hey, sailor

she / her ; 21 ; les is more

[w1dowatrace]

The Assessment

Summary: In a future where having a child must be earned through an assessment, you and your husband are willing to do whatever it takes to start a family. But as the assessment progresses, old wounds resurface, relationships are tested, and a shocking revelation forces you to question everything you thought was impossible.

Pairing: Assessor Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

Word count: 15k

Tags/Warnings: 18+ dark themes, SMUT, dubcon, strap-on use, familial roleplay (?), pseudo-incest, dystopian future, infidelity, all kinds of manipulation lol, forbidden pregnancy, obsessive yandere behavior

Author's Note: I am so scared for this one since it has incestuous undertones and we all know how detested this theme is around the fandom. But then again, it is already a warning so if you're not into it, don't read. Your thoughts about this fic are very welcome.

ᱬ

"She has arrived." FRIDAY says, her voice carrying through the house without urgency.

Tony looks up from the counter. "Already?"

"Yes," FRIDAY replies. "She is currently waiting at the front door."

"I'll get it," you say. You've barely shifted your weight when FRIDAY speaks again.

"For your awareness," he says, "your heart rate has increased by twelve percent over baseline."

You stop for half a second, pressing your lips together as you let the fact settle. Of course it has, this is your home. FRIDAY knows your routines, your anxieties, the way your heart rate shifts about something. The difference between anticipation and fear, between excitement and the kind of tension that sits low in your chest and tightens your breath.

Before you can respond, Tony reaches for you. His hand wraps around yours. He squeezes once, firm enough to remind you that you're not alone in this, that whatever waits on the other side of the door is something you'll face together.

"I've got you," he says quietly, just under his breath. Then, without breaking that connection, he speaks to his invention. "FRIDAY, set the lights to neutral. Increase oxygen levels slightly."

"Already in progress," FRIDAY replies smoothly. "Lighting adjusted to neutral. Oxygen increased by three percent."

You look at Tony and manage a small smile. The kind you only wear for him. He returns it, quick and familiar. His thumb brushing once against your knuckles.

Hand in hand, you walk toward the front door.

And behind stands a woman.

She's slightly taller than you—maybe three inches at most—but it's enough that you notice it immediately, enough to shift the way you hold your shoulders as your gaze lifts to meet hers. Her hair is red in a tight bun. She's wearing what looks like the standard assessor uniform—nothing flashy. A neat pencil skirt, a blue and white top that comes all the way up to her neck, long white socks, and flat shoes that look comfortable enough to stand in for hours. It's practical, almost deliberately plain.

Her eyes move to you first. Not invasive, just simply attentive, like she's already registering details she won't comment on later.

"Hi, I am Wanda. Your assessor." She says.

You feel the moment stretch, your body a half-beat behind your thoughts. You're aware of your heartbeat again, of the careful neutrality of the light behind you, of the fact that this is the first real impression—the one that will quietly color everything that follows.

Before you can speak, Tony shifts beside you.

"Hi," he says, his voice warm but measured. "Welcome. I'm Tony and this is my wife, Y/N." He gestures toward you. "Please, come in."

You step aside and gesture her in and the three of you move through the house together. Wanda follows without hesitation, her attention taking in the room without obvious scrutiny. When you reach the living area, she sets her bag down neatly at her feet and sits, smooth and practiced, as if she's done this countless times before.

You and Tony take the seats across from her. You feel Tony stiffened when he sat straight, he never sat straight, he would always crouch every chance he got. You sit forward just a little, hand on your lap the other taking your husband's.

Wanda doesn't reach for anything when she begins. She simply looks at the two of you for a moment longer than is comfortable.

"So in the next seven days you'll undergo close observation and formal testing to ascertain suitability for parenting. Let's start simply." She says. "How long have you been together?"

You let out a small nervous laugh before you can stop it. Your fingers begin fidgeting against your lap almost instantly, twisting once against the fabric of your sleeve.

Your husband answers first, easy. "Three years." His hand shifts closer until his knuckles brush yours, grounding without making a show of it.

Wanda nods, then turns her attention to you. "And together?"

"Five," you say. Your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

She watches how you answered—not the words, but the timing, the way you look at Tony for confirmation.

"Tell me how you met," Wanda continues.

Tony smiles faintly. "I hired her."

You shoot him a look. "You interviewed me."

"That's what I said," he replies, unapologetic.

"And did that dynamic carry into your relationship?" The woman's question lands more sharply than the tone suggests.

"At first, maybe. But not for long."

"Why not?" Wanda asks.

"Because it wouldn't have worked, if she doesn't have an equal say." Your husband answered for you in which you agreed in your mind.

Wanda doesn't write anything down. She doesn't even shift in her seat. She just watches you for a moment longer than she has before, her attention narrowing until it feels uncomfortably precise.

"You're quiet," she says at last.

The room stills.

"You let him answer for you," Wanda continues, "Is that always your dynamic?"

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your thoughts trip over each other. You feel the familiar hitch in your breath, the way words line up faster than you can release them.

"I—" You stop. Start again. "I just—"

Beside you, Tony shifts. You feel the immediate instinct, that reflex. He's about to step in, about to smooth it over and protect you from the silence like he always does.

Before he can, Wanda lifts a hand. "I'm asking her," she says gently.

Tony freezes.

You feel it—the effort it takes for him to stay quiet. His jaw tightens and his mouth closes. He leans back just slightly, hands clasped together, eyes on you instead of Wanda.

The silence stretches.

Your heart pounds. You're painfully aware of every second it takes you to speak, of how exposed it feels to be watched while you gather yourself.

"It's not…always," you manage, the words uneven but real. "He talks faster than I do. I think longer. He just fills the space for me.

Tony's fingers twitch once in his lap but he doesn't interrupt.

"Do you ask him to?" Wanda presses.

"No," you say. "He just…knows."

"And do you want him to stop?" she asks.

The question lands softly—and devastates anyway.

You shake your head. Then add, more carefully, "Not always. But sometimes…I need the space first."

Wanda's gaze flicks briefly to Tony, then back to you. She moves on without another word.

"What scares you about being a parent?"

You knew this was coming. You'd rehearsed answers in your head. Thought you were ready. Still, your mouth feels dry.

"I'm scared I won't know when I'm doing damage," you say after a moment. "That I'll think I'm helping when I'm actually…shaping something that can't be undone."

"And what tells you that's a possibility?" she asks again.

You hesitate. This wasn't in the rehearsal. "Because that's how it happened to me," you admit. "No one meant to hurt me. But they still did."

The silence that follows is uncomfortably heavy.

Wanda shifts slightly, then asks, "What excites you?"

You glance at Tony without thinking. He doesn't speak. He just watches you, steady, letting you answer this one yourself.

"The chance to do it differently," you say quietly. "To give someone safety and love without control. To watch a person become themselves and not feel threatened by it."

"What do you think a child would cost you?"

You blink. "Everything," you say honestly. "Time, energy, parts of myself I'm used to keeping."

"And what would it give you?"

You answer without thinking this time. "Love."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You'd heard about this part, the intensity and the way it makes you feel smaller and clearer at the same time.

"What would you do for your child?"

"Everything."

Wanda lets the pause stretch just long enough for you to think everything is over. Then she shifts, folding one leg over the other as her questions turn inward.

"Let's talk about health," she says. She asks about sleep first—how many hours, who wakes first, who lies awake longer. Then diet and stress. Tony answers some of it easily, with numbers and habits and half-shrugs. You fill in the gaps when he glosses over things, the quiet ones he forgets count.

Then mental health.

"When one of you isn't well," Wanda asks, "how does the other know?"

You answer that one. Wanda nods slowly, as if placing each answer into an invisible structure.

"How often do you have sex?"

You freeze.

You were just about to look at your husband when he spoke.

"Regularly," Tony answered, easy enough—and then he glances at you, a quick grin flashing across his face. He knows this one isn't yours to answer. You've always been the quieter one when it comes to things like this.

Wanda doesn't react. She simply tilts her head slightly, as if adjusting the lens she's looking through.

"How regular is regular?" she asks. Her eyes never leave yours. It's starting to make you uncomfortable.

You shift slightly on the couch, suddenly hyperaware of everything—your breathing, the warmth gathering in your face, the way Tony's knee is pressed against yours.

Then Tony steps in exactly the way you knew he would.

"Pretty regular," he says lightly. "We're married, not dead."

A quiet, startled laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. He can be sarcastic like that.

Wanda doesn't smile at that. "How many times a week?"

"Oh, well…" his grin tilts sharper for half a second before easing again. "Depends on the week."

"That isn't an answer."

Tony exhales softly through his nose, settling deeper into the couch like he's trying to make the conversation casual through sheer force of will. "Four?" he says. "Sometimes more. Sometimes less if one of us is busy." He finishes lazily.

Wanda nods once. "And who initiates more often?"

You can practically feel the moment he decides this is still his question to handle again.

He also very clearly thinks the question is ridiculous. But somehow, impossibly, he remains behaved. This is a test, he reminded himself.

"Me," he answers without hesitation.

Wanda's gaze finally shifts to him. "Why?"

Tony blinks once like the answer should be obvious.

"Because…" he gestures his left arm vaguely in your direction. "I like my wife?" A beat passes before he adds, completely serious, "And she's beautiful, smart, and hot."

Then you cover your lip with one hand, already mortified. "Tony—"

"What?" he says immediately, turning toward you with genuine confusion. "You are."

"And that's enough reason?" Wanda asks sharply as if you two are forgetting she is there.

Tony looks back at her. "Shouldn't it be?"

You can feel the tension building again beneath Tony's composure now. He is not angry exactly but defensive.

He let out a heavy sigh realizing that the woman was still waiting for his answer. "She works herself into the ground," he starts. "Half the time she forgets what she needs because she's too focused on everyone else. So yeah, sometimes I initiate because she deserves to be wanted before she asks for it."

The room falls quiet again, and this time the heat creeping up your neck has absolutely nothing to do with nerves anymore. Wanda watches you carefully from across the couch, completely composed while you feel like you're actively dissolving into the cushions beneath you.

"Do you achieve a regular climax?" the ask is now directed to you.

Your mind buffered with the question but still you answered. "Y-Yes."

Wanda tilts her head slightly. "You sound unsure."

"Yes," you say in autopilot, "I mean—no. I am sure." You let out an awkward laugh under your breath out of embarrassment.

A quiet little laugh escapes Wanda before she can stop it, soft enough that it almost catches you off guard while she watches you struggle to recover from the question.

And somehow your embarrassment gets worse.

"Wow," he says, placing a hand dramatically against his chest. "You hesitated like I'm not sitting right here."

You immediately turn toward him, horrified. "Tony!"

"What? I'm just saying," he continues, clearly entertained now. "That answer was disrespectful to my entire career."

You just laugh again and when you look straight ahead again, you catch the last trace of Wanda's smile. Beautiful, your mind supplies before you can stop it. You become suddenly aware that you've been staring a fraction too long. You clear your throat softly and glance away. When you look back, Wanda is already watching you again with that same unreadable attentiveness, though something gentler lingers beneath it now.

She rises smoothly from the couch, straightening the sleeves of her uniform. "I think we're done for now," she says. "Shall I check where I'm staying?"

"Yeah, of course." Tony stands immediately.

You guide her through the quieter hallway of the house toward the guest suite prepared for her. Wanda walks beside the two of you calmly, her attention moving across the walls of the room, the lighting, the architecture—taking in everything without ever seeming intrusive.

Wanda sets her bag down near the bed and nods once after checking the whole place. "Thank you. We'll begin medical collection shortly."

The tests are somehow worse than the questions. It was clinical, humiliating, and entirely too personal.

Tony goes first, trying to make light of it the entire time while Wanda records. Then it's your turn.

You swear the embarrassment burns hotter beneath Wanda's quiet observation than the actual procedures themselves. She remains perfectly professional through all of it, calm and composed while you try not to think too hard about the fact that you are peeing with a woman one meter away from you.

After the tests when you finally see your husband, he reaches for your hand. "Well," he murmurs under his breath, "this officially beats every weird thing we've ever survived together."

A small laugh escapes you despite yourself.

"Hey," he says softly.

You look up just as his hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently closer. Your hands settle against his shirt automatically, fingers curling into the fabric as he leans down to kiss you.

Tony's hand cups your jaw briefly, thumb brushing your cheek while you melt into him without thinking. Then his other hand settles at your waist and suddenly the kiss deepens just enough to steal your breath.

Then there's a movement not far behind you. The two of you pull apart at the exact same time.

Wanda stands at the end of the hallway watching the two of you make out. For one horrible second, nobody speaks. Your entire body goes hot with embarrassment.

Tony blinks once. "Jesus Christ—"

"Please," Wanda says evenly from the hallway, "go on."

The words should probably make it better but good Lord they absolutely do not.

You feel your entire face burn as silence crashes down around the hallway. Whatever warmth had existed a second ago evaporates instantly.

Tony stares at Wanda for another beat like he's trying to decide whether to laugh or to kill her from cockblocking him.

"Yep," he says finally. "No, see, now it's weird."

For the first time, Wanda looks genuinely confused by that.

"You are married," she points out calmly.

"That's not the issue," Tony murmurs to himself.

Her gaze shifts between the two of you again, observant as ever. "Then what is? I need to observe every aspect of your relationship."

You clear your throat awkwardly and step forward from Tony, you're aware you have this one covered knowing your husband's patience is coming to its limit.

"We're going to bed," you say while massaging his arm to soothe him.

Wanda nods once, "Good night, then."

"Good night, thank you," you say quickly.

The second Wanda disappears back into her room, you groan softly.

"Oh my God."

Tony, on the other hand, seems like he's about to burst into madness but he is controlling it perfectly.

"Hey, on the bright side," you say, reaching for his hands gently, "at least we know she's thorough."

He shoots you a look. "That is not comforting."

"Sorry, honey." You smile.

Seeing you smile made his anger start to fade, he grinned faintly as he laced his fingers through yours and led you down the hall toward your shared bedroom.

"You okay?"

You nod after a second. "Just…overwhelmed."

His expression softens immediately. "No more assessment tonight. Just us. No more weird shit."

"You know…" you say quietly once the room settles again, "she looks at me a lot."

Tony glances up from where he's taking off his shirt. "What do you mean?"

"She barely even looks at you sometimes. Even when the questions are directed to you." You pull your knees closer against your chest as you sit on the edge of the bed. "It's always me she's watching."

He thinks about it for a second before shrugging lightly. "Maybe she's just looking for your reaction to what I say."

"No," you murmur, shaking your head immediately. "Earlier during the medical tests too, she didn't even come inside while you were taking yours. But with me, she's literally just half meter away while I was peeing."

That finally makes him pause. "Honey…maybe it's because you're both woman?"

You stare at him hard. "But still," you say after a second, frowning slightly. "Privacy, you know?"

Tony huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. "Yeah, okay point on you, honey."

Your shoulders sink again though, anxiety creeping right back in. He notices immediately. Without saying anything else, he gently takes your wrist and pulls you farther onto the bed until you're sitting properly between his legs. His hands settle on your hips, grounding you there while he looks up at you patiently.

"What if she doesn't like me?" you ask suddenly.

Tony's expression softens at once.

"What if there's already a result?" you continue quietly, words spilling faster now. "What if she already decided something the second she walked in? What if we're doing everything wrong and I don't even realize it?"

"Hey." His hands tighten gently. "Look at me."

"I really want this," you whisper.

"I know."

"No, I really want this, Tony." Your voice shakes slightly now. "I want a child. I want a child I can call my own."

His grip tightens gently.

You look at him then, eyes already glassy with worry. "We're good, right?" you ask softly. "We deserve it."

The words come faster after that, like if you stop talking the fear will swallow you whole.

"We're stable. We've done everything they asked." Your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of his shirt. "We would be good parents."

Tony's face changes slowly as he listens not because he disagrees but because he hates hearing you sound like you need to convince someone. Especially him, he is not Wanda. He is not an assessor.

"You don't have to sell me on us," he says quietly.

But you keep going anyway.

"We deserve this," you whisper again, almost like you're trying to make it true by saying it out loud. "Don't we?"

Tony's hands move up to cradle your face immediately.

"Hey." His voice is firmer now, enough to make you really look at him. "There is nobody on this planet more deserving of being a mother than you. You are kind, patient, ridiculously loving, and honestly the only reason this house feels like a home instead of a tech bunker."

A small breath escapes you. Your husband leans closer.

"And if that assessor can't see how incredible you are, then she's bad at her job."

And for the first time that night, the fear in your chest eases just a little.

What you don't know is that the door didn't fully close. Enough for your voices to slip through into the hallway. Wanda came back quietly to lurk on the two of you—it's a part of her job—to hear everything.

She stands there quietly outside your room, she looks back toward the crack in the door. She watches you, the way you fidget his shirt, the way you rests on your husband's lap, the way you lean into him without thinking.

Her jaw tightens faintly; she doesn't know at what.

