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you cough out the weed for approximately a minute, as one of your best friend’s pat you on the back, whilst the other ceremoniously takes a video of you with a snapchat filter.
“not a warning, darcy?” you rasped, chugging a bottle of water. darcy apologized sheepishly, batting her eyelashes. pepper finally puts her phone down and asks if you’re okay. “once you delete the video,” you respond, slapping your chest.
“no way!” the ginger protests, “this is going to my april dump post, dweeb,” in which you could only groan. once you proclaimed you’ve settled down by sitting straight into the couch, darcy continued her gossip.
“yes, so, that’s why he hasn’t attended the thursday lecture,” she concluded, earning a nod from the both of you. pepper is grinning like a yellow M&M with wide-eyes, so it’s either she’s coked out or stunned. it’s the latter, thank goodness. that wouldn’t be something you can handle at the moment as you’re god-knows-how-many shots in and halfway through the joint.
“anyway,” she continued, twirling her hair, holding the said joint in between fingers, “i found out after that mr. barnes got rogers through the side door…a no-brainer, seriously, if you’ve been paying around the rumor slash fact that that jesus freak never got a grade above a C+,” nodding her head along with the both of you.
you protest, “but college is a different story,” giving his academic character into consideration. pepper agrees then snatches the joint from the storyteller.
“he was on the way to priest school, but mr. barnes convinced him to pursue a college degree instead…”
“and he was going to pass, how? by sucking his dick every lunch hour?”
you all turn into fits of laughter, the pot of gold significantly making the quip more comedic than usual. there are more ways to be found than giving a blowjob. pepper makes sure to remind you.
“you are such a bitch, pep,” you moan and give her the finger. she only giggles and drinks from her red plastic cup.
“y/n, isn’t rogers real close with your maximoff best friend?” darcy chuckles as pepper wiggles her eyebrows. you roll your eyes, “for the last time, pietro doesn’t swerve that way! and yes, they were close for a week before rogers coaxed him to confess his sins to his priest to begin his rebirth or something,”
“or something.”
“he declared to make him a frat boy by the end of the week, didn’t he?”
“yep,” you confirmed, popping the p, “that motherfucker threw a whole party. rogers felt bad to decline his invitation so he showed up, and repaid him by puking his guts into their vintage couch a couple drinks later!”
“gross!”
“that shit reeked for ages!” you exclaimed, your memory triggering the nasty smell.
“now that we’re on the topic of your favorite best friend,” pepper remarks sarcastically at which you giggled, “where is he? he hasn’t paid me back–!”
“was it during the rave?”
“no, for the rave!”
smoke was about to come out her nostrils. “it’s around 300 bucks, by the way, not that you rich folks would bat an eye out–”
“be careful, p,” darcy warns, “you never know which maximoff goon is around.” if she was teasing her you can’t tell. you grin at the exchange.
“hell i care!”
“oh i have something!” darcy exclaims, looking directly at you. “you!”
“me?”
“go ahead, darcy, crush her!” pepper yells, a shit-eating grin on her face, her eyes are turning red.
you roll your eyes.
you and pepper have a love-hate relationship. it’s tolerable most of the time, only because she keeps your head in the game, when you’re taking a break from the other one.
to darcy’s distress, “i almost swung at her because of you!”, she jumps out of her seat and gesticulates, sharing the wrath experience by the sister maximoff. the she-who-must-not-be-named.
“she was looking for you?” your best friend’s tone raises at the end with incredulity, herself unsure at the exchange with the witch. “it’s really annoying because we came in at the same time and she dragged my polyester jacket–”
“hideous, by the way,” pepper utters, earning her a glare. “it’s really cold, p,” darcy retorts, crossing her arms against her torso.
“a hoe never gets cold!”
“you would know, wouldn’t you?” you bite back. it’s a weak remark. pepper only sticks out her tongue at you.
