#(wanda)

Spent nights at one another’s houses whispering embarrassing stories into the dark until tears gathered in your eyes from laughing too hard. And sometimes those nights turned softer, quieter. Comforting hands resting on knees when secrets slipped out, insecurities revealed only in the safety of each other.

You grew up with one another. Blew out birthday candles side by side, exchanged stupid Christmas presents every year, learned to drive in the same rusted trucks, and crammed yourselves into diner booths after reckless late-night drives through mountain roads. The whole town knew the three of you together, like your names belonged side by side as naturally as the mountains belonged to the horizon.

Inseparable, never meant to part from one another. Photos of the three of you hung around each other’s rooms, tucked into mirrors and pinned to walls, always leaving space for another year, another memory. Until one evening.

It was supposed to be another sleepover, only older now. The three of you somewhere between eighteen and nineteen, curled up in familiar places with the television humming quietly in the background and empty soda cans cluttering the table. Comfortable in the way only years together could make people.

Then your mother stepped into the kitchen and asked softly if you had told them yet. Their eyes flickered toward you immediately, and your body ran cold.

You couldn’t say it. Could barely even look at them. So your mother did it for you. She told them you were moving away to the city.

And the room lost its warmth.

You had been in New York for almost five years now. You’d finished college, settled into your first full-time job, and quietly reached the point where your life stopped feeling like something temporary and started feeling like something built.

Somewhere along the way, you’d grown into a woman almost unrecognizable from the girl who once ran barefoot through riverbanks and mountain trails. Back home, you grew up in a place where cell service barely existed, where fashion meant whatever clothes survived the week and your father’s boots were just part of the outfit you threw on over pajamas.

Your friends in the city found your childhood charming in that distant, curious way people do when they’ve never lived it. Wine glasses balanced between their fingers as they asked you questions about horses and wide open land and how you could stand living somewhere so small everyone knew everyone. What it was like. Why you left. If you missed it. If you could ever go back.

You always answered lightly, laughing it off, turning your past into something almost like a story instead of something you had lived. But the questions stayed with you longer than they should have, especially the ones about why you left, because you never really had a clean answer for that anymore.

Your parents had long since stopped arguing with you about New York. Now your calls home were softer, stretched out with pauses, your mother asking when you were visiting again and your father pretending not to notice how often you said you were busy. It hadn’t felt urgent before, life always pulling you forward too fast to look back.

But now, for the first time in years, the thought landed differently.

You could go home. There was nothing stopping you anymore.

You had PTO sitting unused, no deadlines pressing against you, no real reason not to leave the city for a while. You could just… go.

The realization settled in your chest in a way that made everything feel suddenly too quiet. That night you called your parents while sitting cross-legged on your couch, laptop open on your knees as flight searches loaded in the background, your finger hovering between dates as your mother’s voice filled your apartment from the speaker.

Your dad picked you up at the airport, giving you a hug so tight your lungs burned. You didn’t mind it. You just shoved your face into his shoulder and held on a second longer than you meant to, breathing in the familiar rough cigarette scent and something older underneath it was motor oil.

It hit you all at once how much you’d been holding back, how much you’d been pretending wasn’t there. How much you’d missed him. How much you still loved him in that deep, uncomplicated way that never really changes no matter how far you go.

When he finally pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders like he needed to make sure you were real. “God, look at you,” he said, voice thick in a way he tried to hide by laughing. “Look at my girl… you’re so grown up.”

You smiled at him, soft and a little watery around the edges, eyes matching his in that too-emotional way neither of you commented on. You squeezed his hands like you were grounding yourself through him instead of the other way around. “I miss you…”

“Me too, and so does your mother,” he said, giving your hands a gentle squeeze back as he nodded toward the exit. “Let’s go home… she’s waiting for you there.”

She gave you a just as tight hug, one you fully just broke into, tears slipping before you could even think to stop them. You held onto her like your hands had been waiting years to do that again, arms wrapped around her so tightly it almost felt like you were afraid she might disappear if you let go.

She didn’t rush you. Just held you back just as firmly, one hand steady between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like you hadn’t outgrown needing it.

You buried your face into her shoulder, breathing in her shampoo and lotion, the familiar softness of her sweater, the quiet warmth of her that somehow still felt like home even after everything. The air in the house felt different in a way you couldn’t quite place at first.

Cleaner, lighter, like it had been waiting for you to notice it again. And suddenly it hit you how long it had been since you’d taken a full breath without something sitting heavy in your chest.

You exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes still glassy. “I’m home…”

“That you are,” she said softly, brushing a thumb beneath your eye like she was still allowed to do that without asking. “We’ve been counting down the minutes.”

Her smile was small, careful, like she was afraid too much emotion might break something.

“We’ve got dinner… please come in.” Then, after a beat, her gaze flicked over your shoulder toward the rest of the house, softer still.

“The house has changed a bit… as you might assume you notice.”

After dinner, when you finally parted for the night, you climbed the creaky stairs slowly, each step familiar in a way your body remembered before your mind fully caught up. They had said the house had changed, and you believed them, until you reached your bedroom door.

The moment you opened it, everything stopped. Your suitcase rolled softly behind you and came to rest in the corner, but you barely noticed. Your feet moved on their own, slow and careful, like you were walking through a memory instead of a room.

Nothing had been moved. Nothing had been replaced. It was all still there, held in time like someone had refused to let it become anything else.

The old quilt on your bed. The faint marks on the wall where posters used to hang. The dresser you’d carved into when you were younger and thought it was funny. The bookshelf still slightly crooked no matter how many times your father tried to fix it. Even the soft smell of dust and old wood and something unmistakably you.

You walked like you were in a movie you weren’t sure you belonged in anymore, fingers brushing over surfaces as things you had forgotten suddenly returned in fragments. Late-night conversations, getting ready for school, lying on your back staring at the ceiling thinking the world would never change.

And yet it had. Just not this room.

You flop onto the bed afe hearing the springs bounce under you. The ceiling stares back at you the same way it always did, familiar in a way that almost feels unreal after so long away. Your eyes drift to your vanity, spotting the photos there, and something in your chest tightens.

You sit up slowly, gaze lingering on them. Smiling faces caught in time. Too many memories packed into small frames, edges slightly worn from years of being looked at and never really put away. You, Wanda, Natasha. Always the three of you.

You wonder what they’re up to, where they are right now. If they’re together. If they’re laughing. If anything about them feels different, or if it’s just you who changed. If they moved on after you left.

Your throat tightens before you can stop it.

You reach over and turn your lamp off for the night before you can let yourself wonder about anything further.

You had some time to warm up to everything again before your parents mentioned that you should attend the city’s small gathering once more, just to greet everyone again, catch up, be seen. It had sounded like a good idea at the time. You missed people from the town you grew up in, missed the familiarity of faces that didn’t feel like strangers even after years apart.

Your parents were going too, a kind of quiet reassurance at your side in case you felt awkward or in case the town had decided you’d become the “city girl” who left and never quite belonged again.

A few hours later, and it had been a fine gathering for the most part. Shaking hands yet again, hugging occasionally, repeating the same softened version of your life until your smile started to feel practiced instead of real. The fire burned bright in the center of everything, casting warm light over familiar faces as the sun fully disappeared and the night settled in.

You excused yourself quietly, slipping away toward the bathrooms just to breathe for a moment, let your shoulders drop where no one could see.

That’s when a truck pulled up. Headlights cut through the dark for a second before shutting off, leaving the engine to tick in the silence. It caught your eye without meaning to.

The door swung open, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

The one with the short, messy hair stepped out first. Except it wasn’t short anymore. Long auburn strands spilled over her shoulders, catching the firelight every time she moved. A cigarette rested between her lips, smoke curling into the night air.

The habit struck you immediately. Unfamiliar against the version of her you’d carried in your head for years.

The second door swung open a beat later. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see her, not really, but the sight of her still knocked the breath from your lungs. She looked older now.

Taller somehow, steadier. Softer in a way that only time could carve into someone. Even her voice, faint beneath the noise of the party, had deepened into something calmer, more mature.

You could hear the two of them talking quietly amongst themselves.

Their names stirred in the back of your mind, dangerously familiar. You shoved the thought down before it could settle, forcing your steps to remain even as you continued toward the bathrooms, pretending your pulse hadn’t suddenly fallen out of rhythm.

Part of you hoped you’d imagined it. That maybe you’d looked too fast, caught the wrong angle in the flicker of firelight and smoke and familiar noise. Maybe she hadn’t seen you at all.

But fate had other plans.

For one fleeting moment, her gaze drifted lazily across the crowd. Casual, distracted. Then it found you right as you reached the edge of the building and stepped inside.

You pushed through the bathroom door quickly, the cold fluorescent light washing over you as you gripped the edge of the sink for a second longer than necessary. Your pulse still hadn’t settled. You turned on the faucet anyway, letting the icy water run over your hands just to give yourself something else to focus on, but you can't.

Five fucking years. You dried your hands slowly against your jeans as you stepped back into the mosquito-filled air, already planning to keep your head down and walk straight past them.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Guilt and awkwardness climbed up your throat so fast it almost made it hard to answer.

“Hi.”

The word came out quieter than you intended.

Silence settled between you almost immediately, thick and uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to her anymore—or if you were supposed to say anything at all. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the day you left for the city. No calls. No texts. Nothing except years of distance stretching wider and wider until it became easier to pretend it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was how things were supposed to go.

People faded. Friendships lost their grip. Not everyone you met was meant to become part of your foundation. Some people were only passing branches, temporary things meant to break away eventually.

You told yourself that was all this was. Five years was a long time to hold onto someone. You shifted slightly, already preparing to step around her and leave the conversation exactly where it stood. Brief, polite before Wanda spoke again.

"You changed your hair,” she commented, her eyes drawing carefully over you.

“Yeah, I did…” you breathed out, wiping at your bicep when you felt what was probably a mosquito land there.

“It looks nice. Seems like you’ve really been taking care of yourself.”

The compliment sat awkwardly between you. You shifted your weight, one foot already turning away like you were preparing to leave the conversation before it had the chance to become anything more. Still, you could feel Wanda’s gaze lingering on you. And another from farther away, heavier somehow, burning into your skin.

Curiosity got the better of you. You glanced toward the truck near the fire and found Natasha already watching you. The flame from her lighter illuminated her face for a brief second as she lit another cigarette, smoke curling past her lips as she leaned back against the truck.

“Not too sure,” you admitted. “However long I can stretch my PTO. I’m getting time with my parents.”

Something flickered across Wanda’s face at that. Small enough that you almost missed it. The mention of family. The quiet implication beneath your words. That you came back for them, not for this, not for her.

No mention of catching up. No offer to see each other again. Still, she smiled softly, the kind that felt more polite than personal now. “Well… it was nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

The words felt strange leaving your mouth.

Wanda gave a small wave before turning and heading back toward the fire, her figure slowly blending into the warm glow and drifting smoke. You started in the opposite direction, hands shoved into your pockets, but after a few steps you glanced back over your shoulder anyway.

It wouldn’t be a small town without its monthly farmer’s market.

Your parents had driven the three of you into town early that morning, and for once, you didn’t mind staying close to them. It gave you something familiar to hold onto. The market buzzed around you with soft music, overlapping conversations, and the scent of kettle corn drifting through the warm air. You pointed out different stands to your mom, teased your dad over overpriced honey, and exchanged polite smiles with a few familiar faces from years ago.

It almost felt normal.

By the time you stopped at the smoothie stand near the edge of the market, the heat had already settled into your skin. You held your mango smoothie in one hand while waiting for the larger one your parents planned to split, half-listening to the blender roaring behind the counter.

Then a voice slipped into the space beside you.

“Mango? Always been your favorite.”

Your stomach tightened before you even looked up.

Wanda stepped beside you casually, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket despite the warmth outside. Her hair was pulled back loosely today, auburn strands catching in the breeze.

“You ordering one?” you asked, trying to sound more relaxed than you felt. Almost pushing her away again.

She hummed softly, glancing up at the menu board. “Maybe. I’m deciding.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “This stand’s new. Only been here about two years.”