Carefully, she steps back from the door and walks away down the hallway.

ᱬ

You wake up early the next morning. Way too early, honestly. Tony's still asleep beside you, face half buried in the pillow, completely unaware that your brain has already been spiraling for the last twenty minutes. You stare at the ceiling for a second before finally getting up.

Because now it feels real. The assessment starts today and you don't know what to expect.

You throw on one of Tony's sweaters and head downstairs, deciding to make breakfast. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft sounds of coffee brewing and the knife against the cutting board while you prepare fruit. You keep catching yourself fixing things that don't need fixing. Straightening plates and wiping already clean counters.

You glance up immediately when you hear footsteps.

Wanda walks into the kitchen looking like she just woke up, hair slightly messy, wearing a dark jacket and loose pants instead of that assessor outfit from yesterday. Somehow she looks softer like this—less intimidating.

"Hi, good morning," your voice comes out all soft and warm without you even thinking about it.

Wanda blinks at you. Her eyes stay on you for a second too long and something about your voice catches her completely off guard. Her chest tightens unexpectedly, heart skipping once before she can control it, it's stupid. Then she just nods once and sits at the table without saying anything. The silence after that feels ridiculously loud.

You suddenly become hyperaware of everything you're doing. The way you move, the way you pour coffee. The fact that she's sitting there watching quietly while you try very hard to act normal.

And the worst part? You can't tell anymore if you're making breakfast because you want to or because you want her to think you'd make a good mother.

Wanda sits quietly at the table while you move around the kitchen making breakfast. You place the bowl of freshly cut fruit in front of her carefully. She watched everything you did, how you glance at her every few seconds like you're trying to figure out what she's thinking.

Then came your husband. You immediately look up toward him and Wanda sees it happen in real time. Your whole face changes.

Your eyes light up before Tony even fully walks into the kitchen. Your shoulders relax instantly, like your body finally stopped being tense the second he appeared.

"Morning, honey," you say softly.

Tony barely even says good morning before walking straight to you, pressing a lazy kiss against your temple while stealing a strawberry from the cutting board.

"Morning, pretty girl."

You laugh quietly and shove at him with your hip while he grins like he's proud of himself.

And Wanda feels something ugly spark low in her chest. Hot and sudden enough that it almost pisses her off. She can't stop staring at the way you look at Tony. And the worst part is realizing she wants that look directed at her too not the nervous smiles you give her because she's the assessor. She doesn't like you being so careful and polite. She sat quietly at the table while you moved around the kitchen finishing up plates and Tony hovered nearby, stealing pieces of fruit and pretending he was helping.

"You know there are easier ways to get attention," you mumble when he steals another strawberry.

Tony grins immediately. "Yeah, but this one gets you to look at me."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost makes him laugh. Then he turns your face slightly toward him and kisses you.

That's when it starts.

SLAM.

The sound cracks through the kitchen hard enough that both you and Tony jump apart immediately. You turn around fast, Wanda is sitting at her chair gripping the bowl of fruit tightly in both hands. And then she slams it against the table again.

You blink in complete shock. "Wanda—?"

She doesn't answer. Her face is tight, jaw clenched, eyes fixed downward at the bowl while she keeps hitting it against the table over and over again. The fruits you prepared for her were flying everywhere.

Tony straightens instantly beside you. The joking mood disappears from his face immediately now that he recognizes what's happening.

Assessment behavior, regression testing. The assessor acting out emotionally the way a difficult child would to test parental responses under stress.

"Wanda," you say again but nothing. She just slams it again.

Your husband has gone quiet behind you now, watching carefully, but before he can say anything you move closer and gently grab Wanda's wrists to stop her from doing it again.

"Wanda, no."

Wanda slowly looks up at you.

"Slamming food around isn't nice," you tell her firmly. "We don't do that."

The whole kitchen goes silent. Even Tony looks a little surprised hearing you sound like that—firm and strict. But what catches you off guard is Wanda's face, her eyes start glossing over.

Your grip on her wrists softens immediately. "Hey…I am not mad," you say softer this time. "Okay?"

For a second, you think she's going to pull away completely or snap again. Instead, she suddenly leans forward—right into you. You let out a tiny sound of surprise when her forehead nudges against your neck, arms stiff at first like she didn't fully mean to do it either. The movement feels awkward and desperate at the same time.

You freeze, eyes immediately flick toward Tony. He's still standing near the counter watching the two of you carefully, he gives you a small nod to go ahead—that you are doing great. And slowly, carefully, you wrap your arms around Wanda.

For a second, Wanda just stays there against you and then suddenly she pulls away so fast it catches you completely off guard. She pushes at your shoulders hard enough to make you stumble back before immediately turning around.

"Wanda—?"

But she's already running straight out of the kitchen like an overstimulated kid.

"You haven't finished your fruits!"

Her footsteps thunder in the hallway.

You just stand there blinking for a second, still trying to process what the hell just happened. Your husband looks equally stunned.

Tony snorts immediately, dragging a hand down his face while trying not to laugh. "She absolutely just toddler-ran away from you."

You cover your mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh too. "Should we check on her?" you ask carefully.

Tony sighs dramatically. "See? This is what I mean. You already sound like a parent."

ᱬ

Having a grown adult act as your child turns out to be way harder and weirder than either you or Tony expected.

Because it's not just the tantrums.

It's everything else.

It's Wanda following you around the house constantly like she's waiting for attention every second of the day. If the two of you are talking too long without including her, suddenly she's there hovering nearby with crossed arms and an annoyed expression. If your husband hugs you for more than ten seconds, Wanda somehow appears out of nowhere looking irritated.

And the messes.

God, the messes.

At one point she leaves half-empty cups everywhere around the tower like she physically does not understand how tables work. You walk into the living room and there's socks on the couch, one shoe near the stairs, and somehow yogurt spilling on the counter that nobody remembers seeing her eat.

Tony stands there staring at the disaster one afternoon looking genuinely exhausted.

"How," he says slowly, "does one person create this much chaos in under twelve hours?"

You're trying not to laugh while picking up Wanda's abandoned sweater from the floor. "This is part of the test too."

"Honey, if it is, I'm failing emotionally."

Then there's the attention thing where Wanda constantly needs attention—your attention. And your husband notices it before you do.

At first he thinks maybe he's imagining it. Wanda's an assessor, after all. Observing you more closely could just mean she's focusing on your emotional responses because you're more expressive than he is.

But then it keeps happening.

If you leave the room, Wanda somehow ends up leaving too a few minutes later. If you're working in the greenhouse, she's suddenly sitting nearby pretending to read while very obviously watching you work. If you're cooking, she appears in the kitchen. If you're folding laundry, Wanda's somehow sitting on the bed looking quietly while you do it.

And the weirdest part? She barely interacts with Tony unless she has to. One afternoon Tony walks into the living room and finds Wanda sitting on the floor beside the couch while you braid little pieces of her hair absentmindedly because she asked if you knew how. The second Tony enters, Wanda visibly shifts away from him—not dramatically but enough that he notices and you don't.

Later that night, after you put Wanda to bed, Tony finally brings it up.

"Honey."

You look up from your book. "Hm?"

"Remember when you brought up that…the assessor was looking at you all the time?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I think she likes you more than me."

You blink immediately. "What?"

Tony flops dramatically onto the bed beside you. "She follows you around like a lost cat."

"She does not."

"She absolutely does." He points toward the door. "Yesterday you went to get water and she appeared in the kitchen thirty seconds later with absolutely no reason to be there."

"She was probably thirsty."

"She was holding an empty mug upside down."

You try not to laugh.

Tony rolls onto his side to look at you properly now. "No, seriously. Have you noticed she barely talks to me unless you're involved in the conversation?"

You think about it for a second. "She's not rude to you though," you say carefully.

"Yes, because she doesn't talk to me at all. Honey, earlier I asked her how she slept and she looked at you before answering."

That actually makes you laugh.

Tony squints at you immediately. "Don't encourage her weird little attachment issues."

"I'm not!"

"You absolutely are. Every time she acts emotionally unstable, you pet her like a nervous rescue animal."

"She likes affection. And hey, don't call her a pet, she's acting as our daughter."

"She likes your affection." He clarified, the teasing in his voice fades slightly after that.

"She's probably attached to me because I'm kind of…her mom right now, you know?" You start rambling a little when he doesn't answer immediately. "I mean—not literally obviously—but here she's acting as the child and I'm the maternal figure, so maybe that's why she follows me around more." You shrug lightly. "Kids usually get more attached to whoever comforts them the most."

"She's emotionally manipulative," Tony insists.

"She's emotional like a kid," you argue back immediately.

"She slammed fruit at us."

"This is just a test, honey." You say as if the entire thing barely bothered you, effectively ending the conversation.

ᱬ

The next morning begins with FRIDAY announcing a delivery downstairs. Your husband circles it slowly with his coffee.

"There is absolutely no reason a play pen should come in a box this big."

You're already trying not to laugh. Watching Tony Stark get intimidated by toddler furniture is easily one of the funniest things you've ever seen.

"It looked smaller online," you defend weakly.

"Honey, small countries have less infrastructure than this."

Nearby, Wanda watches quietly over the rim of her mug, you made her milk and cookies for breakfast. The atmosphere between all three of you feels different after days have passed—softer somehow.

Tony dramatically slices the box open. The second it falls apart, metal bars, fabric panels, connectors, and approximately a thousand screws spill across the floor.

He freezes. "Why does it have this many parts?"

You unfold the instruction manual and immediately regret it. It looks less like furniture instructions and more like an engineering blueprint.

Tony stares at it in disbelief. "This is not a play pen. This is an exam."

"We're assembling it together," you tell him. "No FRIDAY."

He sighs dramatically and drops to the floor beside the parts. "Fine. Let's start building this child prison unit."

"It's a play pen." You correct him.

"That's exactly what she wants you to think." Your husband whispers to you while secretly looking at your assessor, you gave him a jab before settling beside him.

Wanda quietly observes from a distance. But over time she unconsciously drifts closer—first leaving the armchair for the couch, then eventually ending up on the floor nearby while Tony argues with the instructions.

You hand Tony screws while he assembles panels, leaning against his shoulder to check the instructions while Wanda still watches closely. Every now and then you catch her staring at you absentmindedly whenever you smile or laugh.

Tony notices too—especially when he reaches across you for a screwdriver and Wanda visibly stiffens before relaxing once he pulls away.

It's subtle, but impossible to miss now.

After nearly an hour, Tony finally stands proudly. "There," he declares. "Perfect engineering."

And the entire left side immediately collapses inward with a horrible metallic crash.

Tony stares at the wreckage like he's been personally betrayed. Soon the play pen collapses for the third time, leaving the living room looking like a battlefield of toddler furniture and wounded pride. Tony sits surrounded by screws and metal bars, glaring at the instructions.

"This thing hates me personally," he mutters.

"You attached the panels backwards."

"They should've adapted."

"Honey, that's not how engineering works."

"Says who?"

"The laws of physics?"

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but stops the second you lean closer to fix one of the connectors. His whole expression softens immediately when you smile at him, you are so calm and patient. And that smile of yours? That's his weakness.

Wanda notices that. She's been noticing it all morning. At first she tried ignoring it. Then she tried focusing on the assessment. She even tried helping with the play pen for about four minutes before Tony accidentally called her "kiddo" and irritated her again.

Now she's sitting nearby watching the two of you together while something hot and restless twists in her chest every time your attention drifts back to Tony.

Before either of you can react, Wanda suddenly gets up, walks over, and drops down beside you—resting her head directly in your lap.

You freeze and Wanda doesn't look embarrassed at all. She just curls slightly against your side, staring at the broken play pen with the most exhausted expression imaginable.

"Hungry," she mutters.

The silence afterward is deafening. Then she nudges closer against your stomach like an upset child refusing to ask for comfort properly.

"I'm hungry, mommy," she repeats quieter this time.

Without even realizing it, your fingers start moving gently through her hair.

"Okay, sweetheart," you say softly, brushing hair away from Wanda's face. "I'll make food." The words come out so naturally you don't even think about them.

You guide Wanda up gently by the wrist and she follows without resistance, looking at you like she's waiting for something more than instructions.

"I'll be in the kitchen," you call to Tony while leading her out.

Tony looks up from the destroyed play pen parts scattered everywhere. He watches the two of you for a second too long.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Okay."

You don't notice the tone since you're already focused on Wanda.

But Tony stays sitting there after you leave, staring at the empty space where you both were. Something about this suddenly feels off to him. Just this small, uncomfortable feeling in the back of his head that he can't quite name yet. He glances toward the kitchen doorway where you disappeared. He can still hear your voice faintly in there, calm and easy, talking to her like it's nothing. Wanda's answering too, quieter, more contained, like she only needs to be loud or difficult when she's not with you.

"It's just her job," he mutters to himself, like he's trying to convince his own brain.

But even as he says it, he's not fully buying it anymore. Because whatever is going on doesn't feel like assessment behavior alone.

And the worst part is, he can't exactly point to why it feels personal.

ᱬ

You're up early the next morning, already settled into a routine that feels dangerously domestic. Pancakes cook on the stove while you cut fruit into neat little pieces for Wanda without even thinking about it anymore. Tony's coffee is already brewing behind you, exactly how he likes it, strong and slightly too bitter for normal people.

It feels…domestic in a way that's starting to feel too normal.

You're reaching for another plate when arms suddenly wrap around your waist from behind.

Warm weight presses against your back. A face nuzzles lightly into your neck. You smile instantly, already assuming it's Tony. He does this all the time when he's half awake and clingy in the mornings.

"Good morning to you too," you murmur with a laugh, still slicing fruit.

The arms tighten slightly around your stomach. You lean back into it automatically.

"Coffee's almost ready," you say softly.

You feel a warm, hard bulge press firm against the curve of your ass through your thin sleep shorts. You huff a soft laugh and grind back playfully against it, the hands splayed wide on your hips suddenly tighten their grip, fingers digging in just a little harder. Wanda's still asleep, you think, so you and Tony could squeeze in a little quickie before she wakes up. You were about to tilt your head back to turn for a kiss only to see a pair of bright green orbs meet your gaze, warm and hungry. You jump back hard, your elbow knocking a fruit bowl on the counter.

It's Wanda.

You immediately pull away. "Wanda—!"

"Hi, mommy," she says casually, almost confused by your reaction.

For a second she just stares at you, hands hovering awkwardly in the air after being pushed away.

You gulp hard and you drag your gaze slowly down from her face to her pajamas. You swear you felt a hard bulge pressed firm against your ass seconds ago. But you just convinced yourself that maybe it's just the way her shirt is slightly tucked in inside her pants. Or maybe you were just freaking horny that you felt ashamed.

You force yourself to breathe. "Hi," you say shakily. "I'm sorry—I thought it was your dad."

She stares at you for a second too long, jaw tightening slightly while her gaze flicks toward the hallway behind you like she suddenly hates the fact Tony exists somewhere in the house at all.

You didn't notice it, of course you wouldn't. "Okay," you murmur softly as you pull back. "Come on."

You guide her gently toward the dining table by the wrist, trying to act normal even though your heart is still racing. Wanda sits without complaint while you return to the counter, keeping your hands busy like that'll somehow steady you again.

Breakfast is already halfway through when Tony finally wakes up.

"So, our friends are coming over later."

You pause mid-cutting your fruit and look at him. "Tonight?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Just the gang."

Tony glances at Wanda, then leans back slightly in his chair.

"And Wanda," he adds, tone lighter but clearly intentional, "you can behave, right?" He stopped adding some pet names because he realizes that it just makes her act up, only you can do that.

Wanda doesn't look up and just keeps eating. Like she either didn't hear him or decided she didn't need to answer.

Your husband waits a beat. Then another. "That's not exactly reassuring," he mutters under his breath, mostly to you.

You feel him getting frustrated so you try diverting the atmosphere, "So Steve, Bucky, and Clint, right?"

By the time the conversation really starts to heat up, you've already moved to the bedroom.

"So Pepper's coming too?" you asked very seriously.

Tony looks up like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Yeah."

Your brows lift immediately. "I thought you cut off Pepper."

Tony exhales, already sensing where this is going. "We didn't cut her off. We just—"

"No, I cut her off. I stopped talking to her," you cut in.

"We took space."

"Wow, a fucking space? After you fucked each other behind my back?" you say flatly and straight up.

Tony groans, dragging a hand down his face. "It's been so long, Y/N why do you keep bringing it up!"

You don't answer immediately because there's nothing new to say anymore.

You've had this conversation too many times already. You've told him exactly why it still hurts. And every single time, it ends the same way—him calling it a mistake, saying it only happened once, reminding you that you're the one he married.

Like that's supposed to erase what it did to you? Like betrayal becomes smaller just because he chose to stay afterward?

And the way he talks about it now, so casually—so carefully reasonable. Making you look as the irrational one for still carrying it when he's already decided it's in the past.

You just look at him for a second, completely still with nothingness.