“okay! back to me! and then she was asking about your whereabouts which i, for one, who just got here, don’t know and told her that. the witch called me a worthless rag! A WORTHLESS RAG! for god’s sake, y/n! you and the maximoffs! how about she’s the worthless rag, huh? since she’s been aiming for your downfall since day one, and yet none of her spells work! and everyone knows! you’re still standing, y/n! she doesn’t have any right to call me that. she’s like a clock pendulum that doesn’t swing!”
“you okay? you done? you need some water?” pepper checks in for support as darcy settles down beside you. “yes, and the joint too.” the redhead gives you a knowing look. you grin.
the pot of gold is dutifully doing its wonders, seeping into your veins by the minute, inkling that by the time the other twin, with her nefarious leather jacket, finds you, you’d be faded and compliant to the core. making eye contact with darcy, you present her a reassuring smile, unknowingly thanking her for the information. you haven’t seen her in a week. you cozy in further the couch, drowning the rest. what a relief.
and yet, what a puzzle piece, that fiery girl, beleaguered and convoluted, offering anything but a dull moment between you two. countlessly aiming for a different lens to spy on her using pietro to your own benefit, relentlessly denying the forged bond between you and her brother, and ever so often twisting your own words against you. it never ends, because the moment you bring it up, she’s out the door, sometimes a cigarette between her lips, or a sticky residue on her fingers.
to think that it began with pietro bringing you over with a child-like smile on his face, giddy to have made a new friend on campus in the big city to celebrate his eighteenth birthday.
“i know you,” she said, her accent thick then, “you’re famous with the boys,” unaware that a crazy, protective younger sister cornered you in the maximoff kitchen. you found it endearing at first, that pietro, your new best friend, could rely on his well-being to a close relation, adorable and intimidating at the same time; until she began poking information out of you, purposely finding her limit.
it didn’t end there, as witch maximoff, coined by you, attempted to end your life on multiple occasions, quite literally, commencing her agenda by mixing crushed nuts in your soup. you were welcomed in the maximoff household, or so you thought, as your presence was an actual rotting vex; hence, you ended up at a hospital ten minutes away from the maximoff summer house with an intravenous strapped in your vein. you spent an entire day like a coffin in a hospital bed, stuck with the witch, begrudgingly nursing you back to health and accommodating at your every need, due to her convertible being held at gunpoint.
the main concern wasn’t executing her criminal agenda, it was how she found out about the nut allergy. you must have somehow slipped it over at dinner the night before, but you’re a careful person, so it must have been through a different, active route. you can’t prove that the witch maximoff made a sweeping background check on you, but unfortunately for her, you were more than willing to find out.
find out, you couldn’t–forgotten about it–because by the end of the summer, it wasn’t information you got but the devil’s fingers inside you; her mouth wet, nasty, and full of insults. none of which you knew as it was whispered in her mother tongue, the only word worth remembering was “shlyukha.” it was wanda’s mantra, every time she uttered it her breath got caught in a hitch, her grip getting tighter as you winced and moaned in both pain and pleasure. as you got off from riding her fingers, wanda got herself off from the title, each slip and sigh of the sokovian diss taking her to the edge along with you.
witchy wanda’s satisfaction didn’t end there, as humiliation is her resentment, and you with bated breath, was her release.
one time, she received a day-old pie reheated in the oven for her cousin nikolai, which had bite marks on them. meanwhile, your best friend, pietro, received one that just came out of the oven. they both requested the dessert at the same time.
“serves her right,” you whispered under your breath, leading to your drowning ‘incident’ at the pool, body aghast as you made it back to land, your entire body convulsing.
and just like clockwork, your favorite twin shows up with a girl next to his hip, a boisterous smile painting on his stupid face.
