hello my fellow wanda simps

You’d moved across the country for college, leaving behind a home that had never really felt like one. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but it was a necessary one, something between escape and survival. You arrived early, more than a week before classes began, eager to settle into the dorms and put some distance between yourself and everything you were trying to forget. 

By some stroke of luck, your roommate had moved in early, too. Apparently, her loft on the other side of the city had burned down in a freak accident, and she flat-out refused to move back in with her mother.

Kate Bishop was everything you hadn’t even dared to hope for in a roommate: funny, grounded, genuinely kind. She made you feel like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in this strange, unfamiliar place. She’d grown up in New York, had an entire life here already, complete with a close-knit group of friends and a girlfriend named Yelena.

You’d only met Yelena a few times, but she made an impression, slightly older, striking, with a dry wit and a thick accent that made everything she said sound twice as cool. She’d already finished college, and now ran a chain of martial arts studios across the city. 

But one thing that had truly shocked you was their dynamic when they were alone. Coming from a small town with no clue about college etiquette, you hadn’t thought twice about the sock on the door handle of your dorm. Headphones in, music blasting, you’d returned late one night from your favourite café and pushed the door open with a casual, “Hey, Kate—”

And froze.

Yelena was strapped to Kate’s narrow bed, wrists and ankles bound to the corners, her body completely exposed and vulnerable. Kate was straddling her in a panic, trying hopelessly to shield her girlfriend’s nakedness with her own body. You froze in the doorway, eyes wide, breath caught, the scene burning itself into your mind before instinct took over. You spun around and ran, heart pounding, feet flying. 

It took two full days of pretending nothing had happened before it finally cracked. You hadn’t meant to say anything, you were determined not to. You’d buried it deep, shoved it behind textbooks and playlists and pointless walks to nowhere, trying to suffocate it under a hundred different distractions. 

But the memory kept clawing its way back. Not of them, not really. Not Kate or Yelena as people. It wasn’t about attraction. It was the feeling of what they were doing. The heat that pooled in your stomach when you remembered the way Yelena had looked beneath Kate, the weightless calm in her limbs, the glow behind her eyes, even though you’d barged in on them in such an intimate moment. 

You couldn't stop thinking about it. 

But tonight, Kate insisted (more like begged) that you go to the big pre-semester party. So you’d gone. You’d drunk more than you meant to. And now, hours later, the dorm room was gently swaying around you, the overhead light was off, and everything was bathed in the soft, amber spill of the desk lamp.

Kate looked like she’d been sculpted into relaxation. Her legs were tangled in a blanket, her flannel half-buttoned and slipping from one shoulder, and her phone was held loosely in her hand. But every few seconds, her gaze darted up. You didn’t have to see it to feel it. 

The tension curled in the air between you like smoke. Eventually, she let out a long, theatrical sigh that broke the quiet. Tossed her phone onto the bed and sat up, cracking her neck like she was about to start a fight.

“Okay, you’ve officially out-brooded me,” she said, tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. “And I once spent a whole summer listening to nothing but Lana Del Rey. So. Spill. What’s going on in that tragic little head of yours?”

You gave a hollow sort of laugh, too tight, too dry. “Nothing’s wrong. I'm fine.”

Kate raised one eyebrow slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because the whole ‘I’m fine’ routine goes so well with the thousand-yard stare. C’mon, what’s actually going on?”

Your heart kicked like a trapped animal. You hated this pressure, this feeling like your body was shrinking in on itself. Your arms curled tighter around the blanket, your hands clenched hard enough that your knuckles ached. 

“Is it something I did?” she asked, and her voice changed. It was gentler, even coaxing. “Or said?”

“No. No, it’s not that,” you said quickly, the words falling out too fast. Your head snapped up, eyes wide, terrified she’d misunderstood. You needed her to know it wasn’t her.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with soft focus, studying you like you were a puzzle with one piece missing. “Then what is it?”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came. Your jaw clenched as your fingers dug deeper into the blanket. Her tone turned almost tender. “You’ve been weird since Tuesday.”

You flinched like the word itself slapped you. It landed with terrifying accuracy.

Kate’s eyes flickered, amusement already curling at her mouth before the full realisation even landed. “Ohhh,” she said, drawing the word out with a grin, her tone all too knowing. “This is about the sock on the door, isn’t it?”

Heat surged up your neck and into your cheeks, spreading fast. Your ears burned, your stomach turned. “Kate—”

She groaned, flopping back against her pillow with a theatrical sigh, even as her grin widened. “God, I told Yelena the sock was a shit idea! I literally said we needed a better system. I said we should’ve just gone back to hers.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled and miserable. “I didn’t mean to walk in. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“No, clearly not. You looked like you’d witnessed a murder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so fast,” she said with a huff of laughter.

“I panicked,” you muttered, not lifting your head.

“You literally threw yourself into the corridor,” she corrected, another chuckle spilling out as she sat up again, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment.

“I panicked,” you said again, but this time your voice cracked on the word. It came out too thin, too small. Your breath caught.

The laughter vanished from Kate’s face in an instant, her expression tightening with concern. “Hey. I’m messing with you, but if it really freaked you out…” Her voice came quieter now, steadier, threaded with something that sounded like guilt. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll talk to Yelena, and—”

“No.” The word shot out, too loud, too harsh. You winced immediately. “No, it’s not that. I just…”

You looked down. Your hands were trembling. Kate didn’t speak. She waited. You hadn’t known her long, but she already knew you, your silences, your defence mechanisms, the way you got brittle before you broke.

Finally, your voice emerged, hollow. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She blinked. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected, clearly. You surged on before the fear could catch you.

“Not like that,” you said fast, too fast, your words tangling in each other. “I’m not…into you, or Yelena, or anything like that. I just…I keep seeing it. You and her. And it didn’t look scary, or weird. It looked…right. Like it made sense. Like that’s where you were supposed to be.”

Kate’s entire face shifted, something warm and open blooming across her features. She looked almost reverent, like the thought alone settled something deep inside her. “Yeah,” she said, slow and certain. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

You stared at her, overwhelmed. “That’s not normal, though, is it?” Your voice cracked at the edges, shame clinging to it like soot. 

“Who told you that?” she asked, voice flatter now, more guarded. 

You hesitated. “No one. I just feel like a freak. I can’t stop thinking about it. Something about it felt familiar. Like…like it scratched some itch I didn’t know I had.”

Kate’s smile was so gentle it barely reached her mouth. But her eyes were all compassion. “That doesn’t make you a freak. That makes you self-aware.”

You groaned and hid again behind your hands. “This is so embarrassing. I want to crawl into a hole and just die.”

“No dying allowed,” she said, easy and light. “Also, not embarrassing. I’ve had this kind of conversation, like, four times. One girl sobbed. One guy made a spreadsheet. You’re doing great.”

You huffed out a soft, stunned laugh. Still didn’t look at her. Your eyes locked on your knees. “How did you know? That you were into all of…that?”

Kate blinked once. Then she smiled, slow and steady. “All of what, exactly?” Her voice dipped teasingly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe. I’m into a lot of stuff.”

You laughed nervously. “You know what I mean.” You swallowed. “I’ve never done anything like that. My past hookups were all really…vanilla. Very, very, missionary-with-the-lights-off vanilla.”

Kate wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust. “Yikes. That is bleak.”

“It was. But this…I don’t know. It’s been in my head since.” You faltered. The moment had gotten too big again. You shrank from it. “This is weird. Let’s just sleep?”

Kate studied you for a second longer, then spoke. It was quiet, but there was a sterness to it. “Hey. Look at me?”

Your head turned before you even thought about it. Eyes locking with hers like it was instinct. 

Kate didn’t say anything for a beat. But her face changed. Just a flicker. A quiet realisation before she eventually spoke. “Okay,” she said softly, mostly to herself.

Your heart leapt. “What?”

She shrugged, lips twitching, clearly holding back a grin. “Just answering my own question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

She grinned now, wicked and amused. “Which side you’re on.”

Your stomach plummeted, and your heart raced. “What does that even mean?”

She tilted her head, her voice low and playful. “I mean…me or Yelena. Domme or Sub. The one doing the tying or the one getting tied.” She paused, watching you closely. “You didn’t even think about it. You just looked at me. That’s kind of a giveaway.”

You groaned, mortified. “Don’t analyse me.”

She laughed, bright and delighted. “Too late. I already diagnosed you with chronic obedience.”

You covered your face again, but this time the trembling in your hands didn’t stop the laughter bubbling up.

Kate let the moment sit for a second. Then she leaned forward again, voice soft but sincere. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. You don’t even have to do anything with it. But if you ever want to talk about what it means, what it doesn’t, I’m here. No judgement.”

You looked up slowly. Cautious. But grateful. Kate met your gaze with a small nod. “I’ve got you.”

—

You and Kate had gone to bed not long after the conversation, nerves buzzing under your skin, alcohol humming through your blood, and a restless curiosity settling somewhere low in your stomach. 

By morning, the haze had lifted a little, but the curiosity remained. You barely had to ask before Kate was sitting cross-legged across from you, all easy confidence and unfiltered honesty, rattling off explanations like it was the most normal thing in the world. She walked you through the foundations of it all, kinks and limits, power dynamics, aftercare. 

She explained safe words, how communication was everything, and how trust wasn’t optional; it was the entire point. She even introduced you to the traffic light system, green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop. 

And then, she gave you the most terrifying suggestion of all: a lesbian kink club.

She brought it up so casually, like it was just another bullet point on her list. You’d balked, of course, wide-eyed and uncertain, but Kate just shrugged and smiled, patient as ever. 

She promised it wasn’t what you were imagining, no horror stories, no unchecked chaos, no pressure. “This place is serious,” she said, “It’s safe. Everything’s built around consent and control, and no one will touch you without a hell of a lot of permission. You don’t even have to speak if you don’t want to. Just watch. That’s what most new people do.”

Still, when you asked if she’d come with you, she hesitated. “I can’t,” she said eventually, with a wry smile. “Yelena would lose her mind. And no domme would even come near you if you were with me. They know me, and they know I don’t share.”

You blinked at her, confused. “But you’re not—”

She held up a hand. “I know. But that’s not how it works there. People respect boundaries, so if I walked in with a pretty new sub, they’d assume I’d claimed you, like I did Yelena, and steer clear.”

Your face burned red at the idea of being claimed, along with the subtle ‘pretty’ she had thrown in there. You knew it wasn't flirty and was more of a joke, but the thought of being seen as pretty made your breath stutter a bit. 

But before you could think too much about that, she laughed a little sheepishly then. “Plus, I have been known to growl like a rabid dog when someone flirts with Yelena. Even without the rules, I'm pretty sure they'd stay away out of fear of grievous bodily harm.”

You laughed then, the tension easing slightly, but still, the idea of going without Kate made your chest tighten. 

But Kate had been insistent. “You don’t have to do anything. Just go. Watch. No one will touch you unless you say yes. And if it gets too much, you leave. Simple.”

She'd made it sound manageable. Even safe. She talked about safe, sane, consensual like it was gospel, and maybe, for her, it was. And the way she spoke about it made it hard not to believe her.

—

From the very first time you’d wandered into Wanda’s cafe, drawn by the aroma of fresh pastries and coffee, you’d known this place was going to be your refuge. The mismatched mugs, the wild greenery curling down from hanging pots and over windowsills, the gently worn furniture that seemed to have stories soaked into the wood, it all felt like a place you were allowed to exhale in. 

You’d started coming to the café nearly every time Kate was out with her friends, and you’d refused to join her, which, given how often that was, meant you were there a lot. 

Wanda, whose name you had learned on your second visit, wasn’t always there, but when she was, you noticed, and for some reason, it would make your sanctuary even better. There was a soft warmth in the way she’d glance at you from behind the counter. 

And when you’d been there for hours, nursing your fourth cup of coffee for the day, Wanda would always notice. “You need to eat something, darling,” she’d say gently, setting a pastry and a glass of water down in front of you with a soft smile. “It’s lovely seeing you in here so often, but that much coffee with no food or water? Not on my watch.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a kindness beneath it that made you feel cared for in a way you weren’t used to.

And every time that happened, your face would burn, heat spreading all the way to your ears, and you’d have to lower your gaze to hide the way your mouth betrayed you, unable to form a proper thank you. 

And that was how, on a slow Saturday afternoon, you once again found yourself curled into your usual corner booth, tucked safely behind your laptop and a growing stack of notes. You’d told yourself you were going to be productive, that today would be about distraction. And judging by the five colour-coded drafts of your class timetable and the frankly absurd amount of early required reading you’d powered through, you’d managed, for a while.

But eventually, your focus had begun to slip. No matter how hard you tried to drown it in academic preparation, your thoughts kept drifting, again and again, to tonight. To the club. 

You did want to go. You were curious, drawn to it in a way you didn’t fully understand. But you weren’t exactly the most social person on the best of days, and this wasn’t some casual night out with your new bestie Kate. You didn’t know what to expect. You barely knew the rules. And for someone who’d only just begun to glimpse that part of themselves, who still hesitated to name the things they wanted, the whole thing felt impossibly big.

You were still debating if you could handle it when the soft chime of the café door snapped you out of your spiral. Your fingers stilled on your cup, and something in your chest jumped, an involuntary reaction you’d become embarrassingly familiar with.

It was her again.

You didn’t know her name. You didn’t want to know her name. You weren’t looking. Not really. You just…noticed her. Every time.

You kept your eyes on your screen, or tried to, though it was hard not to notice the way she slipped behind the counter like she belonged there. And maybe she did, because even the very first time you saw her, you’d noticed how Wanda leaned into her, soft and familiar, how the redhead’s hand settled at the small of her back like it was second nature. You’d caught the way Wanda tilted her face down ever so slightly, unthinking, offering a kiss that was less a greeting and more a ritual. 

And still, you told yourself you weren’t watching. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop either. You just couldn’t help overhearing.

“Are we still going to that place your sister suggested tonight?” Wanda’s voice was casual, but bright. There was a hopefulness in it that made you glance up again without meaning to.

The redhead didn’t answer immediately. Her body shifted, spine straightening. Her expression didn’t change, not really, but the vibe of her turned cooler, more guarded.

“You sure we need this?” she asked finally, voice low, cautious. “You know what happened last time.”

You shouldn’t have been listening. You told yourself you weren’t. But your hand was still on your coffee cup, unmoving, your laptop screen long since forgotten.

“It’s different this time,” Wanda replied. Her hand came up to rest on Natasha’s shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve, a soft comfort you imagined. “You know that.”

Natasha didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either.

Then Wanda leaned closer, her voice dropping into something quieter, and even though you knew you shouldn’t, you tilted just slightly forward to hear. “We go,” she said, “we see what it’s like. And if it doesn’t work out…” she trailed off, then smiled, and there was something wicked and warm in it all at once. “I’ll let you ruin me as revenge. Deal?”

Natasha’s breath hitched. So did yours. You stared hard at the screen in front of you, suddenly too aware of your own skin, of the heat climbing up your neck and settling behind your ears. 

You took a long sip of coffee, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue, focusing on the heat of the cup cradled between your palms like it might tether you. It didn’t help, at least, not in the way you wanted. 

But thinking about them, about the quiet ease between them, the way Wanda’s eyes softened when the redhead leaned in close, or the way that touch lingered a little longer than necessary, was its own kind of distraction. 

A quiet ache bloomed, low in your chest. You’d never had anything like that, you might never, and you hated how easily that thought lodged itself inside you. Still, it was something to focus on. Better, at least, than the spiralling nerves about tonight.

—

You’d made it to the club, barely after spending hours spiralling over your outfit, changing again and again until you were out of time and excuses. But the moment you arrived, you couldn’t move. People flowed in around you like it was nothing. They moved as if they’d been born knowing how to exist in places like this.

Your heart pounded too fast, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Your fingers clenched tighter around the strap of your bag. Every part of you was begging to turn around, to run, before anyone noticed you didn’t belong.

“Hey. You,” you heard. You didn’t look up. It was New York, someone was always yelling, always calling out to someone who wasn’t you.

Except this time, it was. “Yeah, you,” the voice called again, laced with amusement. “Pretty skirt, face that screams ‘please get me the hell out of here’ , you planning to actually come inside, or just admire the door all night?”

Your head snapped up so fast it made your earrings shift.

The woman by the door was clearly amused, her arms folded as she leaned against the rope like she had all the time in the world. Her name tag read Rio, bold against the tight black security tee stretched across her chest. 

“C’mon,” she drawled, tilting her head toward the door, a dark curl falling across her brow as she looked you over. “You’ve been out here long enough to grow roots. What’s the hold up?”

You managed a breath that might’ve been a laugh, or a plea for help. Nothing coherent left your mouth, just a twitch of your lips that was closer to panic than a smile.

Rio grinned, like she’d seen it all before and still found it mildly entertaining. “Ah, first time?”

You nodded, small and tight, the motion barely there as your stomach flipped itself inside out.

She let that hang for a beat, then tipped her chin at you again, this time with a glint of something warmer behind the sharpness in her eyes. “Well, chill out. You look good. Real good. And no one’s gonna bite, unless you ask real nice.”

Her brow arched, deliberately suggestive, but the teasing was light, like a nudge rather than a push.

Then, without making a thing of it, she unhooked the velvet rope and stepped aside. Her posture stayed easy, but her voice shifted, just a little softer, just enough to catch you. “Go on, cutie. You’ve got this.”

And somehow, heart hammering and logic nowhere to be found, your feet started moving. You ducked past her, still not entirely sure how you’d managed it, but knowing her smirk was burning the back of your neck as you went.

—

As soon as you stepped inside, the air shifted, cool, smooth, and immediately heavy with the scent of expensive perfume mixed with something faintly sweaty. The lighting was soft, muted golden hues casting shadows that seemed to wrap around the room like a whisper. 

Everything was plush, refined, velvet drapes, dark mahogany wood floors that gleamed in the dim light, and sleek, modern furniture that looked both inviting and intimidating.

There were no wild strobe lights or neon signs; instead, the atmosphere was intimate in a way that made you feel like you were being gently observed, as if everyone here was comfortable with who they were and what they wanted. 