Wanda moves quickly the moment she hears your bedroom door open again. She steps out a few paces from your door like she was just passing by, not standing there and literally eavesdropping on your argument—just casually existing in the right place at the right time.

The moment you see her, your expression softens immediately. Whatever heaviness was sitting on your shoulders a second ago dulls just enough when your attention lands on her instead.

"Hey," you say quietly.

"Hi, mommy," Wanda smiles, hoping she would see you smile as well.

"Do you want to help me cook?"

Something shifts in Wanda instantly. She'd been waiting for that exact kind of attention without knowing how to ask for it herself. She nods once, her smile widening softly.

By the time the front door chimes and FRIDAY announces your guests have arrived, the entire house smells like food.

Steve is the first one through the door, and the moment you see him, you smile automatically. "Hey, Steve," you say softly, stepping forward to hug him briefly.

"Good to see you," he replies warmly, squeezing your shoulder once before pulling back.

Bucky comes in right after him, quieter but just as familiar.

"Hi, Bucky," you greet with an easy smile, and he gives you one of his small rare smiles back.

"Hey, doll," he says softly.

"Okay, I better see snacks or I'm leaving," Clint announces immediately, and before you can even respond he's already pulling you into a hug. You laugh into it, arms wrapping around him just as easily as always.

"Hi to you too," you mumble.

Behind him is Nathaniel, a little older now but still clearly Clint's kid in the way he walks in looking curious and slightly chaotic. You crouch a little to greet him properly, smiling. "Hey, Natty boy," you say, and he grins back at you, already looking around like he's planning something.

"Is there still that room with the weird training stuff?" he asks immediately.

Clint groans. "Please don't encourage him."

You laugh, standing back up just as the last person walks in.

Pepper.

The energy shifts slightly the moment you see her.

You feel that small tightening in your chest that you can't quite ignore. You straighten a little anyway, polite instinct taking over.

"Hey," you say.

Pepper smiles. "Hi."

And that's it.

Behind you, Tony moves in smoothly, greeting everyone like there's no tension in the air at all, pulling Steve and Bucky into conversation, clapping Clint on the shoulder, immediately slipping into host mode like he wasn't just arguing with you earlier in the bedroom.

And then Pepper.

Your husband's posture shifts slightly when he sees her. He was very careful.

"Pepper," he says.

"Tony," she replies just as evenly.

There's a beat where they just look at each other. Not long enough for anyone else to comment on it. But long enough for you to feel it and then it's over.

"Glad you could make it," Tony adds smoothly, already shifting his attention to the next person in the room.

"Of course," Pepper says.

Tony turns slightly like he's about to call you over, say something casual, include you in the flow of the group again. But you don't wait for it. You just step back a little instead, turning away from the cluster of people and heading toward the kitchen like it's the most natural thing in the world to do.

Everyone's finally settled in the living room now. The usual chaos of arrivals has softened into background noise—Steve and Bucky talking on one side, Clint already halfway through whatever food he managed to steal from the kitchen, Nathaniel wandering around like he's inspecting the place, and Pepper sitting a little more reserved near the edge of the group, polite smile on but not really inserting herself into anything yet.

Tony is in the middle of it all, as usual, switching between conversations like it's second nature. You're sitting on a couch just watching everyone exist in the same space, trying to mentally keep track of everything still left to do.

Then Wanda appears.

She doesn't announce herself or anything. Just steps into the living room, eyes scanning the room slowly. There's a brief pause in conversation when your friends notice her.

You straighten slightly without thinking and step forward a bit.

"Oh—yeah," you say, voice a little lighter as you gesture toward her. "Guys, this is Wanda, our assessor."

Steve nods first, polite as always. "Hey."

Bucky gives her a short, quiet look of acknowledgment. Clint pauses mid-bite like he's trying to decide if this is a new threat or not. Pepper just watches carefully and smiles.

Wanda just takes a step further into the room, eyes moving briefly across each person before landing back on you for a second too long. Then she gives you a small, polite smile.

You smile at her automatically, soft and familiar that it has become second nature now. Behind you, the conversations pick up again slowly, people adjusting to her presence.

She quietly settles beside you on the couch, close enough that her knee brushes yours. Honestly, it feels easier and safer this way. You already have a plate ready for her before she even sits down, and without really thinking about it, you slip right back into taking care of her automatically. You pull her water closer when she doesn't reach for it herself, fix the napkin on her lap after it slips, feed her bites between conversations when she gets distracted looking around the room.

It's become disturbingly natural now.

Across the room, Steve watches the whole thing with slightly raised brows while Clint mutters something under his breath to Bucky about how you've fully entered "mom mode." Tony only shakes his head with a tired little smile, though there's something more thoughtful underneath it now whenever he watches how attached Wanda has become to you.

Then you notice Wanda staring at your drink.

Her eyes stay fixed on the wine glass in your hand while you continue half-listening to Steve talking about something across the room. Earlier, when she asked what it was, you'd casually lied and said it was juice. Apparently that was a mistake.

Wanda lightly tugs at your sleeve.

You look down immediately. "Hm?"

Her eyes flick toward your glass again. "Mommy, can I have your juice?"

"Oh no, baby," you say quickly, gently moving the wine glass farther away from her reach. "This one's only for mommies."

Wanda blinks slowly. "Because it's special juice?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, mommy needs this juice to survive tonight."

She surprisingly didn't push after that. But then she stands up and suddenly starts walking around.

You call for her. "Wanda?"

She keeps going, slow and casual. She circles the coffee table once, still munching her food as she moves. You stare for a second, before getting up as well.

"Hey, sweetheart, come sit back down," you call, voice gentle but confused.

Tony looks over from across the room, already noticing the shift. "Is she…doing laps?"

You ignored him and Tony took that as a sign that you're still mad at him.

She turns slightly and glances at you, but then continues walking again like she heard you but decided it wasn't relevant.

That's when it fully turns into chaos.

Because now you're following her around the living room, still trying to feed her, still calling her name in this irritating tone while she just keeps moving—around Steve's chair, past Clint's feet, behind the couch, completely unbothered. At one point she even slows down just enough for you to catch up, take another bite from the spoon you are holding, and then immediately starts walking again.

"Man, I didn't know that this assessment shit is hard but I think you should help your wife." Steve says to Tony, taking pity on how you have been trying to catch Wanda.

"Okay," you say softly, trying to keep your tone calm even though you're very aware that your friends are watching this unfold. "Wanda, come back."

All of a sudden Bucky steps into Wanda's path near the hallway, blocking her next lap around.

"Hey," he says evenly, crouching slightly so he's more in her line of sight. "Listen to your mom, alright? Sit down and eat."

Wanda just stared at him very hard before shoving him. Bucky stumbles backward from the unexpected force and the side of Wanda's head clips sharply against his mouth as she jerks away from him at the same time.

"Shit—"

Bucky immediately grabs his lip, stepping back as the metallic scent of blood hits the air almost instantly.

"Buck…"

The bowl in your hands is forgotten instantly as you rush toward him. Bucky's already pressing the back of his hand against his mouth.

"Let me see," you say quickly, gently pulling his hand away from his lip.

There's a small split at the corner, already bruising dark around the edge, a thin streak of blood against his skin. Not serious for someone like Bucky, probably gone in a day for him, but the sight still makes your chest tighten anyway.

"Oh my God," you murmur softly. "I'm so sorry."

Bucky shakes his head immediately. "Hey, it's okay," he says, voice calmer, "I'm fine, doll don't worry."

But you're already fussing over him instinctively, brows pulled together with genuine guilt, completely focused on him for the moment.

There was never actually anything between you two. Never crossed lines, no betrayal. But years ago, before you and Tony got married, before everything settled into what it is now, Bucky had admitted once—quietly, honestly—that he had feelings for you.

He never pushed after that. Never made it weird, never tried to come between you and Tony.

But sometimes, in moments like this, there are still traces of it in the way he looks at you when you're worried about him.

"You're bleeding," you whisper, clearly upset.

Bucky gives a tiny smile despite the cut. "Pretty sure I've survived worse than an angry girl with a spoon."

Normally that would make you laugh. But now you're just ashamed of what just happened.

And Wanda—the suspect—is staring completely still in the kitchen doorway. Watching your hands on Bucky's face. Watching the way your friend is looking at you back and his hands unintentionally settling on your hips. Her expression doesn't change much outwardly, but her eyes do. Something ugly twists sharply in her chest—jealousy hits so hard it almost feels physical.

And Tony notices that, too. Because while everyone else is focused on Bucky's split lip, Tony catches the look on Bucky's face first. And suddenly he feels it as well. Not jealousy exactly, it is something more complicated—threat.

Because he remembers. Of course he remembers.

Bucky admitting that he had feelings for you for years had nearly destroyed him at the time. Because he can still remember it clearly as the day that Bucky was the man your family had wished you'd ended up with, especially after he cheated and you still chose to take him back despite everyone telling you he didn't deserve a second chance. And now, watching you run toward him gets under his skin immediately.

Tony moves before he can think too much about it.

"I got it," he says suddenly, already grabbing your arm.

You yanked your arm away that even Bucky was stunned. Tony just steps in close, like he's taking over the situation now, but the second your eyes meet his, something inside you hardens again.

You just remember the bedroom argument—Pepper and everything unresolved sitting between you two.

Your attention goes right back to Bucky. "I'm really sorry," you whisper again, still guilty, "I will get you an ice pack."

Bucky gives you that same soft look despite the bruise forming on his lip that looked like he got into a bar fight.

"It's okay, doll, thank you," he murmurs quietly.

The petname lands badly in the room. Tony's jaw tightens almost instantly. Everyone notices but you barely react because your brain has already moved to Wanda.

After getting some ice pack and handing it to Buck, you immediately find Wanda in the living room. She's beside Pepper again. She is not just sitting near her—pressed against her side so closely that Pepper is practically leaning away without trying to make it obvious. Wanda's shoulder keeps bumping into her arm every few seconds, her knee pushed against the woman's leg.

Pepper looks up the second she notices you looking and the relief in her expression is immediate. Because she's been trying to tolerate this on her own while the rest of the room awkwardly pretended not to stare.

"She came back," Pepper says carefully, trying to keep her voice even. "I thought she finally…behaved."

You're already walking toward them before she finishes talking.

"Wanda," you call gently, trying not to sound frustrated even though you can feel exhaustion starting to sit heavy in your bones now.

Wanda doesn't answer.

She just keeps staring down at her plate for a second too long. Then suddenly—she drags the spoon harshly across it. Food splatters immediately. A wet smear landing across Pepper's sleeve and lap.

She jerks back with a startled sound. "Fuck—"

But before anyone can react properly, Wanda does it again. This time it was worse. Her hand pushes directly into the food, shoving fruit and sauce over the edge of the plate carelessly until it spills across Pepper's clothes, the couch, even onto the floor.

Steve and Clint look genuinely shocked.

Tony's already walking again from across the room, tension written all over his face now.

"Wanda," you say more firmly now, stepping directly in front of her. "Enough."

That finally makes her pause.

"Okay—no, this is getting out of hand!" Pepper interrupts, shifting forward as she brushes food off her sleeve. "I don't know what this is supposed to be, but this is not—this is not acceptable behavior."

But you barely even hear her anymore because your attention is completely on Wanda. Your hand clamped around Wanda's wrist before she could even move away. You grabbed a napkin and wiped sauce from the corner of Wanda's mouth yourself, then cleared every dish off her lap in one swift motion.

Pepper kept yelling but it blurred into background noise until finally, your patience snapped.

"You're never gonna be a fit mom!"

Maybe it was the wine sitting warm in your system making your patience thinner than usual or the years of resentment toward this woman who'd inserted herself between you and your husband. Or maybe…it was the phrase that she just said a couple of seconds ago. Your palm connected sharply across Pepper's face—the sound cracking through the living room.

Her hand flew to her stinging cheek. Her eyes wide with shock, then burning with rage—locked onto you.

"Y/N!" Tony shouted, at first you thought he was gonna run towards you but instead she ran towards Pepper.

A small smirk slowly pulled at your lips then. You gave this tiny nod to yourself, eyes lingering on the two of them. Without another glance at them, at Pepper—who was still shouting behind you now, voice cracking into something almost hysterical—or at Tony whose face had gone completely pale, you tightened your grip around Wanda's wrist and walked straight out of the living room.

The hallway upstairs felt colder somehow, quieter, the muffled chaos downstairs fading the further you pulled Wanda away from it. Your heels hit hard against the floor while she followed silently behind you, allowing herself to be dragged.

"What you did wasn't nice," you suddenly snap the second you reach the hallway corner, finally turning toward her. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, strained and uneven from alcohol, anger, and frustration all mixing together into one ugly mess inside your chest.

Wanda says nothing, she just looks at you.

"You hurt my friend," you continue immediately, words starting to tumble out faster now. "You pushed Buck, you threw food everywhere, you kept acting out and everyone was trying so hard to be patient with you—"

Your breathing shakes.

"And Pepper—God, Wanda, what was that downstairs?"

The irony of that question hits somewhere in the back of your mind considering you were the one who slapped Pepper in the end, but your emotions are too tangled right now to process your own guilt properly.

Maybe it's the wine talking.

Maybe it's heartbreak.

Maybe it's the fact that your entire marriage feels like it's cracking apart underneath your feet tonight and Wanda somehow became the easiest target to pour all that hurt onto.

"You can't just ruin everything whenever you're upset," you ramble on, voice quieter now but more emotional. "People get hurt. People get uncomfortable. And I'm trying so hard to help you and understand you but you keep—"

Her eyes stay fixed on your face while tears gather helplessly in your eyes again, your hand violently wrapped around her wrist.

"You're hurting me."

The words immediately snap you back to reality.

"Oh my God," the faint scent of wine clings to your breath and your skin when you speak, subtle but noticeable enough this close. "Baby, I'm sorry."

You immediately pull her into your arms before thinking too hard about it, hugging her tightly against your chest. The second your arms wrap around her, Wanda melts into you almost instantly, like she'd been manipulating you to do exactly that. Even though she wasn't really hurt.

"I'm sorry," your voice shakes, tears threatening against your eyes. You are drunk, emotional and exhausted and barely holding yourself together anymore. "Tonight's just…bad. Okay? Mommy's just having a bad night."

Her arms slowly slide around your waist beneath the embrace, holding onto you quietly while you continue rubbing her back like you're trying to comfort both of you at once.

"Come on," you whisper gently.

You slowly guide her down the hallway toward her room. The moment you step inside, you close the door behind you with a soft click. You immediately turn away from Wanda and head toward the dresser to somewhat avoid her, you feel ashamed and guilty for pouring your anger out on her.

Your fingers fumbled slightly against the drawer handle as you pulled it open harder than intended. Your movements feel slower now, heavier somehow, and you suddenly realize just how much the alcohol has settled into your system.

But still you kept moving.

Back to the bathroom. Open the dresser. Grab clothes. Back to the bedroom. Towel. Pajamas. Watergun toys, is that even needed? You pace around like if you stop for even one second, everything from tonight is going to hit you all at once.

"The bathtub's done," you say shakily, embarrassed as you rub tiredly at your forehead. "You can go in now, sweetie."

"Will you come too?"

For a second you genuinely don't understand the question.

Your brain feels slow now, the alcohol humming through your system only makes the numbness worse, wrapping everything in this warm hazy fog that keeps pulling you away from reality every few seconds. You stare at Wanda while confusion twists inside your chest again.

Is this still part of the test?

"Mommy?" The sound of Wanda's voice pulls you back immediately.

You blink hard and finally look at her.

Of course it is. You need to bathe your child.

"Yeah, sure sweetie, of course."

When you finally stepped into the bathroom again, Wanda was already sitting inside the bathtub, water high against her chest while steam curled softly around her.

You carefully stepped closer, but the second your foot hit the wet tile, you almost slipped.

"Whoa—"

Wanda caught you immediately.

Her hands grabbed your arm from inside the tub to steady you. The sudden contact made you flinch automatically again, your whole body tensing for half a second before you caught yourself.

And Wanda felt it.

You laughed nervously, "Sorry," you mumbled softly.

Still holding your arms carefully, Wanda guided you closer until you finally sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

And somehow your heart is beating faster than it was. Your fingers tightened unconsciously around the edge of the bathtub while Wanda stayed close between your knees in the water, eyes fixed on your face.

Then suddenly, her hands pressed lightly against your legs.

You almost shrieked just as Wanda gently pushed your knees farther apart. She looked up at you quietly before settling there between your legs in the warm water, resting her cheek against your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath caught awkwardly in your throat at the position. So just to distract yourself you quickly reached for the shampoo bottle sitting nearby. You poured some shampoo into your palm before gently working it into Wanda's damp red hair, fingers moving carefully through the strands.

Wanda stayed quiet while you worked the shampoo slowly through her hair, warm water shifting softly around her in the tub. Your fingers moved lazily now, slower from the wine and exhaustion settling deeper into your body.

Then you felt her fingertips tracing absent little patterns against your thigh underneath the water.