“howdy!” pietro greets the group with a southern accent, tipping his cowboy hat in your direction. he ushers the girl for the night forward, shaking the hands of his best mates. the blonde girl lingers longer with yours, caressing your thumb as she bats her eyes at you, tension blossoming. pietro coughs up as the other girls giggle in compliance, causing carly’s dusting pink cheeks. you devilishly grin as piero glares at you. unbothered, you winked at carly before letting her go.
they both exchange looks, teasing and daring at the same time. it’s a sight for sore eyes, except when you go further down, he’s–
“nice seeing you girls! bye now!” he tips his hat again before making a beeline for the exit, groping the girl’s ass for one final show.
blowing a kiss at him was the last thing he saw before they disappeared into the crowd.
classic pietro. he’ll talk your ear off about this after spring break.
“ugh! i forgot to bring up the rave money!” pepper complains, taking a long, nasty swig from the don julio. straight from the bottle. she makes a face and takes the bottle away from her body, visibly revolted. you could only shake your head, hiding a smirk, recalling the last time you’ve both plotted on the same girl and had her, on separate occasions of course, let alone three girls. and when the revelation came, you both played fuck, marry, or kill on them.
“i don’t know how you’re putting up with that maximoff boy,” pepper declares with a slur, receiving an earnest nod from darcy.
you could only shrug. “he’s the best.”
“it makes sense,” darcy interjects, finishing the joint with one last puff. leaning into the group as if telling a dark secret, she rasps, “they’re the freakiest motherfuckers on the planet,” yelping as you shove her down the couch.
“hey, to each their own!” you protest.
you count the remaining hours of peace time before the thunder rolls around. you’d give anything to see her roll around in fact, the sequence of your high thoughts so hilarious you could almost summon it to life.
pepper raises the question about wanda’s sexual orientation. you tease them through it as boasting about sleeping with the witch will not only cause your heads but your best friend.
“oh thank god, bye now, lovebirds,” you jokingly sigh in relief as pepper is ushered into tony’s arms, their figures disappearing in one quick second. “welp, it’s just us two,” darcy frankly states, laying down on the couch with a contemplating face.
“don’t sound disappointed, darcy, i’m not going to up and leave–”
“i know, because i am. i ate a whole tub of ice cream before i came here and it’s really messing my guts with the alcohol, and the THC, so–”
“oh god,” you groan, “this is a frat house, darcy–hey!”
“sorry! i really have to!” she shouts as she disappears into the crowd as well.
“alright…”
you find yourself entering the kitchen, greeting people here and there as you dance your way through the crowd, not leaving without shaking their hands and complimenting their outfits you sure will be forgotten by dawn. you’re there now, the room spinning around as you situate against the marble countertop, catching yourself and repeating to yourself that you won’t have another drink.
“i won’t have another drink i won’t have another drink i won’t…”
you groan and turn around, your elbows against the countertop supporting your weight as you drunkenly search for a bottle of water, to no avail.
“you good?”
you hear a deep chuckle as you shake your head in response. a bottled water is placed into your line of sight. you take it with no question, taking a huge gulp, and retching it out of your throat in one quick second.
“what the fuck?” you heave, giving him your deadliest look, receiving a laugh in return as he clutches his stomach, a lock of loose curly hair bouncing over his forehead. “oh shit, you fell for that, y/n!”
“do i even know you?”
you moan and make a beeline to the bathroom hoping darcy would still be there. you can barely walk straight, let alone think straight, but you were still well-functioning enough to avoid instigating a big, childish man.
he grabs your arm, “hey, hey, wait up,” suave but firm. “what the fuck do you want, asshole?” you burst, the room spinning. you wish you could wipe off the smirk with the retch nowhere to be found.
he clutches his chest, acting hurt, “you’re a mouthful, aren’t you? i’m real sensitive, and your tone is really hurting my feelings,” crouching down to match your height.
“a sensitive person wouldn’t fucking put vodka in a water bottle and advertise it as water!”
his smirk only widens. “and feisty. i like it. but i’m so sorry…”
he is not sorry. not in the slightest bit.
