopted you three as his parents now. 

And you tried not to cry every time he asked to stay the night, or called you when he was upset. He’d ask you questions about how to have a healthy relationship, he loved Eddie. You talked for him for hours.

But he also adored Agatha for all her faults and sharp edges. Sometimes he’d come over and sit with Agatha and they talked into the wee hours of the morning. She taught him more magic, and he was respectful and eager to please her. Agatha always tried to hide her pride but you saw it. 

You also saw how Rio warmed to your favorite teen.

 It started small, she’d noticed he loved tomatoes. She had some in the garden, no big deal. But when you walked into the yard one day and noticed five new tomato varieties being planted, you knew Rio loved him. 

Slowly, Billy stopped being afraid of Rio too. Instead, he learned from Eddie how to make his Nonna’s family traditional tomato sauce. And he jarred it and brought it back to Rio. Who had never received a gift from a child before. She’d been worshiped by deities and you and Agatha had bought her thoughtful things over the years that she cherished and kept. 

But a child had never looked at her without fear, except one. And now here was Billy, looking at her with big eyes and dark curls. And she swore to protect him in that moment. 

And he kept bringing her things. A comic book with a lesbian in it, a button that had a skull on it, a bunch of taco’s from a taco truck he followed online. And in turn, Rio started to talk to him more and more. It was a gorgeous thing to see. 

You grabbed Billy’s hand in the sunshine and guided him into the next book. Jen wasn’t working it, but it was her company. You eyed the candles, and you and Billy sniffed each one and decided which one was the best. 

You looked over your shoulder to see Rio calmly talking to Agatha. Who was anxious, you eyed them, but knew that Rio could handle whatever had upset your girlfriend. 

The sun dipped down quickly, and you’d all eaten so much good food. The maypoles were being put away, and the bonfire was being built. Children were blowing bubbles and they floated like fairies in the sky. 

“So do we have to be naked?” Billy whispered to you, and you laughed at him and his blush. You were sitting on a log together as Rio and Agatha found some fun alcoholic floral drink that was being served in celebration. Nothing like drunk witches before a bonfire. Witches were throwing logs on the fire, and you two watche,d waiting for the rest of your coven to come join you.  

Jen and Alice were probably fucking in their car. But Lilia had gone in search of a ‘gift’, and you weren’t sure who it was for. 

“No, honey, we don’t have to be naked. We’re just here to celebrate. Witches aren’t here to judge each other, they’re here to give tribute to new beginnings. Beltane is to ask for new things, but to celebrate the coming of spring and a fruitful land. We are here to give back.” You explain to him, and Billy drops his head against your shoulder. He’d become way cuddlier in the last few months. And your heart ached for him. Wanda would be so proud. 

“Who are you going to give tidings to?” He asked, and it reminded you so much of Nicky and his first Beltane. You let yourself feel the overwhelming love for both of your boys. 

“Well, I always start with my sweet girl, Death. But Flora naturally and I never forget, no matter what time of year, to give a gift to Hecate. What about you?” You ask him, and his eyebrows scrunch, and he thinks hard before responding. 

“Belenus,” Billy said, the Celtic god, and you loved that he had such knowledge now. 

“That’s a great choice.” You tell him, and you hear Agatha and Rio before you see them. Rio plops down next to Billy, and Agatha sits next to you. Her hand goes to your thigh, and it’s a claiming touch. 

Rio reached across the teenager to hand you a pretty purple drink. You took it, thanking her and taking a sip. It was good very sweet and strong, and you made an appreciative noise. Agatha kept on hand on you as she sipped her own a little faster than you were. 

“Can I have one?” Billy eyed how Rio was double fisting two drinks. 

“Absolutely, when you are twenty-one, I’ll take you out and buy you shots. Until then, you can drink water or the kids made lemonade.” Rio answered like the Dad, and you felt warmth at the domesticity of it all. You and Agatha didn’t even step in, Rio ha,d and it was adorable. 

“Not even a sip?” Billy tried again. 

“Pet, if you keep this up you won’t get the strawberry funnel cake,” Agatha warned him, and she sounded so much like a mom. And Billy didn’t fight it anymore, but you saw him experiencing the love in her words. Someone to watch out for him, to tell him no. It was a beautiful thing. 

Alice yelled across the way to Billy she had two strawberry soft-serve ice creams in waffle cones. Billy hopped up out of the seat and ran over to her. She handed him one and then affectionately brushed his hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut from Jen soon. 

You all loved him. 

Agatha’s nails dug into your thigh a little, and Rio scooted to close the distance between you two. Both girlfriends sandwiching you in the middle. Much like they did every night in bed. 

“Aggie, what’s wrong, baby?” You asked and took a sip of the strong drink.

Agatha’s face fell into your neck, and she stayed there, inhaling you. Agatha wasn’t worried about people seeing you two cuddle. You were life long partners.  

“Someone’s a little touch starved for you, you’ve been paying a lot of attention to the coven today. And I think our witch is feeling a little needy.” Rio whispered so other witches walking by wouldn’t hear. A few stopped to look at you three, obviously aware of your reputation. No one knew who Rio was, which was always annoying and hilarious. 

But you and Aggie, were witch killers. And after all this time you still got dirty looks and snide remarks. But Agatha hadn’t told you no on coming to this event. Knowing you loved to celebrate the old holidays. 

But her hands ached for your body. 

Setting your drink down between your barefeet. You ran a hand through Agatha’s dark locks and kept her in your neck. 

“Do you wanna follow Jen and Alice example and go fuck in the car?” You asked, and Agatha snorted in your neck. Rio’s eyebrows raised in intrigue, and she hoped Aggie was about to say yes. 

Nicky had been conceived on Ostara, you’d not carved runes. You’d said no spell and no incantation. He’d been born from love. Having your nose and optimistic attitude, Rio’s dimple and mischievous nature, and Agatha’s brilliance and her ability to love deeply. 

Nicky was perfect. The best of all three of you. 

You were a little nervous to fuck on a holiday, especially one for fertility. But if Agatha needed you, you’d never deny her. Agatha’s nose brushed against the sensitive spot on your neck, and you shivered. 

“You don’t want to leave Billy for too long,” Agatha answered, and you knew that wasn’t what she wanted to say. There was a whole coven here for him. 

“If my witch needs my fingers, you only need to accept my invitation.” You tell her, and Agatha takes a minute before nodding. You three stand, grabbing your drinks, you excuse yourself. 

It takes about two hours, not what you’d planned but your body is thoroughly fucked. Agatha steps out of the car first and she uses a pencil to put her hair up. Big love bites clearly scattered over her neck and chest. You weren’t much better; you had more bites, and they were already dark purple. 

Rio wiped her mouth on the back of her hand to get all the evidence off. She reached into the back of the car, grabbing four sweaters and handing you and Agatha each other’s clothes. You wore Aggies deep purple sweater, and she wore your dark maroon cable knit. Rio pulled it over her baggy dark fern colored sweater on. It had frayed over the years and bits of yarn stuck out. She looked gorgeous. They both did. 

You all walked back into the cool night air. It had gotten dark while you were….busy in the car. 

When you came back to the outdoor venue, you saw Alice and Lilia holding Billy as Jen worked with the kid's corner to make sure that baby witches were grounded during all this energy play. 

Rio put a hand on Billy and he turned and grinned at her in greeting. She thoughtfully handed him one of her baggy sweaters, it was a dark blue and it had a few white sigils for warming in it. You loved that sweater so much, there was something so parental about Rio keeping the teenager safe and warm. 

Walking up to your fortune witch and grabbing Lilia’s shoulders, she turned to you and kissed your cheek affectionately. 

“Wondered when you three would finish.” She teased and then bent down and took out a flower crown from her bag of goodies. She placed it onto your head, and you had to bend down because she was so short. But she curled your hair behind your ear and then beamed at you. Lifting your chin up so she could look at you.  

“You are one beautiful witch, doll.” Lilia complimented you and you felt it warm your body. 

“Lilia-”

“Hush, you look fantastic. The giant bruises on your neck look like you’ve been fighting a vampire. But besides that, you are…gorgeous inside and out.” Lilia grabbed both your forearms and leaned in like she was telling you a secret passed down for centuries. 

“Thank you.” You whispered back and turned to see Agatha and Rio beaming at you. 

The flowers in your crown were a mixture of Nicky's favorite wildflower to pick in the forest, Agatha’s secret ingredient in her perfume orchids, and Rio’s water hemlock, a poisonous plant that she planted in every home you’d ever lived. And your favorite big Alaskan daisies that’s stems weave through each flower. 

Lilia was good. 

Your girlfriends both came over and kissed each of your flushed cheeks.

You all sat as the celebration began, and people danced in all ways around the fire and chanted. It was gorgeous, and a glow illuminated off their bodies. Lilia and Alice were explaining what was happening to Billy. 

You weren’t watching the witches now, your eyes were up at the full moon. You were watching as the magic of all these witches did what it did in Old Salem. They were ‘drawing down the moon.’ So it looked bigger and bigger, like La Luna wanted to dance with the witches herself. 

Agatha was watching you and one of her hands brushed your hair to the side, and she held the back of your neck and you closed your eyes at the sensation of her fingers. She was leaning in to kiss you or whisper something and someone cut your moment short. 

“Hey! You are fucking gorgeous wanna come dance naked with me?” This witch asked you, and she was very beautiful. Her red hair was wild, and little braids were in between her thick locks; they had baby’s breath in their strands and feathers. She was already naked, and the curtains did match the drapes. Her large rune tattoos framed her muscular arms. 

“She’s fucking taken, go find a loose witch that’ll lift her dress for you silly hag.” Agatha snapped and snarled like an animal, and the poor witch froze for a minute in fear. Before making a great imitation of Thumper and running like a rabbit back into the night. 

Before you could say anything, the coven erupted into laughter. 

“She had no idea she’d just hit on Agatha Harkness, woman!” Alice cackled out as Billy grabbed his sides, and Lilia’s laughter made people turn and stare. Rio’s hand fell over her mouth as she found it hilarious as well. 

“I don’t see the humor in this!” Agatha chastised her coven which was erupting at the seams. Perhaps it was all the energy in the air, the magic, you told yourself. But Agatha glared at them and you moved further into her embrace kissed her long and slow. 

“I like you jealous. I’m yours, though. I didn’t wanna dance with her, I only want to dance with you and Rio.” You tell her, and Agatha softens like butter under your words and gentle touch on her body. 

It’s dawn by the time it all ends, and you are sobered up enough to drive your girlfriends home. You offer to take Billy, but he’s asleep on Jen’s lap, and she shakes her head. Alice and Jen take him back to their house to sleep off all of that magic high. Lilia steals his phone and hands it to Alice, not able to really work technology well. She texts his mom to let him know the change of plans. 

Rio guides your body in your mutual tired state.

“Coffee first?” She asks, wondering if you wanna make a stop. 

“Home.” You say eyeing an exhausted Agatha who climbs into the back seat and lies across the leather. She doesn’t put her seatbelt on, which is terribl,e but you and Rio can’t find it in you to wake her and make her do it. 

You drive home slowly and carefully. You get into the house and rest your flower crown on the kitchen table. The three of you move into the bedroom, shed your clothes, and climb in to cuddle. 

You wake hours later, and it’s deep in the afternoon, and you yawn. Agatha kissed your forehead and you smiled. 

“Wanna take a bath with me?”

“Yes, please,” it sounds like an amazing time. The smell of campfire and ash sliding off your body. Agatha did her amazing talent of making a bath smell sinful and look like a scene in Game of Thrones. You both slid in and Agatha was happy to press your back against her bare chest as she used a hand towel to scrub your arms. You closed your eyes, still sleepy after your nap. 

Aggie talked to you softly in the space about her first Beltane with you. One where you’d stolen her heart and she teased you about never giving it back. 

“It’s mine.” You told her and she kissed behind your ear. 

“In this life and the next.” Agatha promised.

You were both feeling a contact high between your naked bodies pressed together and the intoxicating scents in the tub. The undtertone of sexual tension was dilicious. Turning slightly you angled yourself so that Agatha could kiss your lips in a slow dance. 

You were both rudely interrupted as Rio walked in. 

“HEY! I didn’t get invited to bath time!”

Yeah, Agatha was jealous. But you might have forgotten to mention so was Rio. 

Rio was very jealous. A lot. 

Death was huffing at you both irritated at not getting her bubble bath moment too. 

“Rio the tub is not big enough for three! And you took a shower-” Agatha tried to reason with her toddler of a girlfriend who folded her arms and glared at you both. 

“WE HAVE POWERS! MAKE A BIGGER TUB! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!” Rio started to shout and you just smiled. 

Jealousy was woven into your life yes, but the love was behind every inch as well. 

Agatha took the wet washcloth and threw it at Rio’s face who started to take off her clothes and Agatha shouted at her. She had one foot in the tub and Agatha was trying to push her out. Soap and tub water splashed over the side and all over the bathroom floor. 

“IT’S TOO SMALL OF A TUB!”

“MOVE OVER!”

“YOU ARE ALL SWEATY!”

“YEAH WELL I’M GONNA GET CLEAN AREN’T I!”

Maria – 

The wine is warm beside Maria’s bed. The bottle of Prosecco momentarily forgotten about as a symphony engages beneath the darkness of night and blankets. It’s not often that Maria pulls the blankets overtop of herself as she works to unravel the intricate knots and coils in your belly, but she’s chosen tonight to share the beauty of your body with only herself and the silicone toy secured around her hips. Your moans are muffled by her skin, teeth embedded into her shoulder as she rocks the strap-on into you harshly, the bulbous head dancing along your cervix with every third stroke. She’s practiced in this tango, an expert in knowing your body, but the wine has impacted your reception to her actions, and as she pulls the strap out of you almost completely only to thrust back into you quick and harsh, a name leaves your lips that isn’t her own. 

Maria has never been soft with you in moments of time where some part of her body is buried within yours. She’s rough, and assertive, and entirely domineering as she splits you open and gives you only as much pleasure as she’s willing. With Maria, you’re never in charge. The cards are held tightly in her ironclad grasp and you’ve learned better than to try and guess that she’s holding. The wine however, has severely impacted your judgment. You’ve engaged in this dance for months now; been left with the bruises and aches of her touch for days afterward, and yet you’re disoriented enough to cry out for Wanda as she drills your sopping cunt so perfectly. 

“Mommy!” The title slips off your lips before you can search for the correct term that’s filed away in a section of your brain labeled ‘Masha’. Maria has never been Mommy, in fact, she’s always turned her nose up at the title and joked that Wanda’s entirely too harsh to be called something so maternal, and she’s less than amused when the five letter name falls onto her shoulders as she works to unravel you completely. 

Her hips stutter to a stationary position, the silicone dildo fastened around her hips deep within your pleasure soaked core, but unmoving and unwilling to start again. There’s a moment of silence that passes between the both of you; Maria’s eyes are hard, slitted and dark as she stares down at you in a drunken haze, brain struggling to process what you’ve just let slip. Your eyes are wide, light and soft as you meet her stare and attempt to win her forgiveness without seeing the repercussions of your actions. You were a fool to call her Mommy, but you were an idiot to think she’d let it go so simply. 

The silence that had fallen over you ended abruptly, replaced by the echoing sound of a sharp slap meeting your cheek and bouncing through the air before you’d had a chance to process the pain at all. Your head snapped to the side, your unharmed cheek pressing against her pillowcases that smell somewhat of smoke and vanilla. Your eyes pinch closed, anticipating the next hit that will land against your heated skin, but it never comes. Maria’s hand tangled into your hair instead, pulling your head back until your neck is craned and the expanse of your sensitive skin is exposed enough for her teeth and tongue to mark. 

“What’s my fucking name?” Her hips snap into yours with each word that she mutters against your neck, sharp bites and sensitive stings encasing your body in a delectable buzz of pleasure and possessiveness. You’ll bear these marks for days to come, indentations of her teeth and patches of purple from her lips adorning your skin that can’t be easily hidden with makeup or your longest turtleneck. Everyone who looks at you will know that you’d found yourself beneath a warm body and had been helpless to their assault, but only you’ll know that it was Maria Hill who had been your intimate attacker. Each lovebite that she presses into your skin is a subtle claim. You’re not Wanda’s in this moment, you’re not Natasha or Carol’s either, you’re entirely Maria’s and she’s reminding you of such as her hips drive hard against your own and the silicone strap that’s coated in your arousal attempts to bruise your cervix in the most addictively painful way. Each strong thrust sends you reeling farther into bliss, but she’s waiting for an answer and you’re not getting anything more until she hears you call her the right name. In her opinion, she’s being entirely lenient with you, there are a plethora of ways she can go about reminding you who you belong to, and yet your wrists remain unbound and your breasts remain unmarked by the leather of her favorite flogger that’s just an arms distance away. “Whats my fucking name, slut? Or do I need to carve it into you? How pretty would you be with my name on your thigh; ruined for anyone else who even tries to get between these legs? My little slut forever.” 

A strangled moan falls into the air as Maria sinks her teeth into the skin of your neck just beneath your ear, and your hands that have remained at your sides throughout this entire exchange shoot up to scratch at her back, blood bubbling to the surface as you spare to ounce of lightness to your touch. She’s marked you, now she’ll bear your marks for days to come. “S-Sir!” 