After a long silence, she spoke softly.

"I'm sorry, mommy."

Your fingers paused briefly in her hair. "Hm?"

"The way I acted earlier." Her voice was quieter now, almost sulking. "With your friend."

You blinked down at her. For a second you almost forgot what she meant until Bucky flashed back into your head.

Wanda's fingers slowed against your thigh. "He just keeps touching you," she muttered softly. "And he calls you doll."

"What?" The wine in your system made an incredulous little giggle slip out of you before you could stop it. You shook your head a little while your fingers continued slowly working through her hair. "Baby, Bucky's my friend."

Wanda didn't laugh with you.

"You ran to him," she muttered after a second, almost sulking now. "And he touches you a lot, mommy."

Your smile weakened slightly at that. "Because he got hurt," you explained tiredly. "You pushed him pretty hard, sweetheart."

Her jaw tightened just slightly.

"But you always tense when I touch you."

The alcohol buzzing through your head made your reaction slower and another disbelieving little laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Because suddenly the way she was looking at you didn't feel childish anymore. It didn't feel playful either.

"I...I'm just stressed," you whispered, lips trembling. "I'm sorry."

Wanda carefully climbed onto her knees on the porcelain tub so she could look at you properly. Her hands rested lightly against your legs to steady herself.

"Do you want to destress, mommy?"

The bathroom light gilds the soft edges of Wanda's hair where she kneels between your thighs. Your wine-warmed breath comes fast, gaze darting from her wide dark eyes down to her full, waiting lips. You swallow hard before you speak, voice thin and already giving out.

"Is…is this still just part of the test?"

"Whatever you want this to be…mommy."

Every instinct you have screams it at you. The assessment. The role you've been playing and the role Wanda has been playing. The way Wanda looks at you and the way you've started looking back. Somewhere along the way, the lines became so blurred that you stopped seeing where they were.

You were supposed to be proving you could build a family, that you're capable of taking care of a child. Now, you're losing yourself in the process.

Her lips seal over yours before you can answer, one palm sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, the other working open the buttons down your front slowly. She pushes your open dress back to bare your skin to the warm bathroom air, her mouth closing soft around one nipple while her hand kneads the other. Her full breasts press warm against your lower stomach as she leans in, sucking gentle, the quiet hum of her pleasure vibrating through your chest.

Your head falls back against the tiled wall, a soft, breathy moan spilling from your lips before you can bite it back.

She now shuffles lower and locks your legs separately between her arms. Her dark eyes lock on yours, hot and hungry, before she goes down and licks a slow, broad stroke up against your pussy.

Your back arches off the wall, a sharp shriek tearing out of you.

"Wanda!"

Her fingers dig soft into the flesh of your thighs to hold you open, mouth working slow and hungry against you. She flicks her tongue over your sensitive pussy in steady circles, groaning soft against your skin when your hands tangle tight in her hair, your hips jerking up against her face unbidden.

The stray thought nips at the edge of your fuzzy, pleasure-drunk brain, but it dissolves the second she sucks harder and harder. All you can hold onto is the heat coiling in your gut, the way your assessor feels between your legs, the assessment completely forgotten under the wave of what she's doing to you.

One minute you're braced against the cool porcelain tub, the next you're sinking into a soft mattress and warm sheets. Wanda's all over you, breaths hot against your face, every hard thrust forcing your cunt to clench tight around something you couldn't identify.

Your tits bounces as she fucks you, soft flesh jiggling with every move. She drops her mouth to suck a dark mark over your nipple, groaning low when you arch up into her, your hands tightening in her messy hair.

"You deserve this. You deserve to have a child of your own. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their mother."

All you can do is gasp out broken moans, her name and soft yeses tumbling out over and over, no matter what she says.

"And I get to be your little one first, don't I, mommy? Get to make you feel how good I can be for you."

She nips at the supple skin of your chest all the way to the base of your throat, voice rough and hungry.

The tight knot in your belly snaps a second later, white hot pleasure crashing over you so hard your vision whites out. The last thing you feel before you go limp and completely pass out is warm, thick liquid flooding deep inside you.

For a long moment, Wanda simply watches.

The room is dark, quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing. You look peaceful for the first time after everything that happened, completely unaware of the thoughts moving behind her eyes.

A strange smile slowly appears on her face. A certain kind of smile.

For the entire duration of the assessment, you had been nothing but sweet, patient, and understanding. You comforted her after every outburst. Wrapped your arms around her when she was upset. Spent your energy making sure she was okay while your own world was quietly falling apart around you. And somehow, no matter how exhausted or heartbroken you became, you never stopped taking care of her.

Because that's what every mothers do.

You spoke gently when she was difficult, stayed calm when she was disruptive, and offered comfort when it would have been easier to walk away. Even on the days when she pushed boundaries or when she made your life harder. Wanda tested every ounce of your self-control and you never truly gave up on her.

Just now.

"You really would do everything for your child," she whispers. "You don't even realize you're doing it already."

Her fingers brush a strand of hair from your face.

"You're going to be such a good mom."

ᱬ

You blink awake to the dull ache of numbness crawling up your forearm, the weight of something warm pressing down on it through the sheets. When you turned your head, your eyes widened as you stared at Wanda whose arms wrapped around your waist, your brain scrambling to remember how the hell you'd ended up here—nothing. Just a headache, a few blurry flashes from last night, and a growing sense of panic.

The last thing you can remember is…

Is…

What was the last thing you did last night?

You slipped out of the bed carefully, making sure not to wake Wanda. She was still asleep, curled beneath the blankets. You watched her for a moment before quietly leaving and made your way to your room. When you pushed open the door the first thing you noticed was that Tony wasn't there where you expected him—the bed was untouched on one side. No sign he'd slept there at all. Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself not to think about it. You moved toward the dresser, grabbing a fresh set of clothes before catching sight of yourself in the mirror.

You froze.

Just above your chest was a faint mark you didn't remember getting.

"What the hell?" you muttered.

Your fingers brushed over it instinctively. The second you did, something flashed through your mind—a fragment of a memory.

Warm water.

A voice.

A hand reaching toward you.

Then it was gone so fast you almost convinced yourself you only imagined it.

You immediately shoved the thought away and got dressed as quickly as you could. Whatever this is—it could all wait. Right now, you need to find your husband. The absence from his side of the bed was already making your stomach twist.

The moment you step downstairs, you are welcomed by a disaster. Dirty plates were still scattered around the living room and dining area, half-finished drinks abandoned on tables, remnants of last night's chaos left exactly where they had fallen. Nobody even had cleaned a thing.

Then your eyes landed on the kitchen counter.

Two glasses of wine.

You found yourself walking toward them before you could think better of it. One sat beside the other. Slowly, you picked one up. The second your eyes caught the faint lipstick stain smeared across the rim, something inside you dropped.

"Tony?" you called out as you stepped away from the counter, but still no answer came.

The silence felt heavier than it should have. Swallowing hard, you glanced around.

"FRIDAY, where's Tony?"

There was a brief pause before your husband's invention answered calmly.

"Tony departed at 11:43 PM last night. He accompanied Ms. Potts to take her home."

The thought hit you so hard you had to grip the counter.

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Instead of checking on his wife, he went with Pepper. The same woman who had already caused enough damage to your relationship. The same woman he once cheated on you with. Out of everyone in the house, that was the person he chose to accompany.

And what were you supposed to think about that? That it was innocent? That he was just being nice? That he somehow didn't realize how bad it looked?

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. God, you always did. But standing there with the wine glass and the lipstick stain staring back at you, all you could think was that when you needed him most, Tony had chosen someone else.

Again.

For a second, you just stood there staring at nothing. It felt like everything was falling apart all over again.

You and Tony, the assessment—the future you had been fighting for. The dream of finally having a child with your husband after years of waiting, years of defending and choosing him, years of trying to build something stable enough to bring a family into. It suddenly felt like someone had grabbed that future and started tearing pieces off it right in front of you.

You pressed both hands against the counter as you tried to breathe. But the harder you tried to hold yourself together, the worse it got. Because you had done everything right? Every-fucking-thing.

A broken laugh escaped you before turning into a sob.

You could feel it building now. That horrible pressure in your chest. Your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven. You were seconds away from crashing out right there in the kitchen but when you looked up you saw Wanda standing at the doorway. You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, your voice cracking.

"Are we both needed to withdraw from the assessment?"

The assessment itself had been hard. God, it has been hard. It tested your patience, your marriage, your ability to keep going even when you felt like falling apart. You had poured so much of yourself into it because you wanted that future so badly. You wanted the child at the end of it. You wanted the family. But ending it? Ending it took less than five minutes. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You sat across from Wanda in complete silence, the screen glowing in her hands as she handed it to you. Your eyes barely focused on the final confirmation prompt as your hand hovered over the screen. Wanda didn't say a word, she just watched. The room felt strangely still as you took a shaky breath and clicked CONFIRM. Just like that, it was over.

Wanda stared at the darkened screen for a long moment after you clicked the final confirmation.

"The assessment is over."

You nodded and didn't say a word.

Wanda watched you carefully. She looked down for a moment before nodding slowly. "I should probably start packing my things now."

This wasn't how Wanda imagined things would go. The assessment wasn't supposed to end this early and you definitely weren't supposed to be pulling the plug on it. Everything had gotten messy way too fast. Tony, Pepper, the withdrawal—none of it was part of the timeline she had in mind, well maybe Tony and Pepper was. But as disappointing as it was to see everything cut short, Wanda couldn't bring herself to be too upset about it. Because at the end of the day, the important part was already done. Whatever she needed to happen had already happened. The rest would unfold on its own.

Wanda quietly started packing her things upstairs while you stood in the kitchen feeling completely lost on what to do next. There were bigger problems waiting for you—Tony, your marriage, the assessment you had just ended, the fact that you will never ever have a child—but somehow your mind kept drifting back to the fact that Wanda was leaving. Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, you'd grown attached to her. You felt like you and Wanda had connected in a way you hadn't expected, and now the thought of never seeing her again felt heavier than it probably should have.

You knew you should probably be downstairs cleaning up the disaster left behind from last night but instead, you found yourself lingering in Wanda's doorway before quietly offering to help her with her stuff. It was a simple excuse and you both probably knew it. The truth was you weren't ready for her to leave yet. You feel like there was still so much unresolved between the two of you or maybe you're just assuming.

You reminded yourself that she was a professional. An assessor—this was her job. Everything that happened here was part of the assessment, part of a process she'd probably gone through dozens of times with other candidates before you. The connection you felt, the attachment, the comfort of having her around—it wasn't supposed to mean anything beyond that.

"Mrs. Stark, it's fine," Wanda said quietly, reaching for the shirt you were already folding.

"You're too formal," you said with a nervous little laugh, shaking your head as you continued folding one of her shirts.

Wanda paused what she was doing and looked up at you.

"Do you prefer when I call you mommy?"

Your fingers fumble the shirt you're holding, heat creeping up your neck fast, and Wanda just watches you, quiet and patient, her dark eyes soft but unblinking, waiting for your answer. You are suddenly very interested in organizing the contents of her bag.

"You would've been a good mom." She said all of a sudden.

The words almost broke you.

You laughed once, shakily, looking away before the tears could start again. "Doesn't really matter now, does it?"

Wanda wasn't supposed to do this. Once the assessment ended or withdrawn, assessors were meant to remain professional, detached, and impartial. They observed, recorded, and delivered results—that was all. Comforting candidates wasn't part of the job description. Getting emotionally involved certainly wasn't. Yet as she sat across from you, she found herself doing exactly what she was never supposed to do.

"You'd still be a good mom." Wanda said quietly, and although something about the way she said it felt strange, you were too exhausted and heartbroken to think much of it, brushing the comment aside without realizing what she actually meant.

Because even now, with everything seemingly falling apart, Wanda knew things were moving exactly where she wanted them to go.

Like how she set the black silicone peeking out of her open duffel bag for you to see only for her to yank the bag shut, pulling the object out of your line of sight fast.

You blink hard a couple of times, squinting at the closed duffel sitting on the floor, wondering if the bright morning light tricked your eyes. You clear your throat awkwardly, words tumbling out nervous and fast. Your hands twisting in the hem of her folded shirt in your hands before putting it down.

"I—uhm, I'll go now. I gotta fix all the mess downstairs."

You hear the sharp zip of her duffel opening behind you just as you reach the door. Her soft voice follows, warm and low.

"You looked tense. Wanna destress again?"

You turn, and she holds the unmistakingly black silicone strap-on out, tilting her head.

"Mommy?"

The memory ends there.

Or maybe your brain refuses to remember the rest.

Now, weeks later, you're standing in your bathroom with trembling hands, your mind completely blank as you stare at the impossible reality in front of you, not knowing what the hell you're supposed to do next.

FRIDAY has informed you that your recent biometric scans indicate several anomalies. You laughed it off at first. Maybe because of stress, grief, exhaustion, your husband barely talking to you. God knew you'd been dealing with enough of that lately. But when FRIDAY flagged it a second time, and then a third, and then there's morning sickness and puking around.

That's what led you here, standing in the bathroom with two black-market pregnancy tests sitting on the counter in front of you because tests like these weren't supposed to exist anymore, not legally nor in your world.

Natural pregnancy had become obsolete decades ago—painful, unpredictable, unnecessary. Children were approved, assigned, and monitored by the government. If you were deemed suitable after assessment, the government will provided everything. Including confirmation, the child, the future you'd spent years dreaming about—right up until the moment you withdrew from the assessment.

Your eyes flicked back to the tests.

Positive.

Positive.

Two positives.

The assessment was over. The government never approved you because you yourself had terminated the process.

So how the fuck were you pregnant?

One trembling hand flew to your mouth while the other instinctively pressed against your stomach. Not because you could feel anything there—God, it was far too early for that—but because your brain couldn't seem to process what your eyes were seeing.

You didn't tell Tony or FRIDAY but you knew FRIDAY would know, at this point he's acting more like your husband than your real husband. The second the panic wore off, one thought kept repeating in your head over and over until it drowned out everything else—Wanda.

If anyone had answers, it was her.

The address took you clear across the city, far away from the polished towers and government housing districts you were used to. By the time you arrived, your stomach was in knots. The building in front of you was old, cramped, and worn down by years of neglect. Nothing like the places assessors were usually associated with.

You were hesitating as you stared at the apartment number in front of you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you raised your hand and knocked.

The door opened after a few seconds.

Wanda stood in an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants, looking far different from the polished assessor you'd known during the assessment. Her hair was slightly messy, like she'd just gotten out of bed or had been lying on the couch.

Her eyes widened the second she recognized you.

"Y/N?" she said quietly.

Your throat tightened.

Seeing her again felt strange. Too familiar and too distant at the same time. Weeks had passed since she'd left, yet somehow it felt like no time had passed at all.

Something shifted behind her eyes. The surprise disappeared quickly. And when her eyes slowly lifted back to yours, there was a strange look on her face you couldn't quite place.

"Come in," she said softly, stepping aside.

Like she already knew why you were there.

The moment you stepped inside, the door hadn't even finished closing behind you before the question came out.

"What did you do?" Your voice shook. The apartment was small, barely bigger than a studio and it felt suffocating. Your pulse was roaring in your ears. "What did you do to me?" you repeated.

Wanda stared at you for a long second. "Y/N—"

"No." Your voice cracked. "Don't do that. Don't act like you don't know why I'm here."

Your hands were trembling now. You hated that they were trembling.

"I withdrew from the assessment." You say letting out with a disbelieving sound. "I ended it. I signed everything. It was over."

Wanda's eyes never left yours.

"And then I got morning sickness, FRIDAY had detected it. I had to buy illegal pregnancy tests." The words spilled out faster with every breath. "I took two. Both are positive, Wanda."

For the first time since you arrived, Wanda's expression changed. And suddenly, that terrified you more than anything.

"I am fucking pregnant. What did you do?! Because…because this can't be! I can't be!"

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Your chest rose and fell too fast, your hands shaking at your sides as you stared at her, searching her face for anything—denial, shock, guilt, anything that made sense of the impossible mess you were standing in. But nothing.

"What did you do?!"

She steps closer, a soft, slow smile spreading across her face that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. She doesn't look surprised at all, just calm and sure, and her voice is gentle when she says the words that make your skin prickle with cold.

"You deserve to be a mother."

"That doesn't answer my question! I couldn't be pregnant. No one can! I—"

Wanda took a careful step toward you. "Y/N—"

"Don't you dare come at me."

Her expression softened, but it only made your skin crawl.

"Please," she said quietly. "Just listen to me."

The gentleness in her voice felt wrong—manufactured, rehearsed, like someone trying to soothe an animal caught in a trap.

"People were told pregnancy had become impossible. That the human body could no longer sustain it naturally. It was easier that way. Easier to govern a population that believed reproduction belonged entirely to the State."

Wanda's expression softened trying to get you to listen and understand, though it did nothing to lessen the horror settling over you.