“look,” he says, pulling you against his bulky chest, “i don’t know how to talk to pretty girls like you-“
“let me go.”
struggling to get out of his embrace,
“so let me just do this one thing-“
your body freezes up when his dry lips go in contact with yours, his tongue assaulting your pliable mouth with ease.
once he does, your mind catches up with your body, thrashing to escape, completely revolted.
“let me go!”
“i need at least five seconds-“
“no, let me-let me go!”
where is darcy?
“i promise it’s just–”
“stop-!”
“she said let go, dude.”
a fist lands into the assaulter’s cheek, the sudden impact causing him to tumble backward, letting you go, ultimately causing you to land butt first onto the floor.
the vertigo is instantaneous, a resounding buzz in your ears that you cannot shake. despite it, you blindingly balance on your feet, hoping no one was paying attention. it’s impossible, because the altercation between your redeemer and the other is pivoting into a heated match, the spotlight moving away from you.
everyone gasps as a loud thwack echoes around the room, now quiet, with the dj walking into the firepit. you whip your head back and spot a familiar looking five foot someone staggering backwards, the assaulter grinning in content.
“w-wanda?”
shock is an understatement, highlighted all over your flushed state. wanda’s nose flares as she continually glares at the man, curling her hands into fists. they’re both intoxicated, the other high-strung whilst the witch remains calm and collected. the only telling factor would be the glazed over look in her eyes, obvious to no one but you and her brother.
”da, eto zhalkoye podobiye petukha,” she huffs as he lunges towards her, the brunette effortlessly avoiding his colliding body and successfully kicking him in the balls in one swift movement.
yes, excuse, cock, pathetic.
you just can’t believe it.
he’s crouching down and moaning though not in defeat, whilst with your relief and amazement overtaking your senses, her name leaving as a sigh from your lips. in consequence, it momentarily knocks wanda off-guard, staring back at you with an unreadable expression. he takes this as an opportunity to bash his feet into her shin. wanda trips, landing on her side with a loud thud.
a lot of partygoers are gathered in a circle, chattering, hushing, and cheering going on, all eyes on the three of you. it’s strange, how it piques your introspection of how shamefully exposed you’re feeling right now, shit-faced and unable to finish your own fight. by quick glances and “are they okay?” curiosity that doesn’t bear the kind of support that you so obviously need. for the first time, you feel alone in a crowded room. it’s revolting.
another gasp from the uniting crowd breaks you out of your stupor, the words lodged in your throat as you helplessly watch him topple over her.
she takes a hit by the jaw, yelping as he presses his palm against her forehead to hold her in place, spit dripping off his lips. wanda chuckles then winces, her jades daring him to cross her again. it’s absurd to still instigate, when she’s pressed under the floor, with only a busted lip and swelling jaw, and her withering defense, another swing knocking her into unconsciousness soon enough.
you cry.
he turns to you with a vacant stare, a smirk grazing his bruising cheek, his fist mid-air. “you did this, you know,” he deadpans. getting off wanda, he makes his way to you.
wanda refuses his attention to divert to you, so she drags his shirt, the protest triggering a violent response of him hitting back, fortunately missing her face.
the hunger for punishment is the last thing you see before your sight turns into a blur of the ceiling, your throat crushing by two large hands.
it doesn’t take long before the pressure zeroes, clasping your very own throat, gasping for air on all fours. everything’s fuzzy and spinning and altogether nauseating, the harrowing turn of events pouring out in one big vomit, crying as the distressing act has freed you, restoring a stillness you withdrew from yourself a couple hours ago.
you begin shaking when you hear his familiar voice resonate, begging for forgiveness as he takes punch after punch, the sound of a short, heavy hit causing you to flinch every time.
“are you okay, y/n?”
jarvis holds you up by the shoulders, running circles on your back.