She glanced away from the menu for a moment, eyes settling on you. “How’s the city been?”

The question made your stomach sink unexpectedly, like there was too much wrapped inside those four words. Your fingers tightened slightly around the smoothie cup as you silently wished your parents’ order would be ready already.

“Uh, yeah…” you muttered, shifting your weight. “It’s good. A lot.”

Wanda smiled anyway, like she understood the awkwardness behind it. “Still overwhelming?”

“Pretty much all the time.”

“I can imagine,” she said softly. “Forty people in one gathering is about enough for me. I can’t imagine being surrounded by that many people all the time. Always somewhere to go.”

You hummed, feeling yourself loosen slightly at the subject. Talking about the city was easier than talking about yourself. Easier than talking about the five years sitting between the two of you.

“It’s not as bad as people think,” you admitted, glancing down at your drink. “Everyone kind of stays in their own lane. It feels like you actually get your own space there.”

You paused briefly before adding quieter, “Doesn’t feel as suffocating. Or like everyone’s watching you all the time.”

Your name was called from the stand. Relief flickered through you immediately. “That’s mine,” you said, half a step backward as you pointed toward the counter. You grabbed your parents’ smoothie when it was handed over, the cold cup grounding you in something simple again.

Wanda was still there. Feeling awkard to say goodbye, but even more not to say anything at all. You turned back to her, something small and almost unintentional softening your expression. Not quite a smile, not quite nothing either.

“Uh… it was good seeing you,” you said quietly.

Wanda nodded once, gentle. “Yeah. You too.”

You held her gaze for a second longer than you meant to, then shifted your weight away, your parents already drifting toward the next stall.

“Take care,” you added, voice lighter now.

"You too."

You lay in bed, covers pulled up to your chest, staring at the ceiling while the quiet of your room presses in around you. Your eyes drift again and again to the photos still pinned along your vanity mirror. Snapshots of a life that feels both distant and uncomfortably close.

You shift restlessly beneath the blankets, your thoughts swinging between extremes, almost hot and cold the way Wanda and Natasha feel in your chest.

Part of you circles the idea of mending it.

Of letting the distance soften, of allowing something polite and careful to form again. Something that doesn’t demand too much, just enough to acknowledge what you once were without pretending it never existed.

It's similar to Wanda, who's already reaching, in her way. Small steps. Easy conversations. A version of reconnection that doesn’t feel like it would swallow you whole if you tried.

The second part, one that looks at Natasha and feels that familiar finality settle in your bones. The part that questions why you would even try to rebuild something that already burned itself down so completely.

What would it even mean to go back there? What would you be rebuilding, exactly. Friendship, history, or just the echo of something you’ve already outgrown?

It pulls you in two directions at once, neither one fully letting go.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize it isn’t really about choosing between them. It’s about choosing which version of the past you’re willing to carry forward with you.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, watching the clouds shift into something ugly overhead. Thick, swollen, and dark enough to swallow the horizon. They rolled together into one continuous mass as far as you could see, the air turning heavy with the metallic scent of rain before it even started falling.

You tapped your foot against the floor near the counter, impatience building as you waited for the last of the payment to go through for your parents’ horse feed. One more errand. One less thing for them to worry about. That was the idea, anyway.

The cashier finally nodded toward the card reader. “You’re good to swipe or tap.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, relief already loosening your shoulders.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped outside.

You had wished for no rain. And the sky answered anyway.

It hit fast. Cold wind first, then the first scattered drops, and then all at once the world opening up above you. You hurried toward the car, already regretting the jacket you chose, the timing, the entire day.

You had wished to get home safe. And the car responded by slowing like it was thinking about giving up entirely.

A sputter. A shake. Then silence.

“No. No, no, no—come on,” you groaned, gripping the wheel as if that alone could convince it otherwise. You slumped forward, pressing your forehead against it for a second before letting out a long, defeated breath. “Damn it… of course. God fucking damn it.”

Of course it was the old car. Of course it was your parents’ old everything. Old house, old roads, old feed store that took forever to get anything done.

You shoved the door open and stepped out into the rain immediately soaking through your jacket. Cold water ran down your arms as you moved behind the car, placing your hands against the trunk.

“Please,” you muttered under your breath, as if the car might suddenly develop empathy.You pushed.

At first it barely moved, tires digging into wet ground that was already turning fast into mud. You leaned harder into it, boots slipping slightly with each effort. Rain blurred your vision, plastering your hair to your face, soaking through everything faster than you could adjust.

More time passed. And your arms started to burn. Your breath came sharper. The car barely shifted an inch.

“Come on,” you hissed through clenched teeth, pushing again, harder this time.

The ground gave out beneath one step, your foot slid out from under you instantly. You hit the mud first—hard—then felt the sharp sting as your face followed, your lip splitting on impact. A copper taste filled your mouth almost immediately, mixing with rainwater as it ran down your chin.

You froze for a second, breath shaking, rain hammering down around you like it was trying to erase you entirely. Your fingers lifted instinctively, brushing over your lip. No, your nose. Or wherever it is the blood had started to show after slamming into the back of the car.

“God,” you muttered again, voice rough as you pushed yourself upright, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. It didn’t help much. Everything was already soaked anyway. Rain, mud, and now a thin streak of blood that refused to blend in.

You turned back toward the car, still half-focused on trying to salvage the situation, when headlights cut through the storm in the distance.

At first, it was just relief. Sharp and immediate. Someone. Anyone.

You held a hand over your eyes, squinting through the rain as she stepped out of the truck. Her boot sank slightly into the mud, dark water splashing around it, but she didn’t seem to care.

You opened your mouth to explain. Something halfway between it just died and I’ve got it handled... but she cut you off before you could get a word out.

“The hell are you doing?” Natasha’s voice cut through the storm, sharp enough to feel like it landed harder than the rain.

Something in your chest snapped hot immediately.

Not fear. Not embarrassment.

Frustration. Honestly, it might’ve even started the second you saw her truck.

“What does it look like I’m doing, you ass?” you shot back, wiping rain from your face again only for it to be replaced instantly. “The car stopped. It’s not starting again and I’m just trying to go home!”

She made it across the road, crouching slightly to peer into your stalled car as rain battered both of you. You stood there beside it, completely soaked now.

Tears dripping into your eyes, clothes heavy and clinging to your skin, mud tracking up your legs. Everything felt cold, uncomfortable, wrong. The only thing you could think about was a hot shower waiting somewhere on the other side of this mess.

Natasha straightened again, voice carrying over the storm.

“I can’t help you out here,” she called. “I’ll drive you back and tow your parents’ car.”

There wasn’t much room for argument in the way she said it.

The passenger seat of her truck felt like another world entirely. Your soaked clothes squeaked faintly as you sat down. You stared straight ahead for a moment, hands awkward in your lap, trying to settle your breathing. Time only moved forward, you reminded yourself. Second by second, and you're moving forward to this moment ending.

Natasha was already outside again, hooking your car up, rain running off her shoulders as she worked. Then she climbed back into the driver’s seat like the storm didn’t touch her the same way it touched everyone else.

The truck rumbled slightly as she started it. Silence settled in immediately after, just the low hum of the AC. The steady drum of rain against the windshield. The faint creak of metal as the tow line tightened behind you.

You stared out at the blurred world beyond the glass, rain streaking sideways in the headlights as the truck rolled steadily forward.

“Thank yo—” you started, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form.

Natasha hit the brakes. Hard.

The sudden stop snapped you forward against the seatbelt, breath punching out of your lungs as the world jerked into stillness. The tow line behind you creaked under tension. Rain hammered the windshield like it was trying to break through.

“I just can’t fucking believe that you’re back. Why in the world did you come back? You’re so incredibly selfish, you understand this?”

For a second, you just stared at her, rain and adrenaline still ringing in your ears.

“Excuse me?” you say, sharper now.

Natasha lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. She looks back out at the road like she already regrets turning toward you in the first place.

“Yeah,” she mutters, “excuse you.”

The wipers drag back and forth, useless against how hard it’s coming down.

You open your mouth again, but she cuts in before you get anything out.

“No, don’t… don’t even start explaining like there’s a good version to any of this,” she says, voice tighter now. “Not ‘I wanted to chase my dreams.’ You only told the two of us when your mom brought it up. Like something you were never even going to tell us until you just left. And I don't even want to know how you told your sweet parents."

“Natasha—!”

“Two friends, people who’ve known you since birth,” she continues, faster. “You don’t think we deserve an official goodbye? Any explanation? Before you get up and leave for five years? And oh yeah, 'I got your little things done, so let me just come back because I missed it?' You expect everything to just be fucking peachy dandy? Two people you’ve known for your whole life, who’ve been nothing but everything to you. You can’t even afford the decency to say goodbye? What a fucking joke you are.”

You throw your hands up, opening the car door. “I can’t do this.”

She’s out almost immediately, slamming her door behind her.

“Run away,” Natasha snaps after you, voice cutting through the storm. “Very you. Don’t confront anything head-on."

You whip around to face her.

“So what is it with you? Do you want to drive me home, or should I drive? Because this is—”

“This is what?” she interrupts, stepping closer. “You tell me. What is it with you? Why did you want to leave everyone here who’s cared about you? Truly?”

Her voice rises slightly now, not quite yelling, but close.

“How’re the fake friends in New York?” she throws in, sharp and quick. “You like the money? The title of being in New York instead of this nothing town?”

A beat.

“It’s all wonderful, right? Until you need to think about something that actually means something to you. That’s why you came back. You’re not truly satisfied there and you know it. Why the hell did you even lea—”

“Because Natasha, I’ve had nothing done nothing! My siblings have done outstanding things, and all I have ever done is mess around. I tossed pencils into a cup with you and Wanda instead of studying. My sister was in honors at my age, while I was covered in mud. My parents expect more. I can’t be the loose end in my family.... I.."

She huffs. “You know how much your parents missed you when you were gone? I made up excuses to come by just to try and cheer them up. They worried they messed up with you. Wondered why you left so far away when you seemed so happy here.”

You wave your hands. “Can we just… don’t…”

“Sure,” she says, tone flat, unimpressed, already done. Climbing back into her car.

The drive is even more silent than before, Natasha reaching to try to light a cigarette on the rest of the drive.

You glance at her. “Terrible habit, but I’m not surprised.”

She huffs, setting the pack back in the cup holder. “Wanda’s been entirely too sweet to you. I’ve been telling her."

She pulls up at your parents’ house, unattaching the car. She waves to your parents, who look worried on the front porch, before her car hums off into the distance, not a wave your way. But your heart feels warmer, soften even... despite the harsh words thrown at each other. You slept that night, feeling a little less like bricks were laying on you.

The argument in the storm had been the dam that broke everything. After that, something in the air between you all shifted. Not healed, but loosened just enough to breathe through. The past hurt feeling like a river cried, and the bridge beginning to form again.

Despite it all, you started smiling a little when you ran into them. In a small town, it was impossible not to. There were only so many places to go, only so many corners of town you could avoid before they stopped feeling avoidable at all.

At the diner, it was a brief wave.

At the little store downtown, it was Wanda holding the door open while Natasha lingered near the counter, pretending not to notice you.

At the gas station, it was a quiet exchange of “hey” that lasted a few seconds longer than it used to.

It wasn’t smooth. But it wasn’t as sharp anymore either.

Each time, you found yourself staying a little longer. Saying a little more. Laughing, sometimes, before you had time to stop yourself. The awkward edges didn’t disappear, but they softened enough that you stopped bracing for impact every time you saw them.

And slowly, without any real announcement, things started to settle into something that resembled a pattern.

Wanda always spoke first. Careful, warm, like she was still trying to build a bridge between where you were and where you used to be.

Natasha stayed quieter, but she didn’t leave. She lingered in the background of conversations more often than not, watching, listening, occasionally throwing in something blunt that cut through the softness without fully breaking it.

It confused you, how something so fractured could still hold together in motion. And eventually, even your parents noticed.