"The government issues every assessor a conception device," she said quietly. "Officially, it's classified as genetic transfer equipment. Unofficially...no one is allowed to call it what it really is." She let out a humorless laugh. "Each device is registered to a single assessor. It carries only that assessor's genetic material, encrypted and traceable. Every use is logged, every activation recorded, every pregnancy tied back to the file of the mother deemed suitable."

You stared at her, unable to speak.

"Every assessor is told the same thing before they're sworn in—You're not creating a child. You're preserving humanity. That's how they justify it. That's how they convince us we're serving a greater good."

"You stole my choice!" You wailed, not caring about what she's saying now.

A slow smile spread across Wanda's face.

"No, I gave you a future. You deserve this. You deserve to be a mother."

The day she'd left your apartment, you'd said it was just a one time thing, a choice born of loneliness and all the unresolved hunger no one else had bothered to feed. She'd just smiled, kissed your cheek, and told you she understood, even as she'd pressed her government-issued equipment strap on—deep inside you one last time, slow and soft like she was marking something as hers.

She'd made love to you that morning like she already knew what would happen weeks later. You'd thought it was just a final goodbye, when she finished and pulled out, when you felt that warm cum drip slow down your thigh, and wiped it away with your hand and thought nothing of it, just another messy leftover of a secret you planned to bury.

Not knowing that it would bloom into a life you didn't expect. A life that you thought was impossible to make in this world.

You sink onto the hardwood floor, hands pressed against your temples as the memory finally clicks into place. That last night before Wanda left—the wine, the exhaustion, the gaps in your memory. You'd passed out somewhere between the bathtub and her bed, too drunk and overwhelmed to remember much of anything. When you woke up sore the next morning, you'd blamed it on the alcohol, the stress, and everything that happened the night before that. You never questioned it. Never dug deeper. Not until now.

Your stomach is twisting so hard you think you might be sick right there in front of her. The memories and the words came back to you, clear as the night she whispered them against your lightly conscious mind while you were passed out, when you were still playing the parts of a mother and an assessor—her as your child.

"You really would do everything for your child."

"You don't even realize you're doing it already."

It was so wrong, how you'd never have chosen this, never have crossed that line on purpose. You'd never do something so dirty and wrong with your child like what she just said.

"You give so much. You deserve to be a mother."

Fuck, it sounded so wrong! You were so disgusted. It is so fucking wrong you wanted to puke.

But in the dark quiet of her home, the truth hangs heavy and scary. You took Wanda in, gave her every part of yourself, crossed every line no rule book ever dared to name, all out of the soft, generous love that lives in your bones. You never hesitated, never pulled back when she needed more than what a proper mother should give.

You already loved her like your child.

Cared for her like your own.

And you even fucked her while she was acting like your own.

That is the proof no assessment could ever properly capture—you were made to be a mother, through every line you crossed, every need you filled, no matter how forbidden it was supposed to be.

"I just gave you the child you actually wanted."

[wandasaura]

warning(s) — gross!beefy!sweaty!boy!nat, implied size kink, strap packing, gun carrying

“What’d you say to me?” Natasha’s eyes sparkle as she backs your frame up into the living room. Her nails are caked and packed with dirt, her knuckles absorbing oil between the folds of her skin like a sponge. She’d spent the morning out in the driveway working on Wanda’s car. The white Lincoln she’d just taken for a trip down the coast to Florida had needed an oil change amongst other things you hadn’t cared enough to acknowledge, but the efforts of Natasha’s labor cling to the cotton of her tank top and bead down the flushed skin of her face.

Your cheeks puff out, your hands held in front of your chest defensively. “You stink.” The acknowledgement falls off your lips with the same brazen dismay as before. “Don’t you fucking dare!” You squeal, jumping up onto the couch cushions as she steps closer to you menacingly. “Natasha, I swear to god, I will— No! No, you stink! You’re dirty!”

Your heads thrown back in laughter the second her strong biceps loop around your waist and pick you up effortlessly. You can’t remember the last time you felt her crawl out of bed to escape to the gym for arm day, but the flex of her muscle against the warm skin of your belly as her possessive grabbing eases up the hem of your shirt is disorienting. She’s cut. Buff. All the words she says to herself in the mirror with a whacky grin after showering. You don’t know which she’d prefer, which would best encapsulate how your core clenches at the feel of them against your skin so possessively, so you say them all.

“Say it again!” She depends, wrestling your back against her front, unapologetically grinding her hips into your ass as her hands adjust around your midsection to grab your breasts in a tight told. It’s a flawless move, a motion she’s probably thought about countless times. Your breath is swept away from you as her fingers tease your unconcealed nipples before they squeeze you tighter around the middle, one arm looping around your neck in a chokehold that makes your vision spin. Her fingers dig into your ribcage, making your squirm, making you squeal; forcing you to press harder into her ass, to feel the strap she’d been packing since grabbing the oil stained towel Wanda makes her keep on the very bottom shelf of the linen closet. “Say it again!”

“Y-You! Ah, N-Nat!” You squeal as she shuffles behind you, “O-Oh!” Your head falls back against the pit of her armpit as she pins you to her chest, your hips grinding against something that definitely wasn’t a strap-on. “W-Why the hell are you… are you carrying?”

Natasha doesn’t answer, nor allow you to see the way she smirks and quirks an eyebrow like she knew you’d question that eventually and couldn’t wait. She doesn’t wait to hear you question again, spinning you onto the couch and pinning your body between hers and the cushions, your face turned to the side for air only because that’s how you’d fallen.

The weight of her on top of you presses the strap and the gun firmer into your skin. You can’t escape the way she smells like sweat and sunscreen, or the smears of oil across your own body now.

“Tell me it turns you on!” She grins, biting down on your neck as she grinds the strap into your ass. “Tell me it turns you on and I’ll let you shower with me!”

“It turns me on!” You laugh, her fingers starting to probe into your ribcage again.

“I knew it!”

[florencebirdsong]

Sucking FTM Wanda under the table pls...get that meat

Thank you so much

get!! that!! MEAT!!!!

tags: 18+ minors dni, transfem Wanda, oral (w receiving), established dom/sub relationship

words: 595

You’re slumped on the couch, mindlessly staring at whatever is on the T.V when the ringing of a bell perks you up. The smell of dinner has been slowly invading the living room for an hour now and your mouth is practically watering. Wanda’s food is always delicious and you love how much she loves to cook. The ringing of the bell makes your mouth water even more. It means it’s time to eat.

You quickly make your way to the dining room. You hadn’t set up the table like you usually do. Wanda had pushed you onto the couch and said, I’ll take care of everything, before disappearing into the kitchen to start dinner. Disobeying her wants is never a good idea but it had felt odd to do nothing at all. Usually when she’s in a mood like this, she still lets you put out the placemats and cutlery if nothing else. Although, you can’t help noticing the flowers in the vase centrepiece are the ones you brought home today.

Wanda is already sitting at the head of the table, knife and fork in hand. She doesn’t look up when you enter and starts cutting her food when you start towards the table. You try to sit down but Wanda looks up sharply and raises an eyebrow. She’d earned her dinner by cooking it. You hadn’t yet. You haven’t thanked her either. You drop to your knees. She watches you, eyes dark. You wait for a command that doesn’t come. Her expression doesn’t change either. You get onto your hands and knees and crawl under the table. A moment later you hear her knife moving again. 

Her knees are already spread. You crawl between them. She’s hard enough that a slight bulge has formed in her panties. You palm it gently and it grows stiffer. 

Wanda clears her throat and you guiltily pull back. You’re meant to be thanking her. You gently grasp her ankle and lean down to slowly trail kisses from it to her knee. You repeat the action with her other leg. You nuzzle gently at her skin instead of moving away this time. She doesn’t stop you so you slowly glide your nose higher and higher until you have to nudge your way under her skirt. You swear you can smell her. 

You don’t stop. Instead, you nuzzle her hard length. You can hear Wanda release a breath above you. You allow yourself a moment to indulge in her scent and warmth but you know you’re pushing it when Wanda clicks her knife against the plate. The underwear is easy to tug down and she graciously lifts her feet for you to pull them all the way off. You don’t waste time after that. You’re meant to be showing her how grateful you are, not teasing her.

You lick her base to tip, swirling your tongue around it. The sweet tang of her precum has you wrapping your lips around her head. You tease it gently with your tongue and you can feel the way her thighs tense against you.

You slowly push yourself further down before sucking again. This time, Wanda moans. The weight of her on your tongue is heaven. Wanda doesn’t want you gagging, at least not tonight, so you start bobbing your head. It’s so easy to get lost in the feel of sucking her off, sinking into that hazy space where all there is is you and her. The lack of cutlery against a plate tells you just how well you’re showing your appreciation.

[pirateprincessjess]

Marvel’s now former editor-in-Chief pretended to be a Japanese man for a few years. Marvel is now putting him in a position to continue abusing his power

[w1dowatrace]

Posing for stepdaughter's Wanda's art project...

Imagine your stepdaughter, Wanda, asking you to model for one of her paintings. At first, you were caught off guard. She had never asked you for anything before, she would rather die than to ask for your help. So when she came up to you, nonchalantly asking you to be her model, you were all out to do whatever your stepdaughter wanted to get on her good side—please her. You just wanted to be a good stepmom, right?

She led you to her room, closed the door behind the two of you, and asked you to sit on a wooden chair. You were barefoot like she asked you to, dressed only in a simple long dress you literally bought just yesterday for this—what an eager stepmother. As she adjusted your posture, her fingers lightly moved the dress strap from your shoulder letting it fall on your arm. She stepped back and began painting, but minutes passed before frustration slowly crept onto her face. You immediately noticed the change. Whenever Wanda became like this, you couldn't help but feel anxious, always afraid you had somehow done something wrong.

"This isn't working," she muttered, staring at the canvas with visible irritation. "Take your clothes off."

When the session finally ended, you walked out of her room with streaks of paint across your dress and faint smudges of color on your chest, arms, and between your thighs—painted all over like living art yourself.

[maximoffsbutch]

Hi. Could I request a stepdadNat of when she took readers virginity or when they had sex for the very first time together? You choose if they were alone or if the reader's mom was there and they had to be forcefully silent. thank youuu

i have a similar idea but not for a stepdad fic, so i'm keeping that for a different time. i wanted this one to be a little fucked up, but i feel like i'm still holding back. too scared of freaking you all out. anyway, thank you for the request!

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, heart pounding, wearing nothing but one of your stepdad’s old t-shirts. It’s soft with age, sporting the logo of her favorite sports team, and the thought makes your chest warm.

Natasha’s crosslegged beside you, her face quietly contemplative. Her hand rests on your thigh soothingly.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she murmurs, voice low. “I can go back to my room, pretend I was never here.”

“I want to,” you whisper back, and your cheeks burn. “But I’m nervous.”

Natasha’s face softens. She leans in, and you tilt your face for easier access as she kisses you slowly. “My sweet girl,” your stepfather murmurs. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

And when she lays you back and spreads your legs wide, she wastes no time putting her mouth right between your legs. Your hips snap upward at the familiar hot touch, and you moan softly as she devours your soaked cunt.

Slowly, her tongue slips into you until you’re dripping, grasping the sheets and whimpering. After what seems like an age, Natasha finally sits up to kneel between your thighs. Something warm slaps heavy against your slick cunt, and you gasp.

“I’m gonna put it in now, okay, baby?” Your stepfather’s face is only inches away from yours, her breath warm on your face, and you nod slowly.

The blunt tip presses against your entrance, and then slowly, achingly, she moves her hips forward, and it pushes in. A gasp is torn from your chest with the intrusion. The sharp, burning sting makes tears spill down your face.

“Daddy… it hurts,” you whimper, sight blurring with tears.

Natasha freezes, leaning down to kiss your hair, your wet cheeks. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry it hurts,” she groans, voice thick with lust and regret that swirl together dizzyingly. “Just breathe for me. It’ll feel so good soon, I promise.”

She sinks deeper, and your hands scramble to grasp her broad shoulders. Every inch has disappeared inside you, and Natasha keeps her hips still to let you adjust to the new sensation. When she catches your wide, hazy eyes, she smiles, a genuine one, and leans down to kiss you softly. “You’re so good for me, baby. Look how well you take me.”

The burn slowly melts into a deep, aching fullness, and Natasha starts moving in slow, deep thrusts that make obscene sounds every time she bottoms out. Your whimpers turn into desperate moans, your nails digging into her skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” she growls, hips rolling harder. “You kept your virginity for me to take, didn’t you? You wanted Daddy to take it.”

Your words slip out between broken sobs. “Don’t– I don’t trust anyone else–”

The words are sick. Natasha can’t help how hard her cock throbs. She groans loudly, her brow furrowing as she fucks you as slowly as she can manage, resisting the urge to quicken her thrusts, to bury her cock deep in your hot cunt. 

“That’s right, baby,” she breathes shallowly, watching your lips tremble with soft gasps. “No boys. I’m the only one you can trust.”

[w1dowatrace]

My Mother, My Dearest

You wanted to win your stepdaughter over. To earn her trust, get on her good side—to please her. But she hates you...a lot.

A series collection of stepdaughter Wanda Maximoff AU.

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Your Side Of The House

First Time

Shame On You, The Blame Is On You

The Mark That Only I Know

. . . . .

Moodboard | Headcanons

[maximoffsbutch]

Top Down

Pairing: Auntie!Wanda x Fem!Reader Summary: Your aunt's nice convertible is perfect for a summer day trip, as well as spreading your legs. Set in the same universe as My Mother's Husband. Content Warning: Semi-public sex, exhibitionism, age gap, fingering, oral sex (R receiving). Word count: 1.6k A/N: is this really my first fully fledged auntie!wanda fic after many, many asks and headcanons and drabbles? long overdue, if you ask me. inspired by my desire to buy a vintage convertible and drive around a pretty girl in it.

Your aunt’s sleek convertible is parked on a quiet stretch of winding coastal road. The roof is completely folded down, leaving the two of you utterly open to the warm evening breeze. 

The sun has dipped below the horizon. The overlook sits just above the main lane, where other cars whip past in fast blurs of metal and light, their tires humming against the asphalt.

They’re going too fast to really see anything, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

This car is worlds away from Natasha’s. Your stepfather’s car never has its roof down, its windows are tinted, everything kept sealed and private exactly the way Natasha likes it. 

Wanda’s convertible invites the world in. The open top lets the warm coastal air swirl around your bare skin, exposing everything. 

Your skirt is already bunched high around your hips. 

You were sitting in the passenger seat, heart pounding as Wanda leaned over with a glint in her eyes. The moment her lips curved into a smile you knew what she wanted, but you hadn’t expected her to pull over so sharply, to swing her leg over the gear stick and slide down between your thighs right here, right now, not with the roof wide open to the sky and the road just below.

Cool evening air kisses your exposed cunt, making you shiver. You squirm, thighs restless as you glance toward the road again. Another car speeds past, close enough that you catch the brief flash of headlights sweeping across the guardrail. 

Someone could glance over at just the right angle. They could catch a glimpse of bare skin, of Wanda’s dark hair nestled between your spread legs. 

Your belly flares hot at the thought. A half-nervous, half-desperate sound escapes your lips.

Wanda hums. She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, then another higher up, savoring the way your muscles jump under her touch. Her breath ghosts warm and teasing across your slick cunt, sending sparks racing up your spine, and you exhale at the feeling.

A pleased sound in Wanda’s throat. When her tongue finally drags through you, achingly unhurried, your head falls back against the leather seat with a shaky moan.

“Fuck… Auntie, please,” you mumble, voice trembling lightly.

She’s overwhelming from the very first lick. Heat blossoms deep in your belly as her hot tongue tastes every inch of you with lazy strokes, like she has all the time in the world. Your hips jerk up involuntarily, and you screw your eyes shut. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to stay quiet, but another car passes below and the risk sends a fresh rush of arousal through you.

You shift desperately, one foot pressing against the dashboard for leverage as you spread your legs wider. The other dangles over the side of the seat, and the position leaves you completely open to her, to the air, to anyone who might look a little too long. The thought of being spotted makes your clit throb against Wanda’s tongue.

Wanda’s hands settle firmly on your hips, and her painted nails dig in just enough to hold you steady for her. Her tongue is wet and hot, and it circles your swollen clit with devastating patience. You whine, hips churning as it flicks lightly before flattening out to lick long stripes from your weeping hole up to your clit. 

You can tell she’s smiling even though her mouth is hidden, and then she dips lower, pushing her tongue inside you in a slow stroke that makes the most obscene sound mix with the distant hum of passing traffic.

You moan loudly, a helpless, breathy sound that carries on the open air. “Fuck–! Feels so good,” you whine, your leg bucking and kicking at the dashboard. Your fingers tangle desperately in her dark hair, trembling and unsure whether you want to pull her closer or push her away from the intensity.

Another car rushes by. This one is closer and louder. Your belly tightens again, a sharp, embarrassed thrill rolling through you like lightning. 

What if they caught the way your back arches off the seat, the way your Auntie’s face is buried shamelessly between your legs?