“y-yeah, i-i,”
unable to formulate words yet, you could only nod and open your mouth when jarvis presents a bottled water you so desperately needed, drinking til it’s empty, gagging in between. he’s nothing but a big help, obviously due to wanda’s doing–command–whatever pact he made to be her friend. it does the job, thinking that she did it because she truly cared, because what could she have gained from this? falling over with just one punch, yielding after another fist landed on her body?
you could never be too comfortable though, but you’re vertiginous and dehydrated, and yet insane enough to follow after her once you’ve gathered enough apologies tucked in your back pocket, just in time for the crowd to lose themselves somewhere else besides you and the girl.
“i–i need to see her, jarvis,” you utter, patting him on the shoulder for gratitude.
“be careful, y/n, she’s quite shaken,” he cautions, giving you a tight smile.
“thank you, jarvis.”
it’s a breath of fresh air once you’re outside, the faint bass of techno fading into the background as you walk further away from the house.
although the initial agenda was to find wanda, the true redeeming comfort is the spring breeze, the agonies of yesterday and tomorrow blending with the wind, coursing away from your senses. you let your feet lead you wherever, parked cars going straight through your peripheral vision.
your feet ceases immediately when you spot the person you’re looking for, leaning against the hood of her mondial, slouching, hands inside her leather jacket pocket.
before you know it, before your distress shifts into fear—you’re in front of wanda maximoff, your presence known but not acknowledged.
you’re staring at her converse, “wanda,” a sob bubbling out of your flushed throat.
it’s odd, how you don’t know you have all of this inside you until she’s within reach, watching and waiting. it’s quite nerve-wracking, since you don’t consider yourself what they call emotionally intelligent. guessing wanda’s mood for the night usually helps you figure out your own, and tonight she’s not happy. it usually doesn’t end well when wanda’s not happy.
a scorn spurts out of the brunette’s busted lip, setting you off into a crying mess. “i’m sorry,” you whimper, wiping them away harshly, the headache returning. wanda folds her arms in front of her chest, blocking herself from you.
“what are you doing here?”
her accent is thick, rich and dark during the wee hours of the night or when she’s furious at you. she slides off the hood, meeting your knees with her own.
you start, “i don’t know, i left after–” cutting yourself off to escape what went down tonight at the last party you’ll probably attend. it’s useless, though, because she’s staring at you right in the face with souvenirs of her chivalry and your fresh tears with a handprint around your neck.
wanda takes your chin in between two fingers, furrowing her brows when you flinch away, hushing from your whimpering, lifting your face below the light of the lamppost to get a proper look at you.
the left side of wanda’s face is colored in both red and purple, a cut on her lower lip. the guilt is overbearing, and so much so when you look into her dilated eyes, already staring back at you with an intent hunger for reprisal, the one you’re familiar with. your body trembles.
“you always wind back to me, moy golub,” wanda croons, “it’s no wonder it triggered me to protect you,” musing as she drags her thumb along your lower lip, watching how it slid easily against the fingerpad.
you make a sound from the back of your throat, “i’m so-” the apology suspended as she pushes her thumb against your lips, silencing you. wanda shakes her head. objection to disappointment.
you frown.
“you just let anyone do that to you?”
“n-no-”
“you just let anyone disrespect you, y/n?”
“i don’t-”
your wide-eyed and fixed stare makes wanda tilt her head, quiet as you take her punishment to satiate her curiosity, losing your breath with her hand gripping your throat, her bruised knuckles illuminated by the lamppost.
“pleak-”
wanda’s brows are furrowed, studying the veins outlining your face, noting the shade of red flushing your cheeks. your mouth is open in a silent scream whilst wanda’s eyes gloss with tears.
she shudders when she lets you go.
the sokovian catches her breath, afflicted, pacing around for a moment as you whimper and cry. she stares at you and a tear rolls down her face.
“i don’t understand you, y/n,” wanda says, deep with worry.
you shake your head, “i’m sorry, wanda, please, forgive me!”