“You’ve been running into them a lot lately again,” your mom said one evening over dinner, her tone light, but threaded with something warmer. “It makes me really happy… I was happy your friendship could rekindle. I had hope.”

“It’s trying…” you said, a little uncertain.

Your mom hummed softly, poking at her food. “It was a hard time when you left. Hit them hard, as it did us. Sweet women, they are. They’d come and help us with some chores. The ones you used to cover. They’d ask how you were doing…”

She glanced up at you then, softer now.

“Well... anyways, I’m just happy you’re all talking again. They’re gold. Don’t let go of them, alright darling? True gold, not false. Rare."

It had begun to bloom.

Not in any sudden, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and name, but in the slow return of ease. In the way your shoulders stopped tensing when you saw them. In the way conversations started lasting longer without feeling like you were walking on glass.

You found yourself revisiting places you hadn’t thought about in years.

The riverbank you used to sit at as a kid looked smaller now, quieter in a different way. The water still moved the same, but everything around it had changed just enough to remind you how much time had passed. You pointed things out absently when they were with you, half-laughing at old memories you weren’t sure you should still remember so clearly.

Your bed felt warm, like home each time you laid your head.

While you felt free, the two women felt caged still.

A weight still sat on their shoulders. Something unspoken, something that hadn’t dissolved just because time had passed and you were back in the same rooms again.

It lingered in the things they didn’t say.

In the way Natasha’s gaze flicked to you when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

In the way Wanda’s anger never quite found a place to land. It rose, once, briefly. Then dissolved the moment she saw you again, as if relief outweighed everything else. As if having you in front of her made it impossible to hold onto anything sharp for long.

It lived in hesitation, too. In the smallest pauses before speaking your name. In fingers that twitched, almost reaching, then curling back into themselves like restraint was a habit they couldn’t break.

In how their hearts betrayed them in quiet ways. Faster when you laughed, heavier when you looked away, uneven in your presence as if something inside them had never learned how to settle properly without you.

It lived in the nasty habit Natasha took upon herself. Smoke easing into her lungs instead of you. Into the nights the two of them spent together, the silence after as they occasionally grieved your presence.

Living to see a photo of you on social media, but too scared to follow.

It felt finate, your friendship. But the love that resonates in their hearts is infinite. And your distance, only strengthened it.

Your PTO is to come to an end. And this time, you inform others of your possible upcoming departure. It was brought up when they asked, settled into your bedroom. With a sunken heart, you come to realize the impending return date. Less than a week away. It felt as if a timer had offcially started. A stop watch starting, cointing down the seconds. Raising a feeling underneath everything. A question, a conflict to be resolved… hoping to be.

A sunken feeling settled in your chest as the return date became real in a way it hadn’t been before. Less than a week. A line drawn too clearly now to ignore.

It felt like something had started counting down. Haunting.

Tomorrow is your flight.

You sit with the two of them, checking into your flight. The room had been lively, until now. The clock louder than ever before.

"Sad I have only a couple hours really left... But we have each other's numbers... We can always text, or call..?"

"Right, yeah..." they had responded, dejected.

You hugged them, smiling—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes—before you got into the Uber. You waved goodbye to everyone: your parents, Wanda, Natasha. The dust kicked up behind the car as it pulled away, carrying you toward the airport, toward the flight.

You bit your nail, watching the world blur past the window, something tight settling into your chest. Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, uneven in a way you couldn’t quite settle. You kept swallowing it down, shifting your focus, pinching at your skin just to stay grounded in something physical.

It felt off. Wrong, even.

You walk toward security, lugging your suitcase behind you. Each step feels heavier than the last, like the airport itself is pulling you forward whether you want it to or not. The noise around you fades in and out. Announcements, rolling bags, footsteps, until it all starts to feel distant, muffled, like you’re already halfway gone.

Your mind keeps catching on moments you didn’t realize you were holding onto. Wanda’s laugh in your room. Natasha’s voice cutting through rain. The way silence between you all had started to feel less like absence and more like something full. Something you hadn’t known how to name until it was already slipping out of reach again. Like you don't what you have, how you feel until it's gone.

You swallow hard, forcing your grip tighter on your suitcase handle, like that could keep you steady. Like that could keep anything steady. Each step feels slower. The clock in your head ticking down the last few seconds you didn’t want to hear.

Your body is tense, too aware. Too tightly held.... until your name is shouted behind you.

For a second, you almost don’t believe it.

Then again.

Louder.

You turn, as something in your chest breaks loose before you can think about it. You drop your suitcase immediately and start moving before you even realize you’ve started running.

The space between you disappears too fast. And then you’re there, hugging the two women.

Hugging them tight, like if you let go too soon it would confirm every fear you’ve been trying not to name. They pull you in just as close, like neither of them had any intention of letting you be the one to hold on alone.

The pressure builds in your chest all at once. Too much feeling, too much time compressed into a single moment, and it spills over before you can stop it. Tears blur your vision, warm and sudden, and you don’t bother hiding them.

You don’t want to go home.

Because home isn’t the airport, or the city, or the life waiting for you past security.

Home is right here in your arms.

Wanda's or Natasha's home. You’re unaware and uncaring of whose it is as you're shoved inside with passion.

Your arms are wrapped around Natasha's neck, lips pressed to one another. The kiss is deep and unmoving. Her body pins you to the wall, and she grabs your thigh to wrap it around her waist. She holds you close, tightening her grip as she pulls you in. She tastes like the smoke she’s always inhaling and some unnamed, basic brand of chapstick.

You gasp, tugging at her hair as you melt into the kiss. Your body feels so warm and tingly that you believe you're floating. Wanda shuts and locks the door, coming up behind you to slide her hands down your chest while her lips lock onto your neck, listening to the little sounds you make.

Your shirt is tossed aside by Wanda, bra is shoved down so she can feel along your chest. To feel your nipples harden from her fingers tracing them. Your legs buckle under their touch, and they catch you to lead you toward the bed.

You fall back onto the bed, looking up at the two of them with lidded eyes, dressed only in your bra and bottoms. Wanda removes her shirt and lays over you, mumbling quiet comments about your body.

She whispers how gorgeous you are and how you’re stunning, "like a dream."

She tells you how good you look under her as she climbs on top, slotting her lips against yours. You reach a hand up to tug at her hair, squirming under the weight of her body. Pushed into the mattress by her hips slotting between yours. Hips grinding against one another.

Wanda kisses down your body, her lips latching onto your nipple for a moment.

"Mm—!"

You jolt, a whine escaping you at the contact as your thighs rub together. You're seeking more already, which brings a cocky, knowing look to her expression.

She continues to kiss down your body and across your abdomen. She skips over the area you want, instead kissing up your inner thighs while her thumbs hook into your underwear.

"This alright?"

You nod. "Mm... 's alright..."

She slides them down while keeping eye contact, creating a deeper sense of heat. You reach out to cup her cheek, pulling her up to kiss you for another moment before she heads back down again to hover over where you want her most.

She blows against your clit, watching you as you shiver, your hands clutching at the sheets. It takes no longer than a minute to have you clutching at the headboard, moans slipping from your lips as she slides her tongue between your folds.

She presses her tongue against your clit, rubbing it there and making it feel almost as if it's vibrating. You keen and whine, rolling your hips against her face. You smear your arousal around her face as if it isn't already dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.

Your chest rises and falls, your back arching. You give her a view she wishes could be captured in a Renaissance painting.

As you come down from your high and the pressure is released from between your hips, she gives you zero time before sliding a finger into you.

"O-oh—!"

"So tight," she teases. "Squeezing my finger..."

She licks at your inner thigh, biting down and littering the skin with hickeys, bruising it. She slides in a second finger, moving it alongside the one already inside you. You shove your face into the side, moaning into the pillow to muffle the sound.

"God...!" you squeak, mewling. "There...! There, please... oh...!"

She hums, kissing your collarbone. She places sweet kisses there before adding a third finger, one that stretches you delightfully well. Wanda seems gentle, as she is, but her fingers are large and she is something else in bed.

Watching you come down from your high a second time, Wanda slides her fingers out, licking the excess off. She looks back, noting Natasha's presence and the strap settled on her hips.

She moves to you, seeing the breathless, dazed expression on your face. Natasha manhandles you onto your back, raising your hips.

"Mm..! 'tasha...!"

"Keep 'em there," she commands, her hand resting on your hips to indicate exactly where she wants you to hold yourself. She rubs the length between your folds and against your ass, watching it catch your arousal almost like lube before she presses it fully at your entrance. She pushes all the way through, until she hits the hilt.

Noting how you rub your hips back as if you were in heat, grinding against her, she grips your ass and pulls back before pushing in again. She brings you to a keen, your mind completely lost.

Your face is smudged into the sheets, gripping them and making a mess as you take her the best you can. Wanda comes to the other end of the bed, leaning in to kiss you deeply.

You kiss back as best as you can. "I... I love you... I love you..."

Her expression softens, and both of theirs do. Wanda brushes her thumb against your cheek. "And we love you, so much."

"I... mm! Mm.. n-not leaving... e-ever—oh!"

Wanda hums, leaning back. She slides herself forward, her pussy on full view in front of you. You can feel the heat as her legs spread wide, opening herself up for you.

Before you can take anything into your own hands, Natasha’s hand shoves your face down into Wanda's cunt. You moan, rolling your hips back and liking the gesture. Your lips and nose are shoved into Wanda's cunt, while Natasha stretches you out around her length.

Wanda’s head is tilted back. "Ohhh baby, there... mm... dreamt about this."

You use your tongue and lips to worship her, driven by the rhythmic, heavy thrusts of Natasha behind you. The friction of the strap-on and the heat of Wanda’s skin create an overwhelming sensory overload. Your breath is hitching, muffled against Wanda’s thighs, as you work to keep pace with the frantic movement of your own hips.

Natasha leans over you, her chest pressing into your arched back as she whispers darkly into your ear. "If you don't make Wanda come, you get nothing else tonight. Focus on her."

The threat, or promise, sends a fresh jolt of adrenaline through you. You double your efforts, your tongue flicking and swirling with desperate precision until Wanda’s hands lock into your hair, her hips jerking upward in a sudden, violent spasm. She cries out your name, her walls clenching around your face as she reaches her peak.

Seeing Wanda shatter is the final straw for your own control. As she collapses back against the pillows, Natasha delivers several hard, deep lunges that hit exactly where you need. You let out a broken, high-pitched moan, your internal muscles seizing as your own climax crashes over you.

The room falls silent, save for the heavy, synchronized sound of three people catching their breath. Natasha pulls away, sliding out of you and collapsing onto the bed beside you both, pulling your shaking body into the middle of their warm, protective tangle

You spent so long trying to leave this town behind, but looking at them now, you know you’re never going to find a reason to say goodbye again.

“Baby?” Wanda calls, “Are you ready?”

Something falls in the bathroom, Wanda’s eyes flicking over to the door in mild concern. You appear, your cheeks lightly flushed as you hold a towel loosely around your body. Wanda can’t help but trail her eyes down your frame, raising her eyebrow in a silent command. 

You drop the towel, biting your lip as you make your way over to her. “Sorry, I dropped my lotion.”

Green eyes lock on yours, Wanda’s pupils dilating as she takes in your nudity. Your nipples are already hard, your skin soft and smelling faintly of her vanilla-scented body wash. She loved it when you used her products. 

It was one of her rules, actually. You were required to use any product Wanda instructed you to, which consisted mainly of her own -expensive- things. You didn’t mind, you loved being taken care of, in every way. 

Leaning down, you gently kiss her, smiling as her hand makes its way to your waist, her fingers digging in and urging you closer. This is your favorite side of her, the one that craves you. You love her fingers pulling you in, her lips on your skin, her eyes solely on yours. 

“I’ve laid out a dress for you,” she murmurs, her voice husky and low. It sends a pleasant warmth down your spine that pools in your gut. “Go put it on.”

Her tone is firm as she gently pushes you toward the bed. You catch her eyes lingering on your nude form, glancing over you through the mirror as she applies the last bits of her makeup. Grinning to yourself, you decide to put on a show for her, swaying your hips as you saunter over to the bed. 