They seemed to float through the space, dressed in a refined mix of leather, silk, lace, and tailored suits, each one exuding a quiet confidence that you had yet to find in yourself.

Then your eyes caught on the stage across the room, where a strikingly pale woman with strawberry blonde hair stood in sleek black leather. Beside her was another woman, dark hair tumbling in soft waves, green eyes gleaming under the lights, dressed in a delicate lace bodice that clung to her like it had been stitched directly onto her skin.

The sub seemed at ease, almost meditative, as the flogger began to make contact with her in a rhythmic pattern. It wasn’t crude, wasn’t sexual in the way you expected. It was educational, like they were teaching the crowd about trust, boundaries, and the delicate balance of pain and pleasure.

It was…oddly beautiful, and you found yourself watching for longer than you’d intended. But the longer you stood there, the more overwhelmed you felt, the more your mind raced to catch up. This wasn’t the world you knew, nor a world you’d ever really imagined. It was intimidating, but still also oddly inviting.

Your feet moved before you even realised, carrying you to the bar without thinking. The low hum of the room, the muffled sound of the flogger against skin from the demonstration, the soft laughter of women chatting in hushed tones, all seemed to blur as you found yourself gripping the cool marble counter. 

The bartender, a woman with sharp eyes and an air of authority, glanced up at you as you approached, studying you for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile. “I think you might need something strong, hon?” she asked, her voice understanding, and you nodded, trying to calm the frantic thudding of your heart.

You could still hear the demonstration in the distance, the faint swish of the flogger and the calm voice explaining the technique, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back. Instead, you focused on the glass being placed in front of you, the cool condensation from the drink briefly grounding you. You took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol mingling with the nervous tremor in your hands, your mind still racing.

—

When you arrived, you had promised yourself that you’d stay for at least two hours, give it a proper try, sit with the discomfort, and push through it. You weren’t going to bolt the second it got hard. 

Over the last hour and a half, three different women had approached you, spaced out just far enough to make it feel like a fresh humiliation each time. They’d come over with smiles, kind, confident, curious, trying to draw you into conversation, asking your name, what brought you here. 

And you’d tried, you really had, forcing your lips into a shape resembling a smile, giving them answers that barely skimmed the surface of coherent, until the pauses got longer, the polite smiles more strained, and eventually, they moved on.

You already struggled to believe you were enough in your everyday life. Add way too many drinks you definitely didn’t need, and an hour and a half of mounting self-consciousness, and the weight of it all started to press down on you. Every rejection, every silence, every glance that passed right over you, all congealed into something thick and sharp and awful in your chest.

And suddenly you were running.

When did you start running?

You didn’t even realise until your body collided with something solid, no… someone. Your body jolted to a stop, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. A warm, steady grip closed around your upper arm.

You blinked through the tears in your eyes, and that’s when you saw her. The redhead from the café. Just as striking in the low amber light, head half-tilted, a crease forming between her brows. And next to her, Wanda.

You wanted to say something, but your mouth refused. Your throat clenched tight around the words. So you did the only thing your body would allow, you ran.

Again.

You wrenched your arm free, heart lurching in your chest as you burst through the door and back into the cold, chasing air and distance like they might save you.

“Hey! Hey, you okay, newbie?” Rio’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-sharp with worry. But you didn’t turn around. 

Your feet pounded the pavement, and your limbs shook as you ran. The wind tore at your hair, the cold sting of tears still fresh on your cheeks. Your mouth was dry, your lungs burning. You didn’t care where you were going, just that you needed to escape.

Down one street, then another. The world blurred around you, the hum of traffic, the lingering bass in your head, the tightness of your skirt, the sour taste of your drinks from earlier.

When your legs gave out, you stumbled into an alley, your back hitting the wall. The cold bricks bit through your tights, the wet chill sharpening every unbearable feeling. You slid to the ground, curling into yourself, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Panic ripped through you, quiet and brutal, stealing your breath in shallow gasps as the world closed in.

You didn’t hear her coming. Not until her voice slipped through the haze, gentle, low, threaded with concern. “Hey, Sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Wanda.

You knew it instantly, but you couldn’t lift your head. Even the soft warmth of her voice made your skin crawl with overstimulation. You stayed curled in on yourself, fingers digging into your sleeves, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven pulls.

“Look at me,” she urged, her voice firmer now. Her hands found your face, fingers gliding over your skin, coaxing your head up.

She saw the wet streaks down your face, the tremor in your lips, the glassy, unfocused eyes. Her expression shifted from shock to anger. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

A desperate shake of your head was all you could offer.

Beyond Wanda, the redhead stood in the alley’s mouth, arms crossed, watching in silence.

Wanda’s hands stayed on your face, grounding you. “Breathe with me,” she whispered. “In through the nose. Nice and slow.”

You wanted to say you knew what to do, that you’d been through this before. You knew all the things you were supposed to do: sit up straight, inhale for four, exhale for six, and ground yourself. But knowing didn’t mean doing. And right now, everything felt impossible.

Still, Wanda’s voice reached you. One breath. Then another. Your chest still trembled, but you followed. “That’s it,” she whispered, soothing. “You’re doing so well.”

She stayed until your hands stopped shaking, until your tears slowed. When your body finally gave in, she gently lifted your chin. Worry softened her gaze, her touch too kind.

“Talk to me,” she said. “You looked like you were running from something awful. Please tell me what it was.”

You tried. But all you managed was a broken exhale, your voice tangled up somewhere too deep to reach.

And Wanda didn’t wait. She just pulled you against her chest, one hand holding the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. 

Eventually, Wanda’s voice broke the quiet, low and close to your ear. “You’re freezing, Honey.” Her arms tightened slightly, and you realised with a delayed shiver that the warmth you’d felt earlier wasn’t real, it had been panic, adrenaline, the flush of fear burning through your skin. Now that it had passed, all that was left was the cold.

“I’m okay,” you said, though the words came out hoarse and thin.

Her eyes didn’t move. “No,” she said quietly. “You’re not. And that’s okay. But let us walk you home?”

You shook your head slowly. “I’ll need to call an Uber, my dorm is on the other side of town. I’m fine. Really. Thank you, though…for everything.”

But the moment those words left your mouth, you saw something shift in her expression. Worry deepening into something more decisive, more stubborn. Like the idea of walking away from you now went against every instinct she had.

“No,” she said firmly. Then she paused, her eyes searching yours, her next words quieter, more careful. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t like the idea of you getting into a stranger’s car when you’re like this. It’s late. You’re not thinking clearly. You shouldn’t have to be. Let someone else take care of it. Of you. ”

“But I don’t want to ruin your night,” you whispered. “You were—” You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

Wanda blinked once, slowly. “You didn’t ruin anything,” she said. “We were going to leave anyway. That club wasn’t exactly our scene.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh. “It wasn't mine either.”

That earned you a smile, soft and crooked. “Figured that out when I saw you sprinting out of there like it was on fire.”

Your blush betrayed you before you could stop it, your face going hot in the cool night, the memory of the club still pressed against your skin. But it wasn’t just the awkwardness that flushed your cheeks. It was them. The realisation that if they weren't having fun tonight, Wanda had a promise to fulfil. 

Wanda tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You shook your head violently, and your eyes darted anywhere but her face. Please, God, don’t make me explain.  

Thankfully, she didn’t push. She just gave you a look full of curiosity and affection, and let it go. “Come back with us. We’ve got a spare room. You can shut the door and go straight to bed if you want. I just…I’d feel better knowing you were safe.”

You hesitated. Your eyes flicked toward the redhead, still by the alley’s mouth, still watching. She’d had no say in any of this, and you didn’t want to be the reason her night ended differently than planned. Especially not if it meant she wouldn’t get to ‘ruin ’ Wanda, as Wanda had put it.

But Wanda caught the glance and laughed under her breath. “Don’t worry about her. She knows I’ve got a soft spot for you. She definitely expected this.”

You flushed, hard. But before you could figure out what to say, the other woman's voice came from the end of the alley, as if she could hear the conversation. “Wanda. It’s cold. If she’s not walking in the next two minutes, I’m carrying her.”

“She doesn’t seem very happy,” you whispered.

Wanda giggled, unabashed. “That’s just Nat. You get used to it. But she won’t be happy if we don’t get moving, come on.”

She stood, holding out her hand. You took it. Her arm stayed around your shoulders as she walked you to the alley’s edge, back into the chill of the open street. The redhead gave you a long look as you approached, her smile clipped but still there.

It didn’t take long to reach their place, maybe ten or fifteen minutes of quiet walking. You didn’t speak much, still raw, but Wanda stayed close, her arm a steady weight around your shoulders, while the redhead, Nat, you thought, that’s what Wanda had called her, walked by her side. 

Once inside, Wanda could tell you were exhausted. She guided you gently upstairs to a small but cosy guest room and handed you soft joggers and a loose T-shirt. The clothes were a little long in the leg and hung loose at the shoulders, but they were cosy, and they wrapped around you like safety. 

You curled into the blankets, Wanda’s shirt tucked close around your chin, and let yourself drift off. 

—

You felt it before you even opened your eyes. The heaviness behind them, dull and throbbing like something pressing in from the inside. A headache you recognised all too well, the post-panic kind, the one that settled in like bruises on your brain. 

Your limbs ached, like you’d run miles. And your stomach rolled with the nauseating mix of nerves and the ghost of alcohol, sitting thick and unwelcome in your gut.

And then came the worst part, remembering exactly where you were, and who you were with.

You were in their house. Wanda’s house. And hers, too, the redhead, Nat, whatever her full name was. Not your dorm. Not your tiny, safe, familiar space with its cluttered desk and cheap sheets. Theirs.

You groaned quietly, dragging the covers over your head, as if hiding from the world might somehow cancel the impending awkwardness. You’d have to go downstairs eventually, face them, thank them, apologise for…well, everything. Just the thought made your stomach churn harder. 

You’d barely managed to pull the covers tighter when a soft knock broke the quiet. You could ignore it. You could pretend you were still asleep. But instead, your voice came out small, almost reluctant. “Come in.”

The door eased open, and Wanda stepped inside, eyes scanning you with that same gentleness from the night before. You flushed with embarrassment. You must look like hell. Last night’s make-up was probably smudged to oblivion, your cheeks puffy, your hair a mess.

“I’m making breakfast,” she said, voice soft but careful, like she didn’t want to startle you. “Was wondering if you wanted to join us.”

You didn’t answer at first, brain still dragging behind, eyes squinting against the light slipping in through the doorway. And Wanda must’ve taken your silence as discomfort, because she rushed to fill it.

“I mean, you don’t have to. I can totally leave you alone if you’d rather sneak out, no pressure. Keep the clothes, obviously. I just…whatever makes you most comfortable.” 

She smiled, but her eyes said something different. They said she didn’t want you to go. 

You let out a dry, weak little laugh, more breath than sound, but Wanda’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Breakfast sounds good,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

Wanda brightened instantly, her relief written all over her face. “Okay, perfect. No rush, just come down when you’re ready, Sweetheart.”

She lingered in the doorway for a second, like she wanted to say more, then closed the door gently behind her as she left.

---

You stayed upstairs longer than you probably should have, sitting on the edge of the unfamiliar bed. But eventually, you hauled yourself up, made it to the bathroom, and stared down the mirror. Puffy eyes. Smeared mascara. Lips chapped and raw from worry and crying. You cringed and did the best with what you could. 

When you made it downstairs, you hovered in the doorway for a moment. Wanda stood at the stove, hair swept up, swaying a little as she stirred. ‘Nat’ was lounging at the kitchen island with a mug half-raised, looking at you over the rim.

Wanda gave you a bright, welcoming smile. “Come sit by Natasha,” she said gently, nodding toward the empty stool.

Natasha. Huh. That was the name, then. Not just Nat . You hadn’t been sure if it was short for Natalie, Natalia, Natasha, or something else entirely.

Natasha gave a soft laugh, low and rough with sleep. “I promise I’m not that scary,” she said, one eyebrow lifting. “You can sit.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, cheeks going hot, and you shifted your eyes downwards. That slight rasp went straight to your spine. Still, you moved, wordless, and slid onto the stool beside her. 

Wanda passed you a mug before you could even ask, and it was perfect. The right amount of milk, the exact strength you liked. Of course she remembered your order from the cafe. 

“How’d you sleep?” Wanda asked after a beat, back still turned as she cooked.

“Fine. I think I passed out before my head hit the pillow,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to keep it casual.

Their chuckles came almost in sync. You could’ve clung to that sound, it made the kitchen feel less like enemy territory.

“Bet your head’s a disaster, though?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways with a knowing smirk.

You gave her a dramatic look. “I feel like I was trampled by at least four cows and then dragged through a blender. So, yeah. Little bit.”

That made her laugh, a real one, and you couldn’t help but smile. Something in your chest unclenched. Maybe she wasn’t that terrifying.

“Well, you’ve cleaned up pretty well,” she said, casually. “Considering you cried your lashes off in a public alley.”

You winced, cheeks burning, but there was no real cruelty in her voice, just observation. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured after a pause, fingers curling around the coffee mug. “I didn’t mean to…make it your problem.”

Wanda finally turned to look at you, her expression open and earnest. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “I’m just glad we were there, you clearly needed someone, hm?”

That little hum somehow echoed through you like a secret. Light and harmless on the surface, but it dropped straight through your chest and left slow-spreading ripples in its wake. 

You didn’t understand why it hit so low in your stomach, why it made your fingers twitch around the coffee mug, but it did. It settled there, warm and aching, and refused to move.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you said nothing, just took another sip, hoping the bitterness of the drink might ground you.

Luckily, the rest of breakfast had been fine. Wanda kept things light, her voice bright and full of easy cheer, weaving conversation like she’d done this a thousand times. She was the warmth in the room, balancing Natasha’s quiet, guarded presence with ease. 

And then Wanda went and ruined the fragile peace. “So,” she said, her tone casual, like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, “what were you doing at the club?”

The blood drained from your face, replaced by a scorching heat that crept from your neck to your cheeks, blooming across your chest. You hadn’t expected that question, not now at least.

You tried to mask the panic with humour, the words spilling from your mouth like a reflex. “Clearly not the right thing.”

Both women chuckled, but Wanda’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She paused, sensing the shift. “Seriously,” she said, voice more serious now, the edge of concern threading through. “Did something happen? If someone made you uncomfortable, they need to be reported. That place has rules for a reason.”

You could feel the pressure building in your chest, but you waved your hands, desperate to ease the tension. “No, no. Nothing like that. I wasn’t hurt or anything.” You exhaled a long breath, staring at the countertop, trying to steady yourself. “I just…I got overwhelmed. That’s all.”

Wanda’s expression shifted in an instant, the tension in her brow easing, her eyes full of quiet understanding. “It’s a lot to walk into.”

You nodded, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, well. I shouldn’t have let my roommate talk me into it.”

Wanda tilted her head, her brows furrowing with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Wait, if your roommate suggested it, why wasn't she with you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep things casual. “She has a sub of her own. She’s a regular there, and she said if she stayed with me, no one would approach me. They’d think I was hers.”

Wanda blinked, her features shifting slightly as she processed your words. Something flickered across her face, but you couldn’t quite place it. “So,” she said slowly, voice light but edged with something, “you wanted someone to approach you?”

You hesitated, your throat going tight. You weren’t sure how to answer that. “I…I don’t know. I guess? I thought maybe I’d get a better idea of what I wanted.”

“And did you?” Natasha asked, cutting in smoothly, as she casually flipped a page of her newspaper, like the conversation was no more important than the weather. 

You let out a breath, the laugh that followed edged with bitterness, sharper than you meant it to be. “No. Not even close. Anyone who tried talking to me was gone in seconds. I don’t know if it was me or my inexperience, but it never went well.” You shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, though the words sat sour on your tongue.

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Just took a slow sip of her coffee, her voice soft when it came. “Or maybe they didn’t wait long enough to see the real you.”

The words hung between you, deceptively light but heavy in their weight, sinking deep before you could stop them.

Your chest tightened. Breath caught halfway. It was like the ground tilted slightly, subtle but disorienting. You couldn’t place why it hit so hard, only that it did.

Wanda watched you quietly, her gaze steady but unreadable. Then, gently, “So…are you still interested in all of this?” Her voice stayed soft, careful, like she was laying the question down instead of pressing it.

You opened your mouth, then paused. The answer was there, somewhere, but it was knotted too tightly to pull free. Your throat burned with the effort.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Obviously, Nat and I were there too, right?” She smiled at you, warm and coaxing. “We’re also interested in that world.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her gaze, like she was waiting for something more from you. “I am. I think I’d like to try it. But I don’t think I could do a club again.” You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. “I’ll probably just drop it, at least for now.”

There was a long pause. You didn’t know if they were waiting for you to say more or if they were letting you have this moment to gather yourself. 

Natasha put her paper down then, her eyes never leaving you, and something unspoken passed between the three of you. 

Wanda inhaled deeply, her fingers twisting lightly around the coffee mug. “So, uhm, if this is weird, please tell me to shut up and I’ll never bring it up again,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant in a way that caught you completely off-guard. When you looked at her, really looked, her face was pale and uncertain. 

“But, Nat and I are looking for a sub,” she finished, the words tumbling out with a breath she clearly hadn’t meant to hold that long.

Your eyebrows flew up before you could stop them, practically launching off your face. “But…but I thought you were married?”

Wanda gave a small, sheepish laugh and pressed a hand to her forehead. “We are,” she said, then grimaced. “God, why is this so awkward?” She paused, visibly trying to steady herself again, and when she spoke, her voice was a little firmer, even if her cheeks were still flushed. 

“We’re married, yes. But we’re also both…dominant. I do enjoy submission sometimes, but what I really miss…what we both miss, is taking control. Together. Working with Nat to…” Her voice faltered, eyes flicking to yours, gauging your reaction. “To make someone fall apart.”

The image came unbidden, Wanda and Natasha, hands and mouths and eyes dark with hunger, breaking someone down with the precision of two people who knew exactly how to unravel a soul. It made your stomach swoop and your skin burn in places it had no business burning over breakfast.

“So you’ve had a sub before?” you asked quietly, your voice thinner than it had been a moment ago.