Maria hums, satisfied with your answer, but unwilling to forgive you completely. Her hips continue to pound into you until she reaches her high, thighs quivering as she moans in pure delight until she’s too sensitive to continue on with her ministrations. The strap-on leaves your entrance quickly, your overstimulated and sensitive walls pleading for it to stay, but Maria’s done for the night, and she’s decided that you are too. She reaches for the abandoned glass of wine, taking a sip smugly as she straddles your hips, damp toy splayed across your naked belly as your chest heaves and you look up at her pleadingly. 

“You’ll get to cum when I don’t have to remind you who I am.”

Natasha –

Natasha’s hips continue to rock into you even as she leans forward and captures your lips between hers. The room is filled with a thin layer of smoke, the scents of weed and sex entangling together and yet it's somehow entirely Natasha as you lay beneath her, willing to take whatever she wants to give you. Your head is fuzzy, filled with only thoughts of her and the lightness that the bud had brought over your senses. Her body is warm as her naked chest presses against yours, already marked by her passionate kisses and bites that will linger for days to come in secret. Her pupils are blown wide, a combination of her lust and the joint she’s rolled skillfully. Her fingers are educated in the art of many things, but unraveling you is one of her most prized hobbies. Her lungs are filled with smoke from the last drag she’s taken, and as the seconds linger on with her lips still pressed firmly to yours, unmoving but eager to claim you intimately, she exhales into your open mouth and forces you to take the smoke that she fills it with. It burns as you inhale, slipping down your throat smoothly and filling your own lungs, but it’s pleasant and you greedily allow her to continue until all that remains is an empty kiss that was once filled with weed. The smoke trails out in wispy strands of white and gray, and they dance between your faces until the open space claims it and the visual is gone. 

When she pulls away, there’s a devilish smirk on her lips that even another drag can’t erase entirely. She raises the joint to her lips again, eyes fluttering closed as she sits back on her heels, the cum-filled strap she borrows from Carol still buried within your walls and yet agonizingly still as she lets her head fall back in contentment. The cloud of milky white smoke that settles around her is entirely erotic, almost a halo of intoxication above her head, but there’s hardly a second for you to admire how ethereal she looks in this state before she presses into you firmly and resumes her rocking. Her pace is punishing albeit shallow, the tip of the strap-on hitting your perfect spot so softly it feels like butterfly sings batting against your skin, but she’s ruthless with her speed and the quick motions of her hips are enough to have you gripping at the sheets and looping your legs around her waist to draw her in deeper. 

Natasha laughs smugly at the sight of you so fried and desperate. She raises the joint to your lips with one hand, encouraging you to take a hit before her other hand wraps loosely around your neck. She doesn’t apply any pressure as you take a long drag, eyes fluttering closed as you involuntarily shiver at the taste lingering on your tongue, but the presence of her grip is enough to have your hips bucking into hers. 

“F-fuck sir!” You cry out when she obliges with your silent request and begins to thrust deeper into your core, the head of the toy pounding right against your sensitive spot with practiced ease as your head falls back against the pillows and your lips release the joint. A cough falls off your lips as you moan around the smoke in your lungs, eyes becoming watery from the burning sting, but you have no time to recover from the hit before Natasha’s hand is tightening around your neck and her hips are setting into you faster and harder. 

Her lips purse as she collects spit on the tip of her tongue, letting it fall against your flush cheek before she smears it down your neck, fingers that are still holding the lit join trailing across the expanse of your sensitive and worked over skin. She’s playing with fire now, quite literally, smearing her spit across your chest until she finds a home at your pebbled nipple and pinches roughly, but you have no ounce of self-preservation in your body as you watch the lit joint fall closer and closer to the marked skin of your chest as she tightened her grip on your neck and leans cynically close to your face. Her eyes are dark, clouded with lust and intoxication. Her hips have set a punishing pace and each time she drives the head of the strap into your g-spot your vision goes white with pleasure. 

“That’s not my fucking name. Are you really that much of a slut that you’re thinking about Masha as I’m fucking you. We can get Masha if you’d like, I’m sure she’d love to watch as I fuck you into my mattress until the only words you know how to say are Daddy please. I’m sure she’d love to lay between these legs and watch my cum spill out of you before I push it right back in and plug you up. Fucking whore. Is Daddy fucking you too good? Is that little brain so overwhelmed with pleasure that you don’t even know who’s fucking you?” Natasha lightens her grip on your nipple, bringing the joint back up to her lips before she drops it into the ashtray on her bedside table and grips the dildo, throwing her head back as her thrusts become choppy. “I bet you’d let anyone fuck this cunt. All you want is to cum. Fuck!” She curses as she drops her body against yours, lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss as she squeezes the shaft tightly, cum spurting against your walls and marking them with a milky whiteness. “Cum with me. Fuck!” 

With her permission, the coil in your belly finally snaps, and you arch into her touch as she rides out her own orgasm, the cum slipping down your legs and coating your inner thighs and her sheets. “Fuck Daddy!” 

“Good girl. Scream my name. Let Masha hear how good I’m making you feel.” 

Wanda – 

When Wanda invited you over to fuck, you’d anticipated something quick. What you hadn’t expected, was for her to bind your wrists to her headboard and force your legs apart with her recently purchased spreader bar. You’d been at her mercy for hours now, writhing on the bed beneath her as she took her time working you up. First it had been her fingers that dared to ruin you, the ringed digits slipping between your folds and teasing your clit and entrance until you were dripping onto the bed sheets and pleading with her to give you something more. She’d agreed easily, not even putting up a fight to prove her dominance over you. Those skilled fingers had turned into a skilled tongue. The hot muscle pressed against your clit, lapped at your entrance and slurped up the damp arousal that glistened beneath the moonlight that bled into the room from the open window. She was relentless in her teasing, and as overstimulated as you were beneath her touch, you were equally as frustrated. She’d been at it for hours, bringing you just close enough to taste the sweet relief of your orgasm before she pulled away and began the process all over again. You’d cursed her out six times since she started, and each time she merely chuckled against your core and slapped her palm down harshly against your cunt, sure to let her fingers brush against your clit for merely a second before it was gone and her tongue soothed the ache but brought nothing more. 

Your hands itched to tangle into her hair, and yet each time you reached for her you remembered how she’d so intricately bound you to the headboard with the softest rope in her collection. Your hips bucked upward as she pulled away again, your entrance clenching around nothing as your clit throbbed and protested. A broken cry fell off your lips as you shook your head frantically, needing her back on you and relieving the intense ache that she had single handedly created. Her lips and chin glistened with your arousal as she smirked down at you, the vibrating egg between her legs working her up to an orgasm you could only beg for. 

A whine rippled through your chest before it tumbled into the room, the words you’d been chanting for hours mangled and wrong as they came spiraling out fast and strung together. “Captain! P-Please!” Wanda growled lowly at the slip, her eyes dark and sinister as she leaned forward to grab your jaw and force your eyes on her. 

“What did you call me?” Despite how she articulated every syllable in the sentence, she wasn’t really looking for you to respond to her. In a swift motion, she’d reached across the bed to grab the panties that she’d pulled from your legs when you’d first joined her in the bedroom, and shoved them into your mouth. The balled up fabric was damp and uncomfortable as it sat on your tongue, but despite how hard you strained to force them away from your mouth, you couldn’t get them out with your arms bound and her body restricting your movements. 

Your eyes tracked her movements as she fumbled around in the drawers of her bedside table, thighs straddling your waist as she leaned forward and subsequently rocked the vibrating egg farther into her tight channel. She trembled in pleasure, but everything about her was always so perfectly kept that it was hardly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t you. Her rustling had lasted mere seconds before a black marker that had been used weeks prior to mark up a project poster now in her grip and uncapped. You had no idea what she planned to do with it, but there wasn’t any way for you to ask if you wanted to. You were helpless to watch as she slid down your body and dragged the inky tip across the skin of your breasts before moving downward. 

You gasped when the cold tip of the marker dragged across the skin right above your mound, thick black letters that you had to strain your neck to read lingering on your skin only to be gone when you washed your body of her touch later that night. ‘Mommy’s Slut’, was written just above your cunt, but Wanda wasn’t satisfied in stopping there. She dragged the felt tip across the inside of your thigh, holding your legs still as they wiggled away from the ticklish sensations she provoked. A thick arrow pointed straight at your weeping entrance, and Wanda was cruel enough to write, ‘cum slut’ at the tip of the arrow. A cry fell off your lips when she threw the marker onto the floor, and returned to her position between your legs. Her mouth was cruel as it worked you up to the edge, but unlike the times prior, she hadn’t stopped when you’d begun to wriggle around as an indication of your approaching orgasm. You fell over the cliffside in bliss, but that had only lasted long enough for your orgasm to crash over you and then she was gone, forcing you to ride it out with no further stimulation. 

A harsh slap met your sensitive cunt when you finally stilled on her bed, teary eyed and desperate for something more as you stared up at her with wide pleading eyes. Wanda wasn’t willing to comply however, and instead of satisfying you fully, she trailed harsh bites up your torso and between the valley of your breasts before her lips, still glistening with your arousal, found a home against yours. The dainty pink panties with a frail little bow on the waistband still between your teeth and properly wet from your saliva, but she hadn’t trailed so close to your face to kiss you. Instead, she settled her harsh glare on you, a sinister smile curling the edges of her lips upward as she let a damp finger stroke across your cheekbones, “I guess Mommy has to remind you of who you belong to. We’ll see if you deserve to cum in a few days.” 

Carol –

The buttplug is an added sensation that Carol uses to her advantage as she works to unravel you completely before you both have to leave for class. You’re not new to butt plugs, Maria’s quite the fan of them, but you’re new to them with Carol and the ways that she likes to toy with your stimulated body. You're on all fours in the center of her bed, knees sinking into the mattress as your hands grasp and twist at the comforter, absolutely desperate for relief that’s been slowly building beneath the surface. Her fingers are buried deep into your core, curling into your g-spot and massaging your velvet walls with pride. Her tongue circles the plug in your ass teasingly, and every couple of minutes when you least expect it, she presses against the base of the plug in tandem with her harsher thrusts before she scissors you open. 

Carol smirks against your ass as she sinks her teeth into your left cheek, her hand slapping down on you right just as she flicks her thumb over your clit. A muffled moan falls off of your lips as you bury your face into the comforter, your hips rocking back on their own accord as you attempt to chase after her touch, a strangled cry of, “Daddy more!”, vibrating your cheek as you twist your head to rest your cheek against the comforter and stare back at her. 

Carol is relatively unbothered by your slip of her title, but she doesn’t let it go entirely, not that you’re aware yet. Her fingers work into you easily, her thumb rubbing harsher, tighter circles around your clit until you're spasming on the bed. She smirks against the globe of your ass, her thumb pressing firmly against the plug with the hand that’s not buried between your thighs. “That’s not my name Princess and you know that.” Carol says smugly, grinding her hips down onto the edge of the bed as she chases her own relief, knowing there’s not enough time in the ten minutes she has left with you to reverse your position and have you go down on her. 

“Captain!” You cry out sharply, reaching your hand back to grasp onto Carol’s as the coil builds in your belly almost unbearably. The engineering major merely smirks, digging her teeth into your ass a final time before she encourages you to spill around her fingers. That’s all it takes for you to cave and tremble as she continues to scissor you open and curl her fingers into your cunt, but as quickly as your orgasm comes, she’s pulling away and throwing your clothes at your head. “You’re really going to go to class like that?” You question her, laying dazing on her bed as you twist onto your back and watch her run a baby wipe between her legs before she’s wiggling into a pair of fresh panties and reaching for her pants. 

“Yes, and so are you. Get up. That plug doesn’t come out until I take it out.” She says in the most unphased tone, reaching for the crewneck that’s been laying across her desk chair for days, not even bothering to reach for the bra that’s only inches away. 

“W-What?” Your eyes go wide as you sit up in bed, wincing slightly at the pressure in your ass as the plug presses against the inner parts of you sweetly, ropes of pleasure shooting through your core. 

If you didn’t, you’d be consumed by an unrelenting sadness. She had been a lonely woman when you crossed paths. She had lost everything she held dear; her coven, her first love, her son. Then she found you. Someone unalike anyone she met before. You were so honest. Not innocent or gullible, but you held no malice or treachery in your heart.

She was the most charismatic woman you’d ever. She could sell snake oil to a fucking snake. Agatha was a charmer and easy on the eyes too. She was utterly bewitching.

You intrigued her, at least that’s what she said. You believed it before, but now it was hard for you to think of it as anything other than her loneliness calling out for companionship.

She was so warm at first. She’d reach out to hold your hand, tuck your hair back into place, she’d let her lips curl into a smile as she whispered against your ear. You wouldn’t have been able to pick out her sins just by seeing her interact with you.

Her actions never bothered you much. You relished in the fact she’d let you wash away her sins. Her wrongdoings were things you believed you could love away. If you kissed her scars enough, she would smile down at you. That’s how you knew they were healing. You healed her with a patience and tenderness that she had never known before.

Though every time you healed her it seemed like she’d have fresh scars within the next few days. You knew your wife had a thirst for power. Something from her youth that refused to be satiated no matter how many covens she drained.

You hypothesized that for every coven she killed, she wasn’t only taking their powers; she was taking in their darkness. It felt as though she was carrying their burdens, she was feeling their pain, she was bathing in their atrocities. No witch had clean hands. Some drowned in darkness, but they had all sipped from it’s chalice at least once.

Agatha was always cold after she had killed the witches. She wanted you nowhere near her. She didn’t want your judgement or your comfort. It felt like she didn’t want you in those moments. As her ledger grew, so did the coldness. So, you tried to stop waiting up for her.

Your conscience didn’t allow that. Agatha was capable of handling herself, but the circumstances were to unpredictable to allow you a peaceful rest knowing she wasn’t home.

So even though you knew she wasn’t coming tonight you sat still at the kitchen table. You were whittling down a piece of wood. Nothing artistic, just something to help pass the time.

When your wife staggers into your home, you simply turn your head to look at her. Her hair is wilder than usual, her breathing is shallow, and you could see bruises forming around her arms.

Your movements are slow as you rise from the table and walk over to her. Her body snaps towards you, defensive and on edge.

“Why are up right now?” The frustration in her tone is hard to miss.

“Waited for you,” your answer cautious on your tongue.

She scoffs,” You don’t think I can handle myself? I don’t need you waiting up for me.”

You shook your head, “It’s not just for you. I get peace of mind knowing that you’re here. That you’re safe Agatha.”

“Well, here I am. Are you at peace?”

Your eyes meet hers, looking for the woman you love too soften up for you. The way she used to when you first met. All you saw, all you felt, was a wall.

“Have you gone mute or are you going to answer me. I don’t have all night to stand here in pain.”

You feel your eyes begin to water. You refuse to break, unwilling to be faced with reality of her not caring about your tears.

“It’s morning,” is the only thing manage to say as you walk past her and into the bedroom.

Things only worsen from that point.

You believe that Agatha no longer cared about being lonely. The way she pulled away from you was proof enough. She hardly spoke to you and when she did, she couldn’t look at you. She wouldn’t touch you and when you tried to reach for her, you saw her entire body tense.

The distance wasn’t something you could write off anymore. It was impossible to ignore. Any time the witch left your home, you cried as if she’d never come back. You’d let yourself grieve. The woman you loved didn’t seem to love you anymore.

She had to hate you to put you through this kind of torture. She gave you her love and then ripped it away from slowly and painfully. You almost couldn’t comprehend looking directly at the person you loved but not seeing her at all.

The ring on your finger burned. You thought about taking it off and leaving Agatha. It would hurt, but there was a chance that it would feel better than this. You thought about it so much, but then you’d catch a glimpse of Agatha’s ring finger. Her band never moved from her finger; not when she went out, or ate, or showered. It’s the only thing that made you think that maybe she didn’t hate you.

Agatha could never hate you.

In fact, the only person she hated was herself. How could she have let this happen to your relationship? You were the one person she could say she cared for just as much as her Nicky. Just like she did with him, she was disappointing you. You were suffering because she was inept, because after all these years she’s still scared to love openly.

She tried to fight against the woman who taunted her in the mirror. The reflection that had to remind her that she was unlovable. It taunted her with images of her loved ones dying and others betraying her. Agatha could see the look on her mother’s face when she took her last breath/ When Agatha stole her last breath.

Nothing she loved panned out in her favor. She didn’t want that for you. You deserved better than that, better than her. Yet she let her selfish ways bleed into her relationship. She didn’t want to let you go, because even through this having you around gave her comfort. Looking at you broke her, because she could see just how much she was hurting you. But in the dead of the night sometimes she’d watch you sleep, sweep your loose hair away from your face, and kiss the top of your head. She’d cry then, wishing that she could do something right. She had to fix this or let you go. Sometimes she’d go out in hopes that you’d be gone when she came back.

You never were. She’d come home and find you whittling a piece of wood at the kitchen table each time. It gave her relief and filled her with guilt simultaneously.

