#Start Again Start Again Start Again: a prologue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikovraskol · 3 days ago

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crack baby ; three

wc ; 3745 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect

prologue, one, two, three, tbc..

Sometimes it feels like there is someone puppeteering you into the worst scenarios possible.

It started when finally, after days of contacting every single landlord in Gotham and Bludhaven, one kind old man reached back. The house he was willing to rent you wasn’t half bad either, certainly no Wayne Manor but a small apartment about a convenience store would suffice.

After regressing, you were stuck in a loop of tears and anger and whatever strange, uncomfortable feeling you got whenever you were reminded of your weird interaction with Dick.

But finally, light at the end of the rainbow! You could cry (of joy this time), but you’ve no time for tears. Not when you’re faced with a big, overpowering problem. Leaving the Manor.

Now, in the past, you could just get up and leave, however after your run-in with Damian and Dick, you’re apprehensive to leave your room. What if you’re ambushed again? By Tim? Or Jason? Or heaven forbid, Dick again? Terrifying! You don’t have time to dilly dally, not when Mr. Kim is waiting in your future home.

So, you’re very on edge, looking around every corner with apprehension, bracing yourself for anything and everything. When you finally reach the door, unharmed, you let out a deep sigh, only to hear a voice behind you.

“Master (Name).”

What now? You whip your head around, a sense of deja vu hitting you, oh, it’s just Alfred. You let out a sigh, glad it’s not Dick with his strange shenanigans. “Alfred, is everything alright?” You smile, out of everyone, Alfred is the one you love most, the one who cradled you close in those agonizingly lonely nights, when you’d call out for your mother, for your father, for anyone.

He was there.

“You’re heading out?” He asks, assessing you with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. A few days ago, Dick had informed him that you were acting strange, you had run away from your older brother. His mind raced, the implications of what that might mean has been weighing on the butler’s mind for days. It was uncharacteristic of you, up until about a week ago you would jump for joy if any of your family would glance at you.

But after that day, that day where you had skipped breakfast .. What changed? Why are you suddenly so uninterested in your family? It’s unnatural. Your whole life had always been dedicated to them, you’d do anything to be apart of them, to be seen. So why? When you finally had the chance to be centre stage, were you walking away? Something about your demeanour was off and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’ve–” You pause, should you tell Alfred? I’m going to move out and never speak to anyone from this house again! No, you’ll wait until you’ve secured a place before letting him know. You’re not prepared for that conversation. “I’m going to– for a walk.” The lie is stale on your tongue, you’ve never lied to Alfred, not besides petty ones to get out of trouble. But this feels different, a heavy knot tying in your shoulders as you watch the butler’s confused expression.

“Is that so? Because a few days ago, Master Dick–” You were out the door before he could finish his damn sentence. You are not in the mood to discuss Dick right now! It’s going to ruin your chipper mood.

The click of the door had Alfred’s eyes narrowing, his eyes trained on where you once stood. He believed that the small push he gave Bruce would be enough, but it’s just driving you further away. How troublesome, he doesn’t want for you to end up hurt.

“Wow! This is a really great place? And I get the first month free?” You are convinced whatever deity sent you back in time is responsible for the saint before you. The small, chubby old man who speaks to you in such a paternal voice it makes you want to cry.

“Of course, it’s no problem, I just need to speak to your guardian to agree on your emancipation, plus they’ll need to sign some consent forms.”

“What?” You blink dumbly, your heart momentarily stopping before the damn organ speeds up so quickly it could power a small village, you try to convey your thoughts but all you can manage is a few dumb noises. “Are– Are you sure?”

“Apologies, since you’re only sixteen – you must have a guardian’s consent, this is a legal rental after all,” he smiles apologetically, before adding, “if you want to live somewhere without your parent’s consent, it’ll have to be illegally – which can be dangerous, ‘specially for a youngling such as yourself.”

Oh, right. You’re sixteen. The fact slipped your mind once more, you’re so foolish. So damn foolish, nothing will ever be so easy, nothing in your life will ever be handed to you like this. “Right, I’ll– let you know.” You smile, your eyes scanning over the small apartment once more. It reminds you of the place you stayed with your mother, the small space encapsulating those memories you hold dear so perfectly that if you light a few ciggerattes and close your eyes, you'll go back in time.

“I’ll keep this off-sale for you, please let me know as soon as possible.” Mr. Kim, so nicely adds, his small face – wrinkled with age, softening at your disheartened expression. You so desperately want to beg for him to rethink, to make an exception, but you don't want to get him in trouble, not since he’s been so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, you walk out, walking with effort since your feet don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave a future that could be, that should’ve been. Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental.

You don’t feel like returning to the Manor, not yet. The air outside is nice, it’s nice to breathe in a taste of something other than the suffocating walls around you, even if it’s just some dingy back alley. It’s nice to see what could’ve been, that is until a large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

Oh, great. So the one time you leave the Manor you die again. Maybe you’ll regress to when you’re eleven next, you muse.

“What the hell are you doing around here?” You recognise that voice and immediately you don’t want to turn around. What is he doing out? During the day? You thought vigilantes only patrol during the lunar hours, so why? Your heart squeezes in your throat, desperate to claw its way out, to escape your pitiful body.

After a tense moment of silence, you turn around, there he stands. Red Hood, your older brother. Well, older brother is a stretch, you’ve never really interacted with him – much like the rest of your family. You were brought in when he was still Robin, but he died shortly after. A small, vengeful part of you blamed him for your neglect. That was until Bruce brought in Tim, and you watched bitterly how Tim was embraced immediately, he didn’t have to fight for any attention, he was accepted by everyone and you were forced to swallow the thought that it wasn't Jason's fault -- but your own.

When Jason was somehow brought back, you selfishly hoped you would be able to bond with him, that he’d be the one to look back at you, to get to your level and hold you close.

No such thing happened, the only time you saw him was when he was walking through the Manor to the Batcave, and even then, he gave you a bone-chilling glare. You didn’t think of him so optimistically after that. Now, with his hand clutching your shoulder, his expression covered by his menacing red helmet..

You’re ready to be shot 5 times again.

“I asked you a question.” He says, his hand tightening on your shoulder, you snap out of your stupor immediately, your fear morphing into frustration. You shove his hand off of you with more effort than you’re comfortable with, and even then you’re sure he’s the one who dropped his hand to not embarrass you any further.

“I’m allowed to go outside.” You huff, your nerves practically fighting against the restraints of your skin, a cold, overbearing feeling rushing over you. This was..– Everything was wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go, not at all.

“You were talking to Mr. Kim, why?” He asks bluntly, your heart stops beating for a moment, the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears, your brain trying to block this all out, trying to block out everything. “Actually, nevermind, I think I know why.”