Wanda nodded slowly. Next to you, Natasha shifted, her entire posture went tense, her mouth a thin line. She wasn’t speaking, but her silence said a lot. And then it clicked.

You remembered what she’d said in the café. Something hadn’t gone well last time.

Wanda confirmed your thoughts. “We have. Once. But she wasn’t in it for the right reasons. We met her through an app. We were new to that kind of dynamic, still figuring things out, and she seemed genuine. We didn’t realise how wrong we were.”

Wanda’s eyes lowered to her mug. “In the end, she just used us for money,” Wanda finished, quiet now, “before letting her friends into our place while we were away to rob us blind. We never heard from her again.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because it was the only thing you could think of. “For what it’s worth, that girl was incredibly stupid.”

That earned you a reaction. Wanda’s head lifted, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Natasha looked up at you again, her eyes cooler now, calculating, but not cold.

“Oh yeah?” Wanda asked, amusement creeping back into her voice. “Why’s that?”

You flushed again. You were starting to think it was just your natural state around them. “I…I just mean, you’re good people. You didn’t deserve that. She should’ve seen that.”

Wanda’s smirk didn’t falter, but her eyes lingered on you, watching you in a way that made it feel like she was looking past your words and into your very thoughts. Her head tilted just slightly, and you could feel the weight of her gaze.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, but it carried an edge of something almost vulnerable. “It is what it is, Sweetheart. That’s why we tried the club, but we couldn’t shake the feeling that starting over with someone we didn’t know, someone we didn’t trust, wouldn’t work for us. We’d always expect the worst.”

You nodded, the words settling heavily in the air between you. “I get that. Trust is everything, right? And without it, it’s just not gonna work.” You watched her closely, seeing the faintest nod, her eyes never leaving yours.

“You two are incredible from what I’ve seen,” you added, forcing a smile. “And I’m sure you’ll find someone worthy of you.”

Wanda turned to Natasha, then a brief glance was exchanged between them, their eyes locking in a silent conversation. Natasha gave the smallest nod, but you caught it.

Wanda’s gaze locked with yours, and she hesitated for a moment, her words slower, more deliberate this time. “Maybe I didn’t explain myself clearly earlier, with all my rambling,” she said, her lips curving into a shy, almost uncertain smile. There was an edge of vulnerability in her eyes, a shift in her usual confidence. “But, I was wondering, well, we were wondering if maybe…you’d be interested.”

Your heart stopped for a moment, and your mouth hung open, a hundred different thoughts rushing through your mind. You wanted this. God, you did. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t good enough. “I…I’m flattered, really. But you two deserve better. Like way better.”

Wanda’s gaze was steady and filled with warmth. “You really need to work on your confidence,” she said, her tone rich with quiet affection. “You’re more than enough. You’re beautiful, funny, and though we haven’t known each other long, I trust you.”

Your face flushed, the weight of her words sinking in. “Even if that were the case, I’m just…too inexperienced,” you murmured, your voice faltering under the weight of your insecurity.

Wanda’s smile turned sly, her voice dropping just a touch, making you lean in instinctively. “What if I told you that inexperience is something I actually like?” she said, her tone playful but also filled with something deeper, more magnetic.

You blinked, struggling to process what she was suggesting. “W…Why would you like that?” you stammered, a shiver running through you as her words registered.

Wanda’s smirk grew, more confident now, as she leaned in a little closer. “Because…” she purred, her voice dropping lower, almost teasing, “You’re a clean slate. No bad habits. No expectations. We can shape you, guide you...turn you into ours. ”

Her words hung in the air like a promise, thick with implication. And suddenly, it felt like the ground beneath you shifted, the world outside the kitchen fading until it was just the three of you at the island, suspended in something too delicate to name.

“I…” you started, but the words disintegrated as quickly as they’d come. You blinked, lips parted, your gaze flickering between them, lost.

“It’s okay,” Wanda said gently, her voice coaxing, steady. “Take your time.”

You swallowed. “How would it…How would it work?”

Wanda sat up a little straighter, her fingers curling around her coffee mug again, like it helped with her nerves, maybe. “Well, we’d help where we could. An allowance, support with school, but that’s not the core of it.”

She glanced briefly at Natasha before turning her full attention back to you. “Natasha and I talked last night when we got back, and we agreed that if this conversation happened, we wouldn’t just be asking you to be our sub. You wouldn’t be someone we played with and sent home. We were hoping, if things felt right, that you’d join us. As a girlfriend.”

“Sorry, what?” The words tumbled out of you in a breathless laugh, surprised and disbelieving.

Natasha let out a low, amused laugh beside you, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s about the reaction I expected.”

Wanda didn’t react to Natasha, she only looked at you. “I know it sounds fast. And I’m not trying to push. But I want to be honest about what we’re hoping for.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. Shaking your head slightly like that might help settle your thoughts.

“I just…” You frowned, confused and overwhelmed. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t even consider something like this. And I’m not looking for your money. That wouldn’t feel right.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda said quietly. “It’s not payment. It’s support. It’s…part of caring for someone.”

“Right, but you’re married. Why would you want a girlfriend?” you asked, your voice quiet and uncertain. 

Natasha answered before Wanda could. “Because she wants someone she can bend over and ruin in every way imaginable, and unfortunately for her, I don’t bend”.

Your brain stalled. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your chest. Your thighs pressed together instinctively beneath the island as your mouth opened, then closed again without a single usable thought behind it.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed, but she shot her wife a flat look. “Natasha!”

Natasha held her hands up, unapologetic. “Just answering the question.”

Wanda gave you a sheepish look before reaching for your hand, her touch barely there, like she was testing the waters. “Yes, I want someone to dominate, someone who craves that kind of care and control. But it’s not just about that.” Her gaze held yours, searching for understanding. “I want someone I can truly connect with. Someone to nurture.” She paused, the weight of her words sinking in. “Someone who feels like the missing piece of us.”

You blinked slowly, trying to process it. The heat still lingered from Natasha’s remark, but now it was layered with something deeper, something heavier.

“That’s a lot of ‘I want,’” you mumbled, not accusing, but cautious. “Not much ‘we want.’” You glanced toward Natasha, your brow furrowed. “You don’t seem entirely comfortable.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was even, but not without tension. “If I weren’t okay with this, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. Period.” But it wasn’t dismissive. It felt more protective and defensive.

“She’s just like that,” Wanda added gently, brushing her fingers along Natasha’s arm. “Hard to read. Scary, even when you don’t know her. But once she lets you in, once she trusts you, she’s a softie. Aren’t you, my love?”

Wanda smirked, deliberately teasing, and Natasha rolled her eyes with a dark chuckle.

“Don’t start,” Natasha warned, her tone low and dangerous in the way that made you shiver. “I can still bend you over this counter and spank you black and blue.”

Your breath hitched, a full-body reaction rippling through you. Wanda stiffened next to you, visibly flustered, and the silence that followed was electric.

“So…very soft,” you muttered, trying to lighten the tension, cheeks blazing. “Clearly.”

They both laughed, unable to resist your silly joke and playful teasing. And you loved it, hearing them laugh was something you wanted to experience over and over again.

“I know I come off cold,” Natasha said after a beat, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “And I definitely don’t look as thrilled as Wanda, but last time hurt. Deeply.”

Your chest ached with the weight behind her words. “If we did this, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

She studied you carefully, “I know,” she said simply. “That’s why I agreed. I see something in you. I see why Wanda has been obsessed with you.”

“Wait, obsessed with me?” you asked, blinking. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Natasha laughed. “For the last week, it’s been nothing but the cute girl in the café. How she wanted to bring you home, feed you, wrap you up in soft things.”

Wanda groaned into her hands, face flushed.

“She didn’t know this would happen, of course,” Natasha continued, tone more serious now. “But even then, she wanted to take care of you. And after last night and today…I kind of get it.”

You looked between them, Wanda, cheeks glowing, eyes bright and so clearly excited she was practically vibrating; and Natasha, lounging in her seat with the same stillness she always carried, but her gaze was steady, direct, and for once not unreadable at all. She looked…open. Present. 

And for the first time, you let yourself imagine it. Not just the idea, but the reality, the weight of Wanda’s gaze on you every day, the brush of Natasha’s hand as she passed you your coffee, the sharp crackle of energy that sparked when they were both looking at you like this.

“So, say I was interested,” you said slowly, testing the words like they might burn. “What would happen now?”

Wanda lit up instantly, her smile spreading like sunlight. “Well,” she began, scooting an inch closer, “first things first, we’d have a long conversation. Kinks, limits, safe words, what you want, what you don’t, how you like to be spoken to, how you don’t.”

Your excitement faltered for just a second, replaced by the uncomfortable ache of uncertainty. “But I’m so new. I don’t know my limits, or much about my kinks.” You averted your eyes, suddenly self-conscious. 

Wanda’s grin turned wolfish, slow, and unmistakably pleased. “Oh, I can think of a few ways we could figure those out.” Then, catching herself, she tempered it with a gentler look, her voice dipping. “But seriously, it’s okay not to know. That’s why we talk. That’s why we go slow. You’ll learn what you like. What you need. But we do need to talk about hard limits. Safe words. Things that are never okay, even by accident. We take that seriously.”

You nodded, the fire in your stomach flaring again. You were out of your depth. Utterly. But you also didn’t want to run from it. The very idea of exploring that, with them, felt like a door you hadn’t realised you’d been waiting to open.

Natasha shifted beside you and stretched, her back arching until her shoulders cracked. “Alright,” she muttered, standing up. “If we are getting into negotiations, let’s move this to the sofa. My ass is going numb.”

Wanda chuckled, standing too. “Good idea, my love.” Then she turned to Natasha, her eyes holding a warmth in them that always seemed to take you by surprise. “Could you grab us some water?” she asked, her voice gentle, but there was an unmistakable tenderness in the way she looked at Natasha, as if the simple request held more than just practicality.

Natasha was already moving toward the fridge, but tossed a smirk over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Think she’s gonna need it.”

Your mouth dropped open at the implication, and Wanda laughed, swatting vaguely in Natasha’s direction.

“Don’t mind her,” she said with a wink. “She just likes watching people squirm.”

“Says you,” Natasha said with a cheeky grin, handing you a bottle of water with a wink as she walked past.

Wanda rolled her eyes and took your hand gently in hers. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable. No pressure, okay? Just…a conversation.”

—

You moved into the living area with quiet, hesitant steps, the plush carpet soft beneath your feet, almost muffling the way your breath hitched. You perched on the edge of the couch, turning sideways so your back could rest against the armrest, knees drawn protectively to your chest. 

The position felt safer, smaller. You wrapped your arms around your legs and fidgeted with the water bottle Natasha had handed you earlier, the condensation slipping over your fingers, grounding you just enough.

Wanda was beside you. Close enough that her warmth licked at your foot when she shifted. The contact was minimal, but it might as well have been a brand. 

Across from you, Natasha dropped into the single chair with deliberate ease, spreading her legs slightly as she settled in, one arm draped casually over the armrest. The posture looked relaxed, but everything about her screamed alertness. 

Wanda’s smile was the first thing to break the tension. It was gentle and warm, but there was something behind it, an intensity, an undercurrent of purpose. “There we go,” she murmured, glancing at Natasha briefly, something unspoken passing between them. “Much better.”

Natasha tilted her head, eyes still fixed on you, and offered a crooked smirk. “Time for the interrogation,” she said smoothly, voice teasing.

Wanda rolled her eyes, a quiet huff escaping her, but the fondness there was unmistakable. “Ignore her,” she said lightly, but her gaze sharpened as it returned to you. “Let’s start easy. Do you have a safe word?”

You blinked. The question landed like a stone in a still pond, sending ripples of nervous energy through you. Your eyes darted between them, unsure who to focus on. “I…I mean, no? I’ve never really needed one,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Your grip tightened on the bottle. “But, uhm, my roommate, she told me about the traffic light system?”

Wanda’s entire face brightened with approval, her lips parting in a pleased little smile that somehow managed to be both reassuring and a little bit proud. “Perfect,” she said, her voice velvet-soft, a touch of something nurturing curling around the word. “We use that too. Simple, but effective.” She paused, head tilting thoughtfully. “Do you know how to communicate when you can’t speak? One tap or squeeze for green, two for yellow, three for red.” Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “It’s important that we can always understand you, no matter what.”

You nodded slowly, some of the fear easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, we talked about this stuff,” you said quietly, your voice gaining strength. You looked down, a bit embarrassed. “Kind of a lot, actually.”

Across from you, Natasha let out a soft chuckle, a low, smoky sound that somehow made you feel both exposed and seen. “Well, that’s handy. Means we can get to the fun stuff much quicker.”

“Fun stuff?” you echoed, almost involuntarily. There was a nervous lilt in your voice, your eyes widening the moment the words slipped out.

Wanda’s lips curled, slow and deliberate, like she was tasting the tension in the room. “Fun stuff,” she echoed, her voice dipping into something darker, more intimate. “When we get to explore all those delicious, twisted things you want to explore.”

The room felt warmer, the air thick with unspoken tension. The words lingered, hanging in the space between you like a tangible weight, their promise settling low in your belly. Wanda let the silence stretch out, watching the way you shifted, just enough to make her smile to herself. Then, her tone shifted, gentle, like she was offering you a fragile reassurance. “But we’ll go slow. I promise.”

A flush crept up your neck, spreading like spilled ink. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. “I…I don’t really know what I like yet,” you murmured, the confession small, uncertain. “I mean, what I know, it’s mostly from my roommate. And, like…Tumblr. Who knew there were so many kinks?”

“Oh, yeah,” Natasha said, smirking again, “if it can be done, there’s a kink for it. All power to them, but there’s some stuff I don’t like, personally. Piss and shit, for example? That’s a hard limit for me.”

You grimaced instinctively, your whole body recoiling just a little. “Yeah…I don’t want that.” 

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a look, then turned identical smiles on you.“Good girl, setting limits already,” Wanda said, her voice dipped in approval.

Your breath hitched. The praise struck something raw and electric inside you, sending a sharp flutter through your chest. Heat pooled low in your belly once again, your fingers twitching and your body fidgeting.

Natasha saw. Wanda definitely saw.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Wanda teased, her smile sharpening into something wicked. “I guess we should note potential praise kink down?”

Your face burned, but you nodded, voice barely a whisper. “I think so…but I, uhm—” You chewed your lip, hesitating, the words stuck in your throat. 

Wanda’s hand brushed yours, her touch gentle but reassuring, her eyes soft with encouragement. “You can tell us, sweetheart. You’re doing great,” she murmured, her voice low and patient.

You swallowed hard, heart racing. “I think... I like the idea of being degraded, too,” you admitted, barely audible. Wanda’s lips parted slightly, her gaze sharpening with interest, but she didn’t rush you. She just stayed close, nodding, silently urging you to continue.

You forced the words out, feeling exposed. “And I want to try things that hurt. I—” You trailed off, eyes closing in embarrassment. Wanda’s hand tightened around yours, steadying you, her gaze warm but intense. She didn’t press, just waited for you to finish.

“I had some uhm, reactions when I was reading about them,” you mumbled, too shy to look at her.

Natasha let out a low hum of approval, almost like a growl. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, eyes gleaming with interest. Wanda, on the other hand, was a mix between softness and looking like she wanted to eat you alive, like every word from your mouth made you more delicious, more precious.

“God, you’re perfect already,” Wanda whispered, breathless.

Before you could bask in the warmth of that too long, something sparked in your memory. “Oh! But face slapping,” you said quickly, like the words were chasing each other out of your mouth. “I saw that a lot. And that is a big no. I know that for sure.”

Wanda’s expression shifted, like she wanted to ask, but she didn’t press. “Understood. Noted,” she said, her voice honest and protective. “That’ll never happen then, Sweetheart.”

What followed was a long, very intense conversation about kinks and limits. Natasha would throw out possibilities with the same casualness as asking what someone would want for dinner, and every reaction you gave, every squirm, every soft gasp or wrinkle of your nose was noted with precision. 

Wanda was softer, coaxing things from you like secrets, watching how your body responded more than what you said. 

You were surprised by how long your “I want to try this” list became. The “absolutely fucking not” list was far shorter, and that thrilled you more than you expected.

Eventually, Wanda reached for your hand, her touch deliberate and comforting. “So,” she started, voice gentle but firm, “we also need to talk names. What you like to be called. And what we’d like to be called.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Names?”

She nodded, face open, gaze warm. “Mm-hmm. Titles. Terms of endearment. Pet names. Dynamic-specific ones, if they feel right. Not everything has to be sexual, sometimes, they’re just about grounding. About knowing your place with us, even when we’re not touching you.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Okay. Like what?”

“Well, I like ‘Sweetheart,’ ‘Darling,’ ‘Honey,’ ‘Baby,’ obviously,” Wanda said, her tone light and teasing. “And then there’s ‘Malyshka,” she added, her voice softening, the playful warmth shifting into something deeper. She paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before locking eyes with you, a shadow passing through her gaze. “It can mean two things, baby girl, or...”

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as the tension between you thickened. “O…or?”

“Little One,” Wanda whispered, her words barely audible, but they hit you like a soft, lingering echo that stayed with you long after she'd spoken.

The words landed like a heavy blow to your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t help the sudden heat flooding through you, the way your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your gaze darted away, cheeks flushing hot, a mix of shock and something more flooding your system, a whimper falling from your lips.

Wanda noticed your reaction. Her voice was thick with something dangerous and darkly intimate. “That one hit, didn’t it?” she asked, her smile slow and predatory.

You couldn’t answer, your mouth too dry, but the frantic nod of your head told her everything she needed to know.

Natasha’s voice broke through, amused and approving. “Sweet,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “I like it too. It suits you.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, flushed, heart still hammering in your chest, but desperate to stay grounded. “So I  just pick one?” you asked, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Wanda’s smile curled at the edges, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Or all of them,” she replied, her voice teasing. “If you want them.”

"I…I like them," you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I don’t really mind any pet names. Use whatever feels right. And if I don’t like it, well, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell."

Wanda’s gaze sharpened, her fingers moving to your chin with a quiet firmness, her expression taking on a subtle sternness. "No," she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You’ll tell us, understood? Don’t expect us to just know. You need to speak up, okay?"