The runaway thought makes you clench hard around her tongue. Wanda gasps, a pleased sound.

Her tongue doesn’t stop its movement. Soft whimpers spill freely from your lips now, and pleasure builds in heavy, rolling waves, fed by the slow drag of her mouth and the fluttering fear-excitement in your chest.

Wanda hums softly against your cunt, and heat flickers in your belly. The low vibration pulls another broken moan from deep in your throat. She looks up at you through thick lashes, and then she starts sucking on your clit, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“W– Auntie!” Your sweaty skin shifts against the leather seat as your hips buck against her face.

You barely have time to adjust before she’s licking harder, her tongue flicking in tight, perfect circles that make stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth. It does almost nothing to muffle your desperate gasps.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” Wanda murmurs against your cunt when she pulls away, barely audible over the next passing car. “You like it when anyone can see, don’t you?” 

Her words send another jolt straight to your core. She presses her tongue deeper, and your breath quickens as she savours you.

“N-No, I don’t–” you lie, your cheeks flaring up instinctually. 

You do. You’ve never realized it before, but you love being shown off like this, a mark of possession that makes your head spin.

Wanda purrs against your clenching cunt. Her eyes, impossibly green and gleaming, look up at you through her lashes as she tastes you, and the sight is enough to get you to mewl. Spurred on by the pretty sound you make, she slides in two fingers alongside her tongue, curling them just right against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and you suddenly forget how to speak.

Your words come out in desperate shudders, wrapped in moans that mingle with the sound of hot asphalt and rubber. “T-Too much, Auntie, please, I’m–”

Wanda groans against your pussy, and the vibration makes your hips buck again. The wet sounds of her mouth and fingers grow louder, more determined to push you close to the edge.

You’re panting now, her name broken between whines and pants, moans rising and falling with every thrust and curl. Heat burns through your belly as another car speeds past, its headlights briefly illuminating you both. Your hips jerk wildly, grinding against Wanda’s face as pleasure crashes closer.

Your aunt starts to lick slower, careful of pushing you over the edge too fast, too soon. She pulls back just enough to place soft, teasing kisses along your folds and inner thighs, letting the tension ease just enough. You’re so wound tight you can’t help your whimpering and begging.

“Please… Auntie, I need– oh god–”

“Shhh,” she whispers, nails digging into your thigh and leaving painful little crescents. “You love knowing they could see you like this, don’t you? Spread open, moaning for your Auntie.”

And finally, finally, she returns to your clit, sucking hard while her fingers pump steadily. The pleasure slams back into you tenfold. Your thighs tremble around her shoulders. You whimper her name like a prayer, over and over, voice cracking.

It hits you like a wave crashing against a cliffside. You come with a loud, gasping moan that echoes into the evening air, and your back arches sharply off the seat, thighs clamping tight around her head. Your entire body shudders, electricity dancing on your skin. Wanda licks you slowly and tenderly, drawing out every last tremor until you're a whimpering mess beneath the open sky.

Only when the aftershocks fade does Wanda pull back, lips glossy and swollen. Her eyes are soft with something close to love, and your chest tightens.

A gentle, lingering kiss to your trembling inner thigh, before Wanda carefully tugs your skirt back down over your hips. 

Her hand reaches out, and you shakily take it in your own. Her thumb strokes soothing circles over your knuckles as your breathing slowly steadies and the world comes back into focus.

The cars keep passing below. None of them slow down. None of them seem to have noticed the scene that just unfolded above them. But your face stays flushed hot, your heart still racing wildly in your chest, and a warm glow lingers low in your belly at the memory.

Wanda leans in closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. Her voice is barely above a whisper, warm and full of affection.

“Pretty princess,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Did you like that? Feeling so open for me?”

You can only nod, still catching your breath, a shy smile tugging at your lips. Wanda smiles softly. The sky has darkened further now, and the stars are beginning to peek out overhead. The thrill lingers like the taste of salt in the air.

She starts the engine eventually, but not before stealing one more deep, lingering kiss that tastes just like you. As the car pulls back onto the road, your hand stays laced with hers on the gear stick. 

The memory of the passing cars and Wanda’s mouth between your thighs burns in your mind for the rest of the drive back to your stepfather.

[w1dowatrace]

A list of SFW and NSFW headcanons about stepdaughter Wanda AU—My Mother, My Dearest

Author's Note: You can share more headcanons about stepdaughter Wanda if you have ideas, thoughts, or even questions—let's talk about her^^

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SFW

She majors in fine arts, focuses on oil painting mostly, and spends most of her afternoons in the campus studio that smells like turpentine and old canvas. She's currently working on a series of portraits for her exhibit, but none of them are finished—she says they don't feel right, that none of the subjects have the right light in their eyes.

She still sleeps with the tattered stuffed rabbit her mom gave her since she was 4-years old.

About her style, she mostly wears oversized shirts that are mostly torn, muscle tees, baggy jorts or wide jogger pants, and scuffed combat boots. She's got so many rings—almost all her fingers have silvery faded rings.

One day you found one of her favorite faded shirts laid out on the laundry room counter with a big tear along the side seam, so you sewed it neat and tight. When she found out, she snapped at you angrily, asking if you're really that old enough to understand what style is.

She pairs her faded sports bra with loose, worn-in cotton boxers that she's had since high school. She doesn't see the point of tight jeans or fancy underwear when she's just messing around with canvases at home or with you.

She's got so many random tattoos. A tiny black star behind her ear from a sophomore year, a cyberlism on her arm with a rabbit smoking, and a faint blue constellation on the back of her shoulder. Most are tiny, messy, done by friends in dorm rooms for free or sometimes experimentation.

Just below her collarbone, tucked close to her heart, she has her mother's name written in soft, looping script.

She has seven piercings total across both earlobes and cartilage, most of them done by herself in her dorm using only an earring, never ever got scared with the possibilities of infections. She even got one lower lobe hole that is a little crooked, but she likes it that way, never bothered getting it redone.

She wears cheap, warm, woody cologne her mom left in her room years ago, it has always been her scent. It is mixed with the sharp tang of turpentine from her paints and a faint sweet edge of vanilla from her energy drinks. When she brushes past you in the hallway, that's all you can smell for hours after.

At first, her father was dead set against her wearing it, he couldn't stand the smell of it in the house. Wanda wore it every day anyway, a quiet way to keep him from letting anyone new take her mom's place, before you came along. But now her dad's gotten used to the smell, doesn't even comment on it anymore when he catches a whiff drifting through the hallway. It's become just another normal part of the house.

She always keeps a pack of menthols in her leather jacket pocket and a stash of cold vanilla Monster. And she taps ash into a canvas that she already painted but abandoned or sometimes her paint palette.

Her father renovated the largest bedroom for her when she started painting. Her room always smells with different paints, thick of thinner and the faint sweet tang of old canvas.

Back at home during summer, she always wakes up around noon, around 11 AM to 12 noon. Sometimes the four of you don't get to eat together during lunch, but you still make a point to set aside a container of whatever you made, leave it covered in the fridge if she ever decides to eat and not have an energy drink for lunch.

She mostly listens to 90s grunge and early 2000s pop. Her most-played are Nirvana, The Smashing Pumpkins, and Foo Fighters, with a lot of early Fall Out Boy. She has a worn CD of Hole that her mom left her, she plays it when she's painting alone and misses her.

She has a secret soft spot for KPop TWICE that she only listens to when she's using headphones.

Wanda has a secret talent—dancing. Who would've even thought? She took modern dance all through high school, still does small improv routines in her room when she's stuck on a painting and needs to work the tension out of her shoulders. She never lets anyone watch her, keeps it hidden just for her.

She pulls her beat-up old acoustic guitar out late at night when everyone else is asleep, sits in the back yard and plucks out slow, wobbly versions of the old folk songs her mom taught her when she was little. The music drifts soft through your open window and you lay awake listening.

One time, Erik was already asleep when you heard the soft, familiar plucking drift through your open window. It didn't irritate you, just made you curious, so you looked out and saw your stepdaughter on the porch steps. You listened for five minutes before she spotted you, giving you that sharp look (as always) like you bothered her before she headed straight inside immediately.

She has uncontrollable anger issues. But when she controls it and something ugly and tight starts brewing in her chest, she digs her short nails hard into the meat of her palms until the skin breaks, she doesn't even notice she's doing it until she feels blood bead up. Faint silver scars crisscross both her palms, old ones from years of this habit that never fully faded. My poor baby.

Every Saturday, Wanda's gone for the whole day. She brings a small bouquet of wild daisies she picks from the side of the road, and sits for an hour talking to her mom's headstone. You learned about it from her brother Pietro when one Saturday you didn't see any glimpse of Wanda.

She always keeps a beat-up sketchbook tucked in her bag, fills it with random quick sketches of whatever catches her eye—the way light hits the kitchen window, a stray cat napping on the fence, you reading on the couch when you don't notice she's looking. She never lets anyone flip through it.

If she has a section of you in that sketchpad, she also has a section for her mom because she has a fear of forgetting her face.

NSFW

Wanda's almost always a dom, likes being in control, holding girls down and telling them exactly what to do, loves watching them squirm and beg for her. Every once in a while, when she's tired and soft after a long week of art burnout, she'll drop the act and be a hungry service top.

She loves sucking on titties (especially yours).

She started doing casual fuck buddies years after her mom died, wouldn't let anyone get close enough to ask for more than a night. She's the type who doesn't do sleepovers, doesn't text back the next day. She only texts when she wants to fuck.

She's got tons of condoms, many boxes in the family home or her dorm room. And she always brings a couple of packs with her when she goes out. (Thanks for this headcanon, my chingchong)

She brings random girls home from the bar at random nights, you can hear muffled moans seeping through her walls when you get past her room.

Sometimes you wake up early and see a girl sneaking out the front door. Sometimes you offer them a quick cup of coffee before they leave, polite and soft like you always are. Wanda watches from the hallway, jaw tight and can't understand how you can be still so fucking nice.

She steals one of your soft cotton pairs out of the laundry basket every couple of weeks, tucks it under her pillow and presses her face to the fabric when she touches herself at night. She's never gotten caught, don't even think you've noticed that a few have gone missing over the past couple months she's back home.

Wanda is a total pervert—she's got a boy brain. She has no shame in staring at women's chests when they talk to her or glancing down at their hips when they walk past, her mind already wandering to what they look like under their clothes.

But…she never openly stares at you like that, she always looks away fast if she catches herself, keeps every twisted little thought locked tight behind her cold, angry scowl. She'd die before letting you see that you're all she thinks about, all she wants, every single day.

She saved up two months of commission money from painting to buy a secondhand Sony RX100 VII Cyber-shot, small enough to slip into her backpack without taking up too much space. She loves how quiet the shutter is, so no one hears when she takes a quick photo of passed out girls she's had.

But she deleted every old photo from her SD card that summer, cleared out all the old nudes of random girls to make space for more future shots of you. She complains all the time about how expensive new SD cards are, so she never bothers buying one.

She thinks women's bodies are her favorite blank canvas, loves sucking deep purple hickeys and biting faint marks all over soft skin, loves painting their bodies and faces white with her cum when she's done. She never stayed to watch the marks fade, always left before they woke up, already bored and ready for the next canvas.

But with you, she only ever leaves a single, small, dark mark, carefully hidden somewhere on your body. Why? She had to learn it the hard way, after your first time together, she realized that she's still cautious about her father. She hates admitting it, even to herself, but she can't help thinking that after the night she had you, her father could have you next—because he rightfully has that place. After all, you're his wife. So she would leave something that looks just like a random bruise from bumping into furniture if anyone or her dad ever spots it, a quiet secret only the two of you know belongs to her.

She has a sketchpad aside from her main that has nudes of the girls she's hooked up with, drawn from the candid photos she takes when they're asleep. A private collection of the bodies she's gotten to touch.

Even though she hates you very, very much, she bought a brand new thick sketchbook the very week she first met you. She couldn't stop imagining filling every page with nudes of you—a new collection.

During an art block, Wanda jerked off right in front of her blank stretched canvas and shot a thick heavy load straight onto the center. She mixed it into pigment on her palette, made an abstract piece that got a passing grade, no one ever guessed.

She never kisses her hookups and the same thing applies to you—ouch. But at least she stopped seeing hookups after you, right?

Wanda's brain every time she sees you: "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, I'm gonna fuck you."

[piinkdahliia]

Just Relax

WandaNat x Pregnant!Fem!Reader  

MDNI 18+ 

Summary: Ever since finding out you were pregnant, your wives have been attentive and soft in a way you’ve never seen before. Tonight, they help take special care of you in the bath.  

Warnings/Tags: domestic wanda and nat, no use of Y/N, they really love petnames, wanda speaks romanian, fluff, smut, bathtub sex, soft sex, bottom/sub reader, implied top/dom wanda and switch nat, kissing, groping, orgasm from nipple stimulation, i kinda robbed yall of the bedroom action sorry 

Word Count: 4.45k 

A/N: Let’s pretend poly-marriages exist for a second, okay? Also, this lowkey came out later than I wanted it to but I got a little caught up on Love Island twitter icl. Plus, apparently idk how to stfu so this got longer than I expected it to, especially for my first time writing something explicit.  

Masterlist 

Ever since Wanda and Natasha forced you onto maternity leave, you’ve had a sickening amount of time to yourself. Instead of taking your place beside them at the company, you stayed at home meal prepping their lunches, cleaning, and making dinner.  

Everything you once found fun or relaxing became boring after the first month. Especially after the two of them started meal prepping for you instead, getting a firm handle on both your dietary restrictions and fleeting cravings. Next was Wanda starting to insist more on going out for dinner. Then it was Natasha hiring private cleaning services.  

Rather than there being time between tasks, there was just time. There was nothing to do. So, you decided to fill that space in another way.  

Shopping.  

You figured it was the one activity they couldn’t stop you from doing if it was all for the baby and you—mostly you at this stage. You were prepared to endure nagging when you checked the time and noticed you’d be getting home later than your wives.  

Part of you was expecting a suggestion to do online shopping instead, hire a personal shopper who had your measurements down pat, or let them pick everything up before coming home to you. Wanda sure did love dressing you.  

Instead, you came home to a kind of quiet that left you skeptical of their intentions. Not quiet in the way there was no chatter, just quiet in the way there was no fuss or sweet words steering you towards the “right” choices.  

It was shocking. 

Earlier this week, Natasha was stressed out of her mind when you joined her on your usual run about the park. You figured, if you couldn’t join them at the office, might as well enjoy the ritual before work. Not only did she jog half the usual pace, she cut the route short altogether. She turned back home a mile in.  

None of your cursing changed her mind. You both cleared this routine with your doctor weeks ago, but Natasha would always turn around the second your breathing lost its usual rhythm. 

You’ve been making her walk the mile with you since. And though she thinks you’re not aware, you hear her visit the home gym forty-five minutes before your alarm goes off every morning.  

You know she’s using the treadmill.  

Upon walking in, you found Natasha rushing across the foyer to meet you at the door. Before your bags could touch the ground, there was a kiss upon your cheek and fists around the handles of your totes.  

“Go sit in the mudroom. I’ll put these in the living room. Wanda wants a haul after dinner malysh.” From the aroma alone, you could nearly taste the steak at the entryway.  

“Of course she does.” You sighed out.  

That was another thing. You weren’t allowed to take your own shoes off anymore. You grunted while bent over, three weeks ago, and the two of them had taken it with the utmost seriousness. It was almost terrifying how adamant they were about tying your shoes.  

Eventually you learned to stick with sandals for most of your outings. Thinking you’d be home before them, but knowing how much you’d be on your feet, you chose your favorite sneakers today.  

Leave it to Natasha to assess you from head to toe in a heartbeat.   

Your redhead was back within seconds, eager to attend to you. Her adoring eyes fell over you again as she reached towards you to smooth out your hair. She rubbed and brushed gently over your head before bending down for a real kiss.  

Natasha’s palm rested over your ear as she pressed her lips onto yours. It was tender. And while all you tasted was home, all she got was a hint that you’d indulged in mall food before getting back.  

You pulled away, decided you weren't finished, and leaned back in to peck at her lips. “You’re ruining my appetite.” Natasha smirked and caught your bottom lip between hers, sucking it softly. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. You wanted to deepen it, open wider for her, hoping to slide your tongue in her mouth. But before you could go for it, she was drawing away from you.  

“I think those cinnamon pretzel bites already did the job, malyshka.” You pouted at her, annoyed by how easily she figured it out even after you took care of washing the treat down on the drive home.  

“I only had like five Natty.” You rolled your eyes, making a more than obvious effort to lose eye contact.  

You could see the way she raised her eyebrows at you before kneeling. “Right.” You faced her again, following her movements as she rolled up your pants' leg.  

“I did.” 

“Tell that to Wanda.” You were quiet for a moment as she started to undo your shoelaces.  