There it is. The dress she’d picked out for you. It was beautiful, dark red and lacy, a long slit in the side that practically reached your hips. It had a neckline that dipped dangerously low, enough to tease the sight of your chest but not too much to expose you indecently. Just the way Wanda liked it. Lying next to the dress was a pair of black heels, the bottom of them painted bright red, a sight you’d become accustomed to. 

Biting your lip to hide your excitement, you slowly pull the dress over your head, moving your hips slowly to fully pull it over your body. You note the lack of panties or a bra on the bed, your cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of sitting through dinner without any undergarments. Luckily, the dress supported your chest well, your breasts sitting comfortably with the extra padded support. 

“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, having spun around to watch you. 

Smiling, you bask in her attention as you slowly spin around, adjusting your hair slightly. Your zipper has been caught halfway up your back, the small piece of metal resting just below your shoulder blades. 

Wanda gestures to you, a silent command. 

You obey, snagging the heels from off the bed and padding toward her. You feel giggly, and a bit like you’re playing dress-up, but Wanda looks at you with utter adoration; her normally serious expression is nowhere to be found. Her eyes are wide and unguarded, her hands firm as she beckons you closer, but not stern and unforgiving as they usually are. 

Biting your bottom lip, you decide that you quite like this side of her. It was almost… adorable. 

As if she could read your thoughts, Wanda’s eyes snap up to yours from where they’d been lingering around your neckline. “Sit on my lap, darling.”

Blinking, you clear your throat as a strange shyness creeps over you. 

“Now.” 

Wanda’s tone turns slightly icy, her eyebrows furrowing slightly at your hesitance. She doesn’t like to be disobeyed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur, noting the way her face smooths at your words. Quickly, you drop onto her lap, sitting sideways since your dress won’t allow you to straddle her as you usually did. The heels slip from your fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thump as Wanda’s hand snakes around your waist. 

Her green eyes peer into yours, studying your face. You notice the subtle makeup she’s put on, her eyelids darkened seductively with dark gold eyeshadow, her black eyeliner small and precise. Her lips are also dark, a matte red color coating them. You wonder if it would stain your skin, then promptly push that thought to the back of your mind, lest you leak through your expensive dress. 

“I have some jewelry for you,” Wanda murmurs, her other hand coming up to trace the thin gold chain fastened permanently around your neck. She’d gifted it to you last year, her initials subtly engraved into the chain, a private sign of her ownership of you. Wanda wore a similar necklace, your initials also engraved into the silver metal glittering around her neck.

Smiling, you lean in until your lips are mere inches from hers, “I love it when you dress me, Wanda.”

“I know you do,” Wanda smirks, her hand dropping to grip your thigh possessively for a moment, before she reaches for some jewelry she’s laid out on the vanity in front of her. Her fingers send heat down your spine as she grazes them lightly across your skin, clasping a few necklaces around your neck. She adjusts them, laying the metal perfectly on your chest before she taps your hands in a silent command. 

Obediently, you raise your hands, watching her slip various rings on them. Somehow, Wanda always manages to match your jewelry to your outfit perfectly. You’re in awe every time, and you no longer protest when she demands to dress you. 

Green eyes flit over your ears, Wanda nodding slightly in approval as she takes in your various earrings. “Perfect,” she mutters, her hand coming back down to your thigh. 

“Yes, you are.”

“Don’t deflect, darling. What do you say when I compliment you?” Wanda’s tone is light, but her eyes are intense, her fingers squeezing your thigh. 

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smirking, Wanda releases her hold on your thigh. “Good girl.” She moves to stand, helping you off her lap and adjusting your hair to fall perfectly over your shoulders. “Now put those heels on and meet me by the cars.”

Wanda lightly kisses you, careful not to ruin her lipstick -or yours- before she playfully squeezes your waist and walks out the door. 

The heels slip on quickly, perfectly molded to your feet. You take a moment, looking at yourself in the mirror and willing your blush to go away. You’re unsuccessful. 

Wanda is beautiful. She stands next to the passenger door of her favorite car, opening it and ushering you in. The exterior is gleaming, the dark red gloss standing out. The interior is even nicer, somehow, all black leather with red trim. It smells as fresh as the day she bought it. 

Taking a moment, you admire Wanda’s outfit, her silver jewelry and sharply cut jacket. She’s several inches taller than you, her heels clacking softly on the ground as she shuts the door softly before rounding the car to the driver’s side. 

The drive to the restaurant is relatively short. You steal glances at Wanda the entire time, loving the comforting weight of her hand on your thigh. 

You’ve grown used to being pampered by her. She makes a lot of decisions for the two of you, and you love her control over you. You love providing for her as well, insisting on cooking meals whenever you can. Between your part-time job at a bookstore and your relationship, you were pretty okay with your life. 

Wanda would have preferred you to be home all the time, especially when she often worked from her home office, but you’d insisted on keeping your job. You liked it, there was a bookstore cat named Freckles, and your manager was really nice. Plus, you loved being surrounded by books all day. 

Shifting in your seat slightly, you bite your lip in excitement as you feel your credit card sitting snug between the fabric of your dress and your breasts. You’d been saving up for months, knowing that Wanda had expensive tastes. This restaurant was meant for upper-class patrons, so you’d prepared well in advance. You wanted to surprise her tonight; after all, it wasn’t often you got to return the favor of spoiling Wanda. 

Wanda never lets you pay for anything. You'll be changing that tonight. 

The restaurant is just as you remembered. Low lighting and soft voices that help you relax further into Wanda’s hand on the small of your back. It feels safer this way, more intimate. 

“Right this way, Ma’am,” the waiter says, his voice quiet as he gestures for Wanda to follow. Her hand is splayed on your lower back, the warmth from her fingers propelling you forward as the waiter leads you to a table near the back. 

The chair doesn’t make a sound and Wanda slides it out, gesturing for you to sit. Her hands briefly touch your shoulders before she pushes the chair in firmly, her stride elegant as she walks to the chair across from you. 

“Two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, from the Robert Mondavi Winery Reserve,” she murmurs, the waiter nodding dutifully before striding away. 

Those green eyes stare into yours, a soft smile playing on Wanda’s lips. 

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” you whisper, blushing at the praise. You briefly touch the necklace resting between your collarbones. “I think you look amazing.”

Wanda smiles warmly at that, her hand sliding across the table to clasp yours. Her fingers are soft as you idly play with her rings. 

The waiter returns, showing the bottle before Wanda nods at him. He pours the wine, standing still as Wanda takes a sip. His eyes are nervous, but Wanda simply nods again before quietly ordering food for the both of you. 

You knew what she was going to order. You’d meticulously saved up in order to cover the bill, plus a generous tip. A flood of relief fills you when she doesn’t stray from her usual order, but you cover it up with a smile. 

“How was work?”

Wanda begins speaking, her thumb running over the back of your hand as she does. You listen diligently, unsure of half the things she’s referring to but enjoying yourself nonetheless. The waiter returns some time later with steaming food, and you and Wanda make idle conversation while you eat. 

It is one of the best meals you could have asked for. Perfectly cooked salmon with a side of quinoa salad and rice. There are complementary breadsticks, and you eagerly take two. The wine pairs nicely with the food, but you’re not a huge nerd about it like Wanda is. She knows all the best combinations. 

Truly, it all tastes the same to you. But, you’d never tell her that.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you say, wiping your mouth politely. 

Wanda simply nods, sipping her wine. You’re a much faster eater than she is, and this is one of the times you’re grateful for the skill. Squeezing her hand briefly, you stand up and walk toward the restrooms. 

Once you’ve rounded the corner, your heart begins to race. Glancing back, you see Wanda taking a small bite of her salad. 

Perfect.

“Excuse me,” you say quietly, walking up to the waiter standing near the kitchen window. He looks up, surprised. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks, politely averting his eyes when you dig into your dress for your credit card. 

“I’d like to pay for my wife’s and my meal.”

He nods, gingerly taking your card. You try not to giggle, smoothing your face over when he nods and briskly walks into the backroom. Casually, you fix your hair, careful not to lean against the wall. Wanda had helped you with your posture, and you could still remember her lessons in the back of your mind. 

“All set, ma’am.” The waiter returns, handing you your card back. 

“Oh, thank you,” you murmur, placing it back into your dress and biting your lip to stifle your smile when he looks away again. You pull out two hundred-dollar bills, handing them to him. “Thank you.”

He smiles politely as he accepts the bills, nodding at you.

“I’d prefer you keep this from my wife until the end of the meal,” you say, watching his eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m surprising her.”

“Ah,” he smiles wider this time. “Always happy to be a part of a surprise, ma’am. My lips are sealed.”

With that, you walk back to your seat. You make sure not to walk too quickly, lest Wanda becomes suspicious. She always has a way of figuring out what you’ve been up to.

“There you are, darling,” she smiles at you and stands, pulling your chair out again. “I was beginning to worry.” 

You flush, sitting down again and turning to look up at her. “Just decided to freshen up a bit, I wanted to look my absolute best for you.”

Leaning down, Wanda places a soft kiss against your cheek. “You always look wonderful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smiling at you, Wanda returns to her seat and grasps the stem of her wine glass. You mirror her action, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a deep sip. You’re going to need some liquid confidence to get through the night once Wanda discovers what you’ve done. 

One thing you’d learned early on in your relationship was that Wanda liked to be the one in charge of things. You didn’t mind, especially in the bedroom, but you’d always felt just a tiny bit disappointed when you wanted to spoil her and she’d refuse. She’d just offer her own card, raising an eyebrow at you and firmly reminding you that she was there to take care of you. 

Sometimes it felt like you weren’t contributing anything of worth to the relationship. 

“Darling?” Wanda’s green eyes are piercing, locked on your face. “Are you alright? You look… morose.”

You shake away your thoughts. You’re sitting here with the beautiful woman that you married, on a nice date that you’ve just paid for. Get a grip.

“Yes,” you say, smiling reassuringly at her. “I just got lost in my thoughts, you know how that happens sometimes.”

Laughing slightly, you watch Wanda’s lips quirk up slightly, but something tells you that she won’t let the subject go that easily. You reach across the table, grabbing her hand and making sure she can see down the front of your dress. 

“Baby, I’m fine. Really.”

Green eyes flit down, before they glance back up at you, her eyebrow raised. “Alright. Just stay present with me, okay?”

You nod eagerly, smiling brightly at her before sitting up again. 

Under the table, you feel the top of Wanda’s heel brush against your leg, advancing slowly as it makes its way above your knees and further up your thigh. “You’ll pay for that stunt,” Wanda murmurs. 

Your heart stops for a moment, your mind flashing back to your credit card, before you realize she’s talking about your adventurous moment when she got a nice full look at your chest.  

“I understand,” you quip, adjusting in your seat to spread your legs further just slightly, watching the way Wanda’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. That’s right, two could play this game. You smiled victoriously. 

“How do you feel about going to the speakeasy a bit further downtown?” Wanda asks, finishing the rest of her wine. You mirror her actions, feeling the pleasant buzz under your skin. 

You nod, and Wanda smiles at you, grabbing her clutch. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Watching her leave to find the waiter, you wait anxiously. You can just barely see her across the restaurant, her red hair glowing slightly in the warm lighting. She’s exchanging low words with the waiter, before he gestures over towards your table. Two sets of eyes turn towards you, one apologetic and the other unreadable. 

You’re focused on the green pair, barely noticing the cash Wanda hands the waiter as a tip. 

She advances slowly, moving through the restaurant as her gaze never leaves yours. “Darling…” she says when she reaches your seat, her hand on your shoulder. It’s firm, not painful, but her fingers dig in just enough to express how she’s feeling. 

“Surprise,” you say, smiling up at her. You’re proud of yourself; your voice didn’t even waver. Standing, you bite your lip as you gaze at her, assessing her expression. 

She reveals nothing, her hand snaking around your waist and guiding you toward the front door. What would normally be a comforting action sends pleasant shivers down your spine. 

Wanda remains silent all the way to the car, opening the passenger door and ushering you in. Sliding into the driver's seat, she starts the car before letting out a breath. 