You want to cry, why was this happening? You were so happy, so content. Why do you bump into them every time you leave your room, can’t you have one good day? Will you need to become a hermit? Will that get them off your back?

“I can drive you back to the Manor–”

“No, I’m fine.” You cut him off, your voice not masking any of your fear, it has Jason blinking under his mask. Why were you so on edge? What’s going on with you?

“I insist– Gotham isn’t safe for you to just be–..” He watches the downright terrified expression on your face before sighing and signalling for you to go, his stomach churns in an unfamiliar way as you scurry away.

Why were you so nervous? Could it be that you're scared of him?

That’s understandable, you’re not a vigilante, you’re just some average kid. But when he saw you walking alone, he detests himself for the way his heart swelled with happiness. In his Robin days, he loved watching the normalcy of your life, the way you would live free of any strings to the ghastly occupation he had.

He was scared to get closer, scared to shatter that illusion you had.

The fear amplified when he came back to life, he was relieved to see that you were still unaffiliated with Batman, but fuck, he was too cowardly to reach out, that day when you looked at him with gladness, he was hit with a paralysing fear of you getting too close, of you getting hurt. He replays the crushed expression that dawned your face like a damn broken stereo.

So when he saw you sulking about a few moments ago, he saw his chance to reach out, to get a taste of your normalcy, he took it, however selfish it may be.

“Whatever.” He grits, climbing up the roof to tail you, he’s content with watching from afar, for now.

The whole way back to the Manor felt like a fever dream, you can’t brush these oddities off as coincidences, why the hell did Red Hood approach you. Was he trying to pull a Damian? Was that a simple reminder of how pathetic you are? Why did he do that?!

Why was everyone acting so strangely?

The Manor offered you no comfort, it’s looming walls did nothing but remind you of your own shortcomings, you were afraid, you were perplexed but above all you were furious. Why now? When you’ve finally accepted your position in this family, why are they all turning their heads. Well damn them! You’re sick of this whole stupid charade, you won’t be that small child anymore, a child who knew only loneliness. You’re going to become your own person outside of the surname which has held you back for so long.

“We need to talk.” A voice calls out as you reach your room, what now? You’re sick of these damn conversations. You just want to move out, why is it so damn hard?

Oh, it’s Bruce again. Your lips press into a thin line as he stands before you, you can hear the soft humming running through the Manor walls. When you were younger, that sound brought you so much comfort, yet now it’s different. Like a warning.

“Talk? About what?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. You’re distinctly aware of the way his brows furrow at your pitiful expression. Oh hell, you hope this won’t be another walk down the Manor where you awkwardly fumble in silence.

You don’t say anything as he leads you away from your room, a sullen quilt draped over the Manor, a strange foreboding sense that something’s going to happen. Something bad. You’re utterly perplexed as your father guides you to a part of the Manor you’re somewhat familiar with.

As a child, you used to lurk around the corners of these very walls, watching your family, itching to reach out and join in but fearing ruining the delicate painting they created. Fearing rejection, the cold glares and sneers as they pushed you away. So you trailed silently, waiting, hoping that someone would look back, smile at you and maybe hold out their hand. But it only ever happened in your dreams, a pale illusion of a reality that should've been true.

“Where did you go?” He asks, his eyes boring onto you with such intensity you can distinctly feel the way your blood begins furiously to pump through your veins, why did he care? “Alfred said you went out.”

“I just wanted some fresh air.” You’re not sure why you’re lying, it’d be easier to tell Bruce that you went to go see a house, the consent forms are folded in your pocket, waiting for his signature. It’d be so simple, so easy. Just a dip of pen on paper and you’ll be out.

So why do you feel such dread? A dread unlike anything you’ve ever felt. When you were in that alley, bleeding out helplessly, even then this oppressive feeling, which tightens your ribcage, forcing your organs into a tight space until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t comprehend if it was your heart pounding so heavily or your lungs, wasn't as scary.

“You’re only sixteen, you need to let someone know where you’re going.” His voice is so unbelievably despotic that it made your very core tremble with anxiety, with a looming sense of doom.

“It’s never been a problem before.” You mumble, your voice a lot quieter than you would’ve liked, your vocal chords burning with each word passing through it, your nerves invading each of your senses, as if warning you to stay quiet.

Bruce says nothing, and the moment the air grows stale you wish you could take your words back. You can see the way his brows crease, the way he looks at you as though you’re some sort of criminal and not his own flesh and blood, the soft humming in the walls has disappeared, left behind in your area of the Manor. Though it’s odd, when you would lurk around the Manor as a youthling, there was always some sort of background noise in this area, where everyone hung out. The silence unnerved you, another thing that’s changed, another thing you couldn’t have predicted.

“If you’re going out, make sure to let me know.” He sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you with what you interpret as belittlement, a burning hot rage boils in your stomach, and once more, you’re hit with the knowledge this isn’t how things are supposed to go, Bruce isn’t supposed to care that you go out without telling anyone, he’s not supposed to care about you.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ you want to say, you want to scream, to ask what rights he has to treat you like a child? How dare he? It makes your very being tremble with frustration, your hands clenching with barely contained anger.

But you don’t. Why? Is it the natural response from your mind? The fear of disappointing him? The fear that if you speak up, you’ll be kicked out and left to rot? Or perhaps it’s the fear of confrontation you gained through his negligence, the weakness he moulded. But still, you’re not sixteen anymore, not really. Mentally, you’re twenty-one, you’ve been through each stage of your life, and maybe, sure, the day you died, you were content for them to walk all over you in exchange for a single glance at your direction.

But you’ve died and come back (in time)! You shouldn’t let them walk all over you anymore, shouldn’t be content as an afterthought. So– you open your mouth and–

“What’s going on?” Another voice speaks out, great, because this is exactly what you needed, another clown to join the circus. Oh.

Is this a joke? Is the person responsible for your misfortune giggling at your despair, is it amusing to see you suffer?

Damian, Dick, Jason and now Tim.

Why is Tim walking up to you? Why is he looking at you? A rush of dread, a sensation you’ve grown familiar with in the past few days, washes over you. You’ve never had his eyes on you, never for so long. It’s unnerving. You thought the calculating look in Bruce and Damian’s eyes was scary, but the way Tim looks at you now? His eyes zeroed in on you? It has your insides melting into liquid, the urge to cover your face, to hide in the corner and bury your face in your knees is overwhelming.

You don’t want his eyes on you, you decide. Years of clawing at your own shortcomings, of desperately trying to appeal to him, to have him look back – you would do anything at that time for him to look at you the way he is now.

But now? You don’t like it, he wears a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, like he’s picking you apart one by one, each twitch, each mannerism.