“i can’t believe you’d let me do that,”
“i didn’t mean for it to happen, wanda, please believe me–”
you gasp as soon as wanda strikes at you with her entire hand grabbing your jaw, wasting no space. “don’t beg, da? you can’t have the audacity after all the trouble i went through tonight because of you.”
you blatantly bawl and wanda makes a disgusted noise before tossing your face away from her, and you just take it, chanting, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” getting on your knees and clinging around her legs.
“can you please take me home? please? i-”
“you’re worried about that now? getting seen with me, after everything?” she scowls, “am i truly the worst person than him? you’d rather he continued to assault you with everyone watching?”
you violently shake your head, “no, no, it’s not like that–” perturbingly sobbing with remorse.
wanda eventually pulls you into a long embrace, caressing your hair, hushing you as she mouths it’s okays.
“i really didn’t mean to, wanda. i didn’t want you hurt,” you moan, tightening your grip around her torso.
“but it happened, y/n,” wanda insists, gentle but cruel.
then she snaps, her gaze hardening, “i’m really disappointed in you tonight, y/n.”
you beseech with a whimper, “i’m sorry, wanda. please, i’ll do anything for you to forgive me. please. please, i need you to forgive me!”
“are you sure?” she prods, caressing your earlobe with her thumb.
“anything, please, anything, i’m so sorry for what i did, wanda. anything–”
wanda sighs, the right side of her lips slightly quirking upwards.
“i need you to let me fuck your face.”
you shriek.
wanda takes a long pause,
“are you scared?”
quietly observing you. her hold remains tight around your waist, her caressing fingers momentarily halting, waiting for you. she purposely ignores the turmoil of emotions playing over your face, like she always does. wanda tells you all the time that you should know the exact emotion you’re feeling before you could verbally say it out loud, to avoid confusing the receiver.
the brunette arches her brow, as if reminding you exactly what you haven’t forgotten.
wanda’s head jerks in disappointment.
“you shouldn’t be, y/n. whores like you aren’t supposed to be scared of anything.”
you whine in disapproval.
“no?”
“...n-no,”
wanda bobs her head, a quick leering grin, then a wince.
“what are you, then?”
your mind empties. no words come out. your eyes blink at wanda for an answer.
“you say you’re sorry, but what are you doing right now, y/n?”
“i-”
“remember what you made me do a while ago? can you tell me what happened?” wanda points at her bruises, wetting the cut on her lips.
“you’re in pain,” you absentmindedly respond, guilt and shame overtaking your senses. “because of me.”
“and what did you say you will do to make me feel better?”
“a-anything. i’ll do anything…”
by the time you finish your sentence, you’re already on your knees, looking up at wanda, her eyes twinkling with pride. “good girl. go on then, moy golub, tell me how sorry you are.”
wanda yanks your hair to withdraw your reluctance completely, shoving your face into her crotch, huffing. “i know you love to fucking please me, y/n,” she curses, pulling your hair for distance as she unzips her jeans, “you’d do anything for me,” growling, stern like a warning.
you sigh, nodding your head, spreading her legs with one hand as the other tugs the clothing down. you poke a finger on the wet spot. wanda hisses.
“now pull my panties down-good girl,” she sighs, moaning as her pussy meets the air. her hips buck, her hand politely placed on the back of your head.
she’s so fucking wet. her arousal coats her inner thighs.
you lick your lips.
she blushes.
you take a long stripe from her opening to her clit, her pubic hair tickling your nose. wanda’s reaction is explosive, tilting her head back in pleasure as her fingernails lightly scratch your scalp. you flick the tip of your tongue over her clitoris, opening her folds in the process, and dutifully making contact with your full mouth over it.
“that’s it!” the brunette exclaims, making keen sounds, drowning in the pools of her own pleasure. you suck at her clit, making both of her hands go over your head, using it as leverage, then falling against the hood of her mondial, keeping herself upright. wanda’s whimpers are heavenly, and her sighs are just to die for. you feel your own throb with desire.
“oh y/n, baby, y/n, oh fuck,” wanda pants.