“Explain.”

“I wanted to treat you for once,” you say stubbornly. You might as well have crossed your arms and pouted, but you didn’t. 

Looking at you, Wanda sighs. “Darling, why do you always fight me on this topic?”

You don’t answer, looking out of your window as Wanda begins backing up the car, the low hum of the engine comforting. The city flashes before you as she drives, people milling about, and different lights hitting your eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” Wanda says, something in her tone telling you to turn and look at her. “You know that I appreciate it when you want to pay for me, don’t you?” 

You furrow your brow. “I… well, I always thought it just annoyed you.”

“It does annoy me,” Wanda shoots a look at you. “But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

Then, she sighs. “In this relationship, you do so much for me. One of the only ways I feel that I can take care of you is by paying and making sure you don’t have to worry about anything financially. Do you understand?”

“I- but I don’t do that much for you?” 

Wanda laughs then, the sound surprising you. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea, do you?”

Shaking your head, you watch her as you wait for an explanation. 

“Lift up the hem of your dress.”

It’s a command, and you blink at the sudden turn of events. Still, you know better than to disobey Wanda. Slowly, you drag the hem up until the tops of your thighs are revealed. 

“Spread your legs.”

“Wanda…”

She shoots you a look. You spread your legs. 

“Touch yourself.” 

At that, you suck in a breath. Trailing your fingers down, you collect some of your arousal on your fingertips, surprised at how wet you are. Then, you begin circling your clit, nice and slow, just the way Wanda likes it. 

“Good girl. Keep doing that.” 

Wanda smiles, glancing down at your fingers every so often as she makes her way out of the city. You want to ask about the speakeasy, but choose to remain silent. She seems to be proving a point somehow, and you wait for her to explain.

“We’re going home, where I’m going to make us some drinks and you’re going to sit on my lap while we make a new rule. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Smiling at that, Wanda reaches over, placing a hand on your thigh. It makes your skin buzz hotly, and you resist the urge to circle your clit faster. 

“This is one of many things you do for me, darling. Your submission is everything to me, and you offer it so willingly. I’ve been able to freely express my dominant side with you, and you’ve never judged me for the things I desire in a sexual dynamic. You were made for me.”

You nod, realization creeping into your mind. Wanda isn’t finished. 

“You have your job, which I allowed because I know how happy it makes you, and I want you to have a life outside of me. As much as I would like to keep you for myself, I know how much you adore that bookshop. At home, you cook for me, not because I’ve asked you to, but because you genuinely enjoy cooking. That is something you provide for me.”

Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you. “When I get home, what is the first thing you do?”

Blushing, you respond, your words slightly breathy. “I take your coat and purse, give you a kiss, and walk with you to your home office while you tell me about your day.”

Nodding, Wanda continues. “That is another thing you provide for me, sweetheart.”

She continues to list things, small, mundane things that you hadn’t considered to be a big deal. Evidently, they meant the world to Wanda. The way you helped her with laundry, when you’d rub her shoulders after a long meeting, make her a drink in the evening, and especially when you’d follow her orders.

“Like I said, you were made for me. You do so much for our relationship.”

“So do you,” you protest, stopping yourself from saying more when she shoots a sharp look your way. 

“One of the main ways I feel that I can contribute and take care of you in this relationship is with my income. You know I make a lot, darling, I’ve never hidden that from you. I work long days so that I can come home and make your life comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say, finally understanding. 

“Please, darling. Let me use my money on you. That’s why I work so hard.”

You nod, unable to speak as you realize why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. 

“I see you finally understand,” Wanda says, glancing down again. “Go faster.”

Blinking, you circle your clit faster, biting your lip at the pleasure it brings. You take a deep, shuddering breath, sure that you’re leaking through your dress. The air in the car becomes warm, and the next time that Wanda looks at you, her pupils are blown. 

“Keep going,” she murmurs, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “If you cum before we get home, your punishment will be worse.”

You whine, nodding as you keep your pace. You try desperately to think of anything other than the woman seated beside you, her grip firm on your thigh as you feel your pleasure building. 

The fingers on your thigh grip harshly as you slow your pace slightly, trying to stave off your incoming orgasm. 

“What did I say?” Wanda hisses, her eyes glancing sharply at you. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

You shudder, feeling little bolts of pleasure crashing through you. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” Wanda pretends to think, watching as you increase your pace again. “I don’t think that’s a strong enough title, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Wanda smiles, satisfied. “Good girl. Keep going. Please your Mistress.”

You let out a low moan at her words, feeling your pleasure increase tenfold as she calls herself that title. You try to stop it, your orgasm. But Wanda is talking, telling you that you’re doing so well for her as her fingers slowly inch up your thigh, her vanilla scent engulfing you as your muscles spasm, white-hot pleasure overtaking you. 

You fingers stall, your orgasm coursing through you as your clit pulses. Wanda makes a noise, her fingers grabbing yours and moving them back to your raw clit. “Did I tell you to stop?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Continuing, you let your fingers wring every last drop of pleasure from you, aware of the fact that you’ve just made your punishment worse. You truly couldn’t help it. I mean, it’s not your fault that your wife was insanely hot and her words were able to bring you to orgasm, was it?

You’re working your way up to a second orgasm when Wanda pulls into the driveway of your shared home. As the garage shuts behind you, she turns the engine off, her hand grabbing yours and gently pulling it away from your swollen clit. 

Wrapping her fingers around your wrist, Wanda brings your hand to her lips, maintaining eye contact with you as she sucks the arousal off of your fingers. 

“I can smell your arousal,” she murmurs, releasing your fingers with a soft pop. “I’m going to get changed. By the time I come back, I want you nude and kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, with two drinks in your hands. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” You watch her exit the car and round the side to open your door. 

Wanda disappears into the bedroom, and you quickly make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients to make Wanda’s favourite cocktail. 

It isn’t long before you’re finished, garnishing each drink with a maraschino cherry. You walk carefully to the living room, setting the drinks on two coasters near the couch. Wanda didn’t like it when you forgot about the coasters. You didn’t blame her, all of the furniture in your home was expensive, much of it was hand-crafted. 

Stripping out of your beautiful dress, you fold it neatly and place it on the chair nearby, your heels sitting next to it. You remove all of your jewelry, except for the permanent gold chain around your neck. 

Grabbing the drinks, you kneel in front of the couch, facing the cushions. It’s a position that Wanda had trained into you, and you’re well aware of the wetness clinging to your center as you wait. 

Footsteps sound out, heels clicking towards you. As much as you want to, you don’t dare turn from your position, knowing that Wanda liked the thrill of suspense. 

“I hope you enjoyed that orgasm in the car,” Wanda says, stepping around you to sit on the couch. Your mouth waters as she comes into view. “It will be your only orgasm tonight.”

Your eyes snap up to hers, but you remain silent, her eyes hard and unforgiving. The lingerie set she’s wearing is gorgeous, all black with a lacy corset. There are accents of dark red throughout the whole piece, and you can feel yourself getting worked up as you take her in. 

Wanda’s hand grabs one of the glasses, sipping from it as she makes a small noise of appreciation. Setting it to the side, she grabs the cherry and pops it in her mouth, before she leans forward to grab your jaw. 

“Open.”

You can smell the cherry and sharp hints of alcohol on her tongue, and you obey. Wanda’s fingers reach into your glass, grabbing the cherry and bringing it to your parted lips. She rubs it over your top lip first, then your bottom lip. You remain still, watching her eyes as she slowly presses the cherry onto your tongue. 

“Chew and swallow, dear.”

You obey, looking into her eyes as you do so. 

Wanda smirks, satisfied with your obedience. She grabs your glass, tapping her knees in a silent command as she brings the glass to your lips. You rest your hands on the tops of your thighs, palms facing up as she tips the glass forward, the sweet drink flowing into your mouth. 

She has you drink until the glass is empty, your stomach warm from the alcohol and lips buzzing from the way she’d wiped them with her fingers once she was done. Wanda sits back, watching your flushed face as she sips on her own drink.

“There is going to be a new rule implemented, darling.” 

You nod, tilting your head slightly. 

“When we are together, I will pay for everything. If you wish to make a purchase, you will talk to me beforehand. You know how I hate it when you disobey or trick me in public.” Wanda’s eyes soften. “Occasionally, you can buy some things when we are together, I won’t deny you that. But, let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod. The decision is easy now that you know the real reason why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. Besides, it was nice to be taken care of. 

“Good girl.”

Wanda finishes her drink, setting it next to your glass. “You know that I have to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” You hang your head slightly, wondering what type of punishment Wanda has planned. Strong fingers grip your chin, wrenching your head up. 

“You know why, don’t you?”

“Because I went behind your back, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes flash, a pleased smile adorning her face. “Exactly, sweetheart. You know that what you did was wrong, and you know how I hate it when you are dishonest with me.”

At that, Wanda stands, still gripping your face as you crane your neck to look up at her. “Who owns you?”

“You do, Mistress.”

Wanda’s fingers tighten on your jaw, forcing your mouth open. She spits, letting her saliva drip into your mouth, and you swallow obediently. 

“Crawl,” she commands, before turning and walking slowly to the bedroom. 

You obey, your eyes glued to the sway of her backside as her footsteps click down the hallway. The hallway is carpeted, something you’re grateful for as you crawl behind Wanda. You can feel your arousal running down your inner thighs as you crawl, and sharp arousal mixed with soft humiliation mixes deep inside you. 

You reflect on your choices as you crawl, satisfaction that Wanda had finally explained why she liked to pay working its way through you, even as regret pools in your stomach. You truly hated going behind Wanda’s back, and although it was meant as a thoughtful surprise, you now understood why it meant so much to Wanda to take care of you financially. 

Wanda stops, wordlessly pointing at the bed. You blink, having not realized that you’d made it to the bedroom already. You follow Wanda’s instructions, crawling onto the bed as she shuts the door behind you, a few warm lamps lighting the room. 

“Sometimes I forget…” Wanda begins, sauntering back over to the bed, a glint in her eye. “I forget that good girls like you need discipline to keep them in line, isn’t that right?”

You nod. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes hardened. “Yes, Mistress… what?”

“I-” your eyes dart around the room, unsure of what Wanda wants you to say. The woman reached behind you, grabbing two velcro cuffs and attaching them to your wrists while you fumble for an answer. 

“What do good girls need, sweetheart?” Wanda finally says, testing the cuffs to make sure they’re secure but not too tight. 

“Oh, um. Good girls need their Mistresses to discipline them to remind them of their place.” You turn to look at Wanda, hopeful that you’ve supplied the correct answer. Wanda smiles at you, tracing a finger down your face as she nods. 

“Very good,” she murmurs, grabbing a piece of metal and attaching your wrists together on your lap. You know that you can’t escape, so you don’t even test the strength of the restraints; you just watch Wanda. 

Tapping your lower back, Wanda urges you into position. “On your knees, ass up, darling. I want your arms straight up so your face is on the mattress.”

You obey, stretching your arms out and presenting your backside. Wanda’s hand lands on the back of your head, ensuring that you stay in place, before she strokes your hair and trails her fingers down your spine. Her lips caress your ear, her vanilla scent washing over you as she whispers, “Count for me.”

You barely have time to question it before a resounding crack echoes through the room. You register the pain a second later, a burning sensation multiplying the humiliation and arousal inside you. 

“One, Mistress.”

Wanda is relentless, using her hand first, until you no longer squirm when she spanks you. She lets out a frustrated noise as your voice remains steady, stalking over to the closet and emerging with more toys. 

“I want to see you break,” she hisses, grabbing the roots of your hair and twisting your head until your wide eyes meet hers. She relishes the wide look of anticipation and trepidation on your face, before she roughly shoves your face back into the mattress, one hand steadying your back while the other raises a paddle and brings it down sharply with a twist of her wrist. 

“T- twenty-three, Mistress,” you moan, feeling tears form in your eyes as your head starts to become fuzzy. This was the headspace that you loved the most, and Wanda knew just how to get you there. 