Something about the firmness in her gaze made your stomach twist. You weren’t used to being asked to speak up, to set boundaries. But there was something in her tone that made you want to try. You nodded, voice small but steady. "Okay. I will."

You barely had time to process Wanda's words before Natasha leaned forward slightly in her chair. Her gaze held a mischievous edge that contrasted with Wanda’s warmth. Her lips curled into a slight smile, the playful glint in her eyes a stark contrast to the serious conversation before.

“My suggestions aren’t quite as cute as Wanda’s,” Natasha said, her voice dipping lower, teasing. “Kotenok or Kitten is what hits me when I look at you. Skittish. Soft. Trouble.”

Another jolt surged through you. Your breath caught again. “Yeah…Yeah…Kitten is good.”

Natasha gave you a slow, approving smile, her eyes glinting with a darkness that made your heart skip a beat. “Perfect, Kotenok (Kitten), ” she murmured, her voice low and controlled. “And just so you know, I tend to lean toward Russian pet names, so you’ll probably hear lots of them, for example, ‘Detka,’ ‘Krasivaya Devushka,’ and maybe even ‘Printsessa.’” (Babe/baby, Pretty girl, Princess). She paused, a hint of mischief in her gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what they all mean...over time.”

The sound of those words, so fluid, coming from Natasha’s lips, melted you. Her accent thickened as she spoke, each syllable rolling off her tongue with a slow, deliberate grace. Her voice lowered an octave, and the heat in her gaze made it feel like the room was getting warmer. You couldn’t understand a single word, but it didn’t matter. You’d take whatever she said, in any language. 

Wanda’s fingers tightened around yours, her grip grounding you as you spiraled from Natasha’s words, like she knew exactly how they’d rattled you. Her touch pulled you back, steadying you, while her voice held you in place. “And for us,” she said, her eyes locking with yours, “we do have our preferences.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. Dread and excitement twisted in your belly, knotting together as you felt both women’s gaze on you, different yet equally intense.

Wanda’s smile shifted, becoming something darker, something more dangerous, as she leaned in closer, her breath warm on your ear. “I like being called Mommy.”

Natasha’s voice rang out with no hesitation, deep and commanding. “And I like Daddy.”

It wasn’t just the words, it was the way they said them. Wanda’s voice had a lulling, dangerous sweetness to it, pulling you closer, inviting surrender. Natasha’s tone was firm, commanding, like it could settle deep in your bones, leaving no room for doubt. The combination hit you like a lightning strike, every nerve in your body humming with heat.

“Shit,” you breathed, too overwhelmed to filter your response, the heat from both of them starting to burn through you.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a slow, wicked smile, her eyes glinting with something dark and hungry. “Good shit or bad shit?”

You squirmed under her gaze, trying to stay grounded, but the pull of both women was too much. “I think you know the answer.”

“Maybe I do,” Natasha purred, her voice low and thick with authority, making your pulse spike instantly. She didn’t budge from her chair, but somehow, it felt like she was moving closer to you with every word, the force of her presence suffocating, undeniable. “But maybe you should be using your words, like Mommy asked you to. Tell Daddy you like the idea, Kotenok (Kitten).”

You almost whimpered, but the sound barely escaped, a tremor running through your chest. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, shaken with the weight of everything swirling inside you. The words were raw, pulled from somewhere deep, but before they could consume you completely, Wanda’s voice cut through the haze.

“Natasha,” she said, the warning in her tone undercut with a hint of amusement. “Stop teasing her. You’re not helping.”

Natasha didn’t look the least bit sorry. Her grin only grew, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I think she needs way more than teasing.”

Heat flooded your body, pooling low in your belly. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, betraying you in the most humiliating way. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but every glance, every word from them twisted something inside you. 

You couldn’t keep it in anymore, and an embarrassingly desperate whine escaped, slipping through your clenched teeth. The sound was part shame, part desire, and it made everything tighten further.

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, their eyes darkening in unison, their expressions sharpening, and just like that, they both knew. They saw everything.

“Don’t…don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled, voice small, barely audible as you dipped your head in an attempt to hide the blush burning your skin. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

Wanda laughed, soft and syrupy, the kind of sound that made your skin prickle. “What are you embarrassed about, baby?” she cooed, her voice laced with mock-innocence, almost cruel in its sweetness.

You shook your head quickly, too overwhelmed to speak. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, voice fraying at the edges.

She moved then, just a slight shift, barely more than a lean, and her fingers were under your chin again, before you could prepare for it. Cold rings pressed against your skin as she tilted your face up, slow and deliberate, until you were forced to meet her eyes.

“See, I don’t think it’s nothing,” Wanda murmured, her tone lower now, closer, more intimate. “I think you’re aching, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

You nodded before you even realised you had, your body moving before your mind caught up. It was as if instinct had taken over, bypassing any hesitation. Wanda’s smile grew, a wicked, tender thing, all at once.

“If it helps…” she whispered, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear, “you’re not the only one.” A pause, and then, “I’ve been wet since the first time you whimpered for me, Sweetheart.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs. Your breath faltered, eyes widening in disbelief. You stared at her, frozen, your mouth hanging open, utterly stunned. A tremor ran through you, the need swelling inside you until it became almost unbearable. You couldn’t form the words, couldn’t bring yourself to speak, but all that ran through your mind was touch me .

Your reaction must have sparked something in Wanda, because her hand shifted from your chin to rest softly against your cheek. Her teasing tone fell away. "Hey, baby, you with me?" she asked, her concern breaking through. "I’m sorry. Did I come on too strong?"

You shook your head almost violently, desperate to push the thought away. No, that wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t the issue at all. The problem was how badly you wanted it. How much you needed something you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“I want—” The words faltered, getting stuck in your throat. You pressed your lips together, heart hammering in your chest. It felt too soon, too much. Even with everything that had been said, could you really ask for this already? What if they turned you away? What if they saw you as desperate? What if you weren’t enough?

Wanda’s brows lifted, but her voice stayed gentle. “Want what, Malyshka (Little One)? ”

Your whole body had jerked at the sound, a shiver crawling up your spine. The way her accent deepened when she said that word? It hit you like a lightning bolt, confirming you had definitely found a new kink. Between her and Natasha, it was inevitable. 

You were squirming now, eyes clouded with need, chest heaving with every breath. Without even thinking, your hips shifted, searching for some kind of pressure, any relief, but there was none. It was mortifying, how easily your body betrayed you, how quickly you fell apart under her voice.

Wanda’s smile curved, a glint of something dangerous in her eyes as she watched the way your body moved, squirming under the weight of her words. "Do you want some...help?" she asked, her voice light but carrying an edge, her smile sharp and knowing.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Your throat tightened, as though it had forgotten how to form words. But in the end, it didn’t matter. You nodded, just once, barely a movement, but it felt like surrender, as though you were offering yourself up to whatever came next.

Wanda’s hand stayed gently resting against your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin in slow, rhythmic motions. She watched you unravel, and there was a deep sense of pride in her voice when she spoke. “There you go,” she whispered, the words dripping with satisfaction. “That’s our girl.”

You swallowed hard, fighting to hold onto any semblance of control. Your eyes flickered to Natasha before you could stop them, as if your body had remembered she was there even though your mind had momentarily shut her out. She still sat across the room, lounging in that chair, watching you intently, like a predator assessing its prey.

Wanda noticed the glance, and she leaned in close, her voice dropping low, a soft murmur that sent a shiver through your whole body. "Don’t worry about her," she whispered, her lips brushing your skin as her words sank in. "We agreed she would just watch for today...Our Little One isn't ready for Daddy just yet."

You couldn’t help the tremor that ran down your spine at her words. They hit you like a wave, crashing into you, making your knees fall open slightly without thinking. Your breath stuttered in your throat, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wanda cooed, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. Her hand slid down from your cheek to your throat, not squeezing, not threatening, just holding. Her eyes scanned your face for your reaction, and when it was positive, she continued. “You are wound so tight, aren’t you? That pretty little head of yours is spinning.”

You whimpered again, more desperate now. You didn’t know if you wanted her to stop or keep going. Everything inside you was tangled up in heat and shame and the most exquisite ache you’d ever felt.

Wanda kept her attention locked on you, fingertips grazing down your arm now, slow and deliberate, every inch she touched feeling like it burned. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised, her voice velvet-smooth. “But you’re going to ask me for it. Properly. When you’re ready.”

You blinked up at her, wide-eyed and flushed and completely overwhelmed. “I don’t…I don’t know how,” you admitted, your voice high and shaky, barely audible.

Wanda’s expression softened again. “That’s alright,” she murmured. “We’ll teach you. That’s part of it. You don’t need to know anything right now. Just that you’re safe. And that we’ll never take what you don’t give.”

She reached for your hand again, lacing her fingers with yours like before. “You’re doing so well already. I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes stung. Her praise hit harder than anything else had, like you’d been starving for it without realising. Your body ached, but your chest swelled, heat blooming there like sunlight.

Then Wanda kissed you, and it felt like something out of a dream. No urgency. No rush. Just her lips brushing against yours like a question, like she was waiting for you to answer with your body. 

Her lips were impossibly soft. She kissed you like you were made of paper, fragile and water-damaged, and she didn’t want to leave a single mark, yet.

Your breath caught the moment her tongue brushed the seam of your mouth, just a test, and you gasped softly, lips parting for her before you could stop yourself.

That was when the first noise slipped out of you. Not a whimper, not yet, just a soft, aching little sigh, like your lungs didn’t know how to hold the heat.

Wanda pulled back the tiniest bit, her mouth hovering so close you could still taste her breath. She smiled. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice low and sweet, like honey melting over hot skin. “Don’t think. Just feel me.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn’t know where to put them. You were too nervous to grab her, too overwhelmed to keep still. Every nerve felt raw. Every breath was tight and shallow.

And across the room, Natasha hadn’t moved. She was just watching, her gaze heavy on your flushed face. She hadn’t spoken for a while, but you could feel her approval like a pulse in the air.

Wanda’s kiss deepened slowly. She coaxed your mouth open, tongue slipping past your lips in a way that made your toes curl. Every sound you made just seemed to encourage her, every little whimper, every gasp against her mouth. You could feel yourself trembling and hated how obvious it was…but she didn’t mock you for it. She kissed you harder.

You didn’t realise how fast your chest was rising and falling until she pulled back to speak. “Is it too much?” she asked, voice quiet and close to your ear. Her hand stroked the side of your neck, grounding. “You can tell me, Honey.”

You shook your head, throat tight. “Not enough,” you whispered, and the shame hit immediately, face burning, eyes wide. You couldn’t believe you’d said it out loud.

Wanda made a sound low in her throat, a soft, breathy laugh, thick with delight as she tilted her head to better drink you in. “Oh,” she murmured, voice just shy of mocking. “You’re already there, aren’t you?”

Her lips pressed gently to your cheek, then lower, brushing your jaw, lingering at the corner of your mouth like she was savouring you already.

“Lie back for me,” she said, light and coaxing, but with a flicker of something reverent beneath the teasing. “I need room if I’m going to worship you properly.”

Your arms trembled as you moved, slowly unfolding yourself. You hadn’t even realised how tightly you’d curled inward, hugging your knees to your chest like that might somehow contain the ache building inside you. As if protecting yourself from just how much you needed this.

But Wanda didn’t push. She didn’t rush. She simply waited, her hands stroking slowly down the outside of your thighs in patient, grounding passes, keeping you tethered.

You eased back until you were open to her, lay back, knees bent, feet flat on the sofa cushions, and her mouth dropped open as she looked at you, legs parted just enough, flushed and breathing too hard.

Wanda’s fingers slid under the hem of the loose tee you had borrowed. Her touch was light, her voice even lighter. “Can we see you properly, Little One?” she asked, with none of the teasing from earlier, just soft patience.

You nodded.

But Wanda’s fingers stilled completely against your skin, her touch suddenly so still it burned. Her head tilted slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours with dark, patient hunger. “Words, darling,” she murmured. “Tell Mommy you want them off.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, breath catching on the way out. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible. “Please…Mommy. Take them off.”

Wanda let out a groan that melted into something almost desperate. The title lingered in the air like smoke, curling possessively around her. Her eyelids fluttered as she breathed through the heat. “God, you sound so good when you say that, baby,” she moaned, voice thick with want. “Such a good girl for me.”

Wanda’s fingers twitched back to life, the pause over. She dragged them down the soft line of your stomach, her touch reverent now, like she was unwrapping a gift. 

She pushed the hem of the shirt slowly, watching your face more than your skin, reading the way your breath hitched and your chest rose. Her hands were warm, steady as she eased it off you entirely, guiding your arms up and over without a word.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, and you were. You hadn’t even realised it until she pressed her lips to your shoulder, slow and open-mouthed, breathing in the scent of you like it grounded her. “You’re being so brave for me.”

Your face burned as she then reached for the drawstring of your joggers, slipping it loose with deliberate care. She didn’t rush. She didn’t tease. It wasn’t about making you squirm; it was about seeing you, piece by piece, letting you feel every second of it.

She slid the fabric slowly over your hips, the backs of her knuckles grazing sensitive skin on the way down. “Lift your hips for Mommy, baby.”

You obeyed without hesitation, thighs quivering as you raised your hips, trusting her completely. In one fluid motion, Wanda drew your joggers and underwear down together, baring you to the cool air and to her gaze.

Then you were exposed, and Wanda just…stared. Like she couldn’t quite decide where to look first, like every part of you demanded her full attention.

Her hands settled instinctively on your thighs, her thumbs tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin as her eyes darkened. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, reverent and a little awed. Then, without looking away from you, she spoke to her wife, “Natasha, look how pretty she is.”

Heat flared instantly in your face. Your eyes flicked toward the chair across the room before you could stop them, and there she was. Natasha hadn’t moved an inch, still lounging like a queen at rest, but her mouth was curled into a sharp, pleased little smile. Her gaze caught yours and didn’t waver, all dark promise and deliberate patience.

A quiet, shameful sound escaped your throat, and Wanda lit up. “Oh,” she laughed, wicked and delighted. “I knew it. You like being watched.”

Mortified, you dropped your head back onto the cushion and slapped a hand over your face, trying to hide. But Wanda only laughed again, sugar-sweet and cruel in the way that made your stomach flip.

“No, Little One,” she scolded gently, tugging your hand away with ease. “None of that. You don’t get to hide, not when you’re this perfect.”

You whimpered again, thighs twitching as your hips shifted against the cushions. Your legs squeezed together, then fell open, helpless. You couldn’t stay still. Every part of you was burning.

Wanda tilted her head, her lashes low, eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “Such a sensitive little thing,” she whispered, the words sliding like velvet over your skin. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Before you could speak, she leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that left you aching in the chest. Her hand slid up, not between your legs but along your waist, curling around your side to hold you close.

Her mouth moved across your face, over your jaw, and down your neck, where she latched onto your pulse, sucking deeply, deliberately. The sensation jolted through you, and before you could even think, your body arched into it, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Wanda's lips lingered, the bite sinking deeper, her mark burning into your skin like a brand, sending heat spiraling out in waves across your chest. 

You whined, your body trembling beneath her, every nerve alive with the intensity of her touch. She hummed against your throat, her tongue sweeping over the mark, and her breath came slow, heavy, each exhale a silent promise of more.

“There,” she breathed, her voice thick with a dark, possessive pride, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she pulled back just enough to study the mark she’d left on you. "God, you look so fucking perfect with my mark on your throat."

Your hips bucked involuntarily, the possessiveness in her tone winding around something deep inside you. She chuckled low, pressing her palm flat to your stomach to keep you still. 

“Settle down,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another, then lower. Her hands moved as she did, slow and reverent. She wasn’t trying to rush to anything, she was worshipping you. Making sure you felt every graze of her teeth, every soft scrape of her nails down your sides, every lingering kiss as her mouth charted a path down your trembling body.

When she bit you again, just under your ribs this time, you jolted, another high noise bursting out before you could stop it. She soothed it immediately, nuzzling into your side like she couldn’t bear to be apart from you, even for a moment.

“I love those little sounds you make,” she murmured. “So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

You were already trembling, your body humming like a live wire, and she hadn’t even really touched you yet. But you could feel it. The slick heat between your legs, the desperate, aching want that coiled tighter with every second. 

When Wanda shifted, sliding lower down the sofa and settling between your thighs, your breath caught in your chest like a punch.

“Breathe for me, Little One,” she said softly, her voice gentling as both hands returned to your thighs. Her thumbs moved in slow, soothing circles, grounding you with each pass. “You’re doing so well, but you need to breathe.”

You nodded shakily, dragging in a broken gasp, lungs finally loosening under her attention. Wanda leaned in and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, right at the apex, so close it made you twitch. 

Her breath ghosted over slick, flushed skin, and then she kissed again. And again. Gentle. No bite this time. Just lips. Warm and reverent and unbearably soft.

You sobbed at the sensation, legs twitching, instinctively trying to close around her head, but her hands held you open.

“Are you ready for me, Sweetheart?” she murmured, looking up at you with eyes too focused, too careful, like nothing else in the world existed except your answer.

You nodded, then remembered. Words. She needed words. “Y...yes,” you managed, voice cracking. “I’m ready.”

Wanda smiled, proud and soft and utterly devastating. “Good girl,” she praised. Her hand slid slightly higher, teasing. “Now tell me what colour you are, hm?”

“G...green,” you blurted, the word high-pitched, nearly a whimper. Your body clenched with the surge of heat the check-in triggered, need sparking sharply under your skin. “I’m green.”

Her smile deepened, and she nodded. “That’s my good girl. And if you want to stop?”

You let out a desperate, wounded little whine. “Yellow or red,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please, Mommy, please! I’ll say it if I need to just—”

She let out a soft chuckle, a kiss pressed between your thighs. “I’ve got you. Keep your legs open for me,” she murmured. And you opened up for her, you knew you would do anything she asked of you, right now. 

As you obeyed, Wanda let out a breath, slow, shaky, like she needed the moment to collect herself. Her palms skimmed up the insides of your thighs, warm and firm, coaxing you open even further, keeping you bared beneath her gaze. She didn’t rush. Just held you there, eyes drinking you in like something sacred.