“I’ll be back,” Agatha says to you.

It’s rare that she tells you before she goes.

You meet her eyes from your seat at the table, “Be safe.”

She goes to the door and then hesitates. She walks back over to where you are sitting. Before she second guesses herself she places a featherlight kiss in your forehead.

“I love you.”

Neither of you remember how long it’s been since those words have been said. Agatha looks like a wreck waiting to see if you’d be so kind to her.

“I love you too,” your voice is soft, but the conviction is still there.

Agatha feels like she can breathe for the first time in a long time. She doesn’t linger, opting to leave with the warmth of your words.

You watch as she leaves the home. Your heart thudding against your chest, startled by the woman’s action. A flicker of heat in the ice that blanketed your relationship.

It was too early to start whittling. Instead, you decide to clean around the house/ It was all very mundane until it wasn’t.

One second, you’re alone and the next you’re surrounded. Three witches form a circle around you. Demented smiles stretch across each of their faces.

“Looks like the hag actually does care about something,” the one in red speaks.

“What do you want from me?

They burst into laughter like you’ve told the joke of the century. With their heads thrown back and tears pooling at the corners of their eyes. You try to use the moment to your advantage, attempting to run out of the house.

Your sudden movement stopped as the one in blue grabbed a handful of your, slamming your back into the floor. You arch your back off the floor and hiss at the pain.

“You aren’t going anywhere dearie,” the blue capture informs you.

“Live bait is the best bait,” the third witch in black finally speaks up.

The one in red seems to be in charge. She crouches down to get level with you, “We’re going to wait for Agatha to come back. Then we’ll kill you in front of her just like she killed the members of our coven.”

“If we’re lucky, she’ll be so beside herself with grief, we’ll be able to kill her too,” the one in black adds on.

You sit up, locking eyes with the leader, “You might kill me, but you’ll never be able to kill her.”

The leader tilts her head and smiles sweetly at you before grabbing you by the jaw, “Tie her up and tape her mouth.”

Her hand is callous against your face. Her nails dig harshly into your skin, but you keep from squirming. You can tell these are the kind of people that get off on reactions, so you refuse to play into that.

The blue and black captures follow the red one’s instructions. They drag your chair from the kitchen before throwing you on to it without care. They start by tying your arms behind your back. Soon there’s a thick rope against your chest digging into your shirt, forcing you against the chair. The tie your legs last, putting each against one the chair legs. Finally, the stick the duct tape over your mouth, leaving you completely helpless.

“Anything else you wanted to say sweetheart?”

You glare at the trio, but they pay you no mind and start rummaging around your house. You sit there, jaw tense and eyes firm ahead. You guess that it makes sense that eventually Agatha’s actions would catch up to her. Yet she isn’t here to suffer like you are. It did surprise you that she hadn’t tied up these loose ends. Agatha never left any survivors, it was sloppy, and she was a perfectionist. You hoped she’d come home soon put there was a pit in your stomach telling you something else.

She wasn’t coming.

It had been three days. Your limbs ached, the lack of circulation causing them to turn colors. Your captures had been generous enough to allow you to use the restroom, but that was all. They’d tie you back up as soon as it was over. The tape on your lips felt as though it was a part of your body. The three witches have lost interest in your home, having turned it completely upside down. They had been looking for things to use against Agatha, but they came up unsuccessful in their search.

“How come the spell outside was so easy to break, but the one’s in here are so complicated?”

“Who cares, where is Agatha?”

You let out a small noise, it’s as close to laughter as you can get. They set their sights on you. The leader marches up to you ripping the tape right off of your face. It causes you to let out a yelp. The stinging sensation was strong enough to make your eyes well up.

“Did you have something to say?”

You start to laugh, tears streaming freely down your face, “She’s not coming back. I should’ve known by the way she left that she wouldn’t be coming back. I don’t know when she stopped loving me, but she did. Let’s just skip all of the bullshit and melodramatics, just kill me.”

You remember her lips against your forehead. The way she said she loved you before she left, never planning on returning. At least your last memory of her would be sweet. You were just happy that you got to remember her that way. Despite it all, you still love her.

Your words only seem to anger the witches. The leader loses her temper fairly quickly, striking you across the face. She backs away from you only for the other two to take her place. One of them starts striking you across the body, while the other lays into the side of your head. Your hands are tied you can’t defend yourself. All you can do is cry out as they beat you mercilessly.

Suddenly their attack stops. You pry your eyes open to see them frozen in their places. Their eyes move around, but nothing else.

Agatha stands tall in the room. When her eyes land on you, you can see her entire body begin shaking.

“This is what I get for showing you mercy? You come into my home and take my wife captive. You beat her and think you’d live another day?” Her voice cracks when she speaks.

You notice her own tears streaming down her face as she walks towards you. With a flick of her wrist, you’re free from the ropes. You attempt to stand, but you can’t. She’s by your side holding you up. You don’t protest as she scoops you up into her arms and carries you to the bedroom. With a gentleness that you had forgotten, she lays you on the bed.

The way Agatha looks at you breaks your heart, “I’ll only ne a second.”

She walks out of the bedroom and, true to her words, she’s back faster than you could imagine. Her eyes scan your entire body when she returns, assessing the damage.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I heard.” She pauses for a long moment, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Agatha is cautious as she approaches you. Her hand is outstretched towards your feet and it moves carefully in a motion up to your head. You could feel the ache in your limbs disappear; the pain you had felt from being beaten was also gone.

“I couldn’t tell,” you are honest.

Agatha sits on the edge of bed. Her hands are clasped tightly together. You watch as she struggles to find the words she wants to say. You place on of your hands on top of hers. She takes your hand in hers. Just soft and warm as you had remembered. She brings your hand up to her lips. Her tears hit your hand before her lips do.

She mumbles against your skin, “I’m so sorry.”

“You stopped letting me in. I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t touch you, you were pushing me so far away that I thought you didn’t want me anymore; that you’d rather be lonely,” you move so that you’re sitting next to her.

“I didn’t marry you because I was lonely. I married you because I love you, because I’ve never met anyone that can make me feel like you do. It’s terrifying to know how much I need you. Knowing that I could lose you scares the fuck out of me because there isn’t a reality where it isn’t my fault. You almost died today because of me. I would’ve cost you your life. I’m not scared of being alone, I’m scared that I don’t know how to be enough for you.”

Your thumb cascades over the top of her hand, “You’re stupid, do you know that?”

Agatha blinks, “Only because you tell me so often.”

“Agatha, I love you the way you are. There’s nothing else that I need. I just want you to stop shutting me out. Let me hold your hand, let me lay my head in your lap, and let me kiss your scars away.”

You lift her hand to your lips, kissing it.

“I’ll make it up to you, all this time. I don’t care how long it takes; I don’t ever want you to think I don’t love you again. You’re my better half, forever and always,” there’s determination in her eyes as they meet yours.

You let your gaze drop to her lips. Her hand cups your face and you’re both leaning in. When your lips touch, it feels like relief. Like a declaration of peace of a long war. Agatha finally surrenders her fears to you. You don’t run from them; you’d never run from her.

When Natasha suggested Wanda acquire a human pet, she laughed in her face. It was the most bizarre thought. A powerful, high-ranking vampire does not need an idiotic, useless blood bag.

That was until you. Everything about you reeled her in, making her obsessed. She would zone out in important meetings or events because her mind was filled with violent and pornographic images of you.

"Wanda." Another high-ranking vampire, Carol Danvers, snapped at her. "What is going on? You have been distracted for the past few weeks."

Natasha sneered. "She's obsessed with a little human."

Wanda scoffed; a lie smoothly following. "Humans are below me. I would not become obsessed with such a weak creature."

"I don't care what your problem is, but you need to work it out," Carol sternly said. "I will not have you ruining this for us. Do you understand?"

Wanda nodded. She wasn't going to let a pathetic human ruin this.

-

Your heart was pounding and your legs ached with each step. You were exhausted but couldn't stop running; she would catch you. The trees had gotten thicker causing the sunlight to barely shine through, making it difficult to see.

So, naturally, you had to fall over a rock.

"Shit." You scrawled to your knees, ignoring the throbbing pain of your newly exposed skin and blood trickling down your knee.

There was no point in running anymore. She was already here within the time it had taken you to stand. You squinted, trying to find her in the shadows of the tree.

You couldn't find her.

Some people would think that was a good thing, but you knew it wasn't. You felt her hungry eyes raking over your body. Over the past few days, it had become a game for her. She would have you on a paranoid edge, pushing your fear to the limit, then pounce.

"I know you're watching me." You wanted to sound brave, but you didn't.

Silence.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?" You screamed, hoping that your rage would pull her out of the shadows.

Silence.

"Please," Your voice wavered with emotion. "Stop doing this."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as she emerged from the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and her bright red eyes complimented her pasty white skin.

She glanced at your bleeding knee and licked at her fangs. She smiled as you stumbled backwards, trying to create space between each other.

She was quick to fill that space. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her and placing her other hand on your hip to keep you close.

"Are you scared, little one?"

"Does being a monster damage your brain cells?" You snapped, irritated by her stupid question.

Her hand collided with your cheek; her strong and painful slap made your skin go hot and sting. You tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip tight on your hip.

"Are you scared, little one?" She sternly asked again.

"Yes," You answered honestly.

You were fucking terrified. For many days and nights, she followed and hurt you. You tried going to the police, begging for their help, but who in their right mind would believe that a blood-sucking monster was following you? Her saliva would slowly heal a wound so you didn't even have the bite marks to prove it.

She grinned. She pushed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply and moaning at the scent of your blood. Her fangs lightly brushed against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" You sniffled, trying to contain your tears.

"You." She replied. "You're mine and I want you."

You shook your head. "You don't own me."

She laughed. "Oh, I think I do."

A sharp pain that was like an uncontrollable fire spread across your neck and chest as she dug her fangs into you. You squirmed in her hold, trying to break away from her but her inhumane grip kept you close.

"No, no."

The pain was unbearable until her venom was pumped into your system. You sighed in relief, slumping in her hold. Vampire venom can be used for many things, sex being one of them. The venom makes a human incredibly sensitive and horny, basically turning your brain to mush.

She pinned you against a tree. One hand held onto your waist whilst the other slipped into your panties and rubbed small circles on your clit.

Your blood filled her mouth and dripped down the sides, staining her shirt. She groaned, her grip tightening on your hips and fingers moving faster.

"Please." You whimpered.

Her laughter was muffled. "You don't even know what you're begging for."

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. The venom made everything feel more intense and powerful, even the slightest touch made you squirm.

"Stop." You weakly pushed against her.

She snarled and dug her fangs further into you. She would only stop when she was finished, not when you were.

"Please...” you beg, giving up on physically fighting back. “I can’t-”

The wicked pairing of blood loss from Wanda’s fangs in your neck with your blinding climax washing over you rendered you limp, and you felt your weight drop as your knees buckled beneath you.

Your thighs clamped around Wanda’s fingers, still steadily rubbing circles on your swollen clit, and your stomach began spasming. The little strength you had left was put towards an involuntary whine, your voice full of air as you arched away from her touch. A wince falls from her bloodied lips into the curve of your ear at your blunt fingernails digging red crescents into her pallor skin.

Just as quickly as it came, though, the pleasure melted from your body, and you were reminded of your achy limbs, exhausted from weaving your body through the woods. The edges of your vision began to fade to black, and your mouth went dry.

She’d worked with you since you’d started there and she’d hated you from the beginning. You never knew why nor did you question it for too long, finding that the feeling was mutual.

She was competitive and made it her goal every day to be better than you at your job. She would brush past you, ignoring your presence, while greeting your boss and then promptly find some way to one up you, making sure to jab at you subtly in the process. When others weren’t around, she wasn’t much nicer. She made snide remarks, gave backhanded compliments, and treated you more like you were an intern than her equal.

Despite her less than pleasant behavior, you tried not to let her get to you, but it was hard not to fight back sometimes.

It did bother you at times how she seemed to look down on you. You wondered what you ever could have done to make her dislike you so much. If things were different, you thought you might actually like her or want to be her friend, or at the very least her acquaintance. The first time you saw her, you were taken aback - she was admittedly a very gorgeous woman, which was even more frustrating.

Today was going to be a good day though, you told yourself. You had a cup of your favorite coffee, a song you loved playing in your headphones, and a meeting with your boss that day discussing your recent work, which you knew you’d done flawlessly.

Today was going to be a good day. Was.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you entered the Stark building, swiping your keycard to get to the elevator and going up to the 21st floor, was to see your boss at the front desk, waiting for you with the one and only Wanda Maximoff stood beside him.

She wore a maroon blouse with a fitted black skirt, the color of her shirt making her green eyes stand out, and if she was literally anyone else you would’ve complimented her style. That was another thing about her that was infuriating - she always looked good.

Your boss, Mr. Stark, laughed at something Wanda said before he noticed you and waved you over.

“Y/N, you’re prepared for our meeting today, yes?” Mr. Stark greeted, smiling.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding.

“Perfect, I expect nothing less from you,” he started. “Also, Wanda will be joining us today. I have something very important to talk to the two of you about, regarding our deal with the Osborn group.”

You tried not to let your face fall, forcing a smile and glancing at Wanda, who seemed to be pleased that she was crashing your personal meeting with the boss. You’d wanted the one on one time with him as you’d been itching to bring up a possible promotion ever since one of your staff members resigned. Your numbers had been impressive lately and you were sure he would at least consider it.

Now, unfortunately, Wanda would be part of your meeting and knowing her, she’d probably laugh in your face if she found out you were interested in moving up.

“Sounds good,” you responded as normally as you could, feeling slightly nervous for what was to come.

“See you both at 11,” Stark said, making his exit and leaving the two of you standing by the front desk.

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Wanda spoke. “You don’t seem too excited about me being at the meeting later. Do you not like me?” The redhead teased, fake pouting. “Or did you just want some alone time with Stark? I wouldn’t put it past you to whore yourself out to the boss for a promotion.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are like you, Wanda,” you replied, trying to get under her skin, despite not actually believing that she was that kind of person. It even slightly offended you that she thought you might be, especially considering you weren’t into men to begin with. “See you at the meeting.”

You walked past her to your office, setting your things down on the desk and running a hand through your hair. It was going to be a long day.

By the time the meeting came around, you’d finished your coffee and gotten some work done to kickstart your day, trying to keep your mind busy after your encounter with Wanda earlier.

You stopped by the break room for a water on your way to the meeting and arrived to the conference room a few minutes early, taking a seat next to the head of the table where Mr. Stark would sit.

The door to the conference room opened slowly and Wanda walked in, taking the seat across from you with a disapproving look on her face.

“You should really invest in some new clothes if you want to impress Stark. Yours look like they came from Goodwill,” she remarked, making a point to look you up and down where you sat. You ignored the way your body heated up at the action.

“At least I don’t dress like I want the boss to bend me over,” you shot back, not missing a beat.

“Oh, do you think about me bent over a lot?” she asked, smirking.

Now all you could think about was what Wanda might look like in such a position and you hoped she couldn’t tell you were blushing.

Before you could come up with something to say back, Stark walked into the room, adjusting the collar of his suit jacket with one hand, the other carrying a set of documents. You and Wanda both sat up straighter and greeted him simultaneously, almost as if you were competing to see who could say something to the man first.

“Glad you’re both on time, we have a lot to cover today,” Stark announced before taking a seat at the head of the table. “Firstly, Y/N, I know this was supposed to be something of a performance review for you. We can reschedule that for a later date. Today’s topic actually involves both of you, which is why I asked Wanda to sit in.”

You felt your stomach turn at the possibilities of what that meant. Maybe he had a project the two of you would have to work together on, or maybe he had finally caught on to your disdain for each other and you were both in trouble for being unprofessional.

Before you could overthink too much, he spoke again. “As you both know, we’re currently in talks of a merger with the Osborn group. They want to give us a percentage of their company in exchange for a shared client base.”

You and Wanda both nodded in acknowledgment, listening intently.

“However, Osborn is a family business that runs on certain values. Mr. Osborn has agreed to the merger under two conditions, the first one being that the CEO of our company be married, which I am. The second condition is that I hire two people to take on the merging process, which means extra work, but extra pay as well.”

He cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, the two of you are my best employees. I want to bring you both in to help with the merger.”

There it was - you were getting promoted, but you’d have to work alongside Wanda, who was also getting promoted. You tried not to show your mixed emotions, excitement at the prospect of moving up in the company, paired with the stress and slight disgust of having to work with Wanda.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad - maybe you wouldn’t have to work too closely with her.

“Here’s the catch,” Stark said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Osborn wants a couple to take on the project. I want the two of you to do it, seeing as you’re the best in the company at what you do. It is a promotion, but if you want it, then the two of you have to pretend to be together for appearances.”

Your jaw dropped. You were finally getting the promotion you’d wanted for so long, but there was in fact a catch, a massive one at that. You had to pretend to be dating your work rival - some might even call her your worst enemy - for however long the merger would take.

“What are your thoughts?” Stark asked, looking between the two of you.

Wanda had an unreadable expression on her face. You couldn’t tell if she was pleased with the promotion or absolutely pissed at the thought of fake dating you. The fact that you couldn’t read her when you wanted to was almost as frustrating as the bomb Stark had just dropped on you both.