“It’s about what we talked about.” Bruce says, his tone completely natural, like he’s discussing the weather, you don’t know the specifics but you have a nagging feeling that you know what he’s speaking of.

“Ah. Really? You’re still on that?” Tim tuts, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studies you. Just as you’re about to ask what the fuck does he mean by that, he turns his attention to Bruce. “I told you, they can’t do anything without your consent, they’re 16.”

How dare they? How dare they talk as though you’re not here? This is disgusting, what loathsome, egotistical dickheads! Your hands itch, the anxiety in you speeding all over your body like a livewire, mixing with your anger to create an overwhelming feeling of terror.

What was the point of Bruce bringing you here? To mock you? Show you how great they have it? What you’ve been missing out on? Well, screw him. You need to get away before you lash out, you’re better than that. Better than this.

The pair watches as you walk away, your whole body tense. For a moment, there’s a prolonged silence which is broken by Tim. “Did we do something wrong?” He asks, genuinely confused by your little display.

When he came back from a particularly tough mission, the last thing he was expecting was everybody collectively freaking out. Bruce, Damian, even Dick were all tense, looking around each corner – searching for something, someone.

It was weird for a multitude of reasons, firstly – Dick was supposed to be gone by now, his stay at the Manor was for a few days only. Why is he here? And secondly, nothing particularly stressful was happening in Gotham, so what was with the gloom and doom?

When Bruce sighed, telling him about your plans to move out, well, to say Tim was confused was an understatement. That did not deserve such a reaction, but then he really thought about it, and, if this is how they react to you threatening to leave..

If you were to actually step out that door, to alienate away from them, to discard your last name. His head begins to throb at the implications, he’s acutely aware of how selfish it is for him to wish to keep you around, to keep you in this Manor all to keep himself happy.

But then the thought that, really, he’s doing this for you! If you thought it was so easy to just get up and leave, that at sixteen you’d just be able to pack up and go. Well, with that stupidity, you wouldn’t survive outside, in Gotham no less. He was able to placate Bruce’s stressing, thankfully, because the man looked three minutes away from a heart attack.

You wouldn’t be able to go without Bruce’s permission, so long as they had that – you’d stay with them. But that’s what led him to seeking you out now, if you had ideas about leaving that meant you were unhappy.

He was hoping to talk to you, to ask if you wanted to hang out – that’s what you want, right? When he thinks of you, his mind conjures up the slightly annoying, slightly endearing child that you were. He’ll hang out with you, destroy those silly notions and everything will go back to how it was.

So why did you stomp off? That’s not how you’re supposed to act. That’s not how you are.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce replies to his earlier question, his eyes still trained on the spot in which you were. How could you walk off?

Why were you so off during that conversation? He couldn’t…– This belies everything Alfred had told him about you, it's left Bruce conflicted. He had hoped that by bringing you here, he could ask which room you liked best. But you walked off, why? Why do you deny his affection? He was worried when he heard you left, a small, vulnerable part of him was afraid that you wouldn’t come back, that you had left for good, slipped through his fingers before he could hold you close.

So, when he saw you walk in – oh, he was elated. He just wanted to convey his worries, but you seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. He really doesn’t want that, you don't need anymore reasons to leave.

He doesn’t want the terrified expression on your face, he wants that dazzled look you used to carry around, he wants you – not this restless part of you, but the real you.

He'll get it back, he's sure he will.

ugh i hate the misunderstanding trope i say as i write the misunderstanding trope

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claramelooo · 2 days ago

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Hey, guys! Just saying we are entering the last 3 chapters, so enjoy this as much as you can :)

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warning: +18, soft smut

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: Wanda's passion for you blinds her, making Vision suspicious.

VELVET CHAINS

Control

The sound of silence was deafening as you knelt on Wanda’s bed, hands resting on your thighs. Every tiny movement felt amplified—from the unsteady rhythm of your breathing to the soft rustle of fabric.

She hadn’t said a word since bringing you to the room. Her gaze carried a weight that made your throat go dry, yet there was no urgency in her actions. Wanda was methodical—she always had been. She wanted you to feel every second of the waiting, for your mind to anticipate what was coming long before she even approached.

When you finally heard the sound of the wardrobe opening, your breath caught in your throat. You knew what was coming. The paddle. Wanda didn’t need to announce it; the faint sound of leather gliding through the air was enough to make you shut your eyes and brace yourself mentally.

“Stand up, bunny.” Her voice was firm but not harsh. A command that felt gentle yet carried undeniable authority.

You obeyed instantly, rising to your feet and letting your hands fall to your sides. Your eyes remained fixed on the ground, shame and fear swirling together into something you couldn’t quite describe.

“Look at me,” Wanda demanded, and when you finally met her gaze, it felt as though she was reading straight into your soul.

“Why are we here, Y/n?” she asked, the paddle hanging casually from her right hand.

“Because I was disobedient,” you answered softly, your voice almost a whisper.

“Disobedient…” she repeated, almost to herself. “And more than that, weren’t you?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“Answer me,” she pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because… because I was irresponsible. And… and I challenged you.”

“That’s right,” Wanda said, stepping closer. She lifted her free hand and cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to hold her gaze. “But more than anything, you were reckless, little one. And recklessness can be dangerous. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Wanda,” you replied.

“Good girl,” she murmured, releasing your chin and stepping back. “Now, lie face down on the bed.”

You hesitated for a moment, but her look was enough to set you in motion.

“Lift your dress,” Wanda instructed, and you obeyed, feeling the cool air against your exposed skin.

She positioned herself beside you, letting the paddle rest lightly against your skin before speaking again. “I want you to count each one. And if you lose count… we start over.”

You nodded quickly, your face burning as much with shame as with anticipation.

The first strike came quickly, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“One,” you managed to say, your voice slightly shaky.

“Good girl,” Wanda praised, her hand brushing softly over the warm skin before delivering the next strike.

Between strikes, Wanda made sure to speak. Not to humiliate you, but to reinforce the control she had over you—and the care that came with it.

“Do you think Yelena cares about you the way I do?” she asked, and before you could answer, the next strike fell.

“N-no,” you answered quickly, your tone almost desperate to please her.

“And Natasha? She doesn’t even know you. Do you think she could do what I do for you?”

“N-no,” you answered again, tears beginning to slip down your cheeks.

Wanda paused, her fingers gently running over the warm marks forming on your skin. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice calm but full of intensity.

“I want you to understand something, little one. This,” she ran the tips of her fingers over the hottest point, making you shiver, “is not punishment for the sake of punishment. It’s not about how much it hurts or how beautifully marked your skin becomes. It’s about trust. About knowing that I’m here to discipline you, but also to protect you from yourself. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice still fragile.

She set the paddle aside and leaned down to whisper softly near your ear, her tone now gentler. “If at any point this becomes too much, what do you say?”