“You’re going to be so good for me,” she murmured, voice low and velvety, thick with heat and something deeper. Not a question, not quite a command, more like a vow. Her gaze flicked up, locking with yours. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded too fast, too eager, once again forgetting words. Your head fell back against the cushion, mouth open as you sucked in shallow breaths, dazed and trembling.

Wanda’s fingers pressed just a little harder into the soft flesh of your thigh, a subtle squeeze. A quiet correction, not born of anger but patience, like she was guiding you, gently coaxing obedience into instinct.

Her voice followed, low and coaxing, velvet over steel. “Ah-ah. Use your words for me, Sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you breathed, so desperate it came out as a sob. “Yes, I’ll be good, Mommy. I promise! Please—”

Wanda smiled. She didn’t respond with words. She lowered her mouth instead.

The first touch of her tongue was impossibly soft, barely more than a kiss, just a warm, wet brush that sent your whole body taut. You let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a moan and a cry, hips twitching, only for her palms to flatten against your inner thighs and hold you steady, immovable.

She pulled back immediately, her lips wet and shining, her eyes dark with something feral, in a way that made your stomach flip. “Stay still,” she murmured, voice low and commanding, and it hit you somewhere deep.

You froze, muscles trembling with the effort, breath catching in your throat. But the way she looked right now? Flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes fixed on you like she was starving for more? You didn’t even need her touch. That look alone was enough to ruin you.

Nonetheless, she leaned in again, slower this time, licking a flat stripe up your centre, and you nearly came from the sound alone. The soft, slick drag. Her low hum. The soft, wet suction as her lips closed around your clit for just a second before pulling away again.

A loud moan spilled from your throat as your back arched off the sofa. “Oh, Mommy!”

Wanda hummed, pleased and hungry, her voice dipping lower, raspier, heat threaded through every word. “Does that feel good, Little One?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “You taste so sweet…”

And then, Wanda truly began. Her tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing you with maddening precision, as if she had all the time in the world to explore every inch of your cunt. 

Each flick, each circle sent electric jolts through your body, teasing and torturing with perfect timing. Every pause felt like an eternity, just long enough for you to think she might be done, only for her to dive back in, harder, deeper. 

Wanda slid her arm beneath your thigh and lifted, settling your leg over her shoulder like you weighed nothing at all. You let her. You didn’t even think; your body just obeyed, limp and aching and wide open. 

The moment her tongue ran through your folds again, your hands found her hair, gripping it with a desperate urgency that made your knuckles throb. You clung to her like she was the only anchor in a storm, your body trembling with need. 

The words spilled from your lips without hesitation, desperate and raw. “Mmmm, Mommy! Yes, please…don’t stop…more!” you begged, voice shaky, almost frantic. You didn’t care anymore, didn’t care how desperate you sounded. All that mattered was the aching hunger inside you, the overwhelming need that Wanda was slowly, perfectly, fulfilling.

Her tongue pressed deeper, more purposeful, sliding through your slick folds with aching precision. Every stroke came with a little more pressure, a little more hunger, as if your taste had lit a fuse in her. 

She moaned softly against you, the sound sending a shock through your spine, and her hands gripped tighter, one anchoring your thigh, the other still holding you down as you writhed below her.

She found a rhythm that made you keen and she circled, sucked and licked at your clit like she wanted to drag it out until you forgot how to do anything but fall apart for her. 

“Such a good girl,” Wanda breathed against you, her voice wrecked with hunger and lust. The words vibrated through you, each syllable soaked in pride, in possession. “So sensitive…look at you.”

Heat poured off you in waves. You were burning. Every inch of your skin felt too tight, every nerve alive and screaming. Her mouth didn’t relent, and your body responded with sobs, helpless, choked little cries that crawled up your throat unbidden. 

You were shaking, desperate for release but far too overwhelmed to ask for it, like your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to run or fall apart right there beneath her.

Your eyes squeezed shut, vision swimming, the world narrowing to nothing but her, her mouth, her voice, her hands. Until you heard, “Look at her.” A low, smooth voice cut through the haze, amused and dark. Natasha. “Wanda, you’re going to break her.”

It hit you like a lightning strike. Shame and arousal collided so violently that it knocked the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t believe you’d forgotten she was there. But of course she was. 

But now, her voice cut through the fog, pulling you from the tight grip Wanda had on you, the overwhelming rush of sensation temporarily halted as your face flushed with heat. The reality of the moment hit harder than the pleasure had, and yet, it anchored you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Wanda didn’t look away from you. She didn’t even pause. Her mouth just closed over your clit again, firmer now. Your thighs tensed under her grip. Your back lifted. You were sobbing her title like it was the only thing you knew. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”

“Shh,” she whispered,  “You’re okay. You’re doing so well.”

You were too far gone to respond. Your mouth opened, a moan catching in your throat and sticking there as you ground helplessly into her mouth, chasing your pleasure. 

Wanda moaned into you, it was low, deliberate, a sound soaked in hunger, and the vibration of it rippled straight through your core. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t restrained. It was carnal, shameless, and it nearly undid you on the spot. 

Your whole body jolted like it had been struck, legs trembling as you continued to grind into her face as the pleasure spiked white-hot and unbearable. 

Wanda then chose to experiment with another of the kinks you mentioned, her voice rough as she spoke. “Mmm such a desperate whore,” she moaned. “Grinding your cunt into Mommy’s face, such a dirty little girl.”

And that…that…was what broke you. You’d suspected, thanks to those deep dives on Tumblr, that it would do something to you…But hearing it for real, hearing it from Wanda . It didn’t just undo you, it detonated something inside you.

You were spiralling now, clinging to the sensation, chasing the edge that felt so close you could taste it. You needed to fall. You needed it, more than breath, more than sense, more than anything you’d ever needed before.

“I...I’m—” The words got stuck in your throat, too tangled up with the raw ache consuming you. “Please!” The plea came out desperate, ragged, your voice a broken whisper of need.

Wanda lifted her mouth just long enough to look up at you, her chin glistening, her eyes blown wide with hunger. “Let go,” she whispered. “Cum for me, Malyshka (Little One). ”

And you did. You shattered. Loudly, helplessly, trembling so hard your teeth nearly chattered, a scream tearing from your throat as every nerve in your body lit up and snapped loose all at once.

Wanda didn’t stop. She licked you through it, steady and patient, never pulling away even as your thighs clamped around her shoulders and your hips jolted beneath her mouth. She drank every twitch, every sob, until you were limp and gasping and twitching from overstimulation.

Only then did she slow, then finally, finally pulled back. Her face was flushed, her lips red, eyes dark and glassy with want.

She looked up at you like she wasn’t quite done. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, crawling back up over your trembling body. “If this weren't our first time, I wouldn't be finished with you yet.”

You were whimpering, breath catching in your throat over and over like you couldn’t get enough air.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Wanda whispered, her hands feather-light now, reverent. “You did so well for me. You were perfect.”

You were too far gone to speak. You blinked up at her through wet lashes, barely able to focus, your whole body trembling with the aftershocks of everything she’d pulled from you.

Wanda leaned down and kissed you. You tasted yourself on her mouth, but all you could feel was the way she held your face in both hands like you were breakable now, like she wanted to kiss every cry back into your body.

She reached for you with both arms and pulled you straight into her chest, tucking your head beneath her chin. You folded willingly, instinctively, curling into the heat of her body as though it was the only place in the world you’d ever felt safe. She held you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, the other stroking along your spine in long, calming passes.

“There we go,” she murmured, so soft it was nearly inaudible. “Come here, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t, not yet. But you clung weakly to her hoodie, your fingers barely gripping the hem, and Wanda’s mouth found the crown of your head and kissed it, slow and sure and overflowing with something too full to name.

There was movement to your left, measured and careful. Natasha. She had been quiet the whole time, hadn’t touched you once. But now she approached with something folded in her arms.

“I thought this might help,” she said, voice hushed.. She knelt beside the couch, holding out both the bottle you’d left earlier and a thick, soft blanket.

Wanda adjusted you slightly so she could reach without disturbing your place against her chest, accepting both items with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

She opened the blanket first, shaking it out one-handed with practiced ease, and Natasha helped drape it over your back and shoulders, tucking it in so gently it barely felt like anything at all. Still, the weight of it made your chest wobble with an aftershock of emotion; it was warm, soft, and it covered you. Like a shield. 

You made a tiny sound, something caught between a sigh and a sob, and Wanda only pulled you tighter. “You’re not vulnerable, Little One,” she whispered into your hair. “Not here. Not with us.”

Natasha’s hand briefly, barely brushed over your shoulder as she pulled the blanket more snug around your side. Then she leaned in, close enough that you could smell her perfume, and offered you the water, unscrewed and waiting.

“Slow sips,” she said gently. 

Your hands shook, but Wanda helped you guide the bottle, letting you rest against her chest as you drank. You managed a few small sips before your throat threatened to close again, overwhelmed by everything by touch, by sound, by being seen. You pulled back slightly, your eyes watery, and Wanda was already there, thumb brushing the side of your face.

“That’s enough for now,” she said softly, taking the bottle and setting it aside. “You did so well. Just breathe.”

You nodded, barely, and Wanda held you even closer, curling one leg beneath her on the sofa so she could keep your body entirely against hers. She wrapped the blanket more securely around your back, and her lips found your temple, your cheek, your jaw. Every kiss was slow. Careful. Anchored in a depth of feeling that made your chest ache.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured. “You gave me everything, and you were so brave.”

Natasha shifted subtly, her gaze soft and steady. Her voice was lower now, gentle in a way it rarely was. “You were breathtaking,” she said. “Really.”

You blinked at her, breath hitching, but all she did was reach out and brush your hair out of your face, her touch light as air. You hid your face again in Wanda’s neck, overwhelmed all over again, but in a way that felt like comfort. Maybe even like home. 

—

The rest of the day was a haze of comfort and unease. Wanda stayed by your side, her touch unyielding, grounding you whenever you felt adrift. She kept you close, either holding you or brushing against you constantly, her presence soft and reassuring. 

It was as if she sensed something was off, that your mind was clouded, your thoughts scattered, and your body delicate. You couldn’t fully settle, but Wanda was there, pulling you back whenever you zoned out. Her smile, warm and steady, reminded you she was present, even when you couldn’t quite make sense of what you were feeling.

Natasha, on the other hand, had pulled away. As the day wore on, she became more distant, both physically and emotionally. The same barrier that had seemed to lift during your earlier conversation had slammed back into place, stronger than before. You couldn’t shake the feeling that she was second-guessing everything now that it had all become real. 

The thought struck harder than you expected, a sharp ache in your chest that wouldn’t let go. A wave of loneliness, of abandonment, washed over you, and you couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it hurt so much? You barely knew Natasha, so why did it matter? 

As the day went on, Wanda seemed to sense the unease building within you. She noticed the glances you cast toward Natasha, the way your gaze lingered. Each time, she’d murmur something soothing, reassuring you that it was okay, that Natasha just needed time to process her own feelings. 

And in some way, that helped. Wanda didn’t seem concerned, her belief that this wasn’t the end giving you a strange sense of comfort. If she wasn’t worried, maybe you didn’t need to be either. Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax into that belief.

When it was finally time to leave, Wanda’s sadness was obvious. She kissed you gently on the cheek, her touch lingering as she looked at you with eyes full of things left unsaid. Natasha, though, had a different expression. Her smile was faint, polite, but you could sense the relief in her that the day was over. 

Before you left, Wanda made sure to add both her and Natasha’s numbers to your phone, and then put yours in theirs. She followed it up by insisting you log into her Uber account. “You’re not paying for rides to our place,” she said, her tone firm but gentle, as though the matter was settled. Her quiet confidence made it clear this wasn’t just a one-time thing. You’d be back, she was certain of it, and somehow, that certainty gave you a strange sense of comfort, even as your emotions swirled inside.

You left their house feeling lighter, but still overwhelmed. The quiet warmth of Wanda’s comfort stayed with you, but so did the knot of uncertainty in your chest. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the weight of starting college. You didn’t know how you’d handle it, but for now, you just had to move forward.

—

Your first day of college had dragged on, with it being the first day, there was absolutely nothing interesting, just a never-ending loop of syllabi readings and assignments you could barely muster the energy to care about. Every class felt like a lecture in monotony, and you found yourself wondering, for the umpteenth time, why you’d even bothered to sign up for this. 

You slouched into your seat, dragging your feet like the rest of the half-dead students shuffling in behind you. 

You scanned the syllabus again, hoping maybe you’d missed something less soul-crushing the first time. Nope, dense readings, no extensions, mandatory participation. You didn’t know much about the professor for this class beyond the basics: she was strict, she was demanding, and she didn’t tolerate nonsense, and you could see that in her syllabus.  

One class left. One more hour, and then you could go home, grab something greasy, and let Kate grill you about your mysterious Saturday night. You weren’t looking forward to that conversation, but at least it wasn’t another lecture.

Then the door opened, and everything came crashing down.

You barely looked up at first, expecting someone completely forgettable. Sensible shoes. A cardigan. Maybe a sigh as they pulled out their notes. But then you glanced up, and your stomach plummeted.

It was Natasha.

No. No. Not Natasha.

Professor Romanoff.

Your body froze, rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. Shit. You hadn’t asked her last name. Hadn’t asked what she did for work. You’d just assumed she was something powerful, a lawyer maybe. Never in your worst nightmares had you imagined she'd be standing at the front of your classroom, like she hadn’t just watched her wife tear you apart on their sofa the day before.

She moved to the front like she owned the ground she walked on. Back straight, jaw set, and when she turned to address the room, her eyes swept over the crowd like a searchlight, briefly landing on you. For a split second, your breath caught, but there was nothing in her gaze. No recognition. No warmth. Just a cold, professional indifference.

“Good afternoon,” she said, her voice low, controlled, and sharp. Just as you remembered it. “I’m Professor Romanoff. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours. And yes, they’re true. I expect discipline and respect. Follow my rules, and we’ll have no problems. Break them, and you’ll be out of this class without hesitation.”

Your chest tightened, and your head went foggy. Every word out of her mouth hit you like a wave crashing over you, one after the other, drowning you. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your body buzzed with disbelief.

The rest of the class became a blur. She spoke, she walked through slides, she gestured to the syllabus, but all you could hear was static. Every syllable of her voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, scraping across your skin. The tension built in your chest until it was suffocating.

By the time class ended, you bolted from your seat, nearly knocking into someone in your haste to escape. The cool air outside was a relief, thin and sharp, but at least it wasn’t soaked in her perfume or her unyielding authority.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and your heart skipped a beat.

Natasha: We need to talk. Meet me at the gas station. You know the car.

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. A part of you wanted to switch your phone off, go home to Kate, crawl into bed, and pretend the message didn’t exist. But the other part, the one still reeling from how Natasha had looked straight through you like a stranger, knew ignoring her wouldn’t make this go away. It would only make it worse.

You texted Kate a rushed excuse and made your way to the gas station. Natasha was already parked, sunglasses on, face unreadable. You knocked lightly on the window. She didn’t say a word, just motioned for you to get in. You did.

“Where…where are we going?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if speaking was even allowed.

“To see Wanda,” she said tightly, jaw clenched. “This is going to break her heart.”

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t dare say anything else. Neither did she. The car ride passed in tense, suffocating silence, your pulse hammering harder the closer you got. By the time she pulled into the driveway, your stomach was twisted in knots.

Wanda opened the door with a smile, immediately pulling Natasha into a hug, her voice light. “Hi, my love,” she said, then glanced past her to see you, small and shaking behind. “Nat? Why’s our Little One here, looking like that?”

“Maybe she should explain,” Natasha said, her voice low, each word bitten off with sharp precision. The calm she’d worn like armour since she saw you cracked at the edges now, something colder slipping through, something furious. 

Wanda blinked, visibly confused, her gaze shifting between the two of you as she guided you both inside with careful hands. 

Inside, Natasha stayed standing, rigid, coiled across from you, while Wanda hovered by your side, concern etched into her brow. “Did something happen?” she asked carefully, though her eyes were already searching yours, catching how you shook.

Natasha let out a bitter laugh, dry, humourless, and dangerous. “You could say that,” she snapped, then turned to face you, eyes narrowing like twin blades. “It happened again, Wanda. We’re being used.”

The words were a slap. Your heart stuttered, and beside you, Wanda’s head snapped toward her wife, brows pulling into a deep, confused frown. “What?”

“She’s in my class,” Natasha spat. “My fucking class. She played the innocent routine, wormed her way in, probably thought that whoring herself out would get her better grades.”

“Natasha!” Wanda’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

But you were already gasping. “N-no,” you managed to get out, “that’s not true! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

Natasha stepped closer. “You expect me to believe that?”

Yes!” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know! I never saw your full name! The portal just said ‘Professor Romanoff’ and there wasn’t even a photo, I…I didn’t know it was you! I swear, I swear—!”

You backed up instinctively. Wanda’s hand caught your elbow, but it wasn’t grounding; your whole body was trembling, heat rising to your face, your limbs cold.

“No?” Natasha’s voice sliced through the air, cold and sharp, every word like a lash. “You just happened to end up in my class, right? You think I’m stupid?”

The words hit you like a freight train, but it wasn’t just the anger that crushed you; it was the way it landed, sharp and bitter, just like everything you’d heard your whole life. Your heart pounded in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, the words rushed out, desperate, broken.

“No! I’m the stupid one, okay?” you screamed, your voice high-pitched and strangled, raw with panic. The pressure in your chest felt like it might suffocate you. Your mind spiraled, racing through a thousand memories, a thousand voices all telling you the same thing. It was all crashing down on you, everything you feared, everything you hated about yourself, flooding to the surface.

“I’m stupid! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, please, just, please believe me, please!” The words rushed out, tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know you were my professor! I should’ve known, I should’ve checked! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m just…I’m stupid, I’m so stupid…” Your voice broke, your knees feeling weak, your mind a blur of self-doubt.

You could barely see, everything blurred behind a wall of hot, stinging tears. The room faded around you, all sound drowned out by the roar of your breathing, the relentless pounding of your heart in your ears. You were spiralling, free-falling into that familiar place, the one carved out by years of being wrong, being too much, not enough, always failing. You had ruined everything again. 

