⋆˙⟡ Freud’s Special Girl ⋆˙⟡

Wanda had gotten very good at knowing all of your tells: the way your hands trembled when you were hungry, how your gate changed just a little when you hadn’t gotten enough sleep, your nervous habit of whistling when your mind was racing with worries. Tonight, however, she didn’t even need her mama instincts to tell her you were upset. 

You shuffled into the living room in one of her hoodies. It was massive on you, trailing down your thighs so far the pajamas shorts you wore underneath weren’t visible. You chewed anxiously on one of the too-long-sleeves, fraying the cuffs. Wanda had tried to break the habit several times, especially given your affinity for stealing her clothes, but eventually she’d just surrendered to the fate of wearing jackets with chewed sleeves. 

“Baby,” she cooed sympathically. “What’s wrong? Come here, pumpkin. Tell mama what’s got you all worked up.” She tapped her thighs, ushering you gently onto her lap. 

You curled up against her immediately, tucking your knees to your chest and resting your head on her shoulder. Wanda gasped in surprise when your free hand found its way under the hem of her shirt and rested on her lower stomach. Your palm slid across her bare skin, to her hip, then traced its way back to her belly button. You silently caressed the skin there until she stopped you, stilling your hand with her own. 

She had known about this little habit of yours for a long time now. It was a fixation of sorts that seemed to come in waves: you’d go months without thinking about it, and then something would happen and suddenly you couldn’t keep away. Whether she was cooking, sitting on the couch, or even sleeping, your hands and eyes would always find their way right back to this specific spot right below her belly button, where stretch marks spanned from hip to hip after carrying her twins. 

After carrying her twins. Not you. 

“Sweetheart,” she whispered, already preparing to defend whatever nonsense was about to spew from your mouth about how you’d never really be hers. 

You finally pulled the sleeve you’d been chewing on from your mouth. She knew what you were going to say before you even opened her mouth, but the quiet, broken words never failed to pierce her heart regardless. 

“It’s not fair.”

She swallowed, tucking your head under her chin and rubbing your back through the thick material of the hoodie. “I know, baby,” she admitted. “I know it’s not.”

“I never got to be inside you,” you said. “I never got to be part of you. I was never connected to you. I was never your-“

“Don’t.” Wanda interrupted, firmly, but not unkindly. She would let you have your mourning. She would comfort you through each broken explanation of the indescribable longing in your heart. But she would not tolerate any implication that you were any less hers. 

You stiffened and pulled your hand from her stomach, instead grabbing her shirt in a tight fist. “I’m sorry,” you sniffed. 

She kissed the crown of your head. “It’s okay, darling,” she reassured. “I just need you to know that you have more of my heart than anyone else in the world. And nothing can change that. I love you so much.”

You nodded against her chest. “I know. I just…” you sniffled again, “I wish I were made of love, is all.”

You laid down on her lap, shifting your position so you were pressed up against her stomach in a tight ball. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and tossed it over your head. 

“Maybe we can pretend for a little bit,” you proposed quietly, muffled slightly by the blanket. “That I’m in your belly and… and you haven’t met me yet but you’re excited to. And you already love me so much.” You poked your head out of the blanket to look up at her. “Or we don’t have to… if it’s stupid.”

Wanda froze for a moment, but then a soft, sad smile spread across her face. It was a silly request, really. Nothing she said could change what actually happened. It would be nothing more than a fairytale. And yet, when your big eyes peered up into hers, she couldn’t bring herself to deny you. She couldn’t turn back the clock, but she could craft a narrative for you to carry with you. She pulled the blanket down over your head again, cocooning you against her. 

“We decided to wait, your father and I, to find out whether you’re a boy or girl,” she started, rubbing over the thick blanket in slow, soothing circles. “Your father thinks I’m crazy, because I tell everyone I already know you’re gonna be my little girl. I can just feel it.”

She shifted slightly, laying down on the couch so you could lay on her stomach. “I call you my rolly polly because you keep me up at night with all your rolling. The only thing that calms you down is my singing. It drives your dad crazy.”

“You sing to me?” You asked in a quiet, broken voice. 

“Of course I sing to you, angel,” she reassured. “I sing… lullabies mostly. But what seems to calm you down the most is my operatic cover of ‘The Middle’ by Jimmy Eat World.”