“Red,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good girl,” she praised, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “And if you need a break?”

“Yellow.”

“Exactly, good girl,” Wanda affirmed, her hand now caressing your back in slow, soothing strokes. “I adore you too much to ever truly hurt you, bunny. This isn’t about punishment for punishment’s sake. It’s about you learning, growing… and trusting.”

You turned your head slightly to look at her, eyes tearful but filled with something beyond pain—a sense of safety only Wanda could provide.

“I trust you,” you said, your voice stronger this time.

She smiled faintly, running her fingers through your hair before picking up the paddle again. “Then let’s continue, my sweet girl. You’re doing so well. We’ll finish this together, and afterward, I’ll take care of you the way you deserve.”

The next strike was firmer, but between each impact, Wanda checked on you—monitoring your breathing, whispering words of encouragement.

“Good girl,” she said after the sixth strike, setting the paddle down on the mattress beside you. “Very good. We’re done.”

You let out a sob, a mix of relief and exhaustion as your body relaxed onto the bed. Wanda didn’t waste a second—she immediately began massaging the tender spots with a cooling cream that seemed to soothe much of the lingering sting.

“You were so brave,” she praised, her voice so soft it felt like a balm for your heart. “So obedient. I’m so proud of you, little one.”

When she finished, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her while her fingers combed gently through your hair.

“You know why I do this, don’t you?” Wanda asked after a while, her tone full of warmth.

“Because you want to protect me,” you answered, your voice muffled against her chest.

“That’s right,” Wanda agreed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because you are the best thing that’s happened to me in ten years, Y/n. And I will always take care of you—even when that means disciplining you.”

You closed your eyes, the sound of her heartbeat under your ear the most soothing melody you could imagine.

The kitchen was silent, except for the soft sound of Wanda's knife precisely slicing through a fresh fruit. The apples were cut into rabbit shapes in your honor, while the strawberries were stars—she was focused, her movements graceful and methodical. Each piece was carefully placed on a decorated plate, as though the presentation was just as important as the gesture itself. Beside it, a bowl of your favorite sweet was nearly finished, and Wanda allowed herself a small smile.

You were perfect for her. From the way your eyes sparkled when she praised you to how your body yielded, molding itself to her will. You were the exact combination of strength and vulnerability Wanda desired. More than that, you trusted her, surrendering yourself in a way that warmed her heart and sent possessive thoughts swirling through her mind.

“My little masterpiece,” Wanda murmured to herself, arranging the final details of the snack. She picked up a tray, placed a chilled water bottle alongside it, and gave it one last glance, satisfied with the result.

As she walked down the hallway toward your room, her heart felt light, anxious to find you nestled comfortably in her bed. Aftercare was just as important as any other part of your dynamic, and Wanda made sure you always knew how cherished you were.

But just as she was about to open the bedroom door, a familiar voice stopped her.

“Wanda.”

She froze, her fingers still gripping the tray. Turning slowly, she found Vision standing at the end of the hallway. He looked calm, but there was something in his expression that irritated her instantly.

“Yes?” Wanda replied, her voice cold and calculated.

“I was looking for you. We need to talk,” Vision said, taking a few steps toward her.

“Now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, now.”

She gripped the tray tighter, fighting to keep her patience. Vision had a talent for showing up at the most inopportune moments. “Can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice carrying something Wanda couldn’t immediately identify.

She sighed, casting a glance at the closed bedroom door. You were inside, waiting for her, probably asleep or simply too tired to notice what was happening outside.

The man stared at her with a mixture of trepidation and expectation. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Wanda, I… I miss you as my wife.” Vision spoke with a stiff posture.

Wanda scoffed, her husband always so puritanical and tedious.

“Vision, are you talking about sex?” Wanda asked, her face expressionless.

Vision hesitated, the words forming on his lips but refusing to come out. Wanda watched as he struggled to organize his thoughts, which made her roll her eyes. Always so methodical, so careful. She knew exactly where he was going, but she preferred to let him hang himself with his own hesitation.

“I… yes,” he finally admitted, his voice strained as though confessing something forbidden. “We haven’t shared intimacy in weeks, Wanda. This isn’t normal. Not for a couple.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him. The tension in the air was nearly palpable, and she let the silence stretch out just a moment longer, just to watch him squirm under her gaze.

“You’re really interrupting me right now to talk about sex?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “What do you want? Do you want me to bend over the kitchen table and let you take me from behind?” Wanda’s voice was robotic, devoid of emotion.

She watched the man’s face flush crimson. Oh, he wanted that.

Vision cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with Wanda’s clinical tone. “I… I didn’t mean it like that. Wanda, it’s not just about the act itself; it’s about what it represents. Intimacy, connection. We were one. Now it feels like there’s an abyss between us.”

“An abyss,” she repeated, her voice still devoid of emotion. Wanda crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe of the bedroom. “Funny you use that word, Vision. Because if there’s an abyss, maybe you should ask yourself who dug it.”

His face grew even redder, now with barely contained indignation. “I’ve always done my best to sustain this family, Wanda. To be a present husband. If I’ve distanced myself, it was only to make sure you and the kids had everything you needed.”

Wanda scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him, her steps silent but heavy with tension. “Everything I needed? You don’t even know what I need, Vision. You didn’t know in the beginning, and you certainly don’t know now.”

“Then tell me!” he raised his voice, desperation spilling over. “Tell me what you want, Wanda. Because I’m here, trying. Trying to save something I still believe is worth it.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, watching him as though he were an incomplete puzzle. “Save what, exactly? A marriage built on conventions? On societal expectations? You’re not trying to save us, Vision. You’re trying to save the idea of me you created in your head.”

Vision stared at the floor, visibly uncomfortable. His eyes drifted to the tray in her hands, where affection and care were clear.

“Who is that for? The boys are still at school.”

Wanda held the tray firmly, her gaze cold and controlled as she looked away from Vision. “Y/n. She’s been studying so hard, she’s so exhausted…” Her expression softened slightly as she spoke about you, a feeling simmering in the man’s stomach.

He furrowed his brow, his expression mixing confusion with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy. “More than me?” The question came out in an almost childish tone, and Wanda had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

“Yes, more than you,” she answered with calculated calm. “And it’s not hard to see why.”

"But I’m your priority too, Wanda,” he insisted, his eyes gleaming with a kind of determination that felt misplaced, almost desperate. “We’re a family. And I feel like… like I’m being pushed aside.”

She tilted her head, her lips forming an ironic smile. “Pushed aside? Vision, you’re an adult, not one of the twins. Do you feel excluded because I’m not giving you unconditional attention like some kind of consolation prize?”