You didn’t see Natasha’s expression shift, didn’t catch the way her posture softened, the fire in her eyes dimming into something far more fragile, fear, concern, guilt. You didn’t notice her step forward, slow and cautious, pulled not by anger anymore but by instinct, by the quiet, urgent need to soothe. You didn’t see any of it.

All you registered was her hand rising toward your face. And your body reacted before your thoughts could. You flinched, violently, arms flying up to shield yourself, your whole body recoiling with a panicked jolt. You stumbled back, your breath catching in your throat, eyes wide and glassy with terror as you braced for impact.  

Natasha froze. Her hand hung in the air, suspended in horror, fingers trembling. The colour drained from her face as the realisation hit: you were afraid of her. And it was clear that someone else had carved that fear into your bones long before now.

“Detka…(babe)” she breathed, voice shattered, barely more than a whisper.

You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at Wanda either. You kept your arms up like a shield, like you could somehow disappear behind them, like maybe if you were small enough, quiet enough, sorry enough, they’d forget you’d ruined everything.

“I didn’t mean to….I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know,” you choked out, your voice thin and brittle, like glass about to crack. “I wasn’t trying to get anything from you, I wasn’t…I wasn’t using you, I wouldn’t, please.”

Your knees buckled slightly, your whole frame shaking, and finally, Wanda moved. “Oh, Sweetheart,” she whispered, rushing to your side, gently wrapping an arm around your waist before you could collapse completely. 

Her hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you in, holding you like you might break apart. “No, no, darling, no one’s mad at you, okay? You’re okay, I promise, you’re safe.”

Natasha hadn’t moved. She was still standing in place, her jaw slack, her hand slowly lowering as her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes were locked on you, wide and glassy.

“I thought—” she tried, but her voice failed. She swallowed hard, blinking fast, like she couldn’t quite breathe. “I thought it was happening again.”

Wanda glanced over her shoulder at her wife, her voice still low but firm. “She didn’t know, Nat...It was just fate.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered. “I know that now. I just, when I saw her in that room, it felt like before.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it since the moment she walked into the classroom. 

You peeked up through your lashes, finally daring to meet her eyes. The anger was gone. All that was left was guilt and something painfully soft.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Natasha said, slowly, deliberately, her voice aching with apology. “I was, shit, I was trying to comfort you. I didn’t think—”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, because it was all you knew how to say.

Wanda stroked your hair gently, her voice firm. “You don’t need to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.”

But still, the words hung between the three of you like smoke.

Natasha stepped forward, painfully slow, eyes flicking from you to Wanda and back again. She crouched a little, dropping down to your level, her voice raw and barely holding together. “Can I…?” she asked, hand hovering just inches from your arm. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitched, but you gave the smallest nod.

The moment her fingers brushed your skin, everything in Natasha crumbled. She sank the rest of the way down, arms folding around you gently as Wanda kept one around your shoulders. The weight of both of them wrapped around you, solid and warm.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha murmured. “ We’ve got you.”

Natasha didn’t let go. Not for a long moment. Her arms stayed around you, gentle and steady, never demanding, just there, like a tether, like she was trying to imprint your shape into her bones, as if by holding you now she could somehow make up for every second she hadn’t before. You felt the way her hands trembled, how her breath caught against your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, the words cracking on the way out. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a single fucking thing. This is on me. All of it.”

Your body was still stiff, every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring, your breaths coming in hiccupping, uneven bursts, your chest aching from how fast your heart was racing. But even through the storm inside you, you didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when her voice sounded like it was breaking apart just to reach you.

“I should’ve seen you,” Natasha murmured, forehead pressed gently to your shoulder. “I should’ve looked. I should’ve listened. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own shit, too scared of being used, too angry to even ask. I didn’t give you a chance. I just assumed the worst. And I...”

“Nat…” Wanda said softly, a hand on her back now, grounding her.

But Natasha shook her head, voice raw. “No. She needs to hear this.”

She shifted just enough that you could feel the ghost of her breath against your throat, her hands still steady on your sides, but now you noticed the shake in her fingers. Not from rage. Not anymore.

“You looked at me like I was going to hit you,” she whispered. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. But I need you to hear this, I will never hurt you like that. Not ever. Not unless you ask for it. Not unless we talk about it, plan for it, and make it safe.”

Your voice was barely audible, crushed beneath the weight of your own guilt. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I didn’t know. I should’ve…I should’ve guessed, I should’ve asked, I’m so stupid—”

“Stop.” Wanda’s voice broke through, warm and firm. Her fingers tipped your chin up, her eyes locking with yours, full of calm and command. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to know everything.”

You whimpered, a soft sound full of doubt and disbelief, but you didn’t look away.

“You’re not stupid,” Natasha echoed, gentler now, her hand brushing your cheek in the softest touch. “I can tell you’ve been taught to expect the worst. To believe it’s always your fault. You’ve been made to apologise for existing, haven’t you?”

You nodded without meaning to, like your body had been waiting for someone to say it out loud for years.

And Natasha’s whole expression shifted, darkening, not with fury at you, but at the unseen ghosts still haunting you. Her voice dropped, low and furious, like a promise carved in steel. “Just one word from you, and I’ll destroy them, just tell me, Little One, and I’ll fix it.”

The title caught you off guard, like a splash of sunlight after days of rain. Your chest fluttered. Your heart squeezed.

“Little One?” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, fragile and shaking under the weight of your doubt. “I’m still your Little One? After everything? You didn’t even want me in the first place…surely you can’t want me now?”

Natasha’s face crumpled, like it physically pained her to hear you say that, and in that instant, everything she had been holding back cracked wide open.

“Sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice raw, fingers trembling as they cupped your face. “Stop. Please. I wanted you. I want you. I care about you more than I ever thought possible.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I was scared of how you made me feel. It came on so fast, and I didn't expect to care so soon. But you were so perfect with Wanda. So soft, so beautiful. And I pulled away because I was so afraid of getting lost in you, but fuck, I don’t care anymore. I’m done being scared.”

Behind you, Wanda’s arms tightened around your waist, pressing herself into you as if she, too, needed this moment of vulnerability. “We want you. Both of us, ” Wanda said quietly, her voice steady but full of feeling. “Don’t ever think we don’t.”

Your voice cracked as you looked at Natasha, your eyes full of uncertainty. “But…what about college?”

Natasha gave a small, determined shrug, the weight of her resolve settling in her gaze. “We’ll make it work. I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever. You’re ours.”

And in that moment, with both of them holding you, Natasha’s forehead pressed to yours, her grip grounding you like she was afraid to let go, Wanda’s warmth surrounding you from behind, you finally leaned into them completely. 

That day had changed everything for both you and Natasha. For the first time in your life, you knew, without any doubt, that you could finally drop your walls.

Natasha, too, had her own shift. She realised, with a painful clarity, that by clinging to her past wounds, she wasn’t just hurting herself. She was hurting you. She was hurting Wanda. And even though you’d only known each other for a matter of days, there was a deep understanding between the three of you. 

You felt it in your bones, the unspoken certainty that this was just the beginning. Something beautiful, something real, was waiting to grow between you all.

At first, despite the growing trust, things weren’t always easy. Especially when it came to punishment. There were moments, early on, when the balance wasn’t yet settled, when the rules were still new, still unfamiliar. Punishments were more frequent as you navigated this delicate dynamic, learning where the boundaries lay. 

But any time you flinched in that way, any time your mind betrayed you, when the old instincts to recoil and protect yourself kicked in, they were there. They’d stop. They’d call the safeword, and the world would pause. 

In those moments, no matter how intense the scene, no matter how harsh the lesson, they always made sure you knew one thing: you were safe. “Safe” wasn’t just a word; it was a promise. 

With each moment they showed you that you were cared for, each time they respected your limits, it became easier. And then, eventually, there was a shift. You stopped flinching. You stopped questioning, stopped second-guessing. 

The trust settled into you like a warm embrace, a sensation so profound you hadn’t even known it was possible. In their presence, you were safe, utterly, completely safe, and the weight of that truth was something you’d never imagined could exist. 

Vulnerability no longer felt like a weight; it became a gift, something you could offer freely, without fear, because they had shown you that you didn’t need to protect yourself anymore. They would do that for you now. And in that space, you learned to give them everything, your trust, your heart, your willingness to surrender it all.

Because you knew, deep within your bones, that they would handle it with a tenderness, a devotion, that made you feel like you had finally come home.

—

Did I need to make this as angsty as I did? Probably not. But did I do it because I love exploring how trust builds after darkness? Definitely. What can I say, a damaged girl needing care and love is my thing. Sorry, not sorry. Hope you still enjoyed it!

The apartment was a disaster zone of Christmas decorations.

Boxes were stacked everywhere—on the couch, on the coffee table, scattered across the floor in various states of being unpacked. Garland draped over chairs. Ornaments were spread out on every available surface, waiting to be sorted and hung. The tree stood in the corner, only half-decorated, looking slightly lopsided because they were still arguing about whether it needed to be straightened.

It looked like Christmas had thrown up in their living room.

And Natasha was loving every second of it.

She was sprawling on the floor in her usual comfortable around-the-house clothes—dark jeans, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. There was tinsel stuck to her sock and she had a smudge of something glittery on her cheek, but she looked relaxed and happy, sorting through a box of ornaments they'd collected over the years.

Wanda, meanwhile, was up on a stepladder, hanging garland along the top of their bookshelf. She was wearing leggings and one of Natasha's old sweatshirts, her hair tied back with a scrunchie, and she had that adorable focused expression she got when she was trying to make something look perfect.

"Does this look even to you?" Wanda asked, stepping back slightly on the ladder and nearly losing her balance.

"Careful—" Natasha was up in a second, steadying the ladder with both hands. "Don't break your neck over garland."

"I'm fine. Does it look even?"

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to study it critically. "It looks great."

"You didn't even look at it."

"I was looking at you. You look great. Therefore, by the transitive property, the garland looks great."

"That's not how that works." But Wanda was smiling as she climbed down, and Natasha couldn't help but grin back.

They'd been decorating for about two hours now, and they were maybe halfway done. It was slow going, partly because they kept getting distracted—stopping to debate where things should go, or to untangle lights, or to just kiss for a few minutes because they could. There was no rush. No timeline. Just them and their apartment and way too many Christmas decorations.

"Okay, what's next?" Wanda surveyed the chaos. "Tree ornaments?"

"Tree ornaments," Natasha agreed, dragging over one of the larger boxes. "I think most of them are in here."

They settled on the floor together, Wanda crossing her legs and Natasha stretching hers out, and started unpacking ornaments. Some were fancy; glass balls they'd bought at a Christmas market in Prague. Some were handmade; including a truly hideous clay Santa that Clint's kids had made for them last year that they were obligated to display. Some were random things they'd picked up over the years, each one with its own little story.

Wanda pulled out a small ornament and held it up, her face lighting up. "Oh, this is cute!"

It was a candy cane. A little glass candy cane ornament with red and white stripes, tied with a green ribbon at the top.

Natasha opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then very deliberately looked away.

"What?" Wanda asked, already standing to hang it on the tree.

"Nothing." Natasha's voice was slightly strained.

"You made a face."

"I didn't make a face."

"You absolutely made a face. What's wrong with the candy cane?" Wanda hung it on a branch, adjusting it so it caught the light just right.

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's great. Very festive." Natasha focused very intently on the ornament she was holding—a little silver bell that definitely didn't require this much attention.

Wanda gave her a suspicious look but didn't push it. She went back to the box and started pulling out more ornaments, handing some to Natasha and keeping others to hang herself.

They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of ornaments and the Christmas music playing from Wanda's phone. Natasha was doing fine. Totally fine. Not thinking about anything inappropriate at all.

And then Wanda pulled out another candy cane ornament.

"Oh, we have two of these!" Wanda sounded delighted. "I forgot about this one. Did we buy these together or—"

"I think one was from that Christmas market and one was from Target," Natasha said, her voice slightly higher than normal. She cleared her throat. "They're nice. Very nice. Candy canes. Great Christmas symbol. Very traditional."

Wanda paused, ornament in hand, and looked at her. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Fine. Great. Why?"

"You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

"You're definitely being weird." Wanda hung the second candy cane ornament next to the first, then turned back to the box. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Natasha said, maybe a little too quickly. "Nothing's going on. I'm just decorating. Normal decorating. Very normal."

Wanda's eyes narrowed, but she let it drop, turning back to the box of ornaments.

And then, because the universe apparently hated Natasha, she pulled out a string of candy cane lights.

"Oh my god, I forgot we had these!" Wanda started untangling them, holding them up. Little candy canes, lit from within, attached to a white cord. "These are so tacky they're perfect. We should put them in the window."

Natasha made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been someone dying inside. Possibly both.

"Seriously, what is your problem?" Wanda asked, pausing in her untangling to stare at Natasha.

"I don't have a problem."

"You're being so weird about these candy canes."

"I'm not—" Natasha cut herself off, pressing her lips together firmly. She was not going to say it. She was not going to make the joke. She was a mature adult in a committed relationship and she was NOT going to—

"They're just candy canes, Nat. They're literally everywhere at Christmas. I don't understand why you're being so weird about—"

"I have a candy cane," Natasha blurted out.

Silence.

Wanda blinked. "What?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Natasha's face was red now, and she was very focused on a glass ball ornament that suddenly required all of her attention.

"No, what did you just say?"

"I said nothing. Let's just keep decorating."

"Natasha." Wanda's voice had that tone now, the one that meant she wasn't letting this go. "What do you mean you have a candy cane?"

Natasha mumbled something under her breath.

"I didn't catch that."

"I said—" Natasha looked up finally, meeting Wanda's eyes with a mixture of embarrassment and poorly suppressed amusement, "—I have a candy cane. In the bedroom. Red and white. Very festive."

It took Wanda a solid five seconds to process what Natasha was implying. When she did, her mouth fell open.

"Are you—did you just—" Wanda's face was rapidly turning pink. "Are you talking about your strap?"

"It's red and white!" Natasha said defensively, but she was grinning now, unable to help herself. "I bought it last week. It's festive! Holiday themed!"

"Oh my god." Wanda put her face in her hands. "What the actual fuck, Natasha."

"What? I thought it was funny!"

"You bought a red and white striped strap and you're calling it a candy cane?"

"I mean, it does kind of look like one—"

"I cannot believe you." Wanda was still hiding behind her hands, but Natasha could see her shoulders shaking slightly. Laughing or horrified, it was hard to tell. Possibly both. "You've been sitting here trying not to make that joke for the past twenty minutes, haven't you?"

"More like forty-five," Natasha admitted, and she was definitely grinning now. "Every time you pulled out another candy cane thing, I was dying. I was trying so hard to be mature about it."

"Clearly you failed."

"I made it pretty far though! That's growth!"

Wanda finally lowered her hands, and she was definitely laughing now, even as she was shaking her head in disbelief. "You're ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I love you, but you're insane."

"You love it."

"I love you despite it." But Wanda was smiling, that fond exasperated smile that meant she was amused even as she was pretending not to be. "A candy cane strap. Really?"

"It's thematic!"

"It's ridiculous."

"Can't it be both?"

"No." Wanda picked up another ornament, deliberately not looking at Natasha. "We're not talking about this anymore. We're decorating. Like normal people. Having a normal Christmas decoration day."

"Okay." Natasha picked up an ornament too, but she was still grinning. "Normal decorating. Got it."

They went back to decorating in silence, but it was a different kind of silence now. Charged. Wanda kept glancing at Natasha when she thought she wasn't looking, and Natasha could practically see the gears turning in her head.

Good.

They finished decorating about two hours later. The tree was fully dressed, lights twinkling. Garland hung perfectly (after three attempts and one minor argument). The candy cane lights were in the window. The hideous clay Santa had a place of honor on the mantle. Everything looked perfect and festive and exactly right.

"I'm going to make hot chocolate," Wanda announced, stretching. "Want some?"

"Obviously." Natasha started breaking down the empty boxes, consolidating them for storage. "With marshmallows?"

"Is there any other way?"

Wanda disappeared into the kitchen, and Natasha could hear her moving around, the sound of mugs being pulled from cabinets, the microwave humming. She finished with the boxes and was just shoving them into the hall closet when she heard the sound of plastic crinkling.

She walked into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

Wanda was leaning against the counter, waiting for the microwave, and she had a candy cane in her mouth. An actual candy cane, the kind you hooked on your mug or just ate because it was Christmas and candy canes were everywhere. She was sucking on it absently, scrolling through her phone with her free hand.

Natasha's brain short-circuited.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked, her voice coming out rougher than intended.

Wanda looked up. "Hmm? Oh, the candy canes. They were in the decoration box. I think Kate gave us a whole bag last year." She went back to her phone, adjusting the candy cane in her mouth. "They're pretty good. Want one?"

"No, I'm—" Natasha cleared her throat. "I'm good."

"You sure? They're peppermint."

"Yeah, I can see that." Natasha was definitely staring now. Wanda had no idea what she was doing, just innocently sucking on a candy cane while waiting for hot chocolate, but Natasha's brain had officially left the building.

The microwave beeped. Wanda pulled out the mugs, added marshmallows, stirred them carefully. The whole time, the candy cane stayed in her mouth, red and white stripes, her lips wrapped around it as she sucked absently.

Natasha was going to die. She was going to spontaneously combust right here in their kitchen.

"Here you go." Wanda handed her a mug, and Natasha took it automatically. "What do you want to watch? I was thinking maybe that Christmas baking show—"

"I've got a candy cane for you," Natasha said.

Wanda blinked. "What?"

"I said—" Natasha set down her mug very carefully, "—I've got a candy cane for you. If you want to suck on something."

There was a beat of silence where Wanda just stared at her, the actual candy cane still in her mouth, processing what Natasha had just said.

Then she took the candy cane out of her mouth slowly, looking at it, then at Natasha, then back at the candy cane.

"I love you," Wanda said slowly. "I love you so much. But what the actual fuck, Natasha."

"What?" Natasha was grinning now, unable to help herself. "I'm just making an observation. You seem to like candy canes. I happen to have one you might enjoy—"

"You are INSANE."

"—it's very festive—"

"I cannot BELIEVE you just said that to me—"

"—and I think you'd look really good—"

"NATASHA."