Wanda resumes, switching between the paddle and a soft cane, the low whistle in the air before it strikes you, causing your arousal to spike. 

“God, I love how much of a masochist you are,” Wanda says, her voice slightly raspy. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you say, your voice slightly muffled from the way your face is pressed into the mattress. 

Wanda delivers one final blow, the crack jolting your body forward as your fingers grip the comforter tightly, a muffled sob sounding out. Her cool fingers gently trail over your raw, red ass, her voice whispering in your ear, “Color?”

“Yellow, Mistress,” you moan. “I just need a moment.”

“Good girl,” she responds, rubbing your backside for a moment before walking back into the closet to retrieve more toys, letting you catch your breath. 

She remains in the closet for a suspiciously long time, but you don’t dare raise your head. You can hear her rummaging around, her heels making a soft thud on the carpet as she returns, the weight of the bed shifting as she deposits whatever items she collected. 

There are some more noises, near the foot of the bed, and you feel yourself craning to hear what she might be doing. 

“Turn around, darling,” Wanda commands. “On your knees, facing the headboard.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you mumble, quickly following her order. You can feel her attaching cuffs of some sort to your ankles, and you realize that you’ve been restrained with a spreader bar. Flexing your ankles for a moment, you realize that you’re well and truly stuck. It sends a rush of arousal through you.

“You like this, don’t you,” Wanda murmurs, dragging a finger through your dripping slit, an appreciative moan telling you that she licked your juices from her finger. 

You can’t do much but whimper, hearing her chuckle from behind you. 

The feeling of something thick prodding at you makes your heart stutter for a moment, before you feel Wanda’s fingers spreading lube all over what you presume to be a dildo. She makes sure to spread some on you as well, her fingers scissoring inside you as she ensures you’re well lubricated. 

There’s a click, and then you hear the soft hum of machinery. A thick dildo presses against you, and you moan as you feel it start to penetrate you. 

“Hold still,” Wanda commands, and you obey, feeling her adjusting the machine. The dildo presses deep inside you, hitting that spot inside you that causes pleasure to bloom, and you groan into the mattress. 

“Perfect.”

Wanda rounds the bed, the machine slowly thrusting her favorite dildo deep inside you, the sounds of your wet pussy being slowly fucked sending her own arousal soaring. She grips your hair again, pulling your head up to admire the glassy look in your eyes. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“I- mmmph,” you manage, your eyes gazing into hers, not a thought behind them. 

Chuckling, Wanda presses a button on the remote, the dildo moving slightly faster. Your mouth opens, your cheeks coloring further as a deep flush emerges. 

God, it feels amazing. Wanda’s cool hands on your cheeks as your body is set alight with pleasure. She’s moving, pulling off her lingerie as she manoeuvres herself to sit against the headboard. 

You can smell her, so you drop your gaze down to her perfect pussy, licking your lips at the glistening arousal you find there. 

“Go on,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the haze. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster and deeper. “Make Mommy feel good.”

At that, you dive in, not needing to be told twice. Eating Wanda out was something you’d never tire of. She smelled divine, and tasted even better. You’d told her once that you thought she compared to the nectar of the Gods, and she’d been so pleased that she allowed you to eat her out during an entire workday from home. It had been one of the best days of your life. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wanda breathes out, feeling your tongue expertly wrap around her clit, stimulating her in that perfect way of yours. Her hand makes its way to your hair, gripping tightly. It would be uncomfortable, but you loved the pain as she pulled on your roots slightly, pushing your face further into her. 

Your hands are still uselessly cuffed together, but your fingers manage to find Wanda’s nipples. You pinch them in that way she likes so much, and you feel her clit pulse beneath your tongue. 

Wanda has never been very vocal during sex, but you’ve learned how to read her all the same. You can feel her breath stutter beneath your fingers, and you continue to stimulate her nipples, rolling and pinching until her muscles twitch. She subconsciously thrusts harder into your mouth, and you eagerly accept. 

When she comes, it’s quietly, with a low moan and her fingers gripping your hair like she never wants to let you go. You moan with her, your pleasure building as the dildo continues to fuck you slowly, sliding in and out of you until your brain can’t focus on anything else.

“Fuck,” Wanda whispers, pulling your head up to gaze at you. “I want to fill you up, darling.”

Your eyes widen, but you nod, the pleasure making your mind fuzzy. Wanda knows this. She knows how easy you are to manipulate and follow her every word when you’re desperate to cum. 

Smirking, Wanda caresses your cheek for a brief moment before she slides out from under you, grabbing another toy from the nightstand. 

It’s a beautiful buttplug, made of pure gold with a dark red gem at the end. It’s one of Wanda’s favorites, and you like it well enough. It’s not too big, just enough to stretch you out and make you feel full, and you love it when Wanda claims every part of you. 

“Relax, baby,” Wanda murmurs, gently squeezing some lube onto your ass. You obey her, the pleasure from the dildo making your muscles weak. Wanda presses on the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster, pleasure erupting inside you. 

Slowly, Wanda inserts the buttplug. You can feel the stretch, the slight burn as the thickest part of the plug makes it past your rim, the sensation of being full making you pant and moan. 

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I claim every one of your holes, hmm?” Wanda asks, twisting the buttplug so it’s covered in lube as she slowly inserts it. 

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, bucking your hips into her hand. This causes the dildo to fuck deeper inside you, and you practically melt into the mattress, your muscles going limp from pleasure. 

Wanda chuckles, inserting the buttplug fully and relishing the way you whine at the fullness you feel. She admires you for a moment, the dark red gem glinting back at her as your arousal drips down your thighs while the machine fucks you relentlessly. 

Grabbing a soft towel, Wanda slips it underneath you, grabbing your ass when she’s finishes and kneading your hot flesh. You moan, full twinges of pain only adding to your pleasure. You can feel an orgasm starting to emerge, your heart racing as pleasure builds within you. 

“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding out next to your ear. 

You moan in response, too weak to do much else. 

“Aww,” Wanda coos, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “My pet is too dumb to respond correctly, isn’t she?”

Her words reverberate around your skull, the warm vanilla scent engulfing you as your mind grows hazier. You can’t offer much other than soft whimpers and moans, your head turning to tearfully look at your Mistress. 

“Well,” Wanda begins, her hands caressing your sore backside harshly. “Since you can’t form a correct response, I suppose I’ll have to punish you.”

You would protest, but you can barely think of any words to say. Wanda’s hand comes down, gentler than her strikes before, but the impact on your already red ass makes you yelp, your mind breaking fully. 

Wanda is gentle, but persistent. She spanks you in a rhythm you can’t decipher, unable to anticipate when she’ll strike next. It thrills you, and sends your mind deep into that vanilla headspace you’ve grown to love. Pain mixes with pleasure, the dildo fucking you slowly enough that you feel your orgasm growing, but never quite enough to tip you over the edge.  

“P-please,” you manage, after you feel yourself edge again, Wanda monitoring your body’s reactions and slowing the dildo down whenever you grow too close to an orgasm. 

“Use your words, darling. Full sentences."

“I-,” you moan loudly, the dildo speeding up. 

“Pathetic,” Wanda murmurs, her hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head up. Green eyes meet glazed ones, and she smirks. “You can’t even beg properly anymore, you’re completely mine, aren't you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, unable to say anything else. 

“Good girl,” Wanda releases your hair, letting your head press into the mattress weakly. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you harder than before, the sound of your arousal making it’s way to your ears as you feel pleasure growing once again.

Your orgasm is close, your knuckles white as you grip the pillow, your muscles tense. You’re so close, and Wanda knows it. 

“Tell me, darling,” Wanda begins, sitting next to you, stroking your back gently as the dildo fucks punishingly into you. “What lesson did you learn today?”

“I- um… to… to let you, mmphh fuck, to let you pay for me…”

Wanda smiles. “Exactly.” Then, she stands, reaching back to slowly grab the buttplug, pressing it even further into you. You moan, a broken, weak sound that makes Wanda pulse with need. 

“You’re going to obey me.” Wanda pulls the buttplug slightly out, before slamming it back into you. “You will never question me or go behind my back again, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you yelp, moaning as you feel your orgasm creep closer. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I just want to take care of you, right?” Wanda’s voice is sickly sweet. “That’s all I want. And you just need to learn your place.”

You nod frantically, your submissiveness clicking firmer into place, your role reestablished in your mind.

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan. “I know my place, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll never disobey you again.”

“I doubt that,” Wanda murmurs to herself, before smiling at your wrecked form. “One more edge, baby, then we can be done for the night.”

You nod, moaning as Wanda clicks the remote higher, the dildo fucking you faster and rougher than it had previously. You’re almost overwhelmed with pleasure, Wanda’s hands on your face and ass, her presence everywhere. You love it. 

“I- m gonna…”

Wanda clicks the remote, the dildo stopping immediately. 

You moan in slight frustration, feeling your arousal leaking around the dildo as it drips down your thighs. Everything happens in a haze, Wanda removing the dildo from you and slowly taking your buttplug out. She unclips your restraints, leaving you boneless on the bed as you embrace the comfortable haze in your mind. 

The shower is nice, warm, and smelling of vanilla as Wanda washes your body and hair, whispering sweet things into your ear while you slump against her. It’s not until you’re wrapped up underneath the covers that you finally begin to emerge from that comfortable headspace, your limbs entangled with your wife’s.  

“I love you, darling. Thank you for your trust in me.”

“You always make good decisions for us,” you say, yawning slightly and burrowing further into her. “I love you, too.”

Wanda smiles, making a contented noise as you hear her breathing start to grow softer. 

“Hey, Wands?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m paying for ice cream tomorrow.”

And with that, you ignore the soft, happy sigh your wife lets out, letting her vanilla scent engulf you completely. 

Your life truly couldn’t be more perfect.

—-

Dm or comment to be added/removed!

So you didn't try anymore.

You had a system. Shower, because the nightmares always left you sweating. Tea, because it gave your hands something to do. And then the library, because books about dead civilizations were the only thing that made the living world feel manageable. There was something deeply comforting about ancient Rome. About Egypt. About people who had built enormous impossible things and then been swallowed by time anyway. It made your own problems feel appropriately small.

You pulled your knees up on the wide leather chair in the corner, your chair, though you'd never said that out loud, and opened to the page you'd marked three nights ago. The Ptolemaic dynasty. Cleopatra hadn't slept well either, probably. You found that comforting.

You didn't hear her come in.

You never did, which should have unnerved you more than it did. Wanda Maximoff moved through spaces like she'd already been there, like the room rearranged itself quietly around her presence rather than the other way around. You looked up and she was simply there, at the far shelf, fingers trailing along the spines of books she clearly already knew by heart. A mug in her other hand. Dark Auburn hair loose around her shoulders.

You watched her for a second longer than you should have before looking back down at your page.

She didn't acknowledge you either. That was the thing about these nights, they had developed their own grammar, one neither of you had written down or agreed to. She came in, she chose a book or didn't, she sat. Sometimes across the room. Sometimes closer. You read. She read, or she didn't, sometimes just sat with her mug and looked at nothing in particular. You didn't make conversation. You didn't have to.

It had started about six weeks ago. You still weren't entirely sure what to make of it.

The first evaluation had been three months into your assignment.

Standard enough, you'd thought. New personnel, Wanda was senior, someone had to sign off on integration. You'd sat across from her in the office that always smelled faintly of something warm candles she wasn't supposed to burn, you suspected and waited for the performance questions.

They hadn't come.

Instead she had looked at you for a long, unhurried moment the kind of look that made you feel like something being read and asked what you'd studied before SHIELD recruited you.

History, you'd said. Classical antiquity mostly. Rome, Egypt, the Hellenistic period.

Something had shifted in her expression. Not softened exactly. More like adjusted. Like she'd expected one thing and received another.

Why? she'd asked.

You'd thought about it. Because those people didn't know how their story ended. They just lived it. I find that honest.

She had looked at you for another moment. Then she'd written something down and told you the session was over.

You'd been called back the following week. And the week after that.