“I think we can make it work,” she spoke first, putting on a friendly face for show. “Y/N and I are both adults here and we would be silly to turn down such an offer.”

You swallowed, nodding your agreement. “Exactly,” you said, your voice almost cracking. “I’m sure Wanda and I can find some common ground.” As you spoke, you looked her directly in the eyes, as if your stare alone could convey that you could see right through her act and that you were only playing along too for the money.

“Perfect!” Stark’s voice broke through the tension and you looked away from Wanda to give him your full attention. “We’ll need to go over what’s required of you both for the position you’ll be taking. Not just the work aspect, but the relationship aspect as well. Osborn will have his own employees and clients here often and you’ll need to keep up the relationship act at all times.”

Stark opened the folder in front of him to pull out two contracts, one for you and one for Wanda.

“The second you’re here every morning, the two of you are together. I’ll also be paying for you to go on at least two dates a week outside of work. I know this is a place of business, but the more PDA the better. Today is for getting your stories straight, I want both of you to work together for the rest of the work day to come up with a believable foundation for your relationship and get to know each other better. I’ll take care of your individual workloads for the next two days as well, so you can focus on each other and we can get through all the paperwork. I hate to ask you to do all of this, but I trust the two of you can handle it.”

As Stark began to go over some paperwork with you, explaining each page before having you sign, your thoughts were everywhere but on the dotted line. Two dates a week? PDA? You weren’t sure you would survive faking a relationship with Wanda.

You hated to admit it, but the thought of kissing her had crossed your mind before, usually accompanied by enough disgust that you could ignore the butterflies it caused.

Wanda was beautiful - anyone with eyes could see that - and she was absolutely your type, but her personality always squashed any thoughts you might’ve had about wanting her.

Now, it was all too real. You would have to pretend to like her despite the torment she put you through since your first day at the company. You’d have to put aside your rivalry for the sake of your promotion and act like she wasn’t the bane of your existence most days.

You would have to kiss her.

Your mind was stuck on that and you couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was something more, but whatever it was had your head spinning.

Your thoughts raced as you finished the paperwork with Stark and Wanda, who seemed far too calm and collected the entire time.

When the meeting was over and Stark had left, you ignored a snarky comment from Wanda and exited the conference room with haste. You walked back to your office, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as soon as the door was closed.

The merger would begin in two days and you had no idea how long it would take or how long you’d have to “date” Wanda. Two days of normalcy didn’t feel like enough time to prepare, but you knew what you had to do. You were getting promoted, and Stark trusted you with one of the most important collaborations to ever happen within his company. You decided you would just have to focus on that to get through what was to come. Everything would be okay.

Two days went by fast, faster than you expected, and it was time to put on a show. You and Wanda had used those two days to prepare, coming up with a story of how you got together and learning more about each other to make your relationship more believable.

Of course, Wanda never missed an opportunity to insult you or tease you during those two days and you wondered if she’d be able to hold back when it was time to pretend.

It was easy enough to come up with a story. You met each other at work and fell in love over time. One night of working late turned into a first kiss and a date that would soon follow.

You’d learned a lot about Wanda as well. She lived close to work at an apartment complex similar to yours but slightly more luxurious. She walked to work some days and loved to stop for a croissant on her way when she had time. She had a brother named Pietro, who lived about an hour away. She was born in Sokovia and grew up there with Pietro before moving to the States to pursue better opportunities, which explained why she sometimes sounded like she had an accent.

She found out a lot about you as well and you weren’t sure if that made you uncomfortable for good reasons or bad reasons. It felt both exciting and also nerve-wracking to share parts of your life with someone you spent so much time hating.

You found yourself hating her a little less as you learned more about her. She was a very interesting person and you wondered what it would be like to know her as someone who she didn’t make it her life’s mission to annoy every day. You wondered if she was feeling the same way as she got to know you too.

Whether or not she was, today was the day where you’d both have to put your rivalry aside and pretend to love each other.

You stopped for a coffee on your way to work, knowing you would definitely need one, and walked purposefully to the Stark building. You arrived ten minutes early, hoping you would have some time to sip your coffee and take some deep breaths.

As you swiped your keycard and boarded the elevator, a familiar voice called out.

“Hold it, please!” Wanda said, running up to the elevator with an outstretched hand, heels clicking against the tile.

You put an arm out to keep the door from closing and let her in. “I should’ve let it close,” you said teasingly.

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten sweetheart, but we have to be nice to each other now. Think you can handle that?” she responded somewhat condescendingly.

“I can handle it, can you?” you asked, looking over at her as you spoke.

“You underestimate me, detka.” That was new, she’d never called you that nor had you ever heard the word before, but it sounded lovely the way she said it.

Neither of you spoke again as the elevator finished its journey up. The doors opened and the two of you stepped out into the office area where Mr. Stark was waiting for you, accompanied by a man you’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wanda moved closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back as you approached and you were glad she didn’t notice your slight shiver at the touch.

“Good morning ladies,” Stark greeted. “As you probably already know, this is Mr. Osborn.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, shaking Osborn’s hand.

Wanda did the same after you, only removing her hand from your back to shake Osborn’s properly.

“Y/N and Wanda here are going to be taking on the merger, the paperwork is already done and they’ve been briefed on what’s expected of them,” Stark announced, gesturing to the two of you standing there closely.

“Ah, so you’re the lovely couple I’ve heard so much about.” Osborn smiled warmly as he spoke.

“Yes, and we’re so excited to work with you,” Wanda replied, subtly taking your hand in hers and interlacing your fingers.

You knew it was all for show, but it felt weirdly nice to hold her hand and you internally cursed yourself for thinking such a thing. But you couldn’t help it when her hand was so warm and soft and her thumb stroked the back of your hand idly as she conversed with your boss and his business partner.

After a few minutes of talking, Stark excused himself to take a business call and Osborn turned fully towards you and Wanda.

“Thank you for taking on such a big role in the company,” he started. “I look forward to seeing more of the both of you.”

“We can say the same, sir,” you said sweetly, leaning into Wanda a bit to help the act.

He smiled again and with that, he stepped away, walking off towards one of the offices he would be using during his time there.

You knew he had other employees around the office so you couldn’t drop the act for even a second, whether Osborn himself was looking or not, so you fought the urge to pull away.

“Nice touch leaning into me,” Wanda mumbled, so that only you could hear.

“Was that… a compliment?” You asked quietly, unable to resist the urge to tease her.

“I would say don’t get used to it, but neither of us have a choice anymore.” Wanda turned towards you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you later.”

She pulled away to go to her office and start her day and you did the same, knowing you needed some time to yourself after your first little performance with Wanda. You almost thought it was going to be a long day, but then you remembered this was going to be your every day for a while.

The charade continued as the day went on and you worked more closely with Wanda on the merger, going over paperwork and calling clients together. Osborn’s employees would come in and out of the conference room to discuss things with the two of you, so you had to endure more loving touches and heartwarming compliments from the redhead.

At one point, Stark and Osborn had a conversation in the hallway outside the conference room, which of course had glass walls, making it hard to catch a break from faking your relationship.

You were reviewing a document with Wanda beside you when she spoke.

“Can you sign this one for me?” She handed you a form and a pen.

“What, no ‘please?’” You joked.

“No, I don’t think I need to ask, you’ll just do it if I tell you to,” she remarked back, catching you slightly off guard.

When you took the pen from her, your fingers touched and you knew Wanda did it on purpose. You looked over at her, feeling small under her intense stare, before signing the form and sliding it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sounding slightly distracted, causing you to look at her again.

When you did, her eyes weren’t on yours.

“Osborn has wandering eyes,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze on your lips, and before you could respond she was kissing you softly.

Her lips against yours felt incredible, you couldn’t even lie to yourself. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and in that moment, you never wanted to detach from her. You would work through why that was later, right now all you could think about was her.

You kissed her back, lips moving together in tandem, fitted so perfectly against each other it created even more conflicting feelings within you.

It didn’t last nearly as long as you wished it did, wondering why on earth you were hoping for more when it was Wanda you were kissing.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, leaving one last quick kiss on your lips before saying something about printing more documents and walking off.

You sat there for a moment, trying to collect yourself. As you came back to reality, you noticed Osborn looking in from outside the conference room and you were coldly reminded that Wanda only did that so he would see it. It meant nothing to her and it shouldn’t mean anything to you either.

With that, you focused back on your work, knowing in a few minutes you’d have to go over more of it with Wanda and the show would continue. You just had to keep reminding yourself that none of it was real.

From where she stood at the printer, Wanda smirked to herself at how you reacted to the kiss - she wasn’t going to let that go anytime soon. She knew she’d have time to tease you about it later, after she was done cursing herself for thinking about how soft your lips were against hers.

The rest of the day went by fairly smoothly. Stark and Osborn spent most of their time in Stark’s office, so you and Wanda had some time to cool off from the kiss earlier. That didn’t stop Wanda’s teasing touches however, because Osborn’s employees could be anywhere, and it seemed she was enjoying torturing you in a new way.

By the time you were getting ready to head home, you were beyond flustered and fairly certain you’d need to change your underwear. If Wanda wasn’t infuriating enough already, it was only made worse by the fact that she had this effect on you.

The days that followed were similar to that first day. You and Wanda continued to pretend to be a couple, with Wanda winding you up every chance she got, almost like she knew what she was doing to you.

Osborn was at the office a bit less every day, but his employees were always there getting work done even when he wasn’t around.

Therefore, the show went on. Wanda had gotten in the habit of giving you soft pecks on your lips before she would get up to go take care of work-related tasks and it was driving you insane. The short and sweet kisses were too much and yet at the same time, never enough.

You had come to the conclusion that you definitely felt something for Wanda, something other than disdain and irritation. As much as you tried to fight it, you wanted her. You convinced yourself she would never feel the same way though; with how she had always acted towards you, it seemed impossible.

Every touch, every kiss, every pet name Wanda called you - it was all an act. You had to push your feelings down as much as possible because you didn’t want her to find out and you didn’t want to get hurt. So you kept your guard up and tried your hardest to ignore how you felt, despite the fact that Wanda wasn’t making it easy for you.

You were starting to wonder if the promotion was even worth it.

Even so, you carried on, doing excellent work under Stark in your new position and working surprisingly well with Wanda, from both a business perspective and a fake dating perspective.

You had also found it in you to initiate more of the relationship acts with Wanda, if not to satisfy your own desires then to at least mess with her. Sometimes you held her hand, sometimes you moved hair out of her face, sometimes you kissed her on the cheek - every time, she seemed to like it. You figured she was just acting, as you were supposed to, but part of you hoped she wasn’t.

You loved that she sometimes seemed nervous or flustered when you made a move or teased her.

One time when she kissed you, you separated first, while she was still attempting to keep the kiss going. You decided to mess with her and said jokingly, “if you want to keep kissing me, you could just ask” with a smirk plastered on your face. She blushed and hesitated before she spoke. “In your dreams,” she remarked, before going back to work. You considered that a win.

Maybe it was worth it if you could get a reaction out of her too.

It had been a week since the act started and tonight was date night. Starting tonight, you’d have to go on two dates with Wanda every week. Stark gave you a company card to put all of your expenses on for the night, telling you to take Wanda to a nice restaurant he recommended and enjoy dinner with her.

You were nervous to be alone with her outside of work, but you were also looking forward to it.

The restaurant was a block away from the Osborn building, which is why Stark had picked it out for your date. You’d have to keep up appearances while you were out with Wanda, but you didn’t mind. Part of you was excited to at least feel like you were taking her on a proper date. You wondered more than anything how she was feeling about it too.

At the end of the work day, you left the Stark building and walked home to get ready for your date. You decided to wear slacks and a black dress shirt, wanting to feel confident while also not giving Wanda the satisfaction of seeing you in a dress. You straightened your hair and touched up your makeup, hating the idea that you wanted so badly to impress Wanda.

Slipping into a pair of high heels, you finished getting ready just in time for a car to pull up in front of your apartment building, courtesy of Mr. Stark.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, giving you time to hype yourself up. It was just a date. It may have been just a date with your arch nemesis, but it was just a date. You’d been on dates before, you could do this. It wasn’t even a real date anyway, you told yourself, it was just another one of many performances between you and Wanda to secure your promotion at work.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, you thanked the driver and got out, walking in to see if Wanda had already arrived.

As you spoke to the hostess about your reservation, the door opened and you were absolutely not prepared for what came next.

Wanda looked stunning; seeing her like this took your breath away. Unlike you, she had worn a dress. The black material hugged her body in all the right places, with a slit down the side, exposing her thigh.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Wanda said smugly as she approached, a cocky smile on her face.

“You look nice,” you managed to get out, trying to compose yourself.

“You do too for once,” she responded, smiling, the backhanded compliment not going unnoticed by you. You found that you didn’t mind.

The two of you were escorted to your table, where you pulled Wanda’s chair out for her and then sat down across from her.

“So chivalrous,” she commented, fingers tracing the menu in front of her.

“Anything for my beautiful girlfriend,” you said back mockingly.

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful?” she asked, smiling.

You rolled your eyes. “I also called you my girlfriend.”

“Yeah but you have to call me that. Didn’t have to call me beautiful,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. She had you there.

“Well, maybe I meant it,” you mumbled, trying to hide the truth behind your words and keep up the playful banter.

“You’re beautiful too, you know,” she said, looking at you intently. You blushed, unable to hold eye contact after the compliment. You muttered out a quick “thank you” and decided the menu suddenly seemed really interesting.

After ordering your food and drinks - you made sure to get something with a little alcohol in it - an awkward silence settled over the two of you.

Wanda broke the silence first, chuckling.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s just funny. I never thought I’d be here, at this fancy restaurant, having dinner with you,” Wanda replied, but there was no malice in the way she said it, only amusement.

“Cheers to that, because I never thought I’d be here either,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“Where did you think you’d be? What kind of future do you see for yourself?” Wanda asked genuinely. You weren’t prepared for the conversation to take such a turn but you answered anyway.

The rest of the dinner went surprisingly well; the two of you talked about your goals, your lives before working together, your hobbies, and anything else you could think of.

You learned that Wanda loved to garden and you found it ironic that a week ago you never would’ve thought she was capable of loving something enough to keep it alive.

By the end of the night, both of you were slightly tipsy and actually enjoying each other’s company. You covered the bill when it came, using the card Stark gave you, and the two of you walked outside to wait for your rides home.

You leaned against a brick wall, laughing at a joke Wanda told you, catching your breath. As you calmed down, you looked at Wanda, who still had a bright smile on her face. It was so genuine and real, you couldn’t help but stare, almost as if you were memorizing her face at that moment. You felt like you were seeing her for the first time. She was undeniably gorgeous all the time, but something about her letting her guard down and laughing with you allowed you to see her differently - she was breathtaking.

She was everything.

You didn’t realize you were staring for so long until she noticed and returned your gaze. Her eyes flickered down to your lips and you almost shivered at the motion.

Just as you were about to speak, Wanda leaned in.

You met her halfway, kissing her softly at first, getting lost in the feeling of her lips against yours. She brought her hand up behind your head, deepening the kiss and you almost moaned when you felt her tongue against your lips. Your lips parted to let her in and she kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life.

This was the longest kiss you’d shared, and by far the most intense one. You never wanted it to end, kissing her back just as eagerly, allowing your tongue to swipe against hers. Your hands came up to her cheeks, one finding its way behind her neck to play with the hairs at the nape of her neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, just feeling each other and forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

When her tongue licked into your mouth again, you whimpered, and that seemed to break the spell.

Wanda pulled back, pupils dilated, a slight look of panic painting her perfect features. “Sorry, I- I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” As if on cue, a car pulled up, one of Stark’s drivers, and Wanda got in.

She was gone as quickly as she was on you in the first place and it took your brain a moment to catch up with what had just happened.

The kiss didn’t feel planned, it didn’t feel fake, it didn’t feel like it was for Osborn or Stark or anyone at the company. It felt real - it felt like she wanted you just as badly as you wanted her. You wanted to believe that but you couldn’t let yourself. She left in such a hurry she obviously regretted the kiss and you weren’t entirely certain she hadn’t just done it because she saw someone from work walking by.

You groaned, reality sinking back in. Another car pulled up and you knew it was your ride home. You straightened yourself out and got in the car, letting your mind run through all the possibilities on the way home.

When you arrived at work the next day, something was off.

“Hey Y/N,” Wanda greeted you at the entrance and put a hand on your shoulder, letting her thumb rub circles, but it felt wrong. It felt calculated, like she was just going through the motions. Even the tone of her voice lacked energy.

You felt like she didn’t want to be there and didn’t want to be touching you - it was as if she was suddenly making no effort to be convincing.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerned.

“Everything is just fine,” she said back, forcing a smile.

Before you could say anything else, she walked to her office and closed the door.

You went to your own office and looked over the documents you had to deal with for the day, before heading to Wanda’s office to work on them with her.

You knocked before poking your head in. “Conference room?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec,” Wanda replied coldly, void of any emotion.