“You think I can brush my teeth before we get to the kitchen?” There was a fifty percent chance she’d kiss you before dinner and find out the same way Natasha did, but you were hoping that a chaste peck and chatting her up could distract her enough later.  

“Baby, your receipt’s in the Rosie’s Boutique bag.” She slid your right sneaker off.  

“Maybe I could trash it then?” You wondered.  

Natasha pats your calf before getting up to store your shoes away. “I’ll throw it out in my office. It’ll be our secret.”  

You kicked your leg out and rubbed your feet up and down her leg, slightly dragging her sweats with the movement, giggling as you spoke. “Mm, you’re so good to me.” She shakes her head, amused by your actions, as she closes the mudroom cabinet.  

You bit your lip at the sight of your slightly swollen ankles, hoping Natasha wouldn’t say anything to you about them, or worse, to Wanda.  

She’s back on her knees again, and you watch as she lightly massages them. Unbothered by the dampness, she brushed her thumbs over the indents your socks had pressed into your skin. She slid your house shoes from underneath the seat and slipped them onto your feet with a breath of finality.  

Natasha pulls you from the bench and back through the formal entry way, ready to make good on her promise to you. She leaves you standing in the hall as she runs to snatch up the evidence. She returns with a small smile on her face, waving the receipt at you, then slipping it in her pocket. 

“Keep her company while I wrap up this email for Maria. I’ll be right down.” Natasha kisses your forehead.  

A hum vibrates in your throat, and you turn to leave, but not before pinching her ass and rushing away; ultimately, fearing her retaliation. “You better be.”  

A couple turns later and you’re greeted with the homely sight of your lover hovering over the island stove, two pans on the eye and a cutting board nearby. Seeing her in the kitchen always gave you a rush of warmth, loving how she seemed so at peace in the space. Every time you saw her standing there, it brought you back to the first time she saw the kitchen after the rebuild. Even as her wife, you’re not sure you ever saw her look more in love.  

Your arms wrap around her midsection with swiftness. You stand somewhat to the side of her, knowing this was as close as you could get to her with your bump growing larger by the day.  

“Hi draga mea, we missed you today,” she turns and pecks your lips “talk to me while I finish with the asparagus, will you?” You hummed and found a stool nearby, ready to tell her all about the deals you got on items for the nursery and how your new earrings match perfectly with your anniversary bracelet from them.  

Wanting to give you something to do, your wife tasks you with pouring water for each of you. Usually, on a night like this, wine was the go-to. But with your predicament, it’d be a few more months before you could enjoy alcohol again.  

Soon, Natasha was joining both of you and plating dinner for everyone. The food was steaming. Wanda carries her own plate, and yours, to the dining table while Nat sets her meal down, pulls out your seat, and grabs cutlery from the kitchen.  

Your plates weren’t full for long. 

A bowl of ice cream, two cookies, a chopped-up cucumber drenched in sriracha and sesame oil (courtesy of the Russian who insists you stay away from knives), a cup of tea, and two sad Disney movies later you were sat waiting on your ottoman as one of your wives drew the bath and the other handled dishes. 

You rested against the foot of the bed, hand rubbing over your belly as you fought to keep your eyes open. Eating so much had worn you out, and now sleep was calling your name. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to get up again without Natasha’s help.  

“Oh god, I’m stuffed.” You whine out.  

Your wife walks in the room, drying her hands with a small towel. There’s no doubt she’d already tested the water for you. “Honestly, I’d be scared if you weren’t.” You grunted at her words and closed your eyes.  

“Don’t fall asleep on me, it’s almost ready.” She laughs. “Do you want the chamomile or the lavender, krasotka?”  

You had no energy to choose.  

“Could you decide? I want you in there with me.” That was all you knew.  

“We’ll do a blend tonight.” You nod and watch her disappear into the on suite once more.  

Soon she’s reentering the bedroom and dragging you to the bathtub.  

Natasha helps you undress quietly. It’s a ritual you wouldn’t give up for the world. You rest your hands on her shoulders as she helps you step out of your pants and underwear, grateful for all the ways she provides you with stability.  

She proceeds to remove her clothing as you wait beside her, watching with, now, awake eyes. They trail over her form, taking in the scars of childhood, her curves, the freckles littered across her skin, and the goosebumps from standing bare.  

She helps you into the water, one hand holding tightly onto your arm and the other supporting your back as you sit inside. Natasha joins you in no time. She settles in behind you, arms sitting loosely around your sides, legs encapsulating your own.  

The two of you sit skin-to-skin, enjoying the dimly lit bathroom, evenly heated water, and a kind of serenity enhanced by the perfectly measured essential oils.  

“I’m so happy Wanda decided on the heated tub during the remodel. I think this is my favorite part of the night.” Natasha was silent behind you. You giggle before turning to look back at her; her eyes closed as her head lay against the edge of the bath. She’d tell you she wasn’t sleeping if you asked, “just resting” instead.   

“I’m starting to think you drawing a bath every night is definitely more for you than it is for me.” You pinch her lower thigh, drawing a performative hiss from your wife.  

“So what? Now it’s criminal for me to need to hold my girl after a long day at work?” She kisses the side of your head.  

You deadpan. “We cuddle almost every night, Natasha.”  

“We don’t cuddle naked every night.” Her tone was full of grievance, as though it was criminal you weren’t always nude for her past 7pm.  

“Just about.” There was no more giggling, just loud, unrestrained, laughter after you said those words. 

You feel her chest jump against your back as she begins to laugh along with you. Then, it was quiet for a moment.  

“I miss you when you’re at work—both of you. I miss being at work. I thought I’d enjoy leave, but there’s way too much nothing to do.” Natasha chuckles at that.  

“We don’t want you stressed—we talked about this.” Wanda spoke from the doorway. She pads over to both of you and settles on the rug adjacent to the tub.  

You turn to look at her, not having heard her enter the bedroom. “I know, trust me, I do. But I just feel useless. I miss doing something as simple as bringing files to your office, in heels, or cleaning the bathroom on weekends.”  

“Celine does look good on you.” You flicked water on Wanda’s face and pouted.  

“I’m being serious. You guys don’t even let me carry groceries in from the garage anymore.”  

“Malyshka, you are not useless. You are creating life. You deserve this. We want to take care of you. We need to take care of you.” You feel Natasha’s hands splay out atop your own and across your stomach, your bump looking especially precious to her in that moment. Wanda’s hands join yours there; the three of you interconnected in a single moment.  

“I think, in a way, we feel on the outside of things. You’re carrying twins for us. Your body is changing every day and the least we can do for you is give you peace of mind. So no, we don’t want you handling harsh chemicals, no we don’t want your feet swollen into designer heels for nine hours a day, and no we don’t need you hauling bags into the house. You are the one doing all the heavy lifting between us. And you may not see it that way, or acknowledge it, but we do. And we admire you for it.”  

Natasha’s fingers lace with yours, creating a ripple effect. You all squeeze each other’s hands tightly. “We love you for it.”  

Wanda nods in agreement and speaks. 

“We do. It’s not that we see you as fragile or incapable now. We see you as stronger than ever. Doing what we do for you gives us a chance to match that strength.”  

“We want this journey to be as safe for you as possible. We’d do anything to make sure you and the girls come out of this healthy.” Natasha peppers kisses along your right shoulder while Wanda brings your intertwined hands out of the water and presses her lips long and hard against the back of your palm.  

“I understand. I appreciate both of you. I just…miss my old routine.” 

“And you’ll get back to some version of it, we promise. But for now, we just want you to relax. And while Natasha and I are beyond excited to see the twins, once they come, none of us will be able to enjoy our usual lifestyle. So much is going to change, my love. Let’s enjoy the slow period while we can.” Your lip quirks up at that.  

The way the two of them always manage to speak to you so gently made you swoon. No matter how irritated you were with the slower routine, at the end of the day, it was always these two taking care of you.  

Every annoyance was washed away by their patient explanations and getting you to see their perspective of things. While it didn’t dissolve all you felt, watching your old life slip from your grasp, you were content to be reminded that this wasn’t forever.  

“Let us take care of you.”  

You expect to find warm affection in Wanda’s eyes, and you do, but along with it is a look you know all too well. “I feel like that means something really different right now.” You whisper.  

“Maybe.” Natasha mumbles against your skin.  

You knew they’d be plotting something at some point this evening.  

“You want it to?” An eager nod answers her question. In a split second, Wanda is on her knees and pulling your face close to hers. Her thumb brushes across your helix before coming to a rest right below your jaw. She feels the way it works as you open up for her.  

There’s no hesitation, only heat. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, eager to wrap around your own. To drag the tip of it across the roof of your mouth and feel you shiver—like you always do. It was intoxicating, to be dragged into this space by her, by either of them, and to sit in a haze as they have their way with you.  

The pregnancy only made you more submissive, if possible, and they relished your obedience and surrender. But the best part was how sensitive you became under their care. 

Natasha squeezes your hip and you moan into Wanda’s mouth. You’d never been as vocal as you were now, and the two of them loved to grip onto you wherever they could—waiting to hear the way you responded to their teasing touches.  

Both women wasted no time getting you on your knees. You face Wanda entirely, Natasha holding you up from behind, making sure you don’t slip and keeping your legs open for the two of them. She’s careful not to push her weight into you, keeping your belly from pressing hard against the wall of the tub.  

Still, you start to feel annoyed at the barrier between you and Wanda, the tub’s edge and how, not, naked she was. Before you could whine about it, her hands were rushing up the front of your body, fervently, seeking a place to rest.  

One hand drags down from your head to your hip, the other going to wrap around one of your breasts. You choke back a whimper as she pulls at a nipple, rolling it between her forefinger and thumb.  

“I bet we could make you fall apart for us just like this draga. Won’t even have to touch that little cunt of yours.” Your heart jumps, and the building ache between your thighs become unbearable at the very thought of climaxing without either of their fingers inside you.  

Your mouth falls open, unable to properly respond. Only her name comes out. “Wands...”  

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded bashfully.  

“Oh sweetheart, we’ve taught you better than that. Haven’t we, Natalia?”  

Natasha’s touch was softer, not lacking passion, just slower, not hesitant, only intent. Her mouth sucked at the skin right under your ear, one of the spots that’d make you fall into her, just right, when she wanted to see you unravel. She was completely caught up in you, her ears only perking at the sounds of your breathless moans and pants, her body entirely attuned to the way you squirmed between them.  

“Don’t tell me you need to be retrained too. Both of you, I want to hear you.” Natasha raises her head, partially dazed by the heat of the moment. Her skin flushed further at being called out.  

A synchronized yes answers her.  

You turned away from Wanda to look at Natasha. Your wife’s hands fell just under where you craved her and just above where you needed her.  

Out the corner of your eye, you see Wanda begin to pull away. She ties her hair up quickly before getting her hands back on you. Your breath hitches as she dips her head lower and lower. Going from soft kisses and suckling across your sternum to having her teeth scratch lightly against the peaks of your breasts. Natasha watches your chest rise and fall. She feels arousal build at the sight of Wanda flicking her tongue over you and drawing in as much as she could fill her mouth with.  

“Need you too. Please ‘Tasha.” Your hips rocked into her front.  

“You up for the challenge, detka?” Instead of speaking, you take one of Natasha’s hands, bringing it to brush against the nipple Wanda had yet to touch.  

It was enough of an answer for her.  

Your head falls back onto her shoulder as she starts to massage you gingerly, knowing the softness of it all would keep you right where she wanted. Her hand was full of you.  

As Natasha switches between thumbing over your nipple and letting the pads of her fingers circle them. Wanda’s letting her nails skim over your spit covered tit, drawing back whenever your moans heighten in pitch, then nipping at them when Natasha holds both steady for her.  

The two work in tandem. Wanda swirling her tongue around the tips while Natasha restrained herself from manhandling the flesh between her fingers. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, tingles spread from the bottom of your spine to the base of your neck, and you attempted to push yourself further into Wanda’s mouth. 

You tried to cover your moans, but your wife was quick enough to restrain you. Your wrist was brought back down to your side.  

“Uh-uh, we wanna hear all your pretty sounds.” Natasha’s voice was deep and full of warning, only adding to the buildup.  

The noises you wanted to mask came spilling out as Wanda dragged her tongue heavily across your chest. They came out messy and long. Your breathing turned erratic, your gut tightened, and your back arched as she worked you. The steam around you had each of you glistening with sweat. Instead of your muscles being relaxed by an evening soak, they were now drawn taut by the effort of keeping up with the women embracing you.  

“Look at what she’s doing to you, malysh.” Natasha commanded. “Already got you on that edge, huh?”  

“Please I—Fuck!”  

You could barely hold eye contact with her. Those deep green eyes that glinted, almost sinisterly, when she had you on the precipice. When she knew she could take it all away from you. You could only pray she wouldn’t.  

“Faster. Wanda. Need it.” She hummed over your skin. Any other night, she’d never take a demand from you. She expected pretty pleas at all times, play or not, she gave you what she wanted you to have.  

Natasha went from looking over your shoulder, admiring your wife on her knees, a sight she doesn't get often, to leaving hickeys up and down the span of your neck. You hissed when she bit down, moaned when her heated tongue smoothed over the mark, smiled when she kissed you and whispered in your ear.  

“So perfect for us. The sooner you cum, the faster I clean up your little mess down here, krasotka.” She palms your ass, spreading you apart, exposing you, and letting the air graze against your most sensitive area.  

You were dripping by now, aching for either of them to slide a finger between your folds, over your clit, to dance around your opening, all before stretching you open. You could feel the way your arousal trickled down your thighs, not taking long before it dribbled into the fragrant water below.  

Natasha sucks your earlobe into her mouth, teeth grazing it, as Wanda’s tongue flits around your areola, and you cry out for the both of them in a single breath.  

You clenched around nothing, feeling a pleasant wave of warmth wash over you from your chest to your core. The feeling was euphoric; you had only ever come once from nipple stimulation alone. Natasha and Wanda have been vying to get you there since.  

The night it happened led to their longest session with you. The state you entered following that wave of ecstasy was the highest they’d ever brought you to. It was addictive to watch as your eyes glaze over, to have you cling to them, to hear the most unrestrained sounds fall out of your mouth as they fucked you.  

Your hands clutch Wanda’s shoulders as she laps over your nipples for the last time, feeling especially overstimulated even through the carefulness of her motions.  

Wanda pulls back with a triumphant look on her face, watching you go limp in Natasha’s arms. Her thumbs rub circles into the sides of your hips as she watches you twitch, your bottom half searching for the same stimulation.  

Her hands leave to hold your face, her fingers pushing back strands of damp baby hair before your cheeks rest in her palms.  

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” She kisses your forehead. “We‘re so proud of you sweetheart.” You whine at her tone, her praise, and her smile widens. She bites down on her lip, shooting a look to Natasha before standing on slightly shaking legs, her knees weak from kneeling too long. 

They had you in the perfect state for them. Blissed out and pliant, soaked, ready for whatever came next, willing to take everything they could give you.   

“Let’s take you to bed. We’ll get you all comfortable so Natty can do something about this, my love. Yeah?” Wanda’s palm slid over your folds, collecting your arousal and spreading it over her fingers, as she spoke.

She reaches out to take your hands while Natasha lifts you up. They work together in getting you to dry your feet on the rug, not wanting you to slip on the tile as they aided you to the bedroom. 

The three of you spend the rest of the night tangled up in one another, both of them mindful of your physical limitations, but stretching you out every way they desired. Natasha was the first one to knock out, leaving you and Wanda cuddled up in the center of the bed, Nat’s limbs hanging off the side, sheet barely drawn over her naked form.  

You two spoke gently to each other, not wanting to wake her up, but wanting this quiet, soft, moment to last even a minute longer.  

“I was thinking of going to mommy yoga downtown. It’s low impact. Plus, I can do a majority of their classes up until my due date. They have lessons for every trimester. What do you think, Wands?” You turned your head towards the wife that was barely hanging on to consciousness, the other breathing deeply behind you.  

“I think we already do enough mommy yoga, iubi.” She muttered drowsily.  

“Wanda! I swear to God—”   

[w1dowatrace]

Your Side Of The House

Summary: You wanted to win your stepdaughter over. To earn her trust, get on her good side—to please her. And that pleases her.

Pairing: Stepdaughter Wanda Maximoff x Stepmom Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags/Warnings: 18+ fauxcest/stepcest, smut, age gap (Wanda is around 20-25 while reader is 38-45), emotional manipulation, depictions of parental violence, grief/loss, noncon taking of photos, toxic Wanda (she hates you so much)

Author's Note: I am just so hyperfixed w stepdaughter Wanda that I had to post this so advanced after posting it just yesterday on Patreon. I am posting this so that you can ask requests or ask questions for this AU.

This won't be a continuous series. Instead, it'll be a collection of standalone fics, which is why this one is...relatively short.

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Wanda first heard your name three months ago, when her father called her at college to say he'd met someone. She'd shrugged it off then, used to his short-lived flings after her mother died, figured it would fizzle out like all the rest. She didn't bother asking who you were.