Vision clenched his fists, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I’m not asking for unconditional attention, Wanda. But since when do you give more importance to… this random stranger… than to our marriage?”

“Since you started treating our marriage as a duty instead of a choice,” she shot back, her voice soft but heavy with meaning. “People change, Vision. And honestly, I don’t have time to be your emotional crutch anymore.”

He blinked, visibly stunned by the statement. “So, you’re saying that—”

“I’m saying,” she interrupted, “that you need to stop acting like a child who lost his favorite toy. I have other responsibilities now, and you should find some of your own.”

Vision opened his mouth to respond but stopped when he caught the sharp glint in her eyes—a silent warning that he was treading too close to a line he shouldn’t cross.

“I just...” He took a deep breath, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I just want to understand. Why is she so important to you? How can she be so important that she makes me feel like I no longer have a place here?”

She gripped the tray a little tighter, adjusting its weight in her hands. “It’s not something you need to understand, Vision. Just accept that not everything revolves around you.”

He stared at her, his face a mixture of frustration and pain, but finally, he took a step back. “I just wanted things to be like they were before.”

Wanda let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “The problem, Vision, is that before was never enough. Not for you, and not for me. And maybe it’s time you stopped trying to revive something that’s already dead.”

She turned without waiting for a response, the soft sound of her steps echoing down the hall as she entered the room where you were waiting for her.

Vision stood frozen in place, his shoulders tense, his eyes locked on the closed door. As much as he wanted to scream, cry, or demand explanations, he knew, deep down, that Wanda was no longer his—and maybe she never had been.

As Wanda opened the door, the quiet stillness of the room was broken only by the sound of her measured, delicate steps. You were lying on the bed, your body relaxed in an almost vulnerable shape, with your eyes half-closed and your breathing deep and steady. It was clear that the impact of what you had shared earlier still lingered over you, like a mist refusing to lift.

“Hi, bunny,” her voice came soft yet firm, like a warm blanket on a cold day.

You lifted your eyes to her, your face lighting up with a mix of relief and adoration. “Wanda…” your voice came out small, almost trembling, but filled with trust in her presence.

“I brought something for you,” she said, balancing the tray as she approached the bed. Her movements were calculated, each gesture filled with care and intention.

When she set the tray on the nightstand beside the bed, you sat up slightly, your curious eyes drifting to the snacks carefully arranged there—your favorites, each detail chosen with precision. There were soft cookies, neatly cut fruit, and a mug of hot chocolate topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

“All this for me?” you asked, your voice a bit brighter now, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“All for you,” Wanda confirmed, sitting beside you on the bed. She picked up one of the cookies and held it near your lips. “Open,” she instructed gently, and you obeyed without hesitation, biting into the treat with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you, Wanda…” you murmured as you chewed, your eyes shimmering with gratitude.

She smiled, leaning in to fix the messy strands of hair around your face. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“My butt still hurts,” you admitted with a small grimace, the ache fresh as you shifted slightly.

“Oh. Don’t move, Y/n!” she commanded firmly. “You’ll make it worse. Stay here, darling. I’ll get the lotion.” Wanda stood up quickly, leaving you alone with the tray. You started nibbling on the egg tart—it was light and creamy—Wanda had great hands, for everything.

Wanda returned a few minutes later, holding a small bottle of lotion and a damp towel. She sat next to you again, her concerned expression softening into a warm smile. “I told you not to move, bunny. Are you trying to challenge me again?”

You let out a small giggle, taking another bite of the tart before replying, “I just wanted to taste it before it got cold. It’s perfect, like everything you make.”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched with a smile. “Flirting with me isn’t going to get you out of this, little one. Now, roll over. Let’s take care of you.”

Carefully, you turned onto your stomach, feeling the softness of the mattress against your body as Wanda lifted the hem of your nightgown, exposing your still-warm, sensitive skin. She opened the bottle of lotion, the calming scent filling the room.

“This might feel a little cold at first,” she warned before gently applying the cream to the reddened area.

You shivered at the cool touch but soon relaxed under the slow, careful movements of her hands. Wanda massaged with precision, her fingers firm yet incredibly tender.

“Better?” she asked, her eyes flicking between your face and her work.

“Yes…” you murmured, your voice thick with a mix of relief and something deeper—an absolute trust in her.

Taking care of you, especially after such intense moments, was something Wanda valued deeply. It was as if that aftercare ritual was the bridge between dominance and affection, showing that even in moments of discipline, love always came first.

As she finished, wiping away the excess lotion with the damp towel, Wanda spoke softly: “You know this is just as important to me as it is to you, right?”

You lifted your head slightly, curious. “What is important to you, Wanda?”

“This,” she said, gesturing to the moment you shared. “Taking care of you. Knowing that, even when I have to be firm, you trust me to bring you back. To keep you safe, comfortable. That’s what makes it all… right.”

Her words warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “I trust you, Wanda. Always.”

She smiled softly, leaning down to press a light kiss to your back. “Good girl,” she murmured before pulling your nightgown back down and helping you roll onto your back again.

“Now, finish your snack, bunny,” she instructed, sitting beside you once more.

You obeyed, nibbling on a cookie as Wanda gently ran her fingers through your hair. The quiet exchange of looks and smiles spoke volumes about how much that moment meant to both of you.

Once the tray was empty, Wanda helped you settle into the soft, clean sheets, adjusting the pillows around you. She lay down beside you, wrapping her arms around you like you were the most precious treasure.

As your breathing began to match hers, Wanda started humming softly, her fingertips tracing gentle patterns along your arm. “You’re mine,” she whispered, with a hint of reverence in her voice. “Always.”

You mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, but your last words before drifting off were clear: “Wanda… thank you.”

And as Wanda stayed there, watching over your sleep, she knew that in that space of trust and love, you were both exactly where you were meant to be.

[...]

The warm water of the bathtub enveloped both of you like a comforting embrace. The foam gently rose around your bodies, a perfect contrast to the steam that filled the bathroom. You were seated between Wanda’s legs, your back against her chest, as she delicately ran her fingers through your damp hair, untangling any knots with care.

“Is this good, bunny?” Wanda’s voice was almost a whisper, soft and full of affection.

You nodded, closing your eyes for a moment as you enjoyed her touch. “More than good,” you replied, feeling completely relaxed.

But there was something more in the air—an idea that had been growing in your mind for some time. You shifted slightly, tilting your head back to look at her. “Wanda?”

“Hm?” She arched an eyebrow, her gaze playing between curiosity and a hint of concern.

“Can I… take care of you this time?” Your question came out hesitant, almost fearful, but it was something you wanted to offer her: the same kind of love and attention she always gave you.

For a moment, Wanda was silent. Her green eyes searched yours, evaluating something. Then, a small smile formed on her lips. “You want that?”