You tried to ignore the way she was acting but you couldn’t. It wasn’t her usual cruelty towards you; this was somehow worse.

A few moments after you set up in the conference room, she came in, ignoring you and getting straight to work.

All day, she handed you papers to sign and occasionally put an arm around you when an Osborn employee walked by, swiftly removing it once they were out of sight.

At one point, Stark came in and gave you both a mountain of paperwork to do with a deadline of tomorrow morning at 8am. He apologized and said you could both stay late and get overtime, then left the room to meet his own deadlines.

So now what felt like the longest day of work was actually going to be the longest day of work.

Wanda’s behavior persisted throughout the day and well into your overtime hours. Everyone had left the office so there was no one left to put on a show for and Wanda made sure you knew that.

Her overall coldness towards you was bothering you more than it should’ve and you finally said something.

“You know, this whole relationship act is supposed to be convincing.”

“No one is here now,” she retorted nonchalantly.

“You’ve been acting like this all day.”

“And I’ve been touching you all day and being sweet with you in front of the others,” she said, before looking at you. “What, do you need more? In case you’ve forgotten, this whole relationship act is exactly that - an act.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you said, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. “Like I’m making this something it isn’t.”

“If the shoe fits,” Wanda replied, going back to her paperwork.

“No.” You stood up. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one blurring the lines between real and fake. You didn’t have to kiss me like that last night, but you did.”

She stood up too. “Maybe someone was watching, Y/N. What do you want me to say? That I wanted to kiss you? That I did it because you’re so irresistible I couldn’t help myself?” she snapped back callously, like she was trying to hurt you.

“I don’t care about the kiss!” You raised your voice. “I care about this promotion and I won’t let you ruin it just because you can’t handle whatever happened last night.”

“Nothing happened last night, it was a kiss. We’ve done it before. It meant nothing!” Wanda yelled back.

“Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?” you said, holding eye contact.

With that, she shoved you against the nearest wall. “I hate you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, before she leaned in and kissed you hard.

Unlike your other kisses with the redhead, this one didn’t start out soft. It was rough and full of emotions. It was fueled by all the feelings swirling around within the two of you that you had yet to vocalize.

You kissed her back, you couldn’t help yourself. Just moments ago she had you on the verge of tears and now here you were, kissing her back like your life depended on it.

Your hands came up to her neck and you deepened the kiss, lips moving against hers purposefully as if you were trying to prove a point.

Your tongues met and mingled, both of you gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. You didn’t separate until you needed air.

“Just a kiss, huh?” you breathed out, your noses still touching.

“Shut up,” Wanda said back just as breathily.

“Make me,” you challenged, wanting to be difficult but also wanting her to kiss you again.

She leaned back in, lips connecting with yours, kissing you much softer this time. Her tongue met yours and it made you weak in the knees, the slowness of this kiss compared to the roughness of the first one making your head spin. You knew in that moment that you weren’t the only one feeling things.

Her hands found your waist, pinning you against the wall harder, and you moaned against her.

“You like that?” she said way too cockily, the words from her mouth managing to irritate you even when you were just enjoying that same mouth so much.

You flipped your positions, pinning her against the wall and she raised an eyebrow at you. “I like this,” you replied, kissing her again.

You let your hands wander, running up and down her sides, teasing her but not quite going anywhere in particular.

When you squeezed, she moaned into your mouth and you felt a pang of arousal at the sound. You wanted to pull more sounds like that out of her and began slowly untucking her shirt. You slid your hands underneath the fabric, feeling her soft skin beneath your fingers.

“Mmm, stop teasing,” she mumbled in between kisses, giving you permission to touch her more.

Your hands went further up her shirt, palming her breasts over her bra before sliding under. You brushed against her nipples with your thumbs and she moaned again, breaking the kiss.

You didn’t hesitate to trail kisses down her neck, then back up towards her ear, making her whimper as your hands continued to stimulate her sensitive nipples.

You were dragging it out - you wanted to take things slow in case she wanted to stop and you also wanted to tease her as much as possible, almost like you were making her pay for how she always treated you.

You continued your assault on her neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin you could get your lips on, while she panted against you.

The beautiful sounds leaving her were only turning you on even more and you were slowly realizing that you’d wanted to do this for a while.

“Y/N,” Wanda panted out.

“Yeah?”

“Stop fucking teasing,” she demanded.

“What do you want?” you asked, running your thumbs over her nipples again to get a reaction.

She gasped, grabbing your throat with her hand. “Fuck me,” she said sternly, and how could you say no to her?

“Fuck,” you breathed out, kissing her again and removing your hands from her shirt.

You placed one of your hands on her thigh under her skirt, running it up her skin until you reached her underwear. Your fingers reached her panties, feeling a wet spot on the front of them. You moaned, your arousal skyrocketing at the thought that she was so wet for you.

“Yeah?” she said, teasing you. “Why don’t you stop feeling me up over my panties and fuck me, hm?”

You nodded and pushed her panties aside, feeling her wetness directly against your fingers. The fact that she was so turned on only served to turn you on even more. She wanted this just as much as you did.

Your index finger moved up to rub her clit, making her moan louder this time and if anyone was still in the building, they would’ve heard her.

“You like that?” You mirrored her words from earlier.

She managed to roll her eyes despite the pleasure she was feeling and leaned in to kiss you again, moaning into the kiss when you rubbed faster against her clit.

“Fuck me,” she whispered against your lips. Denying her felt like denying yourself at this point. You slid a finger into her opening, then followed up with a second finger, stretching her out.

She moaned and it was heavenly, making you want to hear her come undone for you. You started a rhythm inside her, fucking into her with purpose. The sounds leaving her lips made you throb with desire, she sounded so beautiful in the throes of pleasure.

You could hear how wet she was, sloshing sounds coming from where your fingers went to work, and it drove you crazy.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” you said, kissing down her neck again.

“You feel so good,” she panted out, moaning again as you hit a spot inside of her.

The sounds of her pussy were getting to you and you wanted to taste her so badly; you weren’t sure if you wanted her to cum like this first or if you needed your mouth on her before anything else.

“Can I taste you?” you asked, slowing your movements to both prolong her pleasure and delay her orgasm, as well as to give her a second to answer you.

“Fuck, yes,” she said, bucking her hips into your hand for more. “Wanna see you on your knees for me, detka.”

You couldn’t say no to her even if you tried, not when you wanted the same thing so desperately. You dropped to your knees, pulling her skirt up to reveal her pussy, underwear clinging to her folds and the stickiness between her thighs.

You practically drooled at the sight, pushing her panties further to the side to get a better view. You leaned in, kissing her pussy at first, then flicked your tongue against her clit, making her gasp. Her taste was heavenly and you wanted more, your tongue now exploring her eagerly.

“You taste so good, mommy,” you managed to mumble against her, the vibrations of your voice making her hips jerk against your face, which only made you more aroused. When you realized what you said, you almost stopped what you were doing. But a few simple words helped you to not falter too much.

“Call me that again,” Wanda moaned, hips bucking against you as if she was trying to get herself off on your mouth.

“Mommy,” you obeyed, unable to deny her at this point, and equally turned on by the name.

“Fuck. Such a good girl for mommy,” she breathed out, rutting her hips with purpose and grinding her clit against your tongue.

You moaned into her pussy at the praise, licking and sucking at her clit, letting your tongue dip inside her hole with every downstroke.

“Ohh, does my baby have a praise kink?” she cooed, somehow managing to make you flustered and embarrassed while you were bringing her to orgasm.

When you didn’t respond, too enamored with eating her out, she grabbed your chin harshly and made you face her.

“Answer mommy when she asks you a question,” she commanded, keeping you just inches from where you wanted to taste her again.

“Yes,” you whined, breathing heavily with how aroused you were.

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy,” you said, looking up at her with lust in your eyes.

“Good girl,” she praised, redirecting you back to her dripping cunt, keeping her hand at the back of your head to guide your movements.

She moaned when you made contact again, your lips wrapping around her clit, sucking obediently. You wanted her to cum for you. You wanted to bring her pleasure, to get off on her sounds and her taste, but at the same time, part of you also wanted to assert some kind of dominance over her. She’d bullied you relentlessly since you started working for the same company as her and this was your way of taking back control.

She may have been in charge, with her hand at the back of your head, keeping you close so she could fuck your face the way she wanted to, but you had the power to tip her over the edge she so desperately wanted to reach.

And it was intoxicating.

But then again, everything about Wanda Maximoff was intoxicating. Her beautiful face, her hypnotizing voice, her sense of style, the sway of her hips when she walked, the quickness of her comebacks, and in the current moment, her scent, her taste, her moans, her movements against you. You had never wanted someone so badly in your life and you had her right where you wanted her.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” Wanda said, her grip tightening on your hair. Her clit throbbed under your tongue, her hole clenching around nothing as you brought her closer and closer to the edge.

You doubled down on your efforts, wanting to see her fall apart for you. Your index finger teased her folds, dipping into her hole as you sucked on her clit. When you pushed two fingers into her while continuing your stimulation on her hardened bud, she came, moaning your name so prettily as her cum coated your fingers and chin.

You lapped up as much as you could before she began to push you away and pull you back up. She kissed you, tasting herself on your tongue, a deep sound from the back of her throat emerging at the sensation.

“Maybe you can be a good girl after all, hm?” She mused, looking at you lazily as she pulled away from the kiss.

Her hand came down, reaching into your pants and then your panties to feel where you were turned on beyond belief.

“When have I not been one?” you questioned.

“Maybe when you’re talking back to me,” she said, biting her lip.

“I can think of something better I could be doing with my mouth,” you shot back.

Wanda moved her hand so she could really feel you against her, running her fingers up and down your slit.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Wanda said. “Did I do that?” She asked, continuing to touch you.

You nodded, somewhat distracted as you admired the way she looked in her post-orgasm haze. You wanted her again - one time wasn’t enough.

“Can you go again?” you blurted out, staring at her with such want it almost surprised her. “Please,” you begged, stroking her cheek with your thumb as you looked into her eyes.

“What about you?” She asked.

“Just wanna make you cum again mommy,” you responded, practically pleading.

She couldn’t say no to you at that moment, and she didn’t want to either. “Okay detka, go ahead, make mommy feel good,” she said, her teeth coming down onto her lip as you descended once more.

Sliding her panties off, you brought your mouth down to where she was dripping and slid your tongue as deep as it would go, your thumb coming up to rub circles into her clit.

“Yes, that’s so good,” Wanda cried out, bucking her hips as you fucked into her with your tongue. “Fuck, eat my pussy just like that,” she said, making you moan against her.

After a few moments, she came again, and you licked at her folds until she rode out the aftershocks, twitching against your face. You couldn’t get enough, mouthing at her pussy for as long as you could before she brought you back up once more, staring at you so intimately it made you nervous despite the fact that you’d just done extremely unprofessional things to her in the conference room.

“So, a praise kink and a mommy kink, huh?” She chuckled, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“Shut up.” You blushed, trying to hide your face in her neck out of embarrassment.

“Make me,” she said, using your own words from earlier against you.

You kissed her to shut her up, and also because you just wanted to. She could taste herself on your lips and on your tongue and it almost made her want to go again. The two of you stayed like that, lips glued to each other, for a long moment before separating, out of breath.

“So was this pretend too or?” You half joked, knowing it wasn’t but also unsure if she would ice you out again after this.

“No,” she started. “This did mean something, despite what I said earlier. I don’t sleep around just to sleep around,” she said earnestly. “I want you.”

You were somewhat surprised she didn’t come back with some snarky remark or crude joke, but you weren’t going to complain when the woman you wanted more than anything was confessing that she felt the same way.

“I want you too,” you uttered, looking down at her lips subconsciously.

“I kinda figured that out when you were getting on your knees for me, sweetheart,” she responded.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in to kiss her again.

When the two of you broke apart, you spoke again. “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have to pretend to date. Can we do that?” you asked.

“We could pretend,” she started. “Or we could just do it.”

“What, date?”

“Yeah, why not?” she questioned, seeming slightly nervous as she proposed the idea.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “All this time…”

“I don’t hate you,” Wanda cut in. “I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I guess I just saw myself in you. Someone determined, ambitious, competitive, like a younger version of me. So of course, you were my competition. And I also saw something I wanted but couldn’t have, or so I thought. I never thought you’d want me too. I don’t know, I can’t justify how I treated you, I’m sorry.”

You paused, taking a moment to think everything over before speaking again.

“Look, I don’t know what I want out of this, but I’m willing to see where it goes,” you finally said, hoping she was on the same page.

“I’m okay with that.” She smiled, perhaps out of relief, and brushed some hair out of your face. “Let’s fake it till we make it, yeah?” She joked, making you smile back at her.

“Works for me,” you said, looking at her with an unreadable expression, one which you might later realize was pure devotion. Despite everything you’d been through with her, you were falling fast and there was no way to stop it.

The following week was something of a dream come true. You and Wanda worked together, but this time the only tension present was sexual. You acted like a couple and you didn’t even have to try anymore, it just came naturally.

Wanda’s teasing touches increased tenfold, with her constantly trying to turn you on in the most inappropriate of places, whether it was in Stark’s office with her hand tracing patterns on the small of your back or in the conference room with dirty words whispered in your ear and while everyone was still in the building.

The two of you stayed late a few nights to finish up paperwork, finding that it was hard to get any work done when you were left alone with each other.

You’d made Wanda cum against the conference table more than once and she’d even come home with you one night to continue your activities. You fucked her with your fingers against your front door and again in your bed with your strap, making her see stars every time you had your way with her. It was very quickly becoming one of your favorite ways to relieve stress, especially with the merger increasing your workload.

Mr. Stark was pleased with your “performance,” pulling you aside to tell you that Osborn absolutely adored the two of you and your relationship. You figured once there was a label on things, you’d break it to him that you were actually together now.

You and Wanda had not only been having regular sex, but had been talking about deeper things with each other, including your own history. She opened up about her insecurities and you did the same, kissing each other softly after and then snuggling up to watch a movie.

Wanda stayed over some nights and the following mornings you’d walk to work together, stopping at your favorite coffee shop for a warm drink on the way.

The two dates a week had originally felt like a burden, but now you were grateful for the chance to take your favorite girl on a date twice a week, all expenses paid by the boss. You didn’t care that Osborn employees might be lurking around, you touched Wanda when you wanted to and it had nothing to do with appearances.

Months passed, and the merger was finally coming to a close. Half of Stark Industries’ client base had become regular customers of the Osborn group, and Stark now owned a percentage of Osborn’s company.

You and Wanda maintained your higher positions, still working directly under Stark with a nice pay raise.

You’d asked Wanda to be your official girlfriend a few weeks after your first time sleeping together and she moved in with you two months later.

Stark was surprised to find out the two of you were no longer faking it, but he was happy for you and started calling himself the millionaire matchmaker.

Sometimes the two of you still fought, your snarky and sarcastic personalities unable to be pushed down so easily, but it usually ended with Wanda bent over a surface of the apartment or workplace after hours, with your fingers or your tongue inside her pussy.

If you really pushed her buttons, it ended with your hands tied to the headboard while Wanda touched herself above you and mocked your desperation to be the one giving her pleasure; “bad girls don’t get to touch mommy, so just sit there and look pretty for me,” she would say.

The teasing and the jokes were a huge foundation for your relationship so long as they weren’t taken too far, and you found that you loved that part of her despite how it used to be used against you.

Wanda could be incredibly sweet though and you loved that about her too. She knew when to pick playful fights with you and when to be softer; she knew how to act when you needed reassurance from her and she knew how to make you feel safe.

You knew teaching at a new university would come with surprises—but nothing could have prepared you for the one that walked in five minutes before your first class of the semester.

Wanda Maximoff.

She wore a green cable-knit sweater too large for her frame, sleeves falling past her wrists. Her hair was longer than you remembered, darker, and her gaze was cool when it met yours—calculated, blank.

You stood frozen at the lectern for a moment, hands tightening around the syllabus. For a second, you wondered if you were hallucinating. But then she took the third seat from the front, cracked open a notebook, and began doodling in the margin like she had in your bed at 2 a.m. two summers ago.

Not a flicker of recognition passed between you.

"Good morning," you finally said, voice steady despite the thunder of your pulse. "This is ENGL 315: Comparative Tragedies. If you're not supposed to be here, now's the time to leave."

She didn't move.

You looked down at your roster and saw it—Maximoff, Wanda.

Of course.

The rest of the lecture passed in a haze. You avoided looking her way, though you could feel her eyes on you. Studying you. Testing you. The same way she used to, right before she'd say something cruel just to watch you flinch and then kiss the apology into your neck like it never happened.

Class ended. You gathered your papers slowly. Students filed out.

Except one.

"Professor," she said behind you, voice like a memory. Soft, but not gentle. "It's nice to see you again. Or... should I pretend we’ve never met?"

You turned to her, every muscle in your body tensed like a loaded spring.

"You're my student now," you said quietly. "That's all."

Wanda tilted her head, lips curving in a knowing smirk. "Sure, professor. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Then she left—her perfume trailing behind like the scent of regret.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

You shut the classroom door behind you and exhaled like you'd been holding your breath for the entire hour.

She was here.