You giggled and the vibrations spread across her whole chest, warming her from the inside out. She pulled you closer. “I’m craving… ice cream and salt. Not together. Most of the time. I already know you’re a sweet tooth and I already can’t deny you a damn thing.”

She sits in silence for a minute, trying to gauge your reaction under the thick blanket. Then there’s a sniffle and another whispered question. “And… and you’re excited, right? This is something you wanted to happen.”

“Oh baby, I can hardly wait.” She doesn’t even need a moment to think about her answer. “I’ve taken up crochet and I’ve already made you a blanket and some little hats. Out of the softest yarn I could find. Only the best for my baby girl.”

“And then- when I came out- you weren’t disappointed were you?” You asked, voice trembling again. 

“Disappointed? Oh heavens no,” she nearly gasped. “The moment they laid you on my chest I knew you were better than I could’ve ever imagined. You were perfect. You are perfect. My angel. My miracle. My special girl. I have never been so happy to be anything as I am to be your mama.”

You poked your head out from under the blanket and uncurled yourself from your ball, resting your head on her chest. You could feel her heartbeat and the vibrations of her humming in her ribcage, soothing and melting away the last of your nerves. She could feel your muscles relax as she ran her nails up and down. She craned her neck upwards to kiss your head. “Rest, my love,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You whined and buried your face in her chest. You could hardly keep your eyes open. She took your hand in hers and brought it to her collarbone, splaying your fingers out against the skin there.

“You can hold it for mommy, can’t you?” she asks softly. You nod quickly, eyes wide. She tries to kiss you but it doesn’t last long with her smiling into it. She tries again but it breaks again. She reaches down instead. You’re still kneeling over her, hands by her shoulders. You look down to follow her hands.

You’re already hard. It started the moment you realised she was actually going to allow you inside of her. Wanda pulls your boxers down and frowns in mock concern.

“Are you hard yet, honey?”

Heat flushes through you as you duck your head. She asks that every time.

“It’s okay if you aren’t. Babies can have trouble sometimes, hm? Or is my baby not excited by their reward?”

“I am, mommy!” you insist, voice near a whine. “I’m hard.”

Wanda makes a considering noise before gently wrapping her hand around your length. Your tip barely pokes out. You stiffen further in her hold.

“You certainly feel hard,” she muses. Her hand squeezes lightly and your hips jerk up into the feeling. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just so hard to tell with how small you are.”

“I— I know, mommy,” you say, voice high. You still can’t meet her eyes.

“Mommy better make sure, hm? Her baby does get confused sometimes.”

You try to deny getting confused but she starts stroking you and your mouth falls open instead. Even with all your training it still feels so good. Your hips jut into her hand, uneven compared to her calm stroking. It’s barely a minute before she’s pulling away and you’re panting hard. She’s trained you enough that you didn’t even get close. A few months ago and it would’ve been a miracle if she wrapped her whole hand around you before you came.

“Definitely hard,” Wanda murmurs, sounding proud. She tilts your head back up towards her and pulls you in for another kiss. This one lasts. Your eagerness accidentally makes it messy but Wanda doesn’t push you away. You grind eagerly as you kiss her. Wanda is quick to still your hips so you don’t get close to coming.

“And what does my baby boy want?”

“Wanna— “ you make a strangled whining sound. “Wanna come in mommy.”

“That’s a very high goal.” You’re concentrating too hard to try and respond. “Or very low, depending on how you look at it. If that’s your goal, mommy will barely be fucked at all before her little boy loses control.”

You shake your head rapidly in denial.

“Wanna fuck mommy.”

Normally you aren’t allowed to say naughty words like that but mommy lets it slide when you’re repeating her.

“Show mommy,” Wanda says, voice rough.

Wanda guides your dick between her folds and that’s the end. You feel her wetness first and then her heat. It’s enough to engulf the tiny head of your dick and you come.

Hips juddering, your tip sliding through her wetness, mommy cooing quietly at you, her hands rubbing your sides. You slump against her. Nuzzling to find her warm, soft skin.

“Poor thing,” she murmurs in mock pity, “and so close too. I guess my baby isn’t ready to fuck mommy just yet, hmm?”