By the fourth one you understood they weren't really evaluations. By the fifth you stopped pretending you thought they were. You just came, sat down, and let her ask you things strange careful questions that circled around who you were rather than what you could do. What did you dream about. What did you miss from before. What were you afraid of that had nothing to do with the job.

You answered honestly. You didn't know why except that lying to Wanda Maximoff felt not just pointless but vaguely dangerous, and also if you were being truthful with yourself, in the private hours you wanted her to know. You couldn't explain that. You just did.

She never answered the same questions in return. You never asked her to.

"Ptolemaic?"

You looked up. She was closer than you'd registered, glancing at the cover of your book as she settled into the chair adjacent to yours. Not across the room tonight. Adjacent. Close enough that if you shifted your knee it would touch hers.

"Late Ptolemaic," you said. "The collapse more than the height of it."

"Mhm." She tucked her feet beneath her, cradling the mug in both hands. "You're drawn to the endings."

It wasn't a question. You thought about denying it and didn't bother.

"They're more honest than the beginnings," you said. "Beginnings are just people who don't know what's coming. Endings are people who do, and kept going anyway."

She looked at you then. Really looked, the way she did sometimes that made the back of your neck warm. In the low light of the library she looked not softer exactly, Wanda Maximoff was not a soft woman, but something in her had set down its guard slightly. The line of her shoulders. The way she held the mug loosely instead of like something to anchor herself to.

"You couldn't sleep," she said.

"Neither could you."

The corner of her mouth moved. Not quite a smile. "No."

You turned a page you hadn't read. "Bad night?"

She was quiet long enough that you thought she wouldn't answer. That was fine. She didn't owe you her bad nights any more than you'd asked for her good ones.

"I dreamed about Sokovia," she said finally. Quiet. Even. Like she was reporting something that had happened to someone else. "I don't always. Sometimes I go weeks. And then."

"And then," you agreed.

She looked at you again. "You have them too. The nightmares."

"Most nights."

"What are they about?"

You considered. Outside the compound's narrow library windows, the sky was the particular blue black of very early morning, not yet committed to dawn. "A younger version of myself that I couldn't get to in time." You paused. "I keep getting there almost. In the dream I'm always almost fast enough."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. With Wanda it never was. She had a way of receiving things you said without immediately doing anything with them, no reflexive comfort or deflection, just, taking it in. Holding it somewhere. It was the thing you had realized, slowly and then all at once, that you trusted about her.

"I used to think," she said, "that if I understood something well enough I could stop being afraid of it. I studied everything. Every language, every history, every war." A pause. "It doesn't work that way."

"No," you said. "But it passes the time."

This time she did smile. Brief and real and directed entirely at you, and you felt it somewhere below your sternum in a way you'd stopped trying to qualify.

The book Wanda had left for you the first time had been sitting on the small table beside your chair. You'd assumed it was a coincidence. Parallel Lives by Plutarch, worn paperback, someone else's margin notes.

The second time a slim volume on the construction of the pyramids you'd been less sure.

The third time you'd arrived to find something on Cleopatra's political strategy, you'd picked it up, held it for a moment, and looked across the room to where Wanda sat reading without looking at you.

"Thank you," you'd said.

"For what," she'd said, turning a page.

You'd let it go. You'd understood that was how it worked with her. The acknowledgment of a thing was sometimes the end of it. She gave carefully and didn't want to be watched doing it.

But you'd noticed. You kept noticing. The way she angled her body toward you in the library even when she wasn't looking at you. The way she placed herself between you and the door during mission briefings without appearing to think about it. The way she had appeared, three weeks ago, in the doorway of the medical bay when you'd come back with a gash along your forearm nothing serious, truly nothing and had looked at you with an expression that was gone before you could name it, replaced instantly by something careful and composed.

You should have had backup, she'd said.

I was fine.

You should have had backup.

She'd left before you could answer. The next mission she'd quietly restructured so you did.

Natasha had said it to you over coffee one morning with the particular bluntness she reserved for things she considered obvious.

"She doesn't do that with anyone."

"Do what," you'd said, aiming for casual.

Natasha had looked at you over the rim of her mug. "Sit with them. Leave things for them. Rearrange ops because she doesn't like the risk profile." A pause. "You know she monitors where you are in the building."

"She monitors everyone."

"She monitors everyone for threat assessment." Natasha had set down her mug. "That's not what this is."

You hadn't said anything.

"Just so you know," Natasha had said, and taken her coffee and left.

"Can I ask you something," you said.

The library had gotten quieter, if that was possible. Wanda looked up from the book she'd been reading with the focused patience of someone who already knew it well.

"You can always ask," she said. Which was not the same as I'll answer, and you both knew it.

"The evaluations." You kept your voice steady. "They stopped being evaluations a while ago."

She held your gaze. "Did they ever feel like evaluations?"

"No." You shifted in the chair, watching her. "Why me."

It landed in the space between you and stayed there. Wanda looked at you for a long moment, and you had the sensation you sometimes got with her of being read not intruded upon, nothing uncomfortable about it, just the feeling of someone looking at you clearly. Without the static most people brought.

"You came here," she said finally, "and you weren't afraid of me."

"I was a little afraid of you."

"You were appropriately cautious," she amended, and the dryness of it surprised a short laugh out of you. "Everyone else was one or the other. Afraid, or trying to prove they weren't. You just —" she paused, seeming to choose. "You just looked at me. Like I was a person."

You didn't know what to say to that.

"I wanted to know you," she said simply. Like it was that uncomplicated. For her, maybe it was. She'd had forty years to learn how to say true things without flinching from them. "So I found ways to do that."

"The books," you said.

"The books."

"The office sessions."

"Yes."

"The library."

She looked at you steadily. "I was already coming here. You made it better."

The word landed quietly. Better. You turned it over. Outside, the sky had shifted almost imperceptibly toward something lighter, the first suggestion of dawn still an hour away at least but beginning to make itself known.

"Wanda." Her name in your mouth felt significant in a way you'd been avoiding for weeks. "What are we doing."

She was quiet for a moment. "What do you want to be doing."

"I asked you first."

Something moved across her expression. Not quite amusement, warmer than that. She uncurled slightly from her chair, and you tracked the movement the way you'd been tracking her movements for months involuntarily, helplessly, with the specific attention of someone who had given up pretending they weren't paying attention.

"I think," she said, setting her mug down on the table beside her, deliberate and unhurried, "that you know what I want."

"I want to hear you say it."

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she stood, and crossed the small distance between your chairs, and when she reached you she didn't hesitate just reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so certain and so gentle that your breath caught entirely.

"I want you close," she said, low. "I've wanted that for a while."

"You could have said something."

"I'm saying something now." Her hand had settled against your jaw, tilting your face up slightly, and the difference in height felt suddenly very present, the way her presence always became suddenly very present when she chose to let it. "You're twenty-eight years old and you read about dead empires because it makes the world feel smaller, and you answer every question I ask you like you've been waiting for someone to ask, and I have been —" a pause, something tightening almost imperceptibly in her expression — "very patient."

Your heart was doing something unreasonable. "You're always patient."

"Not with this," she said. "Not anymore."

When she kissed you it was exactly what you should have expected from her unhurried, certain, the kiss of someone who had decided and was not second-guessing the decision. Her hand stayed against your jaw and you reached up without thinking and curled your fingers into the fabric at her waist and she made a small sound against your mouth that undid something in your chest entirely.

She pulled back just enough to look at you. Her thumb moved along your cheekbone.

"Come with me," she said quietly. Not a question. The particular tone she had that wasn't a command either, just certainty. An assumption of yes because she knew you, had been learning you for months in libraries and quiet offices, and she knew.

She was right.

You stood. She took your hand the first time she'd done that, and the simple press of her fingers against yours felt enormous and led you out of the library, down the quiet corridor, into the low warm light of her room. The door closed behind you. She turned to face you in the near dark, unhurried, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

Your breath hitched as her fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist. She tugged the fabric up once in question, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting her pull it over your head. The cool air hit your skin, but your attention was entirely on her.

"Wanda—" you whispered, but she didn't give you time to finish.

Her mouth was back on yours before you could draw another breath, swallowing her name. There was no tentative exploration now, no testing the waters, she moved with the same deliberate certainty she'd used to cross the library, the same calm, terrifying patience she'd applied to everything else for months.

She walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

You fell back, and she followed you down, catching herself on her forearms above you, not letting her full weight settle. Her auburn hair created a curtain around both of you, trapping the warmth, the intimacy.

"You're sure," she murmured, more statement than question, her thumb tracing your lower lip.

The red glow of her eyes in the dim light did things to you.

"Always," you breathed, and it was the truth you'd been sure for weeks, probably longer. 

She smiled against your mouth, that small, private curve of lips that said she already knew. Her hands moved to unhook your bra, and when the fabric released, she took a moment simply to look at you. To see you.

That was the thing about Wanda.

She never rushed the looking. She absorbed every detail, the hitch of your breath, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your fingers curled into her shoulders, as if memorizing a text she intended to keep. Her gaze was heavy, reverent, stripping away the remaining layers of your defenses without saying a word.

"You're beautiful," she said quietly. Like a fact. Like gravity.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. No one had ever looked at you like that, like you were a masterpiece, a puzzle they'd spent years trying to solve. She leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses along your collarbone, her hands sliding up to cup your breasts.

Her touch was gentle but firm, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked under her fingers. She kissed lower, tracing the curve of your breasts with her lips before capturing one peak in her mouth. You arched into the sensation, hands gripping her hair as she sucked softly.

A soft moan escaped you. Above you, Wanda made a low hum of satisfaction against your skin, the vibration making your thighs press together involuntarily.

Her hand drifted down your stomach, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants. She looked up at you once, those scarlet eyes burning with want and something softer underneath, before slowly tugging them down your hips.

You lifted your hips to help her, kicking the pants away when they were loose enough. Now you were completely bare beneath her, exposed in a way that should have made you self conscious but somehow didn't. Something about the way she looked at you made you feel worshipped rather than examined.

Her fingers moved to the hem of her own shirt, taking her time. 

"Keep your eyes on me," she said softly, her voice gone rough.

You obeyed. You would have obeyed anything she told you right now.

She pulled her shirt up and over her head, revealing smooth skin and full curves. She took her time unhooking her own bra, letting the straps slip down her arms before tossing it aside. You watched as she revealed herself to you, your breath catching at the sight.

"You're gorgeous," you whispered, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Her smirk was slow, satisfied. "Eyes still on me," she commanded again, her fingers moving to the button of her pants now. 

She unbutton them with deliberate, unhurried movements, stepping out of them and her underwear in one fluid motion.

Now she stood before you completely naked, every inch of her exposed and glorious. The dim light cast shadows that only enhanced her curves, her full breasts, the dip of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. She was a vision, and she knew it.

"You're staring," she said, but there was no heat behind the words. Only teasing satisfaction as she watched you look your fill. She placed a knee on the mattress beside your hip, crawling over you slowly, giving you a perfect view of everything. Your heart pounded in your chest.

Your hands moved almost without your conscious thought, cupping her breasts gently. She let out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch as she settled herself between your thighs. Her skin was warm and soft under your fingers, her nipples hard against your palms as you squeezed gently.

Wanda groaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating against you. She braced herself on one arm, hovering just above you, watching your hands explore her. When your thumbs brushed over her sensitive nipples, she rolled her hips against yours, a slow, deliberate friction that made you gasp.

"Good girl," she praised breathlessly, her scarlt eyes darkening.

Encouraged by her praise, you squeezed her breasts more firmly, rolling the nipples between your thumbs and fingers. Wanda's hips moved in time with your touches, grinding down on you as she kissed along your collarbone. Her hand snaked down between your bodies, finding your center already wet and ready.

Wanda spread your wetness around with her fingers, circling your clit slowly. Her touch was confident and sure, like she knew exactly what you needed.

She trailed kissing down your body, your neck, your breasts, your stomach, each kiss leaving a faint warmth in its wake. You writhed beneath her, every brush of her lips making you whimper.

"Mm," you moaned as she reached your thighs, her scarlet eyes looking up at you from between your legs with dark amusement.