Wanda.

After two years of silence.

You sank into your office chair and stared blankly at your desk, but your mind was already gone, back to the first night you met her.

Flashback: Two Years Ago

You were grading midterms at the campus café. It was late. Quiet. You didn’t usually come here, but your apartment had a leaking ceiling and the landlord hadn’t fixed it in weeks.

Wanda had slid into the seat across from you without asking, clutching a cup of chamomile tea and a crumpled copy of Wuthering Heights.

“You look like you’re going to cry,” she said casually, peering at your red ink-stained papers.

You frowned. “That’s a weird opener.”

She smiled. “I’m Wanda.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“And yet, here we are.” She set the book down. “Your pen’s bleeding all over that one, by the way.”

You looked down. She was right.

She laughed softly, a low melodic sound that burrowed into your chest. “Let me guess—you’re a TA with a martyr complex?”

“Adjunct professor,” you corrected before you could stop yourself.

Her eyes gleamed. “Hot.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said hot. Don’t worry, I’m not in any of your classes.” She sipped her tea, then leaned forward, elbows on the table like she already knew she had you. “Yet.”

Present

You pressed your fingers into your temples, trying to force the memory back where it belonged.

You should’ve known it was a mistake the first time she showed up outside your apartment with flowers she stole from the campus greenhouse.

But you didn’t send her away.

You let her curl up in your bed like she belonged there. Let her trace poetry onto your skin with her fingertips. Let her call you “professor” in a voice that made your knees weak.

Until she left. No warning. No note.

Just... gone.

And now she was back. In your classroom. With a smug little smirk and a seat three rows from the front.

You reached for your syllabus, but your hand shook. You weren’t ready. Not for this.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

A knock at your door jolted you upright.

Wanda again.

You didn’t need to look to know it was her.

“Got a minute?” she asked through the door.

Your mouth was dry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

There was a pause. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, whether you like it or not.”

You hesitated. Then opened the door.

She stood there, calm and unreadable. But there was something soft in her eyes. Something uncertain.

“You shouldn’t be in my class,” you said.

She leaned against the doorframe. “Maybe. But I am.”

Her voice lowered. “I’m not here to ruin your life, you know.”

“You already did,” you whispered.

Silence.

Then Wanda looked at you—really looked—and said, “Then let me try to fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Wanda. Just leave.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but it did. Fragile. Final.

Wanda’s expression didn’t change right away. She just blinked, lips parting slightly like she hadn’t expected you to use her name like that—like it still meant something. Like it still hurt.

“I’m not the same girl you remember,” she said after a long beat.

You gave a bitter laugh. “Good. Because the one I remember didn’t say goodbye.”

She flinched. Just barely. But you caught it.

“I told myself I was doing you a favor,” she said, stepping into your office now, slow and careful, like you were a frightened animal she didn’t want to spook. “That I wasn’t good for you. That you’d move on.”

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, “you were right. You’re not good for me.”

Wanda nodded, eyes downcast. “You’re allowed to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you snapped, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t hate her. You should. You wanted to. But your heart still clenched at the sight of her, still knew her voice like a favorite song.

You turned away, gripping the edge of your desk until your knuckles whitened. “But I can’t go back. I’m your professor now. You’re a student. It’s done.”

Behind you, Wanda’s voice was quieter. “I didn’t come back to start anything. I didn’t even know you taught here until I walked in today.”

You looked over your shoulder. “You expect me to believe that?”

She met your eyes. “I didn’t expect to feel like this when I saw you again.”

You wanted to tell her to stop. That it wasn’t fair. That the little pieces you’d glued yourself back together with were shaking loose again just from her voice.

“I have to go,” you said, brushing past her and opening your door.

Wanda hesitated. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for you. But instead, she just stepped out into the hallway.

She turned once, halfway down the corridor. “I’ll drop the class, if that’s what you want.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

The cafeteria was loud, buzzing with midday chatter and the clatter of trays. You usually avoided it, preferring the quiet of your office or the bookstore café around the corner. But today, you were too tired, too hungry, and too distracted to care.

You barely noticed her at first.

You were halfway through scanning the lunch line, internally debating between the overpriced salad or something hot, when her laugh reached you.

That laugh.

The same one that used to erupt at 1 a.m. when you read her pretentious poetry in a dramatic voice. The one you missed more than you’d ever admit.

You looked up.

There she was. Wanda.

Sitting at a table near the back with three others. Her twin, Pietro—you’d met him a few times, always too charming for his own good. Across from him sat a redhead you recognized from photos on Wanda’s old social media. Natasha, the best friend. The one you always felt second to, though Wanda swore she wasn’t her type.

And then… him.

Tall, blonde, fit. He looked older than the others, like he could blend into the faculty lounge without anyone blinking. One arm rested casually around Wanda’s shoulders as he leaned in to say something.

She laughed again, a little more subdued this time.

And then she looked up.

Right at you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t run.

But the tray in your hands suddenly felt ten times heavier.

Wanda’s smile vanished. Her spine straightened. Her eyes went wide—apologetic, almost. Like she knew exactly what this looked like. What it would feel like. Like a slow knife between your ribs.

Because you were good at hiding it. The hurt. The longing. The silent ache you carried with you every class period she sat three rows from the front and acted like she hadn’t once fallen asleep curled into your side.

But today? Today, it cracked.

Just enough.

You held her gaze for three long seconds.

Then you turned away, pretending your appetite hadn’t just vanished with the sound of her laughter.

Flashback

It was just past 1 a.m., and the only light in your apartment came from the small lamp on your nightstand, casting a soft glow across the crumpled sheets and the half-full tea mugs on the floor.

Wanda was curled against your side, her bare legs tangled with yours, one arm lazily draped over your stomach. Her head rested on your chest, and you could feel her eyelashes flutter against your skin every time she blinked.

She always talked more at night. When the world went quiet and the performance dropped. No sarcasm. No flirtation. Just her.

“Do you think your students ever suspect?” she murmured, fingers tracing gentle shapes on your ribcage beneath your shirt.

You let out a quiet breath, your hand threading through her hair. “Not unless they have very vivid imaginations and absolutely no respect for boundaries.”

She chuckled softly. “They probably think you go home to a cat and a very sad Netflix queue.”

You smiled. “And yet here I am. With a girl who keeps stealing all my hoodies.”

Wanda smirked into your skin. “You like when I wear them.”

“I like you,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

She looked up at that, green eyes soft in the dim light. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She shifted up slightly to press her lips to yours, slow and unhurried. The kind of kiss that felt more like a promise than a temptation.

When she pulled back, she laid her head beside yours on the pillow, her voice barely a whisper. “You’d like my brother, you know. Pietro.”

You glanced over at her. “The fast-talking one with a motorcycle and a hundred bad decisions?”

“That’s the one.” She smiled. “He’s protective. He’d hate you.”

You laughed. “So, why are you telling me this?”

Wanda hesitated. Then: “Because I want you to meet him anyway.”

Your breath caught. It was the first time she’d hinted at anything more than late nights and stolen hoodies.

She looked nervous now, almost like she regretted saying it. “Unless… you don’t want to?”

You reached for her hand beneath the covers and gave it a light squeeze. “I’d like that.”

She smiled again, softer this time. And just before drifting off, she whispered, “I think he’d like you too. If he saw you the way I do.”

Present Day

Your office door creaked open slowly.

You didn’t look up—you didn’t need to.

Her perfume gave her away before she even spoke. Warm vanilla, faint and familiar. A scent that had clung to your pillows for weeks after she left. You hated how much comfort it still gave you.

“Can we talk?” Wanda’s voice was soft. Cautious.

You stared down at the stack of ungraded essays on your desk. “Class hours are over.”

There was a pause, and then the door shut gently behind her.

“I saw your face at lunch,” she said. “I—I didn’t expect you to be there.”

You exhaled through your nose, still refusing to look up. “Didn’t expect me to eat? I’m a professor, Wanda. I work here.”

“I know, I just—Vis was only—he’s not—he’s not what you think.”

That name—Vis—hit like a bruise being pressed too hard.

You finally looked up. “So what is he?”

“He’s Pietro’s friend,” she said quickly. “He’s in a few of my classes, we study together, that’s it. He’s not my boyfriend. I swear.”

Your lips twisted. “Didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ when he had his arm around you.”

Wanda stepped closer, wringing her hands. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s a flirt. But I didn’t realize how it would look—I didn’t even know you’d be there.”

“And if I hadn’t been?” you asked, bitter creeping in despite your best efforts. “Would you have laughed a little louder? Let him kiss you next?”

“No!” Her voice cracked. “God, no. I wouldn’t. I haven’t—I’m not with anyone. I haven’t been with anyone. Not since you.”

You stood then, unable to sit with all of it buzzing in your chest. “You left, Wanda. No text. No call. You just ghosted me like I meant nothing.”

“I didn’t know how to explain it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “You scared me. We scared me. You were older, smarter, so sure of what you wanted. I kept waiting for the moment you’d see how not enough I was and walk away, so I beat you to it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came.

She looked up at you with wet eyes, her voice barely above a whisper now. “But I never stopped thinking about you. Every time I laughed too loud or stayed up too late, I wished it was with you. I still wear that stupid hoodie you left at my place.”

Your heart clenched at that. You remembered the hoodie. Gray, worn, still faintly smelled like your body wash the last time she wore it to bed.

“You don’t get to come in here and say all this like it didn’t hurt,” you whispered. “Like you didn’t shatter me.”

“I know,” Wanda said, taking a step closer. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just… a chance. To make things right. Even if it takes time. Even if we just talk. Even if you never let me touch you again. I just… I miss you.”

You stayed silent for a long moment. Watching her. Measuring her sincerity. Feeling the old ache mix with something even more dangerous—hope.

“Start by sitting down,” you said finally. “We’ll talk.”

And she did—quietly, carefully. Like she knew what was at stake.

Flashback

Two years ago – Your Apartment

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft flicker of a candle on your nightstand and the muted glow from the city beyond the window. It was past midnight. Neither of you had class the next day, and time had stretched lazy and warm between tangled limbs and shared whispers.

Wanda lay curled into your side, her head resting on your chest, her fingers lazily tracing shapes over the fabric of your hoodie—the one she always stole when she stayed over. The sleeves were too long for her, so she rolled them up, always pushing them to her elbows like a child in borrowed clothes.

You glanced down at her. “You know that’s mine, right?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “It smells like you.”

“I do have a drawer here, you know. Full of your clothes.”

She smirked sleepily. “This one’s better. It’s like wearing you.”

You reached down, brushing your fingertips through her hair. “You’re unbelievably sappy when you’re tired.”

Wanda nuzzled closer, her voice muffled. “And you love it.”

God, you did.

A long pause settled. Her fingers kept moving, slow and repetitive, almost like she was working up to something.

“I get scared sometimes,” she murmured.

You frowned softly, instinctively holding her a little tighter. “Of what?”

Her voice was even quieter now. “That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m just a stupid, confused girl who has no idea what she’s doing—and that you deserve someone older, someone less messy.”

Your chest tightened. “Wanda…”

She looked up at you then, eyes glossy with the kind of vulnerability she rarely showed in daylight.

“I’ve never felt this way before. And it’s amazing, but it’s also terrifying. You’re this… fully-formed person. You have a career. You read Russian literature for fun,” she half-laughed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just playing dress-up in your world.”

You cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye.

“You’re not playing at anything,” you said softly. “You belong here—with me. I don’t care if you’re still figuring things out. I want all of it. The messy parts, the unsure parts. Just… stay.”

She leaned into your touch, closing her eyes like your words had physically settled something inside her.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be brave enough,” she whispered.

You kissed her forehead, not knowing then how prophetic her words would be.

“I’ll be brave enough for both of us,” you promised.

But sometimes promises aren’t enough.

Present Day

The silence after the flashback was deafening. You blinked, trying to shove the memory back into the place you’d buried it.

Wanda sat in the chair across from your desk, hands folded in her lap, her knees bouncing slightly like she was trying not to fall apart.

You leaned back, arms crossed tightly over your chest, a shaky breath caught in your throat.

“You remember that night?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “The one where you wore my hoodie and told me you were scared?”

She looked up at you slowly. “Of course I remember.”

“I meant it, you know,” you continued, your gaze fixed just past her, like looking at her too long would crack something open. “When I told you I’d be brave enough for both of us. I wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered. “You always meant what you said. That’s what made it so hard to leave.”

You finally looked at her again. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she wasn’t crying. Not yet.

“You could’ve told me,” you said. “You could’ve said anything. Instead, you left me to wake up and wonder what I did wrong.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I kept checking my phone like an idiot. I thought you got hurt, Wanda. Or maybe you changed your mind and just… didn’t know how to say it.”

“I didn’t,” she said quickly. “I didn’t change my mind. I was just… so afraid of getting more attached. Of being too much. Or not enough. And the closer we got, the louder that voice in my head got. So I ran.”

You sat there for a long moment, staring at the girl—no, the woman—in front of you. Still young, still haunted by the same fears. But older now. And maybe just a little braver.

“Are you here because you want to try again?” you asked, finally. “Or because you feel guilty?”

Wanda didn’t flinch. “I’m here because I never stopped loving you. I just didn’t know how to carry it until now.”

That broke something in you. Not enough to forgive—but enough to feel the warmth under the ashes.

You looked down at your hands.

“I don’t know if I can go through it again,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I can survive it a second time.”

She stood, slowly walking around the desk. She didn’t reach for you, just sat on the edge of your desk beside your chair, close enough to feel the heat of her.

“I’m not asking you to jump back into anything,” she said softly. “But maybe we could… talk. Sometimes. Outside of class. Just as… people.”

You tilted your head up to look at her.

Her expression was cautious hope—an open door, not a demand.

You nodded once. “Okay. We can talk.”

Wanda smiled—small, but real.

“Thank you.”

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

The sun had set, and the light from the lamps inside the quiet campus café cast a soft, intimate glow over the tables. The atmosphere was hushed, the usual hum of students talking and sipping coffee toned down as the day wound down. You sat at a corner table with your papers spread out in front of you, carefully marking through the essays while Wanda sat across from you, a book she wasn’t really reading open in front of her.

You noticed her glancing at you every now and then, as if searching for the right words, but you stayed focused on the papers in front of you—pretending you didn’t feel the weight of her attention, pretending it didn’t make your heart race.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Wanda said, breaking the silence. “About how you always knew you’d have to be brave enough for both of us.”

You looked up briefly, meeting her gaze. “I meant it,” you said quietly. “But bravery isn’t always enough. Sometimes, you need a little bit of everything. And I didn’t have it back then.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft, almost too gentle, like she was handling a fragile thing between you two.

You sighed, shifting in your seat. “You didn’t need to leave, Wanda. We could’ve figured it out together. You didn’t have to walk away.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. “But I was scared. And scared people don’t make the best decisions.”

A long silence hung between you, broken only by the clink of silverware on plates and distant chatter from other students. The weight of the unspoken—of everything still left between you both—made your stomach twist.

Then, without warning, a shadow loomed over your table.

“Wanda, darling, I wasn’t sure if you were planning on joining us for dinner, or if I’d need to drag you away from studying here,” a deep voice with a British lithe cut through the air, dripping with familiarity.

You looked up and saw Vision standing above the table, wearing a half-smile and a casual but immaculate shirt, his arm reaching for Wanda’s chair as he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

It was a quick, soft gesture, but it was enough. Your heart clenched before you could stop it, and you found yourself taking a sharp breath, unable to look away.

Wanda turned her head slightly, her gaze softening. "Vis," she said, her voice warm with affection.

“I thought you might be here,” he said smoothly, before turning his gaze to you. “Professor.”

The polite acknowledgment stung more than it should have.

You forced a smile, nodding in greeting, but inside you felt the cold weight of jealousy settle like a stone in your chest. The ease between them, the way Wanda’s expression softened in his presence—it was a familiar dynamic you’d seen before, but somehow it was different now. Harder.

Wanda caught the shift in your demeanor immediately, her brow furrowing. “You’re still grading papers?” she asked, her voice softer now, apologetic.

You waved her off. “I’m fine. Just finishing up.” You tried to sound unaffected, but it came out strained.

Vis looked at you, taking the opportunity to lean down and pull Wanda up gently. “We were going to grab dinner,” he said, his tone friendly but final, as though his presence was the polite end to their conversation. “Don’t let me interrupt, though.”

Wanda looked at you, uncertainty flickering across her face, but before she could say anything, Vis placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward the exit.

“Thank you for the coffee, Professor,” Wanda said over her shoulder as she followed him, her voice small, almost like she wasn’t sure how to balance these worlds anymore.

You watched them walk away, your chest tight, the words stuck behind the sudden ache of it all.

“Professor,” Vis had called you. That wasn’t you anymore, not in her eyes. And you couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever be.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

The knock came at your door just as you were finishing your dinner, the quiet hum of the city settling outside. You didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who it was. You hadn’t expected her to come tonight, but there she was. You didn’t know if you were relieved or angry.

You let out a sharp breath, standing up from the table, not bothering to adjust anything. You didn’t care if she saw how rattled you were. You swung the door open before she could knock again.