“I do. Very much.”

She exhaled slowly, as if your request had melted a part of the wall she so carefully kept up. “Alright, bunny. But take it slow, okay?”

You smiled, thrilled that she had accepted. Slowly, you sat up a bit, picking up the soft sponge beside the tub. You dipped it into the warm water, lathering it with her favorite lavender soap. Wanda watched every movement with curiosity and a touch of amusement.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed, your voice low but determined.

She obeyed, a rare act of submission coming from her, trusting that you would handle everything with the care she deserved. You gently ran the sponge over her shoulders, feeling the tense muscles gradually relax under your touch.

“You carry so much tension here,” you commented, almost absentmindedly, as you massaged lightly.

“Someone has to take care of you,” Wanda replied with a playful tone, though there was something genuine in her words.

“And who takes care of you?” you asked in return, sincerity evident in your tone.

She opened her eyes, staring at you for a moment. “Maybe that’s what I’m discovering now.”

Your heart did a little jump, but you focused back on what you were doing. The sponge traveled down her arms, then across her back, each movement deliberate and gentle. When you finished, you took a bit of shampoo and began massaging it into her scalp with your fingers.

Wanda sighed, closing her eyes again. “This… this is good,” she admitted, her voice a bit lower, almost vulnerable.

You smiled, enchanted by the idea of providing something so simple yet meaningful for her. As you carefully rinsed her hair, Wanda opened her eyes, looking at you in a way that was both soft and intense.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, bunny?”

“Maybe I learned from you,” you replied, shy but satisfied.

When you finally finished, Wanda pulled you back into her arms, now with both of you completely relaxed. “Thank you,” she said, kissing the top of your head gently.

You rested your head on her shoulder, your hands intertwined beneath the water. The comfortable silence that followed seemed to say more than words. For the first time, perhaps, Wanda had allowed someone to take care of her—and you felt honored to be that person.

Wanda sat with her eyes closed, her body relaxed against the edge of the bathtub, while you positioned yourself behind her, your legs lightly wrapping around her waist. The sponge in your hand had been forgotten for a moment; your attention was entirely on Wanda, on every line of tension her body carried.

“I’m going to give you a massage,” you announced softly, your voice low and filled with care.

“Oh, are you?” she murmured, her tone playful but carrying genuine curiosity. “And do you know what you’re doing, bunny?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied with a shy smile, as your hands began moving slowly over her shoulders.

At first, your touches were hesitant but firm. Your fingers explored each knot of tension, applying enough pressure to relieve but not cause discomfort. Wanda let out an almost inaudible sigh, and you felt her body start to relax even more under your touch.

“You’re so tense,” you commented, your fingers moving to the base of her neck, massaging with slow, circular motions.

“Your fault,” she replied without opening her eyes, though the smile on her lips was obvious.

“Mine?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You’re an unbearably mischievous little bunny.”

You chuckled softly but didn’t reply, focusing on the massage. Your hands glided over her shoulder blades, tracing the defined muscles with care. The water made every movement more fluid, as if your fingers were dancing over her skin.

“You’re really good at this,” Wanda murmured, her voice lower now, almost husky.

Her tone caught your attention. There was something there—something you hadn’t expected. Your hands hesitated for a moment, but Wanda didn’t seem to want you to stop. She tilted her head slightly to the side, allowing your fingers to explore more of her neck.

“Keep going,” she said, almost like an order, and you obeyed without question.

Your confidence grew by the second. Your hands moved down her sides, exploring more boldly. Your fingers traced paths that made Wanda’s breathing change subtly. It was almost imperceptible, but you noticed—her rhythm slowed, deepened.

When your hands reached the curve of her ribs, you heard a low sound escape her lips, something between a sigh and a restrained moan. Your heart raced, but you continued, as if it were innocent.

Your hands massaged the woman's medium-sized breasts with prominent nipples, taking the opportunity to squeeze them between your fingers—a little pain wouldn't hurt her, you thought.

“Careful, little girl.” Wanda's voice was already hoarse and her hips were wavering, seeking more and more of your touch. “I can demand more than you can handle giving me.”

As a response to the woman, your hands went down to her belly, running your fingers between the already lubricated lips of her pussy. Wanda gasped, opening herself up more—giving you access to do whatever you wanted.

The woman's trust in you made you feel many things. The responsibility you carried with this didn't pressure you or make you want to run—in fact, that was what you wanted all along.

To be able to take care of her, to be able to touch her, caress her, lick her until Wanda melted on your tongue.

“Put a finger in, honey.” Hearing the woman's command, you tense behind her. Your inexperience made you doubt your ability. What if you didn't please her? What if you hurt her?

“Shh… Sweetheart…” Wanda breathed, the scent of lavender clinging to her skin, making you dizzy. “I know… Mommy will guide you.” She reassured you, after all, you knew that Wanda held all the control—that wouldn't change now.

Inserting a finger inside Wanda, you heard the woman let out a shaky sigh—you were attentive to her every reaction. Your passion, your madness for her, only increased the obsession you felt for Wanda.

“One more.” She demanded. And you moaned as you felt her pussy throbbing—as if it had a direct connection to your pussy, you felt your own intimacy throbbing.

The older woman's moans were low, hoarse. They were delirious because your fingers, at a slow pace, were taking her to a state of ecstasy that she had not felt in a long time. Wanda wanted to feel everything, every inch of your fingers.

“One more.” You were surprised to hear her beg for another finger.

Adding the third finger, what was already tight became unbearable—Wanda’s warm, spongy walls trapping you inside her.

“It’s so tight…” You let out a small growl against her ear, making her let out a small giggle.

“I know, don’t you? This is how I feel inside you every time, baby. Throbbing and hot and beautiful against my fingers, my tongue and my cock…” She started to ride you faster, and you knew she was close.

Then, you press your finger on her clit, making her buck against you and grip the edge of the tub with her wrinkled fingers. Wanda turns her face, enough to look into your eyes and give you a naughty smile as she reaches orgasm.

“Oh. My baby makes me feel so good!” She moans loudly, shakily.

Once it was over, you hugged her tightly and watched as Wanda gave you a teasing look and a tired smile. “I’m losing myself in you, Y/N.” The woman leaned even deeper into your embrace—making the bath water even hotter.

The afternoon was calm, and sunlight streamed through the living room window, illuminating the rug where you sat with Billy and Tommy. The colorful puzzle spread out in front of you occupied the twins' full attention, but you wore the smile of someone who didn’t need to worry about pieces or edges. Being there with them was all you needed.

Billy was focused, his eyes squinting as he studied the pieces. Tommy, on the other hand, seemed more interested in teasing his brother. He grabbed a piece Billy was trying to fit and laughed, holding it out of his reach.