But Wanda was laughing now, actually laughing, even as she was shaking her head in disbelief. "You're impossible. Absolutely impossible."

"But you love me."

"I'm reconsidering it." But Wanda was setting down her own mug now, moving closer. "You really bought a red and white strap?"

"I did."

"And you're calling it a candy cane."

"It's thematically appropriate."

"It's ridiculous."

"It's both." Natasha reached out and pulled Wanda closer by the hips. "Want to see it?"

Wanda looked at her for a long moment, and Natasha could see her trying to decide. Trying to figure out if she was really going to indulge this absolutely ridiculous bit.

Then she rolled her eyes—but she was smiling. "Fine. Show me the candy cane."

"Really?"

"You've made the joke like six times now. I feel like I have to commit to the bit at this point."

"I knew you'd come around." Natasha was already pulling her toward the bedroom, grinning like she'd won the lottery.

"I'm only doing this because I love you," Wanda said, but she was following willingly. "And because you're going to be insufferable about this until I do."

"Probably true."

"Definitely true." But Wanda was smiling, that particular smile that meant she was more interested than she was pretending to be. "This is so stupid."

"The stupidest."

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"And yet you are."

They reached the bedroom, and Natasha went immediately to their closet, pulling out the harness and—yes—the red and white striped dildo she'd bought on a whim last week at that boutique downtown. She'd seen it in the window and immediately thought it was funny. Festive. Perfect for the season.

And also perfect for making Wanda simultaneously laugh and roll her eyes, which was one of Natasha's favorite pastimes.

Wanda looked at it and covered her face with both hands. "Oh my god, it's actually red and white."

"I told you!"

"I thought you were exaggerating! But it's literally—" She peeked through her fingers. "It actually looks like a candy cane."

"Right?" Natasha was already stripping off her jeans, pulling on the harness. "It's perfect."

"It's ridiculous."

"Still perfect." Natasha adjusted the straps, making sure everything was secure, then turned to face Wanda fully. "What do you think?"

Wanda lowered her hands, and her eyes immediately went to the strap. Red and white stripes, standing out proudly from the black harness. It did look like a candy cane. A very anatomically generous candy cane, but still.

"I think you're insane," Wanda said, but her voice had gone softer, rougher. "And I think I'm insane for being turned on by this."

"You're turned on?" Natasha's grin widened.

"Don't get cocky."

"Too late." Natasha moved closer, hands finding Wanda's hips. "So? Want to try my candy cane?"

Wanda groaned, but she was already pulling off her sweatshirt. "You're going to keep making that joke, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm going to milk this for everything it's worth."

"I regret this already."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't." Wanda pulled Natasha into a kiss, and it was immediately heated, desperate. "But you're still ridiculous."

"I know." Natasha walked her backward toward the bed. "But you love it."

They fell onto the bed together, Wanda landing on her back with Natasha above her, already working on getting Wanda's leggings off. The candy cane strap bobbed between them, and Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

"Stop laughing!" Wanda said, but she was laughing too, even as Natasha finally got her leggings and underwear off and tossed them aside.

"I can't help it. It's funny."

"It's stupid."

"Stupidly funny." Natasha settled between Wanda's legs, the strap pressing against her thigh. "Ready for your candy cane?"

"If you say that one more time—"

"What? You'll punish me?" Natasha grinned. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Wanda rolled her eyes so hard it had to hurt, but she was also spreading her legs wider, making room. "Just—come on. If we're doing this ridiculous thing, let's do it."

"So romantic."

"You want romance? You should've bought a normal strap."

"But where's the fun in that?" Natasha positioned herself, one hand guiding the strap. "Ready?"

"Yes," Wanda said, and then softer, more genuinely: "Yes, I'm ready."

Natasha pushed in slowly, watching Wanda's face the whole time. Watched her eyes flutter closed, her mouth fall open slightly, her breath catch. And god, she was beautiful like this. Always was, but especially now, with Christmas lights twinkling in the window and her face soft with pleasure.

"Fuck," Wanda breathed when Natasha was fully inside. "Okay. Okay, that's—"

"Good?" Natasha was already moving, finding a rhythm.

"Yeah. Really good." Wanda's hands came up to grip Natasha's shoulders. "Even if it does look like a candy cane."

"Especially because it looks like a candy cane," Natasha corrected, grinning. "Admit it. You love the candy cane."

"I'm not admitting anything." But Wanda was smiling, even as she rolled her hips to meet Natasha's thrusts. "Just—more. Please."

Natasha obliged, picking up the pace, angling her hips to hit that spot that made Wanda gasp. The harness rubbed against her in just the right way, sending pleasure sparking through her own body, but she stayed focused on Wanda. On making her feel good. On making her laugh and moan and forget about anything except this moment.

"God, Nat—" Wanda's nails were digging into Natasha's shoulders now. "Right there—just like that—"

"Yeah?" Natasha thrust harder, deeper. "You like my candy cane?"

"Oh my god—" Wanda was laughing and moaning at the same time, "—stop calling it that—"

"Never." Natasha was grinning, throwing her head back slightly as she laughed. "You're taking my candy cane so well, baby. Look how good you look—"

"You're RIDICULOUS—" But Wanda was laughing too, even as her body was clearly climbing higher, pleasure building. "Fucking ridiculous—"

"But you love it." Natasha adjusted her angle slightly, and Wanda cried out. "There we go. That's the spot."

She kept hitting that angle, kept the pace steady and strong, watching Wanda fall apart beneath her. It was beautiful and hot and also kind of hilarious, and Natasha couldn't stop grinning even as she was working to bring Wanda closer to the edge.

"Nat—I'm—" Wanda's words were broken, desperate. "I'm so close—"

"Cum for me," Natasha said, one hand sliding down to rub circles on Wanda's clit. "Cum on my candy cane."

"Oh my GOD—" Wanda was definitely laughing now, even as she was right on the edge. "You did NOT just say that—"

"I absolutely did." Natasha was laughing too, the ridiculousness of it all catching up with her. "Come on, baby. Give it to me—"

Wanda came with a sound that was half-moan, half-laugh, her whole body seizing. Natasha worked her through it, laughing breathlessly, absolutely delighted with herself and with Wanda and with this entire ridiculous situation.

When Wanda finally collapsed back against the pillows, breathing hard, Natasha was still grinning.

"I hate you," Wanda said, but she was smiling.

"No you don't."

"You made me cum while making candy cane jokes."

"I did." Natasha looked extremely proud of herself. "And it was amazing."

"It was ridiculous."

"Both things can be true." Natasha started to pull out, but Wanda's legs wrapped around her waist, stopping her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I thought—"

"You started this candy cane thing." Wanda's eyes were dark now, challenging. "So we're going to commit to it. Again."

"Again?"

"At least twice more. Maybe three times. I haven't decided yet." Wanda rolled her hips, and Natasha groaned. "Think your candy cane can handle it?"

"Oh, it can definitely handle it," Natasha said, already moving again. "Question is, can you?"

"Try me."

So Natasha did.

Round two was slower. More deliberate. Natasha took her time, building Wanda back up with long, deep strokes. She still made the occasional candy cane joke—couldn't help herself—and Wanda kept rolling her eyes even as she was moaning.

"You're taking my candy cane so well," Natasha murmured at one point, and Wanda actually laughed.

"Stop—oh god—stop making it funny when I'm trying to—"

"To what? Cum again?" Natasha grinned, picking up the pace. "Don't let me stop you."

Wanda came again with Natasha's name on her lips, and Natasha followed soon after, the pressure and friction of the harness finally pushing her over the edge.

They collapsed together, breathing hard, sweaty and satisfied.

"Okay," Wanda said after a moment. "I admit it. The candy cane is good."

"HA!" Natasha threw her head back, laughing. "I KNEW IT!"

"Don't get too excited. It's still ridiculous."

"But you like it."

"I like YOU. The candy cane is just a bonus."

"I'll take it." Natasha kissed her, soft and sweet. "Round three?"

"Give me like fifteen minutes." Wanda stretched, catlike. "And maybe some water."

"Deal."

Natasha got up to get water, and when she came back, Wanda was lying on the bed looking thoroughly debauched, her hair a mess, her lips swollen, her eyes bright and happy.

"What?" Wanda asked, seeing Natasha's expression.

"Nothing. You're just beautiful."

"Even after ridiculous candy cane sex?"

"Especially after ridiculous candy cane sex." Natasha handed her the water, then settled back down beside her. "Best Christmas decoration day ever."

"We're absolutely insane."

"Probably." Natasha pulled her close. "But we're having fun."

"We are," Wanda admitted, taking a sip of water. "And for the record? The candy cane strap is going to make an appearance every December now. This is a tradition."

"Really?"

"Really. It's stupid and funny and I love it." Wanda set down her water and rolled to face Natasha. "Plus, you're way too proud of yourself right now. It's cute."

"I am pretty proud of myself."

"You should be." Wanda kissed her. "Now. About that round three..."

Round three happened about twenty minutes later, after they'd both recovered and hydrated and Wanda had declared herself ready for more.

This time, Wanda wanted to be on top, and Natasha was more than happy to let her. She lay back and watched as Wanda straddled her, sinking down onto the red and white strap with a satisfied sound.

"Fuck," Natasha breathed, watching Wanda ride her. "You look so good like this."

"Mmm." Wanda's eyes were closed, her head tipped back, completely lost in the sensation. "Feels so good."

"Yeah?" Natasha's hands found Wanda's hips, helping guide her movements. "You like riding my candy cane?"

Wanda's eyes opened, and she looked down at Natasha with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "You're never going to stop with that, are you?"

"Never," Natasha confirmed, grinning. "It's too good. Look at you, taking my candy cane like such a good girl—"

"Oh my god—" But Wanda was laughing even as she was moving faster, chasing her pleasure. "You're so—"

"So what?"

"So ridiculous—so funny—so—fuck—" Wanda's words dissolved into moans as she got closer, her movements becoming more desperate.

Natasha watched her, transfixed. This was her favorite view—Wanda above her, taking her pleasure, looking absolutely gorgeous while doing it. She helped guide Wanda's movements, thrust up to meet her, did everything she could to make it better.

When Wanda came this time, she collapsed forward onto Natasha's chest, shaking and gasping. Natasha wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, pressing kisses to wherever she could reach.

"Okay," Wanda said when she could speak again. "Okay, I'm done. No more. I'm tapping out."

"You sure?" Natasha was grinning. "Because I could go again—"

"I'm sure." Wanda lifted herself off carefully, flopping down beside Natasha. "Three is my limit for ridiculous candy cane sex."

"Fair enough." Natasha started unbuckling the harness. "But you admit it was good?"

"It was amazing," Wanda admitted. "Ridiculous, but amazing. You're very proud of yourself right now, aren't you?"

"Extremely proud." Natasha set aside the harness and strap—she'd clean it later—and pulled Wanda close. "I made you come three times while making terrible puns. That's a win in my book."

"It's definitely something." But Wanda was smiling, snuggling into Natasha's side. "Our hot chocolate is probably cold now."

"We can make more."

"Later. Right now I don't want to move."

"Works for me." Natasha kissed the top of her head. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

"It's not Christmas yet."

"Early Merry Christmas then."

"Merry early Christmas." Wanda tilted her head up to kiss her properly. "Thank you for the candy cane."

Natasha burst out laughing. "I love you so much."

"Love you too. Even when you're making terrible puns during sex."

"Especially then."

"Especially then," Wanda agreed.

They lay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, warm and satisfied and happy. Through the bedroom door, they could see the Christmas tree twinkling in the living room, the candy cane ornaments catching the light.

"You know," Wanda said eventually, "we're going to look at those candy cane ornaments every Christmas and think about this."

"Good."

"That's not—that's not good, Nat. That's going to make decorating weird."

"It's going to make decorating fun." Natasha squeezed her closer. "Besides, you liked it."

"I did," Wanda admitted. "But I'm not going to let you buy holiday-themed straps for every holiday."

"Not every holiday—"

"No Valentine's Day heart strap."

"But—"

"No Easter bunny strap."

"I wasn't going to—"

"No Fourth of July patriotic strap."

"That's actually a good idea—"

"NATASHA."

"Okay, okay!" But Natasha was laughing. "Just Christmas then. The candy cane is a Christmas-only tradition."

"Good." Wanda settled back down. "I can live with that."

"But I make no promises about—"

"Nat."

"Right. Shutting up now."

They drifted into comfortable silence, and eventually got up to remake their hot chocolate and put on pajamas. They spent the rest of the evening on the couch, admiring their decorating work, watching Christmas movies, and absolutely not making any more candy cane jokes.

Well.

Mostly not making any more candy cane jokes.

Your footsteps sound out softly on the faded stone beneath your shoes. Normally, this hall would be full of other students, their voices bouncing off the walls as they make their way unhurriedly towards their next class.

Today, however, the halls were quiet. They typically were, at least, they were when you arrived. You like the silence, the old building seemingly waking up at an early hour, the stones sighing softly as they prepare for another day.

But maybe you're projecting.

You've always preferred to arrive early. While other students grumble about an 8:00 AM class, you were freshly showered and walking through campus at seven sharp. There was something comforting about being one of the only students awake.

The door to your first class opens silently, and you walk towards your seat. You didn't sit in the front row, but rather, the second row. The syllabus for your photography class mentioned a project starting this week. Specifically, a partnered project. You weren't too concerned, seeing as you'd already been practicing in your free time with a camera. You'd mastered (as much as a junior in college can master) the settings for different apertures and shutter speeds. You could see the different ISO's and their output in your mind. It all came down to simple math, really. And you'd always loved math.

Besides, there were plenty of competent students sitting around you. Any one of them could be a useful partner. Other students seemed to flock towards you in class. You weren't unaware of the whispers that followed you. You'd spent three years building up a reputation as a smart, hard-working student. You refused to let another student bring down your grades, so you were rather happy about the other students with the same determination to succeed surrounding you.

The only aggravating thing about this assignment was that the professor hadn't explained what the assignment would entail yet. You hated not having all the information. How were you supposed to prepare in advance without all the key parts of an assignment?

You're fiddling with your camera, having carefully extracted it from the padded bag you store it in, when your professor walks in.

"Early again, I see," she says, alerting you to her presence.

Looking up, you see a small smile at the corner of her lips, signaling her amusement.

"You know me, professor," you quip, holding up your camera. "I'm getting in the right headspace to succeed."

Professor Harkness chuckles, setting her bag down. "I do admire your determination," she says, turning towards you and raising an eyebrow. "I think this assignment will be quite difficult for you. It's based on emotion, not logic."

You frown, confused at what she means.

Leaning against her desk and crossing her arms, your professor explains. "Logic is useful, you know this. The logistics of a camera are important, and you know them very well. But right now, all you can do is use the camera."

She begins to roll up the sleeves of her loose dress shirt, her dark hair falling in front of her face slightly as she resumes speaking. "Art is not logical, however. Art is meant to bring feeling to the surface. Anyone can learn the science of math if they try hard enough, but not everyone has the same ability to invoke emotion using art. Knowing how to capture the composition of a photograph, and to edit it until looking at the photograph invokes the same feeling that you get when you're, say, standing in your grandmother's kitchen at three in the morning, now that takes skill."

Professor Harkness finishes rolling up her sleeves, brushing her hair out of her face as she smiles at you. "I look forward to watching you develop that skill. I have no doubt that you will. But it may take a while. This is going to be new for you."

You simply nod, feeling that familiar fire fill you. The one that keeps you going, that doesn't allow you to fall behind or fail. You will succeed. You have to.

The classroom is filled with a comforting silence as your professor sets up her laptop, connecting it to the projector at the back of the classroom. You spend your time thinking about compositions, emotions, and how different colors affect your mood.

The first few students trickle in, the clock above the door letting you know there are ten minutes until class starts. The seats around you begin to fill up, and you lose yourself in the conversations around you.

There is no bell to signify the start of class, but your professor slowly makes her way to the front of the room, plucking a shawl from her bag and wrapping it around her shoulders. It is a bit drafty in this classroom, after all.

She leans against her desk, and the murmurs of the students cease.

"Ah, just in time," your professor says, smiling as you hear the door slam closed.

The heavy thunk of combat boots sounds out, and you internally roll your eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Wanda Maximoff careflessly plop her bag next to a seat near the wall, sliding in and offering a quick, apologetic smile to the professor. She isn't late, but she's the last student in.

She always is. It aggravates you, for some reason. Doesn't she care about school? The thought of her grades makes you shudder. There was no way she was passing her classes easily. She never seemed to pay attention; the inside of her backpack was filled with loose papers, and she never seemed to have a pencil.

But somehow, she was still here. With the same heavy eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking softly. You genuinely wondered how long it took her to put on her rings, necklaces, bracelets, and chains wrapped around her belt.

Professor Harkness begins speaking, and you push all thoughts of Wanda Maximoff from your mind.

Your notebook is filled with your neat handwriting as your professor explains the assignment, reassuring the class that she will post the rubric online once class is over. You feel relief at that. You like it when your success can be calculated based on a rubric.

Everything goes downhill once Professor Harkness clicks into the next slide of her presentation.

Your photography class is small. Small enough, in fact, that every student's name fits on one slide.

"I've already assigned partners for this project," Professor Harkness begins, raising her eyebrows as murmurs break out across the room. You remain still, your eyes searching the board for your name.

There. Right next to…

Fuck.

Professor Harkness continues speaking, but you feel your face flushing in anger. How could she do this? She knew how important school was to you. And yet, she chose to pair you with Wanda Maximoff, of all people.

"As you can tell," your professor says, holding a hand up to quiet the murmurs. "Above each pair of names is a different emotion. I want each pair to come up with a series of ten photographs that convey that emotion. Don't worry," she smiles when the murmurs grow louder. "As long as you have solid reasoning for why each photograph conveys that emotion to you, you'll receive full points."

Professor Harkness looks around the room, her eyes catching yours for three seconds before she moves on to the next person. You're sure she can see the panicked look you're trying to conceal.