Wanda stood there, looking like she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, her jacket zipped up, hands tucked into the pockets. She looked like she was still figuring out how to approach this, how to fix things that might’ve been unfixable. But the sadness in her eyes made your heart ache despite the storm inside.

"Can we talk?" she asked, her voice quiet, unsure. "Please."

You stared at her for a long moment, biting your lip to keep your temper in check.

“I don't know why you think we need to,” you said coldly, your hands gripping the doorframe as you kept yourself steady. “You made your choice, Wanda. You made it clear a long time ago.”

Her lips trembled, and you saw the way she seemed to recoil, but she didn’t step back.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “I was—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, stepping back to let her in, not because you wanted her there, but because you needed to say what you’d been holding back for so long. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean to hurt me, Wanda. You didn’t just hurt me, you shattered me.”

Wanda’s face fell, and she took a careful step inside, looking at you like she was afraid of your next words. You both stood there for a moment, a chasm of years between you now.

“Why did you leave?” you asked, your voice tight, almost strangled with the emotion you’d been trying to keep in check. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were scared? You could’ve come to me. We could’ve figured it out, but instead, you ran. And you left me, Wanda.”

She flinched as if the words physically struck her, but she didn’t step back. She only stared at you, searching your face as if she could find the right words to undo the damage.

“You didn’t care about what you left behind, did you? About how I was just left to pick up the pieces of something I thought I knew. I waited for you to come back, waited for a sign, for an explanation… and then I saw you with him, with Vis, and it was like you were never mine to begin with.”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She was looking at you now with so much pain in her eyes that it made your chest tighten.

"You don’t get to do this to me, Wanda!" you snapped suddenly, the anger finally spilling over. You turned toward your bedroom, hands shaking as you stormed inside, your heart racing as the pain hit full force. You walked straight to the dresser and yanked open the drawer. Her clothes were still there—just as they had been, untouched, left behind as though nothing had changed.

You grabbed a handful of her clothes and stormed back to the living room, throwing them in her direction in frustration.

“You can't act like you want to fix this,” you shouted, voice raw with rage. “And then have him come in, sweeping you off your fucking feet right in front of me!”

Wanda flinched, the pile of clothes falling to the floor between you both. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she took a tentative step forward, but you took another step back, feeling the walls closing in around you.

“Wanda…” you whispered, your voice breaking as you realized the depth of your own anger, of the heartbreak you’d kept buried for so long.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Wanda said, her voice trembling as she fought back the tears. “But I was scared, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“Fix it?” you snapped, your breath shaky. “You don’t get to fix it by pretending like you didn’t just turn your back on me for him! He’s standing there, and you’re letting him take my place! You can’t just walk back in and pretend everything’s fine!”

She closed her eyes, as if trying to absorb the weight of your words. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry for all of it."

But the damage was done. You felt the years of pain, the distance, all the heartbreak you had carried alone. And no apology felt like it was ever going to be enough.

With a final glance at her, you walked to the door, your throat tight with emotions you couldn’t control anymore.

“I need you to leave,” you said, your voice steady, though the tears you refused to shed were burning behind your eyes.

Wanda stood there, her gaze filled with regret. But you didn’t want to see that anymore—not tonight. You couldn’t handle it.

She nodded, backing away slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. But you couldn’t hold it together anymore. The door slammed shut behind her, and you collapsed on the couch, breathing hard, heart heavy, feeling the absence of her presence like a gaping wound in your chest.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

The days since Wanda left you had been a blur. You’d kept your distance from her, not out of cruelty but because you didn’t know how to feel anymore. She had become a presence you avoided, a phantom of your past. Every time she walked into your classroom, you’d force yourself to focus on the papers, the lesson, anything but her eyes that seemed to haunt you. You graded her assignments as fairly as you could, making sure to keep your interactions professional, keeping the space between you both as wide as possible.

You'd leave as soon as the class ended, the quiet buzz of students gathering their things nothing more than background noise as you hurried out. But today was different.

The knock at your door startled you, coming so suddenly, so urgently. You weren’t expecting anyone, let alone Wanda. Your heart skipped a beat, nerves and adrenaline stirring together.

You opened the door, expecting to see a normal version of her—the Wanda you had been seeing in class lately, still trying to maintain some kind of distant civility. But the sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

Wanda stood in front of you, her face a mess. There was a bruise around her left eye, a swollen lip, and tear stains that had streaked down her cheeks. Her posture was crumpled, as though she was physically carrying the weight of whatever had happened.

"Wanda..." The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, a soft, aching sound. You didn’t even think before you pulled her inside, your hands shaky as you guided her to the couch. The door clicked shut behind you, and she sat there, still trembling.

Her voice cracked when she spoke, each word heavy with the emotions she could no longer hold back.

"I… I broke up with Vis..." she stuttered, her hands wringing together in her lap. "I wasn't happy… I wasn't happy with him." Her voice trembled so violently, it was as if she were trying to hold herself together by sheer force of will, but everything was falling apart around her.

You stood there, staring at her, completely at a loss for what to say. Your mind was racing, processing the words that were barely registering. The woman who had walked away from you, who had left you shattered and broken, was standing here, a mess of pain and regret.

"What happened, Wanda?" Your voice was soft, almost cautious. You didn’t know if you could handle what she was about to say, but she needed someone to listen.

Her lip quivered, and she pressed her hands against her face, trying to steady herself. “It was never… it was never right with him. I thought I could make it work, but I couldn’t. Not after…” She broke off, unable to finish the thought, tears slipping down her cheeks again. “Not after how I left you. After how I hurt you. I—God, I was so stupid. I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking."

The pain in her voice hit you like a physical force, and for a moment, you could almost forget the pain she'd caused you. You could almost forget the jagged edges of the life you’d tried to rebuild without her.

But the truth of it all—the way she left, the way she tried to just walk away from everything you had together—still felt like a wound you hadn’t had the chance to fully heal. And now, here she was, looking like she had been broken open in the exact same way you had been.

You exhaled sharply, your gaze softening despite everything.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I’m fine, Wanda,” you murmured. “You can’t just walk back in here and expect everything to be alright. You can’t undo what you did, what we went through.”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes desperately, her body wracked with sobs that she couldn’t control. "I know... I know I can't. But please, I don't know where else to go. I don’t know what to do. I—"

You cut her off gently, sitting next to her on the couch. You weren’t sure why you were still trying to comfort her after everything, but you couldn’t leave her like this. Not when she looked so lost, so broken. Maybe you weren’t ready to forgive her, not yet. But right now, she wasn’t the same woman who had walked out the door.

You watched Wanda closely as she sat on your couch, the tremors in her hands still visible despite the fact that she was trying to regain some composure. She was a mess—physically and emotionally—but you could tell she was fighting to keep it together. Your heart twisted at the sight of her, the woman you once loved, broken and bruised, and it took everything in you not to pull her into your arms. But this wasn’t just a physical injury. There were deeper wounds that needed tending to, wounds that couldn’t be healed by comfort alone.

Her swollen lip was an obvious sign of the violence she had just endured, but there was more to it. The bruise on her eye was darkening, and you could see the subtle way her body stiffened whenever she moved, as though she were bracing for more hurt.

"Do you want to talk to campus police about this?" you asked softly, your voice calm and measured, though you could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface at the thought of someone hurting her.

Wanda shook her head immediately, a quick, desperate motion. "No. No, I don’t want anyone to know. Please… please don’t make me go through that." She wiped her eyes again, the shame and fear in her gaze only deepening.

You nodded, swallowing the urge to scream. You knew Wanda was stubborn, but you could see how much this hurt her—how much Vis had hurt her. You weren’t going to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. But you weren’t going to let her walk out of here like this either.

"Alright," you said quietly, your voice softening even further. You stepped closer to her, your hands trembling slightly as you gently cupped her chin. "Stay still so I can fix your lip, sweetie." The word slipped out without thinking, and you instantly regretted it, but the way her eyes softened at the nickname made your heart ache.

She let out a shaky breath, nodding as her face crumpled into a new wave of emotion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I—I just wanted to fix everything and I... I messed it up."

You took a deep breath, not wanting to let your own emotions overwhelm you. This wasn’t about you right now. It was about Wanda, and she needed you. You reached for a small first aid kit that you kept in the kitchen, moving quickly but carefully, your hands steadying as you returned to her side.

"Let me help you, Wanda," you said gently as you worked on cleaning up the cut on her lip. "You don't need to apologize for needing help. You never have."

She winced slightly as you dabbed a cotton swab against her swollen lip, but she didn't pull away. You worked silently for a moment, the tension between you thick, neither of you daring to speak too much. You couldn’t say anything that would make the situation right; all you could do was help her heal.

When the pain in her lip seemed to ease, you glanced up at her, your eyes meeting hers. "Vis… he did this?" You had to ask. There was so much anger inside you at the thought of him putting his hands on her.

Wanda nodded slowly, her breath shaky. "I didn’t see it coming. It wasn’t the first time he got upset, but… I didn’t think he’d actually hurt me." She winced, looking down, her voice barely a whisper. "I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought I could make it work with him, but I couldn’t."

You paused for a moment, your hands stilling as you looked at her. "You didn’t deserve that, Wanda," you said firmly, your voice low but clear. "No one deserves to be treated that way. Not by him. Not by anyone."

Her eyes welled with tears again, and she quickly wiped them away, embarrassed by how weak she felt. "I just… I just wanted to fix everything, to make it right, but I made so many mistakes. I hurt you and I hurt myself…"

You finished with her lip and sat back, taking her hands gently in yours. "You can’t fix everything in one go, Wanda," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "But right now, you don’t have to do this alone. You’re here with me, and I’m not going anywhere."

She sniffled, looking up at you with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "I don’t know what I’m doing anymore," she admitted, her voice small and broken. "I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like I lost myself."

You squeezed her hands, your eyes softening. "It’s okay to be lost sometimes," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s okay to not have all the answers. But I’m here, and we’ll figure this out. Together."

Wanda let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time since she’d walked through the door, she didn’t look like she was about to crumble under the weight of everything. She looked like—maybe for the first time—she was allowing herself to feel safe, even if only for a moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you."

"Yes, you do," you said, your thumb gently brushing across her hand. "You deserve peace. You deserve to feel loved, to feel safe."

You both stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for her occasional sniffles, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You weren’t sure where this was going, or what you were supposed to do next. But you knew one thing for certain—you couldn’t just let her go. Not now. Not when she needed you, even if she wasn’t sure of it herself.

You helped Wanda move toward the small bathroom you kept tucked away in your apartment, not sure if you should offer any further assistance or just let her have the space she needed. The air between you was thick with unspoken things, but for now, you just let her move in the silence, letting her take the lead.

But when she passed you to rummage through your drawers, you couldn't help but watch. You had a fleeting moment where everything seemed to freeze—the familiar way she moved around your room, as if she still knew it all so well. It was hard not to feel a pang of something, a quiet ache in your chest, seeing her searching through your things with such familiarity. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make you realize how much you missed this, missed her.

She reached for the same old sweatshirt of yours, the gray one you never quite got rid of, its edges frayed and the fabric thinning. You didn't even think about it anymore; you just let her take what she wanted, because that’s what she always did. That’s what you always let her do.

"I want these," she said, her voice a little cracked, and for the briefest second, it felt like nothing had changed. You smiled softly, trying to push down the hurt, the sharp edges of memories that still lingered.

"Of course you want to steal my clothes, what else is new?" you chuckled, your voice carrying the smallest bit of warmth despite everything. You needed this. You needed to pretend, just for tonight, that things were okay again.

But as you helped her out of the clothes she had been wearing, your smile faltered. The more you uncovered, the more you realized how deeply he’d hurt her. Your fingers trembled when you gently brushed the hem of her shirt over her shoulders, revealing the bruises across her arms and back. The sight of them made your stomach lurch, your chest tightening, the anger you’d felt earlier rushing back, threatening to spill over.

Wanda winced as you helped her remove the fabric that had been pressed against the tender areas. "It’s fine," she whispered, trying to reassure you, but you could see the strain in her eyes, the subtle way her breath hitched.

Your heart clenched in your chest as you took a deep breath, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Wanda… Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was tight, a whisper of disbelief and frustration.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she answered softly, almost like she was ashamed, and it nearly broke you. “I didn’t want you to look at me and think I’m just weak.”

You shook your head fiercely, refusing to let the words she had spoken sink in. You were so angry you couldn’t speak for a moment, just looking at the bruises that marked her body, the way they stained her skin, leaving their proof behind. "You are not weak, Wanda," you finally said, your words coming out too harsh, too fast. "And you don’t have to hide from me. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me? I am not going anywhere."

She met your eyes then, and for the first time since she had entered your apartment, you saw a flicker of something in her gaze—a glimmer of relief, of gratitude. "I just… I was trying to hold it all in. I thought if I could just push through… maybe it would get better."

You helped her into your old sweatshirt, tugging the sleeves up over her hands like you used to, tucking the fabric around her like it was your way of protecting her, even when you couldn’t protect her from him. “I know you, Wanda. You don’t have to keep pushing through alone,” you said softly as you pulled her close again, this time not thinking twice about it.

And for a moment, just a moment, you both stood there, wrapped up in the warmth of that simple gesture. You were still mad, you still felt all the things you hadn’t been able to express—but you would help her, like you always had.

She let out a shaky breath as she finally leaned against you, the weight of everything seeming to catch up with her. You weren’t sure what came next, but you didn’t care. Not tonight. Tonight, you could hold her, help her heal, even if it was just for now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice small, vulnerable. "For everything."

You didn’t have the words to tell her how much you hurt, how much you missed her, but you just nodded, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. You didn’t need her to apologize anymore. You didn’t need anything except for her to feel safe again. "It’s okay," you whispered back, more to yourself than to her. "We’ll figure this out. Just... rest now, okay?"

You stayed with her for as long as she needed, helping her the way you once did. There was no way to fix everything in one night, no way to heal the broken parts of her heart that Vis had left behind. But you could help her through this moment, and that was all that mattered.

The weight of Wanda in your arms felt natural, like the most instinctual thing in the world. She curled into you, her body fitting perfectly against yours, as if she hadn’t left at all. It was a strange, bittersweet comfort. You had missed her—more than you were willing to admit—and as she settled in, her breath warm against your chest, you let yourself sink into it. The quiet hum of the room, the soft glow of the string lights, was like a fleeting moment of peace, a brief pause in the chaos of everything that had come before.

Her fingers found your arm, and before you could even register what she was doing, you felt the familiar pressure of her touch. The soft, almost absent-minded tracing that always made you feel like she was trying to speak without words. It was her own kind of poetry, the way she let her fingers dance along your skin like she used to, crafting silent verses of connection, of memories too deep to articulate. The feeling of her fingertips moving in such a familiar rhythm, tracing the same lines she’d traced so many times before, tugged at your heartstrings in a way you didn’t know you still had the capacity for.

You stayed still, not wanting to disturb her, but also wanting to feel every inch of her—the way she fit against you, the way she held on just a little too tightly. Your fingers moved almost reflexively to rest on her back, your hand splayed against her spine as if you were trying to memorize the sensation of her, trying to hold onto her in a way that felt like it could last.

She sighed softly, her breath warm against your chest, the sound of it gentle and full of unspoken emotion. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your mind racing with all the things you still wanted to say, but the silence between you felt more right than anything else.

You could feel her body relaxing against you, the tension of the day slowly melting away in the safe confines of your embrace. It was familiar, comforting, and yet it was a reminder of everything that had happened—the love, the hurt, the distance between you two that had taken so long to build up.

Her fingers paused for a moment, and you held your breath, wondering if she was going to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she pressed her head against your chest a little more firmly, the weight of it making your heart ache.

“I missed this,” she whispered, the words so quiet that you almost didn’t hear them. "I missed you."

Your chest tightened. You wanted to say so many things—ask why she left, why she hadn’t come back sooner, why she thought she could fix things with someone else when you had always been here. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to ruin this moment, the softness of her voice, the way she held onto you like she hadn’t wanted to let go.

Instead, you tightened your hold on her, just enough to remind her that you were still here. "I missed you too, Wanda," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you can't keep doing this to yourself."

Her fingers resumed their delicate tracing on your skin, almost like she was trying to say something else, something she couldn’t quite find the words for.

You let her, silently begging the universe to give you both the time and space to heal, to fix what had been broken between you. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in memories and hope, tracing the invisible threads that still connected you.

It didn’t take long for your hand to find her hair.

Your fingers moved slowly, slipping into those auburn strands that still smelled faintly like her favorite shampoo—lavender and vanilla, sweet and soft. She let out a tiny noise, the kind that used to make you smile into her neck during quiet mornings. Now it cut through you, delicate and wounded. A small, contented sigh slipped from her lips, followed by a sound almost like a purr—soft, kitten-like, aching with familiarity.

She was melting under your touch, her bruises forgotten for the moment as you gently scratched her scalp, each movement careful, feather-light, like she might break if you pressed too hard. You used to touch her like this after long days, when she’d curl into you exhausted, mumbling about classes or stress or nothing at all.