“Tommy, give it back,” you said, laughing lightly as Billy huffed.

“Fine, fine,” Tommy grumbled, handing over the piece.

“Thanks,” Billy muttered, fitting the piece into place. “There, another part of the tree!”

You all sat in silence for a moment, focused on the puzzle, until Billy, with a thoughtful voice, broke the calm atmosphere.

“Do you think it’s weird… to like boys?”

The question hung in the air like a piece out of place, and you looked at him gently, not showing surprise. Tommy stopped fiddling with the pieces, his brow furrowing.

“Why are you asking that?” Tommy said, tilting his head.

Billy shrugged, but there was a blush on his cheeks. “It’s just that, you know… I heard some boys at school talking about it. Saying it’s weird.”

You took a deep breath, leaning closer to him, trying to keep your tone as light as possible. “It’s not weird, Billy. It’s normal. Some people like boys, some like girls, some like both… and that’s okay. What matters is how you feel.”

Billy seemed to reflect on this, his fingers playing with a puzzle piece. “I don’t think I feel anything different. Like… being around boys or girls feels the same to me. Does that mean anything?”

“It means you’re figuring out who you are,” you replied with a smile. “And that takes time. You don’t need to rush or worry about what other people say. What’s important is being honest with yourself.”

Tommy frowned, thoughtful. “So… if I thought a boy was cute, it wouldn’t be weird?”

“Of course not,” you answered, ruffling his hair playfully. “Thinking someone is cute is just… thinking someone is cute. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Billy smiled shyly. “I like the way you talk about this… like it’s not complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” you said, picking up a puzzle piece and fitting it into place. “Love, friendship, attraction… all of that is about connection. And connection is never wrong, as long as it’s healthy and respectful.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips. “You sound like Mom sometimes. I think you’re picking up her way of talking.”

You laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Speaking of which, how about we finish this puzzle before she gets home? I want her to see how well we worked as a team.”

Billy and Tommy agreed, turning back to the puzzle, but the mood felt lighter now. Even without saying much more, it was clear that the conversation had left the twins more comfortable, and that was all you could ask for.

Minutes later, still engrossed, Billy looked at you, his eyes bright with curiosity, and Tommy quickly followed, leaning forward with a mischievous grin.

“What about you, Y/n?” Billy asked, turning a puzzle piece in his hands. “Do you like boys or girls… or both?”

The question caught you by surprise. Your body froze for a moment, but then you laughed softly, trying not to show any nervousness.

“I only like girls,” you answered simply and directly, not looking away from them.

The two brothers exchanged a meaningful look. Billy seemed thoughtful for a moment, while Tommy, always more impulsive, spoke first.

“Oh, sorry for always saying you should get a boyfriend,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We didn’t know.”

Billy nodded seriously, his tone equally earnest. “Yeah, sorry, Y/n. But… we can look for a girlfriend for you, if you want!”

The declaration was so unexpected that you were speechless for a few seconds, your mouth opening and closing as if trying to process it. Your face grew hot, and you laughed nervously, looking back at the puzzle.

“Oh, there’s no need for that, boys,” you said, waving your hands. “I can handle it myself.”

“But we’re good at this,” Tommy insisted, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “We know lots of cool girls!”

Billy nodded, eager.

“Yeah, like Amy from the chess team. She likes Star Wars, just like you. Or Harper, who did that amazing project on botany. She’s really smart.”

“And she has pretty hair,” Tommy added, as if that was a decisive factor.

You laughed, covering your face with your hands while shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Why? We just want to help!” Tommy protested, crossing his arms as he pretended to be offended.

Billy smiled slyly, winking at you. “We just want you to be happy, Y/n.”

Your heart tightened in your chest at their sweetness. You reached out, pulling both of them into a tight hug.

“You two already make me so happy, you know that?” you said, squeezing them a little harder. “I don’t need anything else.”

Tommy squirmed in the hug, but you noticed the smile on his face.

“Okay, okay, but if you change your mind, we’re here.”

“For sure,” Billy agreed with a serious nod.

You laughed again, returning to the puzzle with a warmed heart. Moments like this made you realize just how much you loved those boys and how much they cared about you, too.

[...]

The room was immersed in a comfortable darkness, lit only by the glow of the TV. You were lying with your legs stretched out on the couch, your head resting on Wanda's lap, while she absently played with a lock of your hair. The movie was already coming to an end, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention to it.

“This movie is so… predictable,” Wanda commented, her voice low and lazy. “The heroine always forgives the hero, no matter how stupid he is.”

You let out a laugh, tilting your head to look at her. “That's because everyone loves a happy ending. Don't you?”

“I like realistic endings,” Wanda replied with an enigmatic smile. “But if you like them, I can make an effort.”

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the air seemed heavier, charged with a tension you didn't quite know how to define. Wanda's smile softened, but her gaze remained intense, almost daring you to break the silence.

You couldn't resist. Sitting up, you leaned towards her, and before you could think too much, your lips met. The kiss started slow, as if you were still exploring the terrain, but it quickly became deeper, more urgent. Wanda's hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, while you intertwined your fingers in her hair, feeling the soft texture between your fingers.

The sound of the phone ringing echoed through the room, drawing a frustrated sigh from both of you. You tried to ignore it, but Wanda, with a mischievous smile, broke the kiss and murmured against your lips: "Go answer it. It might be important."

You huffed, rolling your eyes before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, daughter! It's me!" your mother's excited voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"Hi, mom," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady as Wanda took advantage of your distraction to trace a slow path with her hand down your body, reaching your belly.

"How are things? Are you behaving at Wanda's house?"

You bit your lip to keep from sighing as Wanda’s hand slid down to your clit, massaging it deliberately. “It’s okay, mom. I’m… behaving, yes.”

“Great! Because I’ll be there in three days. I’ve already organized everything.”

“Three days?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral as you felt Wanda’s teeth gently nibble on your ear.

“Yes! I want to spend some time with you and see how this coexistence is going. Is Wanda there? Tell her I sent my regards.”

You looked at Wanda, who now had a mischievous smile on her lips as she increased the intensity of the caresses on your hot button.

“She… y-yes. I’ll tell her.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? Your voice is a little hoarse.” You look at Wanda as if you wanted to kill her.

“Y-yes, mom. I was… sleeping, I’m sleeping. And you woke me up.” Wanda's mouth gliding along the length of your neck, she sucks on your pulse point, making you bite your lip hard to keep from moaning.

“Oh, sorry! The jet lag has been driving me crazy. But that's great! Oh, and don't forget to pack your things. I want everything to be in order when I get here.”

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the conversation as Wanda touched you, her fingers playing with your warm entrance, already ready for her. Your whole body reacted, and it was hard not to let out a sound.