"Don't worry about the grade you'll receive on this project; it isn't meant to be challenging academically. Rather, I want you each to explore your assigned emotion with your partner and work together to capture it. This is about exploring art on a deeper level." Professor Harkness has grown more expressive at this point in her lecture, her eyes shining and her shawl falling off one shoulder as she gestures. "I'm excited to see what you all come up with. This project will cover the next few weeks of class, and the final critique and photos will be due on the 30th."

She goes on to explain her expectations, but you tune out her instructions even as you write them down, your mind elsewhere. You have to print out your final ten photos, and you won't be doing anything else in class besides working on this project.

God, you are so fucked.

"Alright," Professor Harkness claps her hands, her smile wide. "The rest of today is yours, and remember, have fun!"

You can't help but scoff. Softly, of course.

Adamantly, you stare at your notebook, your eyes reading the instructions you've written. You're not really paying attention, though; your ears are more aware of the combat boots that are drawing near.

Wanda Maximoff slumps down in the recently vacated seat beside you, her bag on the floor of the aisle. You choose not to comment on how rude it is to block the aisle, instead, turning your gaze to the board. Damn, why does Wanda smell like vanilla? It's so strong, you can barely focus. You've never really noticed before, but you've also never attempted to actually interact with the girl.

"It looks like our emotion is vulnerability," Wanda says, finally breaking the silence.

You glance at her, taking in her posture as she leans back in her chair. Her eyes are locked on the board, and you wonder why her ears are slightly pink at the tips.

"Is that even an emotion?" You murmur, before silently berating yourself for questioning the professor.

Wanda lets out a chuckle, and you look at her, surprised.

"I mean," she says, gesturing to the board, "Half of these so-called emotions are loosely defined as one, for example…"

Wanda squints at the board, and you blink at the way her nose crinkles. "Tension, is that really an emotion? Or, how about grief? That seems more like a culmination of emotions, doesn't it?"

You're surprised by the way she speaks. She sounds intelligent, like she knows what she's talking about. You hadn't expected that from her, but you'd also only heard her speak up in class about five times in the past three years.

"I- yeah," you say, quite lamely.

"We'll have to come up with a plan," Wanda says, her short fingernails tapping on the table. "You know, write a list of different things we think convey that emotion and then figure out how best to photograph them."

"That actually sounds like a really good plan," you admit, turning toward Wanda. She confuses you, but you refuse to let it get in the way of your grade for this project.

Wanda nods. "Thanks. You seem like the type of person to plan everything right away, so do you wanna come over tonight so we can fully figure this project out?"

You turn fully at that, looking at her dead on. She's looking back at you, her eyebrows raised slightly.

"Yeah," you say, your brows furrowing. "That's, I mean. How did you know that's how I like to do projects?"

"Well," Wanda smirks, "It's hard not to notice, especially since you only seem to care about your grades. Do you, like, do anything for fun?"

You try not to be offended by the question. "Of course I do."

Wanda tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. You've never noticed how vibrantly green they are. "Like what?"

Honestly, you hadn't expected to be put on the spot like that.

"I like to, uh, walk."

"Like, outside?"

You scowl. "Yeah, outside. Hiking and stuff. It's effective when you need to clear your mind."

"Do you need to clear your mind a lot?"

The question makes you pause. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Wanda just hums, and you can see her nodding from the corner of your eye. Her fingernails are painted black, and you can't help the way your gaze travels down her outfit. How does she manage to put on so many silver chains around her belt?

Professor Harkness announces the end of class, and you jolt. Wanda seems unaffected, her movements slow and languid as she scoops up her backpack, the zipper slightly undone. She flicks a piece of paper onto the table, and you look at her in confusion.

"My number," she says, tossing her backpack over one shoulder and gathering her hair out from under the strap. "Text me, and I'll send my address for tonight."

Oh. Right.

Wanda doesn't wait for a response, her boots sounding out solidly on the floor as she disappears out the door. Honestly, the whole class period has felt surreal. You catch Professor Harkness looking at you, and you try not to read too much into the knowing smile she wears.

Grabbing the paper, you shove it unceremoniously into your pocket. You'll text Wanda once your classes are done for the day.

—

Hey, is this Wanda?

-3:52 pm

yeah it is lol, is this my partner for the photography project

-4:13 pm

Yes. Send your address, please.

-4:16 pm

do u always use proper punctuation while texting

-4:37 pm

Yes. Send your address. I'll see you at 7:00.

-4:39 pm

—

Wanda's apartment complex isn't what you'd been expecting. It's in a nice part of town, and there's even an access code just to get through the front door. You text Wanda, telling her that you've arrived, and look around while you wait.

Luckily, you don't have to wait long. You're watching a woman with her small white dog as they walk, smirking at the way the dog pulls at his leash, when the lock disengages.

Turning, you just stare as Wanda opens the front door to her apartment building.

The silver jewelry is gone, save for her multiple earrings. She's wearing a thick hoodie and sweatpants, and you can see drops of dried paint on both of them. Her thick eyeliner is mostly wiped off, but you can still see some faint smudges around the eyes.

"Hey, come on in," she says, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

You follow her up the stairs, feeling something akin to nervousness blooming in your stomach. Stepping into her apartment, you're surprised. You'd expected her living space to be a cluttered mess, but instead, you find a well-maintained apartment. There are plenty of decorations, posters lining the walls, while potted plants rest on shelves. It should seem cluttered, but it really doesn't.

Wanda gestures toward the bathroom, and you're only half listening as she gives you a brief tour of her apartment.

"And here is my bedroom," she says, her fingers resting on the handle of the only other door in the apartment besides the bathroom. "It's actually a good-sized place for a one-bedroom apartment."

"Yeah," you murmur. Her whole place smells faintly of vanilla. You don't mind. "You've decorated well."

"I'm not an art major for nothing," Wanda says, smirking before opening her bedroom door. "My desk is in here, and I have bean bags and stuff, so we'll be more comfortable in here anyway. Also," she turns toward you, taking in your short-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans. "My AC is broken, kinda. It's set at 66 degrees, so it's kinda chilly in here right now. The maintenance guys are supposed to come this Thursday."

You just nod, having noticed the chill when you entered. You're much more interested in her living space at the moment.

Wanda's bedroom looks like a Pinterest user's wet dream. It's perfect in every sense. Dark green walls with floating shelves, and plenty of posters scattered on the walls. The only lighting is a few lamps, the warm light illuminating the room. It's not too bright, but you can still see perfectly fine. In all honesty, the room is perfect.

You hover awkwardly at the door, watching as Wanda sinks into a beanbag, grabbing a notebook and pen. She stretches as she does so, her arm full extended to grab a spare pen, and you quickly avert your eyes as her midriff is exposed.

"Don't just stand there," Wanda says, her tone full of humour. "You're the one who likes to have a plan, aren't you?"

"It's the most effective way to start a project," you say, the words feeling like a mantra as you bravely close the door, walking towards the beanbag next to Wanda's. It's even chillier in her room, but you suppress your shiver as you sit. Your knee touches hers, and you quickly pull it back, curling into yourself.

Wanda doesn't seem to notice, scrawling the words "Photo Project" on the top of her page. She looks over at you, her green eyes locking with yours.

"So, let's brainstorm some things we could photograph?"

You agree, and your mind starts to work again.

After some time, three of Wanda's pages are full, her loopy handwriting filling each page. You both have offered up many ideas. Wanda is… different. She never made you feel like one of your ideas was silly or not intelligent enough to include in the list. She just nodded and wrote down whatever you said, speaking her thoughts out loud and writing her ideas down next to yours. It feels nice. You're used to having to prove yourself.

Additionally, somehow Wanda's thigh has ended up pressing against yours. You hadn't realized it until now, but you don't make any moves to pull away this time. It was refreshing to see someone as equally passionate about a project as you were. Many times, you'd been nervous that Wanda's pen would stab you as she gestured passionately while speaking about one of her ideas.

"Why don't you act like this in class?" You blurt out.

Wanda blinks, her green eyes locking on yours. "What?"

You flush, picking at the thick threads of her carpet nervously. "It's just, you don't talk much in class. I never knew you cared this much about school."

"The amount someone speaks in class doesn’t reflect how much they care about their education," Wanda says, shrugging. "Besides, I'd rather prove myself through my work, rather than trying to show off for my peers."

You can't help but feel offended slightly, your face flushing unexpectedly. Wanda must have sensed it, because her hand lands on your knee, and your anger fades at the gentle pressure of her fingers.

"I didn't mean anything by that," she says, smiling slightly. "That's just my own personal philosophy. I couldn't care less what other people do in class."

"Oh," is all you have to say to that.

Wanda closes her notebook, setting it aside. "I'll send you pictures of the pages before next class- oh. Are you cold?"

You falter, your mind still thinking about Wanda's words. You hadn't noticed your body shivering, but it was. Wanda's hands return to your body, rubbing the outside of your arms.

"I guess I am," you say, chuckling slightly. You don't really know what to do. Was it rude to leave?

It turns out you don't have to make a decision. Wanda stands up, pulling at your shirt until you stand as well, and leads you to her bed. She sweeps up a remote on the way, and you don't resist as she pushes you onto the bed.

"Make yourself comfortable," Wanda says, pointing the remote at her TV and clicking it on.

You just nod. Truthefully, you aren't used to being told what to do. Normally, you're the one instructing others on what to do, whether that be in group projects or at your job. It's… well, it's kind of nice to not be in charge for once.

"I know you like the show Yellowjackets," Wanda says offhandedly, clicking into the first season.

"Wait," you say, pushing yourself up against her headboard. The pillows against your back are very soft, but you barely notice. "How did you know that?"

Wanda rolls her eyes, pressing play before hopping up on the bed next to you. "It's called being observant. Also, you have a pin on your backpack."

You don't have a response to that.

The whole thing feels surreal. You've never imagined yourself ever even speaking to Wanda Maximoff, but now you're sitting on her bed watching your favorite show. You remember the photography assignment, but for once, you aren't stressed about completing it. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that Wanda is quite competent when it comes to this assignment.

The show continues to play, and you're grateful that Wanda isn't someone who talks while watching TV. The room, however, is somehow even chillier than when you first arrived.

Wanda doesn't say anything, but she must notice you shivering, because she pulls back her comforter and slips her legs under. She holds the blanket up slightly, and when you glance at her, those green eyes are still locked on the TV.

You slip your legs under the comforter.

It's not until the third episode that you realize you've slid further under the covers. Wanda's thigh is pressed against yours. You're surprised to find that you don't mind. Her room is somehow even chillier, and now there are goosebumps on your exposed arms.

"You should really get that AC looked at," you say.

Wanda looks over at you, but you make no move to leave the bed. She smiles slightly, but you're too focused on the show to notice.

"Which character would you sleep with first?" she asks. "Like, if you were stranded in the wilderness with them, of course."

Your head whips toward her, your eyes wide.

Wanda looks over at you casually, tilting her head slightly at your silence. "Personally," she says, shrugging, "I would go for Jackie. She's got this whole innocent, good girl vibe going on that makes me want to fuck her into my mattress. You know?"

"Oh, that's um…" You look back at the TV, your cheeks burning slightly. "I'd probably want Natalie."

The last part is mumbled, but Wanda hears it anyway. You're refusing to meet her eye, but she doesn't care. Besides, if you're not looking at her, she doesn't have to hide the victorious expression that washes over her face.

"Natalie?"

"Yeah," you say, clearing your throat and resolutely not thinking about Wanda's combat boots. "She's, you know, edgy."

You can see Wanda nodding from the edge of your vision, and you relax slightly. "So you're into edgy girls, good to know."

Wanda flashes you one of her crooked smiles, and you can't help but notice how pretty her face gets when she's not scowling. Normally, she looks bored, her face either expressionless or unimpressed. You think this is the first time you've ever seen her smile.

The show continues, but now you're hyperaware of Wanda's every move, for some reason. The cold seeps into your arms, and eventually, you just bury yourself under the comforter. Wanda does the same, and you don't even question it when she grabs your waist and presses herself fully into you.

"To conserve body heat," she murmurs.

You just nod, distracted by the slightly smudged eyeliner around her eyes. You quickly look away, your focus returning to the screen. Natalie starts speaking, her dyed blonde hair flashing, and you determinedly do not look in Wanda's direction. You hear her chuckle, and you suddenly get the urge to hide your face.

Turning slightly, you hide from Wanda's knowing gaze. Your nose presses against something soft and warm, and you instantly realize that you're pressing your face into Wanda's chest.

Oh god.

Quickly, you jerk away. A firm hand on the back of your head keeps you still.

"Aww, your nose is so cold," Wanda murmurs. "I'm so sorry the AC is broken. Why don't you stay there to warm up? As your host, I insist."

Well. You can't really find any reason to refuse.

You turn your head slightly, still able to watch Yellowjackets even with your face fully pressed against Wanda's chest. You never imagined she'd be so… soft.

A strong thigh presses against your core. You feel heat rise quickly in your gut, and you're shocked at the sensation. It feels like fire licking at your core, and you feel yourself throb slightly.

"Oops," Wanda says. She doesn't move her thigh away.

You feel your face burning. Why did you like that sensation so much? Wanda's thigh alone has made you feel… well, you're not quite sure what you're feeling. All you know is that it feels good. And now that you've felt that sensation, you don't really want it to stop.

Through sheer will and the threat of embarrassment, you manage to keep your hips still. For some reason, you wanted to press yourself even harder against her thigh. Was that wrong? Everything seemed innocent so far; it's not like Wanda was touching you or anything. Besides, you were just classmates.

Classmates.

You'd come here for a partner's assignment, not to… to cuddle up next to Wanda Maximoff. You feel your mind returning, the weird fog that had taken over slowly starting to dissipate.

"I- I should probably-"

"Shhh," Wanda says, shifting her hips slightly. Her green eyes are glued to the screen, and you let out the smallest squeak as her thigh presses even more firmly into you. Biting your lip, you turn your face again, hiding your flushed cheeks in her chest.

You can smell her vanilla perfume now, the scent making your brain go slightly fuzzy again.

"Do you feel good?" Wanda asks, her voice low.

Pausing for a moment, you bite your lip. Do you? It certainly does feel good, but it's all so confusing and-

Wanda's thigh presses against you again, her knee slipping between your legs and giving her leverage. You barely suppress a whimper that claws from your throat at the sensation.

"When someone asks you a question," Wanda begins, her voice soft. Her fingers curl in your hair, gently pulling your face away until you're looking at her. "It's polite to answer."

"Oh, um," you stammer. "Yeah, it feels good."

Wanda smiles again at you, the sight making your face flush even more. "Good, that's exactly what I want."

You must look confused, because she clarifies. "I want you to feel good."

"Oh," you say, turning your gaze back to the TV for a moment. Then, you glance at her. "Can it feel… You know, more… good?"

The words stumble clumsily out of your mouth, but Wanda just nods.

"Of course it can. Would you like that?"

"Yes," you practically breathe out, your voice quiet.

Wanda's hands return to your waist, pressing firmly on your hips. "Move these, then. It's okay, I want you to feel good. Just press yourself into my thigh."

You start to move your hips, subtly at first, but then you feel that heat rising again, and you move automatically. Your hips grind against Wanda's thigh, spreading to allow her thigh to press harder against you, and you hear a soft groan.

"Perfect, just like that. Doesn't that feel good? Isn't it so nice to let go, for once? To just let your mind go blank for a bit?"

It is. It really is. You just nod, your face pressed into Wanda's soft chest as you grind your hips against her. It feels amazing, and you just wanna… keep… going…

"Do you want it to feel really good?" Wanda whispers. "Do you want to cum for me?"

"I- Yeah," you whimper.

Wanda smirks. Then, she pulls her thigh away.

"Wait," you sputter. "Why?"

"Because," Wanda whispers, grabbing your jaw lightly, forcing you to look at her. "I like seeing you like this. So… unrestrained. It's refreshing."

"I'm not-"

"Shh," Wanda presses a finger against your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed as she presses her thigh firmly against you again. "Grind."

And so, you do. The comforter is thrown off at some point, and the effort it takes to keep moving your hips makes you work up a bit of a sweat. You don't mind, though, and neither does Wanda. You've switched positions, your back against Wanda's front as you watch the show. You don't really understand what's going on plot-wise anymore; your mind is much too focused on the heat that's been steadily growing between your thighs.

Wanda isn't helping, either. Her hands have slowly been creeping up to caress your chest, her lips softly sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck. It's maddening. And you fucking love it.

You've never really found time for sex. Or wanted it, even. You've always been much too busy to think about it, your mind occupied with your assignments and extracurriculars. But now, you can't believe you've never indulged in this before.

"Please," you whisper. "Please make it feel better."

Wanda smirks against your neck, and you feel her lips as she speaks. "Yeah? You want to cum?"

"Yes," you say, your ears burning at the vulgar language. "I do."

"Say it," Wanda orders, her teeth scraping up your neck and toward your jaw. "Say it, and I'll make you feel so good, baby. I promise."

You whimper at that, your core throbbing at her words.

"Please, Wanda," you plead. "Make me cum. I want to cum so badly, please-"

Your words are cut off as Wanda moves her hands to your hips. She grips them, forcing you to move faster. The muscles in her thigh clench, and she bends her knee, planting her foot in the mattress for leverage as you grind down on her.

"Cum for me, you deserve it. You've done such a good job," she coos. "I'm so proud of you. Cum for me, baby."

And you do. It's glorious, it's perfect, and it's the most amazing thing you've ever felt. It feels like it will never end. Wanda's soft words encourage you to ride it out as you shake and clamp your legs around her thigh, your mind going completely blank as pleasure washes over your every sense.

She doesn't stop there; her hands clamping down on your hips and not letting you stop. The TV continues to run in the background, the scenes blending together as you lose your mind to the pleasure over and over again.

This is how your study sessions go until it's time to present your final photographs. You always start productive, getting the work done even as your mind begs for you to let Wanda take control again, to lose yourself in that wonderful haze of pleasure.

Wanda teaches you about vulnerability, your photographs reflecting the feelings you two have felt as you worked on this project. A pair of intertwined pinkies, a curtain just barely opened to reveal the sunrise, and an open journal sitting on top of a lectern, to name a few.

Professor Harkness gives you both full points for the project, and that ever-knowing smirk is still present on her face when Wanda joins you in the second row for the rest of the semester.

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