She parted your folds gently with her fingers, exploring you.

The look on her face was pure reverence, like she'd discovered something sacred. She leaned in, breathing warm against your sensitive skin, and you whimpered, thighs trembling. 

"So wet," she murmured, her voice thick with want. "All this for me?"

You could only nod, unable to form words as her tongue made its first slow, exploratory swipe up your slit.

Your back arched off the mattress immediately, a moan escaping your lips. Wanda held you steady with firm hands on your hips, keeping you from bucking away even as her tongue found your clit. 

She lapped at you with the same patient, meticulous attention she gave everything else, slow circles, gentle pressure, exploring every ridge and fold like she was memorizing a map.

"Wanda," you gasped, your hands tangling desperately in her auburn hair. The sensation was overwhelming, soft, wet heat against your most sensitive spot, building a tight coil of pleasure low in your belly. 

She hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves up your spine, and sucked your clit gently into her mouth.

Your toes curled, thighs trembling around her head.

She pulled back only to swirl her tongue lower, dipping it inside you briefly before returning her focus to your clit. Her free hand moved to rub slow circles on your inner thigh, a grounding counterpoint to the dizzying pleasure.

"You taste incredible," she murmured between licks, her voice muffled but sincere. 

Your hips bucked against her mouth involuntarily.

She took your twitch as encouragement, her tongue pressing firmer against your clit while she slipped one finger inside you, curling it upward to find that sensitive spot. 

The dual sensation made your vision blur at the edges.

"Fuck—" you moan out, head thrown back against the pillows.

"That's it," she murmured against you, adding a second finger inside with practiced ease. Her tongue flicked rapidly across your clit as her fingers thrust slowly, deeply. 

The wet sounds of her movements filled the room, impossibly loud in the silence. 

Her eyes found yours, crimson than usual, glowing faintly in the dim light, as she watched you unravel beneath her.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as she hit that spot inside you perfectly, her fingers curling up with each thrust. 

She was watching you closely, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking around her face, your muffled moans growing louder. 

She pulled back suddenly, removing her fingers completely

She moved up your body instantly, her mouth finding the sensitive shell of your ear. She nipped at the lobe, soothing the sting with a flick of her tongue before whispering hotly against your skin.

"I want to be in you," she moaned, the words vibrating straight down your spine.

You moaned instantly at the thought, your body clenching around nothing.

A familiar red glow filled the room as she channeled her powers, fingers tracing down between your thighs.

When she pulled back, a length of smooth magic waited at your entrance, warm, pulsing with the same scarlet energy that crackled across her skin. 

"Touch it," she ordered breathlessly, guiding your trembling hand to the magical cock.

Your fingers wrapped around the conjured member, marveling at the realistic feel, soft skin over firm, throbbing heat. Wanda groaned at your touch, her eyes fluttering shut briefly before locking onto yours with fierce intent. 

She moved your hand slowly, letting you explore the length and girth.

"Put it inside you," she said, her voice rough with desire as she guided your hand to your entrance. You bit your lip, heart racing, and pressed the head against your slick opening. With a slow breath, you pushed your hips down, taking the first inch inside with a shuddering moan.

Your back arched against the mattress as it stretched you open, filling you completely in a way fingers never could. Wanda gripped your thigh, watching your face contort with pleasure.

"Fuck," Wanda groaned, eyes locked onto the sight of her magical creation disappearing inside you. She reached out with trembling fingers, spreading your folds to reveal the thick base stretching your hole wide open. "You're taking it so well," she praised, her voice hoarse with desire.

"It's... it's so big," you whimpered, writhing as you took another inch. The sensation was overwhelming, being filled so completely, knowing it was Wanda's magic inside you. She smirked, running her free hand up your thigh.

"You can take more," she assured, slowly thrusting her hips forward. The magical cock slid deeper, hitting spots inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You moan out, hands grasping at the sheets as she bottomed out completely inside you.

She paused when she was fully inside you, letting you adjust to the stretch. Her eyes were glued to where your bodies were connected, watching the way you fluttered around her magic thickness.

"Look at you," she murmured, leaning down to press kisses to your neck. "So full of me."

You whined, walls clenching tight around the cock. "Wanda..."

She began to move slowly, pulling the magical shaft nearly all the way out before sliding back in. The rhythm was torturously gentle, deep, deliberate thrusts that had you gasping for air. Each time she pushed forward, the cock seemed to pulse with her magic, swelling slightly and hitting that perfect spot.

Your eyes rolled back in your head.

"This is mine," she growled against your ear, picking up the pace. Her hips snapped harder now, driving the conjured length deep with every thrust. Your moans turned into needy whimpers, your walls gripping her tightly as she fucked you.

"Yes," you moan out as she hit that spot inside you perfectly, making your vision blur. "It's yours... only yours." Your hands clawed at her back desperately as she pounded into you relentlessly. 

Wanda groaned deeply at your words, possessiveness flashing in her eyes.

"Right there," you moan out, your legs wrapping around her waist to pull her deeper. She hooked her arms under your thighs, lifting your hips off the bed and driving into you with powerful strokes. The angle was perfect, the magical cock hitting your spot with each thrust.

"You like that?" she grunted against your neck, her pace brutal now, Deep, fast thrusts that had your body shaking and your mind scattering. "You like being fucked by my magic cock?" 

Your moan was your only response, loud, desperate sounds that she swallowed with hungry kisses.

She sat back on her heels, pulling you onto her lap so she could bounce you on her dick. Her hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as she slammed you down onto the thick length over and over. 

You threw your head back, crying out as the new position let her hit even deeper.

"Fuck, you look so good riding my cock," she groaned, her eyes fixed on where your body was impaled on her conjured member. She leaned forward to capture your mouth in a messy kiss as she continued to bounce you up and down roughly. Your moans were muffled against her lips.

She suddenly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look down between your legs. 

"Watch," she demanded hoarsely. You whimpered, your eyes locking onto the sight of her magical sliding in and out of your pussy.

Your mouth dropped open as you watched the thick, veiny length split you open, disappearing completely inside you before pulling back out slick and shiny. 

The sight was obscenely hot, you could see every ridge and vein, every twitch and throb of the enchanted dick as it fucked you senseless.

"That's all me," she moaned proudly, her hands gripping your ass to spread your cheeks wider for better visibility. She slammed you down particularly hard, making you moan out as the cock kissed your walls. "Watch yourself take every inch, baby. You're so beautiful like this."

Your vision blurred with pleasure.

She suddenly lifted you off completely, making you whimper at the loss. But then she was laying you on your back and lifting your legs over her shoulders, fitting the head of the cock back against your entrance. 

"I want you to see this."

She pushed inside slowly, letting you watch your stretched hole open around the thick magical length. Your pussy gripped it desperately as she filled you inch by inch again. 

"Does that feel good, baby?" she purred, her eyes never leaving your face. "Is my cock filling you up nice and deep?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows.

She began fucking you slowly again, each thrust a deliberate show as you both watched her conjured cock slide in and out of your body. Her pace was torturously sensual, deep, measured strokes that let you feel every single inch. 

"Rub your clit," she commanded breathlessly. "Show me how you make yourself cum when you think about me."

You reached down immediately.

You circled your clit desperately, fingers moving faster as she watched. She matched your rhythm with her thrusts, the magical cock pulsing inside you with each touch to your sensitive bud. "That's it," she praised, "Touch yourself for me while I fuck you."

Your hips bucked as you worked your clit furiously, matching Wanda's deep strokes. The dual sensation had you spiraling out of control, her thick cock stretching you perfectly while your fingers worked your swollen nub. 

"I'm close," you gasped, your thighs trembling against her shoulders. "Wanda, I'm gonna—"

"Fuck," Wanda groaned, her eyes rolling back as your walls clenched around her cock like a vice. She felt you tighten around the magical length, fluttering and squeezing as you got closer. "You're so fucking tight, baby... you feel so good."

Then you hit your orgasm.

Your body arched off the bed, your moan echoing through the room.

That was all it took.

Wanda's eyes rolled back completely as she slammed into you one final time, her grip bruising on your thighs. "Oh fuck— fuck—" Her hips stuttered against yours as the magical cock seemed to pulse and throb harder, flooding your pussy with warm, glowing pleasure as she came with you.

She collapsed forward, burying her face in your neck as both of you came down from your highs. 

Her breathing was ragged against your skin, the magical cock slowly dissipating into red sparks as she lost focus. 

You lay trembling beneath her, completely wrecked and boneless, clutching at her shoulders.

"Holy shit," she rasped, pressing lazy kisses to your pulse.

You couldn't even form words yet. Your mind was completely blank except for the lingering aftershocks of your earth-shattering orgasm. 

You simply clung to her, your legs falling from her shoulders to drap over her hips as she nuzzled against your neck.

She eventually lifted her head to look at you, her eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. She traced a gentle thumb over your cheekbone, smiling slightly at your flushed face and messy hair. 

"You okay?" she asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I..." you started, your voice completely wrecked and hoarse. You cleared your throat, still trying to catch your breath. "I can't feel my legs."

Wanda let out a breathy laugh, pressing another kiss to your temple. "Mission accomplished, then." She shifted slightly, settling her weight more comfortably beside you, one hand tracing idle patterns against your waist.

You stared at the ceiling, still working on breathing like a normal person. Your brain was coming back online in pieces, slow and warm, like something being reassembled without urgency.

"You know," you said finally, voice still wrecked, "Cleopatra was reportedly so compelling that grown men forgot how to function in her presence." A pause. "I get it now. I really get it."

Wanda lifted her head to look at you.

"Are you comparing me to Cleopatra."

"I'm saying the historical record finally makes sense to me personally."

She looked at you for a moment, that look, the one that had been unraveling you for months in libraries and quiet offices, and then she laughed. Really laughed, quiet and genuine, her face dropping against your shoulder.

"You're unbelievable," she said.

"You knew that. You read my file."

"I did." She pressed a smile against your skin. "It didn't cover this."

"The part where I make ancient history jokes in —" you glanced at the window, the sky beginning to suggest something like dawn "— whatever this hour is."

"No," she said. "That part was a surprise."

A comfortable quiet settled. Her hand had stilled at your waist, just resting. Outside the window the compound was still dark, that particular held-breath hour you knew better than any other. Except this time it didn't press against you. It just was.

"Hey Wanda."

"Mm."

"The first evaluation." You felt her go slightly still. "You already knew everything in my file."

It wasn't a question. She was quiet long enough to confirm it.

"I knew your file," she said.

"So what were you actually doing."

A pause. "Seeing if you were different in person."

"Were you?"

"Was I what."

"Disappointed. When you met me in person."

She lifted her head again and looked at you with something so plainly fond it made your chest ache. "The second session," she said, "you told me you studied Rome because people who don't know how their story ends are more honest than people who do." She held your gaze. "I thought about that for a week."

You looked at her. "I thought you stopped listening after I said classical antiquity."

"I was listening before you sat down."

The quiet that followed was warm and a little enormous. You turned your head toward the window. The sky was doing that thing, not dawn yet, but the idea of it, the first suggestion of something changing.

"I don't want to sleep," you said, more honest than you meant to be.

She understood. She always understood. "The nightmares."

"They're better some nights than others."

She shifted, resettling, her arm a more deliberate weight across you. "Stay," she said. Simple. Certain. "If it comes I'll be here."

You looked at her.

"You can't promise that," you said quietly.

"I know." She held your gaze. "I'm promising it anyway."

You thought about endings. About people who kept going after they could see what was coming. About Wanda Maximoff at forty who had lived through enough of them to know exactly what she was saying.

You pulled her closer instead of answering.

You slept.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you slept straight through to morning and when you woke, slow and soft and unfamiliar with the feeling, she was still there. Reading. One hand still resting at your back like she'd kept it there the whole time.

On the nightstand beside the bed was a book you didn't recognize. Slim, worn at the spine. You reached for it without thinking.

Egyptian Astronomy and the Architecture of Eternity.

You looked at her.

She turned a page without looking up. "I found it months ago," she said. "I was waiting for the right time."