“oh fuck,” you curse as you continue to lap at her pussy, giving them open mouthed kisses whilst you take a few breaths, dragging your lips up her dripping inner thighs, and using both hands to spread her even further.
tilting your neck upwards, you bury your face in her pussy to dip your tongue inside her aching hole. wanda’s so warm and velvety inside, the feeling of drilling your tongue into her makes your gut twist and pool with elation, the moans vibrating through her bundle of nerves. wanda takes a sharp intake of breath, and then “oh y/n, you cheap slut!”
squirming at the title, your brows furrow with aversion. quickly dismissing it with a shake of your head, overtaken by wanda’s increasing sighs prompts you to tongue her faster, your saliva dripping down your chin.
you moan into wanda’s pussy when you notice your hips bucking into their own accord, frustrated at the ache that only grows the longer this takes. you hiss as the brunette yanks your hair, driving her hips hard, burying her face in between her legs.
you curse, “so fucking good,” taking your tongue out, flattening it, meeting wanda’s clit and more, grinding and rolling her body, digging her fingernails into your scalp, hoarsely chanting your name.
with every word, she drives your face into her pussy, blissed out, meeting you in the middle.
“fuck! what’s. wrong. with. you?” she growls. you sigh in complete rapt, your eyes watering at the stimulation.
“you stupid girl. you like getting treated like this?”
you could only moan. you’re not particularly sure if you do, but wanda’s body and words make you drunker with pleasure. “if this was my strap, y/n, you’d be gagging on it like crazy,” wanda chuckles then sighs, “look at that, your eyes are rolling back. you want my strap?”
you nod your head, sucking and flicking at her pussy. wanda’s right thigh begins to switch, signifying her approaching climax.
“you like embarrassing yourself don’t you? you’re so fucked up, y/n, to like getting treated like this!”
true, you were made for this. you certainly are because wanda’s coming apart, and it doesn’t take that long when it comes to you.
“please come in my mouth,” you mumble, wanda’s drenched pussy blocking your speech.
she moans, louder, “fuck, yes, i’m so close, moya khoroshaya shlyukha!”
that particular sentence sends shivers down your spine, your glazed over eyes rolling back, as wanda begins sputtering sokovian nonsense, stimulating a pavlovian response with either of you at the receiving end.
with your tongue that feels like falling apart, you grip wanda’s ass for dear life, forcing her thrusts to a minimum, coming naturally as her legs begin twitching.
“i know you like it, ya znayu, tebe nravitsya, kogda ya govoryu na yazyke, kotorogo ty ne ponimayesh’” wanda pants, whining, closer and closer. her cheeks are flushed. her nipples rock hard.
“glupo, kak chert. ty zhalkaya shlyukha.”
“please!” you beg.
wanda comes, she comes. it’s explosive.
you unlatch your mouth off her mess and rise on your feet, catching her by the waist as she topples over, crooning “moy milyy golub”, smiling with twinkling stars in her eyes. the sokovian glistens in cold sweat, hunched over, catching her breath. she gives you butterfly kisses on one cheek and kind of sucks the cum that sputtered on your face.
she hums, softening. “open your mouth.”
you do without question.
she spits, warm and faint of vodka.
“now, what do we say?”
she slaps your cheek lightly at every word.
you whine, “thank you thank you thank you,”
“good slut. good girl.”
bobbing your head in appreciation, you embrace her tight. wanda coos.
“now are you ready to go home? because i am!”
you’re beaming, nuzzling her cheek with your nose before getting down on your knees, pulling wanda’s ruined panties and jeans back on as she scratches your scalp, your obedience flattering her.
you think you’ve redeemed yourself.
“are you happy now?”
“thanks to y/n,” wanda teases, swiping a finger at your lower lip.
“i’m glad,” you smile languidly, finally content and fulfilled.
wanda taps your ass. “go on then, i’ll start the car,” she says, leaving you kneeling down on the floor in front of her convertible, struggling to get back on your feet.