And then suddenly—

Flashback

You were sitting on your couch, the end of a long week pressing into your bones. Papers were spread out on the coffee table, your red pen abandoned somewhere under a pile of essays. Wanda was curled up at the opposite end, legs stretched across your lap, head tipped over the arm of the couch as she flipped through a poetry book you’d recommended to her weeks ago.

“You always smell like paper and coffee,” she said without looking up.

“And you always smell like lavender,” you’d teased, nudging her ankle.

She turned the page with a slow finger. “Is that why you always put your face in my hair like a weirdo?”

“Maybe.”

She grinned, closing the book and tossing it onto the table with a soft thump. “Come here.”

You didn’t need asking twice. You shifted and pulled her fully into your arms, letting her settle against you. Her fingers found the collar of your sweater, playing absently with the edge. You’d buried your face in her hair then, breathing her in.

“I like it when you touch my hair,” she whispered. “Makes me feel like you’re painting something soft into me.”

You’d kissed the top of her head. “That’s because I am.”

Present

Your throat tightened as the memory faded, replaced with the weight of Wanda’s bruised cheek against your chest. She hadn’t said anything else, but her body did. The way she leaned into you, the way her fingers had stilled their tracing so she could hold you tighter—it was her way of saying she remembered too.

Your hand moved gently, slowly, giving her the only comfort you could right now. You didn’t know where things would go from here. You didn’t know if healing was even possible.

But in this moment, she was safe. In your arms. Wrapped in your sweatshirt. Breathing softly like she used to.

And maybe—for tonight—that was enough.

You're warm beneath the covers, body heavy with sleep but mind still caught somewhere in the quiet in-between. Wanda's breath is soft against your skin, your fingers still gently tangled in her hair though they’ve gone still, resting rather than caressing now.

Your eyes are closed, too close to sleep to reopen them.

Then you feel it—

The lightest press of lips against your chest, right over your heart. A flutter, like a memory brought to life.

You don't move. You barely breathe.

She shifts slightly against you, and for a moment you think this is it—that she’s about to pull away like she did once before. That she’ll slip out of your bed and out of your life all over again.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, her body curls tighter around you, seeking your warmth like a habit she never truly broke. Her lips press into your neck next, slower this time. Lingering. Gentle. Familiar.

Then you hear it.

Barely more than a whisper. Mumbled into your skin like a secret she can’t bear to speak too loudly.

"You still smell like paper and coffee..."

A pause, her breath warm where her words settle into your skin.

"...My favorite scents."

Your heart stutters.

You don’t answer—can’t, not really—but your hand finds her hair again, burying itself there like it never forgot the shape of her.

You hold her just a little tighter.

Because maybe… just maybe… she means it this time.

You shift with care, slow and deliberate, like the wrong move might break the fragile peace settling over the two of you.

Your body turns just enough to face her more fully, your arm pulling her close—closer than before. She lets you, melting against your chest with a quiet sigh like she’s been waiting for this, needing it just as much.

Your lips find the crown of her head, pressing there like a seal, and you breathe her in.

Lavender. Warm skin. Her.

“Lavender was always my favorite…” you murmur, your voice hushed and low, almost lost in the quiet hum of the night.

You feel her hand curl gently into your shirt, her fingertips clutching at you like she’s anchoring herself there. The same way she used to when her world felt too big.

Your next words catch in your throat. They feel too raw. Too real. But they press forward anyway, trembling as they fall from your lips.

“I can’t lose you again, Wands…”

The silence that follows is thick, aching. Your heart pounds against her chest, a nervous rhythm. You don’t know what you expect—reassurance, distance, silence.

But then you feel her nod.

Just once. Tiny. Barely there.

Then her arm around your waist tightens, holding you like a lifeline, like she heard every broken thing beneath your voice and accepted it as her own.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “Not this time.”

And just like that, the crack inside you begins to mend. Not healed. Not yet.

But maybe, finally, beginning.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

Morning sunlight spills through the curtains, golden and soft, painting everything in quiet stillness. The room smells like warmth—linen and lavender and something faintly nostalgic. For a while, you’d just watched her sleep, her features soft and peaceful in a way they hadn't been in a long time.

But now, she’s in front of the mirror, silent as she dabs concealer over the bruise near her eye. Her motions are methodical, but not without a tremble.

You’re behind her, pulling on a cardigan over the tank top you slept in, watching her with an ache in your chest. She’s too practiced at this. Too quick.

You step forward slowly, offering your hand.

“Let me help.”

She hesitates but nods, and you take the small makeup sponge from her fingers, gentle as you touch it to her skin. The quiet between you is close—tense, but intimate. You smooth the edge of the concealer, your free hand feather-light beneath her jaw to steady her.

“Are you sure you don’t—”

“Don’t.”

It cuts through the room. Not loud. Not cruel. Just... final.

You freeze, hand still hovering near her cheek.

Wanda meets your gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are tired. Sad. But not cold.

“I know you want to help,” she says, voice quieter now. “But if I say it out loud, it’s real. And right now, I just... I can’t.”

You nod slowly, swallowing hard as you lower your hand.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, Wands.”

She gives you a soft, grateful look and then turns slightly, her fingertips brushing your wrist before she leans into your touch. And you let her. You hold her there, gently, like she’s made of glass.

She wears your sweatshirt still. And she smells like lavender.

The moment stretches, soft and slow, like the air between you both is wrapped in wool—muted, warm, heavy with everything unspoken. Wanda doesn't pull away right away. She lingers against your hand for just a second longer, then turns and brushes her knuckles along your arm before heading to the kitchen without a word.

You follow her, your socked feet quiet against the worn hardwood floors.

She moves like she remembers where everything is. Opens the right drawer without looking. Reaches for the mug she always used—white with a chipped corner near the handle. You never had the heart to throw it out.

You take it from her gently.

“I’ll make it.”

She nods and steps back, leaning against the counter as you set about it, pulling the grounds from the same tin, filling the kettle to the same line. The routine calms you—your hands know the motions even if your heart is unsteady.

Wanda watches you.

You feel it before you see it—those green eyes trailing your every step, a silent hunger behind them that has nothing to do with caffeine. But she says nothing. Just lets the moment wrap around the both of you like fog.

When you hand her the cup, she smiles. It’s small. The same soft-lipped smile she used to give you in the mornings, when your bed was still warm and her hair still smelled like your shampoo.

“Still make it perfect,” she murmurs, fingers curling around the warmth of the mug.

You shrug lightly, trying not to let it hit you too hard. “Muscle memory.”

She doesn’t reply, just sips and closes her eyes. You sit down across from her at the little table by the window—two chairs, still. Hers never moved.

Breakfast is simple. Toast. Fruit. You crack two eggs into a pan without asking. She doesn’t stop you.

There’s a quiet domesticity to it. Comfortable. Dangerous.

You let yourself enjoy it for just a little longer than you should.

When she’s rinsing her dish, setting it in the sink like she always used to, she hesitates. You watch her from the table, her back to you, her hand resting on the counter like she’s holding herself in place.

“I should go,” she says softly. “If anyone saw me come in... or leave... it’s too soon.”

You nod even though she can’t see you.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’re right.”

She doesn’t move right away. Then turns and looks at you, hesitant, like she wants to say something but isn’t sure you’ll be able to take it.

You don’t press.

Instead, you stand and walk her to the door, both pretending this is just polite, that it doesn’t ache.

She opens the door. Hesitates.

Then, so quietly it might not even be real: “Thank you.”

And then she’s gone, hoodie pulled up, slipping into the morning like smoke.

You're left standing in the doorway, her coffee mug still warm in your hand.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

The sun had climbed higher by the time you made your way across campus, but the chill in the air hadn’t quite given up its grip. You wrapped your coat a little tighter around yourself, the warmth of the morning already fading in more ways than one.

Your office hours were quiet. A few questions about an upcoming essay, a couple half-hearted discussions from students trying to secure some last-minute clarity before the next exam. But you weren't really present for any of it. Your mind was back at the apartment—her lips on your skin, her whispered scent-memory, the way her fingers had curled in your shirt like she was trying to anchor herself.

The ache in your chest hadn't left.

It was late afternoon when you saw her.

You were crossing the quad, papers tucked under your arm, heading for the faculty building when you spotted Wanda sitting on one of the stone benches tucked under the trees near the library. Hood up. Backpack at her feet. She was watching the fountain in front of her but not really seeing it.

Your breath caught, and you almost kept walking.

But then she turned slightly, and even from the distance, you could see it—the way her shoulders slumped, how her arms were wrapped around herself like armor.

You adjusted course.

“Hey,” you said softly as you approached.

She looked up. Her lips parted for a moment like she hadn’t expected to see you—like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to—but then her mouth pulled into the faintest shape of relief.

“Hey,” she echoed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You saw the edge of the bruise still lingering on her cheek despite the makeup. Your jaw clenched.

“Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head, scooting over just enough. You lowered yourself beside her, close enough for warmth but not too close. Not yet.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

The campus noise buzzed around you—students on bikes, snippets of conversation, the fountain’s trickling water.

“Was it bad today?” you finally asked, careful.

She nodded slowly. “People looked. I think someone knows.”

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye. “You don’t have to come to class if it’s too much, Wanda.”

She turned toward you fully. “I want to. I want to prove I can do this. That I’m not… that he didn’t…” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, jaw tight.

You didn’t push. Instead, you reached out, your fingers grazing her knee gently—grounding.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I just wanted you to know you have the choice.”

She looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze.

Then: “Would you walk with me to the library?”

Your brows lifted slightly, surprised by the request.

“You’re not worried someone will see?”

She gave a faint shrug, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Let them.”

And for once, you didn’t overthink it. You just nodded and stood, and when she fell into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, you didn’t move away.

✮📓✐𖦹˖⋆

She came back like gravity.

You weren’t expecting the knock, not really—but part of you had been listening for it all evening. The moment you opened the door, she was there, wrapping herself around you like she'd never left. Arms around your shoulders, her face tucked into the crook of your neck.

No hesitation. No words.

Just need.

Your arms found her waist automatically, pulling her in—not too tight, not enough to risk pressing into anything still sore. But firm enough that she’d feel it. That she’d know you were there. She exhaled shakily against your skin.

And then you did what you always used to do.

You picked her up.

A startled little squeak slipped from her lips as you lifted her into your arms, and she blinked at you in surprise—but there was no protest, no retreat. Only a soft look in her eyes and a hand gripping the fabric at your shoulder.

You carried her straight to the bathroom.

The light was warm and soft, golden like late afternoon even though the sun had already gone. You set her down with practiced care, then reached for the faucet, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. The bubble bath you used to buy for her—lavender and eucalyptus—still sat on the edge of the tub, the bottle untouched but not thrown away. You poured it in.

She said nothing as you helped her out of her hoodie and shorts, letting the fabric fall silently to the tile. She stood quietly, arms across her chest—not hiding, just watching you with those eyes that still made your heart ache and swell all at once.

You undressed too, but slower, letting her see each familiar motion.

When the bath was full and foaming, you stepped in first, sitting back against the curve of the tub. Then you reached out a hand. She took it.

Wanda sank into the water between your legs, back pressing to your chest, her soft sigh barely audible over the sound of water lapping against porcelain. You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her in—close, but gentle. Her head rested against your shoulder, your cheek brushing the crown of her damp hair.

It was intimate. But not sexual.

It was sacred.

You let your hands roam gently over her arms, over her ribs. Over bruises she didn’t want to talk about yet. And when she shivered, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head.

Neither of you spoke.

There was nothing that needed to be said just yet.

Just the steady rhythm of breath. The warm water. The weight of her in your arms. The safety in silence.

The sheets smelled the same.

That was the first thing Wanda said, whispered almost inaudibly against your collarbone as she curled in beside you beneath the covers. You didn’t answer at first—just ran your fingers slowly through her damp hair, the soft strands catching against your knuckles. She was lying half on top of you, leg draped over your thigh, her hand resting flat against your stomach like she needed to anchor herself.

She hadn’t spoken much after the bath. She didn’t need to. The way she clung to you, the way her fingers lingered on your skin, the way she curled closer every time you breathed in—it all said enough.

You turned your head slightly, lips brushing the top of her hair. “You okay?”

A nod. Then, after a long pause, a breathy, “I missed this.”

You swallowed.

So had you.

Your hand came to rest on her back, your thumb tracing the slope of her spine under the oversized sweatshirt she still wore. The same one she’d stolen countless times before. The one she said made her feel safe.

“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered suddenly. Not broken, not begging. Just truth, bare and quiet.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

“Wanda…” Her name left you like a prayer.

She lifted her head then, leaning on her elbow as she looked down at you in the dim light. Her hair framed her face, still a little damp, still wild from your pillow. Her lip was healing, but split enough that her smile was crooked.

“I know I messed up,” she murmured, “I know I ran. I thought—” She broke off, eyes dipping down to your chest. “I thought I had to. But I didn’t want to.”

Your hand came up to her face. Fingertips brushing her cheek, gentle along the bruise there. She leaned into your palm.

You didn’t mean to tilt forward. You didn’t plan the way your noses brushed or how your lips hovered just a breath apart.

But she didn’t move away.

And then you kissed her.

Soft. Barely there. But everything.

You felt her tremble—like the moment your lips met was the moment everything she’d been holding in finally melted. She sighed into your mouth, her fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt. She kissed you like she’d been starving for it, like she’d dreamed of it for the past two years. And you let her have it.

Slow. Tender. Deepening by degrees as you tilted her chin and let your lips part hers.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, you whispered the words against her mouth.

“I love you too.”

She didn’t say anything right away.

She just breathed, a soft, shaky inhale that warmed your lips. Her forehead stayed pressed against yours, noses brushing in the space where your mouths had just been. Her hand was still curled in your shirt, her thumb rubbing slow, absent circles like she couldn’t stop touching you.

You watched her—eyes half-lidded, lashes damp at the tips, cheeks flushed with more than just leftover emotion. She looked like she had something to say, something she was still working up the nerve to give voice to.

You didn’t push her.

Your other hand had found her waist, holding her there. Not gripping, not demanding—just there. Present. Letting her feel you. Your pulse was loud in your ears, but beneath it all was a quiet calm. You had her here, in your arms again, and for the first time in so long, it didn’t feel like she’d disappear when the sun rose.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this again,” she whispered finally.

You felt your throat tighten, your fingers flexing gently at her side. “Neither did I.”

Wanda’s head shifted slightly, brushing her nose against your cheek before she nestled her face into the crook of your neck. She fit there like she never left. Like your body had waited, the same way your heart had.

You closed your eyes as her breath fanned across your skin. She was trembling again, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I should’ve come back sooner,” she murmured. “I was scared. Of what I did. Of seeing you move on. Of not being worth another chance.”

You pressed a kiss to her temple, slow and lingering.

“I never stopped setting out the extra mug,” you said quietly. “Never stopped checking for your name on rosters. I think…I was always waiting.”

She exhaled shakily, her hand moving from your shirt to your chest, fingers splaying out like she could hold your heart through your skin.

“I wanna stay,” she said, voice muffled against your neck. “Not just tonight. Not just because I’m hurt. I wanna try again. I want to come home.”

You held her tighter, turning your head to press your lips to her hair.

“Then come home, baby.”

And in that soft, silver hour between heartbreak and healing, she finally did.

One Year Later

The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting slow golden stripes across the hardwood floor. The quiet was broken only by the occasional soft thump of little paws as one of the cats—Fig and Fern, you’d named them—leapt up onto the kitchen counter despite knowing they weren’t supposed to.

“Fig,” you called gently without looking up from the coffee you were pouring. “Off.”

A lazy mrrp of defiance, but then the thud of a retreat. You smiled to yourself. The cats were as stubborn as their other mom.

Wanda padded in barefoot a moment later, wearing one of your sweatshirts again—this one new, not as ratty as the one she used to steal, though you still found that one balled up in her side of the closet. Her freshly-earned diploma was tucked neatly on the wall behind her, framed in walnut and pride.

“You made coffee,” she mumbled as she came over, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and resting her chin between your shoulder blades.

“You say that like I didn’t make it every morning for the past year,” you teased, turning slightly to press a kiss to her temple.

She shrugged, all sleepy smiles and affection. “Still nice.”

You set the mugs down on the table beside the little vase of sunflowers she’d brought home the day before and pulled her down to sit with you. Outside the wide kitchen window, the yard stretched out in spring green, the wind gently rustling the wind chimes she insisted on buying at that roadside market on your trip to Maine.

Wanda curled up into you as you sipped your coffee, her head resting on your shoulder, legs tangled with yours under the table.

“Did you think we’d get here?” she asked quietly.

You were quiet for a moment before answering. “Sometimes I did. Most of the time I was too scared to imagine it. But I always hoped.”

She looked up at you then, her eyes softer than anything the sun could paint.

“I’m glad you waited,” she said.

“I’d wait again,” you replied. “A hundred times over.”

Fern jumped up onto the table, brushing her tail over Wanda’s face and making her scrunch her nose. You both laughed as you shooed her down, then Wanda leaned in and kissed you—easy and slow, like morning, like forever.

Home wasn’t just the house. It never was.

It was the coffee.

It was the cats.

It was every quiet I love you whispered without needing to say the words.

It was her.