“Okay, Mom. I'll… I'll fix it.” Your voice wavered, but you managed to compose yourself quickly.

"Good night, daughter. Take care.”

“Good n-night, Mom.”

As soon as you hung up the phone, Wanda laughed softly, the sound echoing through the room. “You did well,” she teased, her hand still in the same place.

“Wanda!” you exclaimed, trying to sound serious, but the nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“I just wanted to see how much you could concentrate,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss your neck, the touch sending waves of heat through your body. “Looks like you passed the test.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, but you did nothing to push her away, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation as she picked up where the phone had left off.

“Mmm, my good girl!” she pulled you onto her lap to continue her caresses.

“Hm, mommy… I want to watch the movie.” You murmured, already opening your legs for her, all naughty.

“Oh. Do you want to? Then watch, Dekta.” She said as she went down with her mouth to find the little button she loved so much. “But let mommy have fun.”

It didn’t take much, just for Wanda to scrape her teeth on your clitoris and lick your anus for your legs to start shaking uncontrollably.

Entangling you in her arms, Wanda kisses the top of your head and then gives you a knowing smile.

“Hmm, so you mean my little girl likes having her ass kissed?” Wanda pinches your belly, making you squeak—still sensitive from the orgasm. “You’re so naughty.”

She laughs when you hide in the crook of her neck, running away from her gaze. “Oh, is my little girl embarrassed when mommy says dirty things now? Funny… It didn’t seem like that when I had my mouth on yours—” You interrupt Wanda’s speech with your hand over her mouth.

“Mommy!” She laughs even more, squeezing you tighter against her.

Wanda was still smiling when you hid your face in her neck again, trying to escape her teasing. It was a genuine smile, one of those that light up the entire face, but it couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. Wanda's eyes, for a brief moment, lost their mischievous glint and became soft—gentle in a way she didn’t always allow herself to show. She felt the weight of your body still pressed against hers, warm, pliant, trusting her in such a pure way that it made her heart float.

And ache.

Wanda's fingers began to slowly glide across your back, as if she needed to memorize every contour, every inch she touched. She felt you sigh softly, completely unaware of the turbulent thoughts in her mind. It was impossible to avoid; Wanda knew that one day this would come to an end. One day, you wouldn’t be there, sprawled in her lap, with flushed cheeks and eyes sparkling with happiness. One day, your parents would come back and you would leave. One day, you would go to college, make new friends, live your life... without her.

For a moment, Wanda almost couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened, a strange, almost unbearable sensation. She lowered her gaze to you, watching your serene face and cheeks still slightly reddened. So young, so full of life. So perfect. Her heart leaped, and the tears came before she could stop them.

You noticed, of course. You always noticed when something changed in her.

“Wanda?” Your voice sounded soft, almost worried, as you pulled back just enough to look at her face. “What happened?”

Wanda blinked a few times, as if trying to push the tears away before they fell, but it was no use. She smiled, even with her eyes shining and her chest tight. A sweet, genuine smile, but one heavy with emotion.

“I just…” She paused, took a deep breath, and delicately ran her fingers through your hair, brushing a few strands away from your face. “I just… adore you so much. Never forget that.”

You furrowed your brows, a shy smile appearing on your lips as you looked at her with an expression that mixed affection and surprise. “Wanda, what’s this talk about? I won’t forget.”

Wanda nodded, but deep down, that thought continued to torment her. How could she explain to you that she had never felt this way for anyone? That you had crossed all the barriers she had spent years building? That, for the first time, the fear of losing someone left her paralyzed?

She didn’t explain. Instead, she pulled you closer to her chest, as if that hug could keep everything just as it was, frozen in time.

“I just needed to say it,” she murmured, kissing the top of your head again. “Because sometimes you make me feel things I didn’t know existed. And I don’t want you to doubt that.”

You smiled, snuggling even closer against her, not understanding the full weight of the words, but feeling the affection overflow in every gesture. Wanda closed her eyes, letting a few more tears fall silently. Because in that moment, as you lay in her arms, she realized—she loved you.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, would be the same after that.

[...]

Vision sat in the office, an untouched glass of wine on the table before him. The house was silent, except for the occasional sounds coming from upstairs. He knew it was Wanda moving around up there, probably with you. That realization bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Wanda was never a woman who accepted being tamed. From the moment he met her, it was clear that she was strong, independent, and would never bow to the molds her family or the church expected. That was part of what attracted him, though it was also the reason for so many conflicts at the beginning of their marriage.

Their marriage was never about love or passion; it was a strategic alliance. Wanda's family, of traditional and conservative origins, wanted to keep her on the “right path,” while Vision, a businessman with a good reputation in the community, needed a wife who symbolized the perfect balance of strength and submission to uphold his public image. Wanda, perhaps tired of the pressures, agreed. “I’ll marry you, but you’ll never control me,” she had said with a defiant smile the day they struck the deal. He had laughed at the time, thinking it was a joke. Today, that phrase felt like a prophecy.

Vision ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. He had always known Wanda wasn’t the devoted wife his friends and colleagues had. She was cold but courteous in public. She respected commitments but didn’t engage. He thought that would be enough, because he didn’t love her either. The marriage was comfortable, functional. But now, with you in the equation, everything was changing.

Over the last few months, he had noticed the transformation. Wanda was more attentive, more present—but not with him. She reserved that for you. There was something in her eyes when she looked at you, something he had never seen when she looked at him. Vision didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it deeply unsettled him.

Staring at the wall of his office, his thoughts raced. But the silence in his heart was heavy. Then his mind whispered: “Take control, Vision. Wanda is yours! Your property.”

The word “property” echoed in Vision’s mind, bringing a mix of indignation and shame. He had never liked the idea of seeing Wanda as something that could be possessed. But now, he couldn’t ignore the jealousy burning in his chest.

He sat in silence, replaying memories of when he met Wanda. She was undeniably brilliant, with an intelligence and charisma that intimidated him. Vision had always known Wanda was superior to him in many ways, but he thought marriage would balance that, offering her structure and a respectable name, while he gained the perfect wife to reinforce his public image.

What he didn’t expect was that Wanda would find in you something he could never offer. Vision didn’t know exactly what that was, but it made him feel irrelevant—and, for the first time, unbearably vulnerable.

“Wanda…” he murmured to himself, staring at the still-untouched glass of wine. He knew he needed to act, but how? How could he confront someone he never truly managed to understand?

Deep down, Vision knew his marriage was falling apart. And worse, he knew he might never have truly possessed Wanda—not as a wife, not as a partner. She had always belonged to herself. And now, it seemed she had found someone she wanted to share that with.

~*~

And then you ask me: Clara, can we start crying now? YESSSS

UNREVISED CHAPTER

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