She got home for spring break to find your shoes by the front door and a framed wedding photo on the mantel in the living room. The bottom dropped out of her stomach—her father never even told her it was happening. This wasn't a fling. You'd moved into her mother's house, taken her mother's place, and no one had asked her what she thought.

The front door slammed so hard the photo frames rattled on the walls, making you jump where you were stirring pasta on the stove. Erik was in his office, so it was just you downstairs when Wanda trundled her suitcases up the steps, stopped dead in the entryway when she saw you standing there in her mother's kitchen. Her face went white, then sharp, all the pieces clicking into place faster than you could speak.

"Who the fuck are you!?"

You held out a hand to calm her down and she knocked it away, the spoon clattering to the floor, red sauce splattering up the front of your shirt. She didn't apologize, she just stood there shaking, hatred blazing in her eyes like you'd already broken everything she ever loved.

Erik burst through the door two minutes later, having gotten Pietro's panicked call from his room down the hall. He grabbed Wanda's shaking shoulders, trying to pull her into a hug, but she wrenched away, yelling that he'd lied to her for six months, that he didn't care what she wanted anymore. Pietro finally stepped forward when his father's face flushed red with frustration, his grip on Wanda's arm slipping as she tugged hard enough to make his father stumble. He called her name soft, hesitant, reaching out to wrap both arms around her shaking shoulders from behind to hold her back.

Wanda fought him hard, heels scrabbling against the hardwood, but Pietro's always been stronger, built for the soccer he plays year round. She went limp in his hold eventually, chest heaving, hot tears spilling over that she refused to wipe, her eyes locked on you where you still stood by the cold stove, not moving an inch.

It's been two full months since that first fight and the cold war in this house never really ends—she just learned to fight quieter, especially when her father is not around to step in for you.

She never bothers rinsing her dishes, just leaves them caked with old food on the coffee table when she storms out. Her dirty laundry piles up by the washing machine, overflowing onto the floor, and she expects you to pick it up and sort it like she's your spoiled child you never asked for.

Last Saturday you stepped into the bathroom at 6 A.M. to find vomit pooled by the toilet, splashed up the side of the tub, and she'd already stumbled to her room and locked the door, snoring loud enough you could hear it through the wood. You had to clean it up alone, the acrid smell sticking to your clothes for hours. She has been out all night again and got home earlier this morning.

And there were times that you always woke up to girls slipping out the front door at dawn, their shoes clicking quiet on the hardwood like they're afraid to be caught. More often than not, Wanda doesn't even walk them out—just stays curled behind her locked bedroom door, leaving you to make awkward small talk with hungover girls who don't know what to call you. When she does see them out, she leans in the doorway of her room, one bare foot propped on the frame, and stares right through you the whole time. She doesn't say a word, just holds that cold, deadly look until the door clicks shut behind the girl, then turns and slams her own door hard enough to rattle the walls.

Every small or big mess, every cold silence, is a reminder you're still the intruder who broke into her life.

And now, another fire has started between you and your stepdaughter.

Pietro leans back in his chair, still laughing with his dad about something that happened on his team. You glance at Wanda, who hasn't spoken a word at dinner, picking at her asparagus like it personally offended her. You clear your throat soft, leaning forward a little to include her.

"I was just wondering—did you ever play any sports? Your brother has always been so obsessed with soccer."

Wanda's fork stills halfway to her mouth. She lifts her eyes slowly, pinning you where you sit, the corner of her mouth twitching into a cold, sharp smile.

"Why do you care? You're just gonna insert yourself into every part of my life anyway, might as well get all the details from dad."

Your husband sets his fork down with a quiet clink, opening his mouth to scold her, but you reach under the table to touch his wrist, shaking your head once to stop him. Wanda watches the gesture, her smile dropping into that familiar cold, tight line, jaw set hard enough to see the muscle tick.

"I'm done. I'm going out." She pushes her chair back slowly, half her dinner still untouched on the plate.

Pietro tries to smooth it over, leaning forward to call after her as she grabs her jacket off the back of the chair.

"C'mon Wands, don't leave, mom was just—"

Wanda stops on her track, her back going rigid. She doesn't turn around, doesn't say anything for a long ten seconds, and you can see her shoulder muscles tightening under her sweater.

"Mom?" She smirks, wanting to laugh at what she just heard his brother say. "She's never gonna be my mom." Then, she looks at you straight in the eye, stepping closer from where you sat, her finger pointing at your face. "You, you are never going to be my mom. You hear that? You're never gonna be my fucking mom so stop pretending like you are!"

Erik grabbed Wanda's arm before she could step back and when she tried to pull away, his hand snapped out and struck her across the cheek.

You gasped and pulled your husband back, your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. Wanda stumbled, one hand pressed to her stinging cheek, eyes wide with shock before the hurt hardened into cold, unforgiving hatred. She didn't cry, didn't make a sound, she just stared at his father like she didn't even recognize him anymore.

She spins around her cheeks streaked with hot tears she doesn't bother to wipe away. Her chest heaves and the anger rolls off her so thick you can almost touch it, every muscle in her body coiled tight like she's ready to fight the whole room. She yanks the door open and doesn't look back before slamming it shut.

Pietro shoves his chair back, grabbing his own jacket and yelling back at his twin.

A block away from the house, Wanda spins on her brother, eyes still red, voice cracking. "You calling her mom now? How could you do that? How could you both just forget mama so easily?"

Pietro stepped closer to her even when she flinched back, his voice soft and guilty. He says he hasn't forgotten their mother, he could never forget her, it just slipped out and admitted that he has been calling you that for sometime now—mom. You're here now, you're nice to him, you make dad happy again after all these years of him just being hollow and sad. Wanda shakes her head, backing away further, like his words are something dirty she can't let touch her.

She crosses her arms tight over her chest to hide how much she's shaking, hot tears spilling over faster now that it's just the two of them. She can't believe he's already taken your side, that he's okay with replacing their mother with some stranger who showed up six months ago. She spits that you're not family, you'll never be family, and if he can't see that, then he's just as much a traitor as their father is.

You will never be her mom, she will never ever call you that.

As for you, you'd chosen to step back. No more trying to earn your stepdaughter's affection, no more pushing to become part of her life. Instead, you stayed on your side of the house, keeping your distance for the entire time she would be there.

So...who would've thought that your side of the house would end up in your stepdaughter's bed?

A flash of her phone camera blinds you for a second. You were shaking and naked, almost close to passing out. The photo captured the slick mess of cum between your thighs that looked like glitter.

Her palm slaps hard against your swollen, slick cunt over and over, making you jerk and cry out into her pillow, your whole body trembling under her. She laughs low when you whine, grabbing your hip to hold you still for another stinging blow.

"Get up. Dad's gonna be home in twenty minutes and you still have dinner to cook. Don't forget to pick up my laundry on your way out."

[five-bi-five-mind]

Merciless

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff/female!reader

Genre: Angst & Smut & AU-y Dark fic

Word Count: 13k+

Summary: What if Wanda was essentially Dracula, but not a vampire, more like a demon.. Wanda lived alone for centuries before she found you, then she lost you and let the rest of her goodness bleed away until finally the universe gave you to her again. Only so much time has gone by, she's so much older now, and any humanity she has left is hanging by a thread.

Warnings: dark!fic, murder, reader death, torture, violence, stalker!Wanda, controlling!Wanda, top!Wanda, bottom!R, magic strap, dubious (and I mean really dubious) consent, rough sex, oral, multiple orgasms, biting, hair pulling, size: large, I think I'm missing like five things....

A/N: Hi hi so sorry that this is 30 minutes before Pride Month is over (at least in my time zone) also sorry for the break. I just ran into such a big problem with trying to FINISH the fics I started. I still have an Emily one that I am determined to write the end for and post by the end of this week, I just have been stuck with how to craft endings lately lol

(gif not mine, credit to emcu7o, and also sorry for the ping)

When she saw you her world, forever bleak and meaningless, suddenly burst with color. Her heart, which felt as if it had been dead and dormant in her chest for centuries, finally squeezed. When she saw you, she didn’t even have to be sure–no matter the time that had passed–because she knew. Oh, how Wanda knew, as if it was a curse imprinted into her brain, exactly how your eyes shown, how your lips twitched up in the softest smile, how the flush of your cheeks looked when you felt shy. And when she saw you, passing through a small town in the back country of Switzerland, not even that far from the fateful day she lost you, that’s when she realized right away that you were back and that her world finally restarted.

Wanda wondered, truly, if you knew exactly who you were to her in the first few days of seeing you again. If there was some part of yourself deep down that had felt the longing for her the same way she learned to live with it’s home deep in her chest for over half a millennia. She had never forgotten a moment with you, and she felt with deep despair, every single moment without. She held onto those memories as if they were the most precious possession she had. When she had you, that was her most cherished thing. When she lost you, she realized quickly, being what she was, she did not age and she never could forget. No memory ever dulled, not even the worst ones.

At times, when the centuries turned, she would wish she could forget you. Then, the pain wouldn’t be as all consuming. Perhaps, if she tried, she could find a new lover to take and enjoy without feeling the ghost of your touch and your taste. Yet, you still haunted her. In her dreams that was where she would find you, but it was never a good thing when she did. Not when they were just reimaginings of the lowest part of her existence. 

When she first found you, times were so much different. Wanda still counted the years, because she had lived long enough for days, weeks, months even, to be meaningless. But it had been 597 years since she last had you in her arms. She had nearly six-hundred years to process your loss, yet she still couldn’t heal.

The woman she was when you had come to her, fleeing from a would-be arranged marriage with a vile man, was much different than the woman she is now. Her soul was so old now. But back then she thought she had some kindness, she thought she would like to help the humans around her at least to an extent. She would never think for a second to do that again.

In those times, you were just a young woman trying to do whatever you could do to avoid a horrendous situation. The man you were promised to was over twice your age and he had a history of his wives going missing or falling ill rather conveniently. Your father was poor, your brother was useless, your mother was gone. Your family had essentially sold you and sealed your fate. When you had fled, Wanda had known before you even reached her doorstep, that you were destined to find her. She felt your longing for a better life, the kindness and hope you still had in your heart that she of all people could do something to fix your family’s situation. The gentle soul you had radiated off your body as you ran through her woods until you finally stumbled onto her path and pleaded your case.

Wanda was taken aback at the time when you made your request. You didn’t ask for your salvation from a family that did not deserve you. No, you asked for prosperity for your family so they would hold off on selling you. That’s not what caught Wanda’s attention, though it was the one thing that made her instantly understand your nature. What caused Wanda to pause was your reaction to meeting her. She knew the villages would whisper, she knew they were afraid. A woman living in the woods, able to sustain herself, younger in appearance than her age would suggest. People had a word for her they never dared utter, not when she would help if asked and proposed the right bargain. But the people who did come to her never looked her in the eye. They would recoil at her touch, as if her nature was contagious and corruptible. She knew there were whispers and words thrown around, words that she could easily be labeled with. She knew the witch was a monster these people were beginning to fear rather than rely on. You should’ve been like them, stumbling over your words and shaking where you stood. Instead you held your chin up and met her gaze, unwavering.

You didn’t look at her with false pride to hide the fear some tried to suppress when they were in Wanda’s presence. The look you gave Wanda was nothing but sincere. Wanda looked at you with the same wonder that you looked back at her with. 

She can still hear the first words that came out of your mouth that day, echoing through her entire being with such a longing to go back to that day. 

“Well, you came all this way,” Wanda had said then, staring back at you when you had stood in front of her for a long pause, just gawking. “Aren’t you going to make your request?”

“I apologize,” you had bowed, finally breaking the gaze you had held so fiercely. “I just did not expect you to be so beautiful.”

Wanda remembers the equal shock the both of you had, when your mind finally caught up with your mouth and your eyes flew open, your cheeks pinker than the flowers you had brought to appease her. She remembers how wide her own eyes grew at the blunt admission and how she had to bite her lip to keep her own surprised smile at bay. 

It was all so fast from there. You had made your request, asked for the salvation of your family, and quickly Wanda had decided that would not be true salvation for you. Instead she posed another proposition, one she would never think to ask of anyone else who had come seeking her aid. She told you she’d teach you, she told you you could be her apprentice, she promised you a way to save you family yourself, but in reality she knew this would be a means to keep you far from the fate they damned you to while also giving you the tools to be as strong as you needed to for the rest of your life. Wanda wanted to make you like her. She knew it would take time, she knew she would have to search every book to find a way to make you just as capable of magic, to make sure you no longer aged the same way she did, she knew she was asking from the universe a way to not only understand what she was–her creator, who held all the answers, long gone in the centuries she had already lived through–but to create another like her. She thought she had time to find those answers, but her time with you was cut shorter than she had ever expected.

In the short time that you had been her apprentice, it wasn’t long for her to realize this fascination with you was much more than curiosity and a cure for her loneliness. Her feelings had grown and yours had too. Soon what had begun as an innocent friendship, turned into a deep love and adoration between the two of you. Wanda could remember the first nervous kiss you tried to steal from her. The way your lips brushed, feather light against her own, before she took the step forward she needed to envelop your mouth with hers and seal the unspoken feelings between the two of you.

After that kiss, Wanda had sworn her devotion to you by mapping every inch of your body with her kiss; by learning every way to make you sigh with her touch. And she would lie awake for centuries, tormented by the longing to trace her favorite edges of you with her fingers, only to know she remains with the ghost of you in her mind. 

It was only five winters that she was able to love you with all of her being. For a creature that had lived for nearly two-hundred years prior and showed no signs of aging, those five years were meager seconds of happiness in what was otherwise a bleak existence. She had done her research, she had felt like she was close to a lead on how to create more like her; how to make you like her. But she had to leave. She knew travel would take a season, but conditions in the neighboring villages were changing. Times were changing. 

The people of the area no longer whispered the word witch in fear of them. They spat the word with venom and dragged the innocent into the streets to be tortured, tried, and slain in the name of ending them. Wanda had foolishly thought that these witch hunts weren’t looking for the real magical beings, just people within their community that might be unlucky enough to earn their neighbors’ scorn. How wrong she was.

In 200 years of living at the time, she should’ve known to not underestimate the audacity, the selfishness, and the cruelty of humankind. She has been paying for that naivety ever since. 

She was mere days away from the answer she had been grasping for when she felt as if something was wrong. She can still remember the nightmares that had plagued her when she was away from you for those few months. Those nightmares of your screaming before weren’t a reality, they were a “what if” back then. Now the nightmares of you screaming weren’t distorted, they weren’t a possibility that could happen. Now her nightmares of your anguish are crystal clear. They’re not the imaginings of her anxiety, they’re the reality of her memories.

Yet, when she began to have them she thought she could take a couple days. She thought they were her anxiety manifesting in her dreams. It wasn’t until the third night of them she realized it was an omen and changed course. It still took her way too long to return to you. And when she finally did, just as she was so close to reaching her goal of making you hers until the end of time, she was that much closer to saving your mortal body. 

But she didn’t. She was so obsessed with finding a way to avoid her biggest fears–your humanness, your mortality–that she lost you to it much earlier than she ever should have.

In the time she had left, the village quickly learned that you were unguarded. Your family was scorned, your would-be husband held his anger over his rejection by you. They came as a mob as soon as they had the excuse. 

The town cited that it was because your garden flourished when their crops were blighted. Their people starved and they pointed the finger to you, an accused witch living in sin with one even worse than yourself according to them. In the time Wanda was gone, you had been starved for weeks, locked away and awaiting trial.

No amount of pleading, no amount of proving the good you had given the town through Wanda’s help and guidance would’ve been enough to come out the victor of your trial. Your fate had been sealed the second Wanda left your side.

Not a day goes by that the image of your end–body bound to a post, face twisted in pain, your body emaciated and trembling as the flames took and took and took from what was left of you–failed to flash in Wanda’s mind. The trial of you was truly her own. She was found guilty of wanting to take you from your world, and her punishment was to be met with the aftermath of selfishly loving you and never for a single second of her existence, would she ever be allowed to forget it.

She returned to her cottage that day to find it empty. It was the same hour that they had begun to light the flames. 

When she ran through the woods into the village you had once lived, it was the smell of your burning flesh that told her she was too late. And when she had finally arrived at the town square, you were mere seconds from death, your screams piercing through the crowd. Wanda remembered the way she was sick when she heard the people around your cheer. She remembered the way tears stung her eyes, as in your dying words you begged–not for yourself, but for them. For her to show mercy.

She does not regret that she denied this final request. 

Wanda watched from the shadows as your body went limp, the last of your life leaving you, the remnants of you unrecognizable. And then she waited. She remembers whispering to the air a plea of forgiveness, for she could not grant you this last request. Not when these people damned her to a worse fate than your own. Your last moments were gruesome, yes, but at least you had freedom from your pain in the end. Wanda never would. 

So she waited until the moment it seemed like the town would disperse and she began. 

When she was done, not one single living soul remained in that village. She allowed for children to flee, but the rest died by her hands that night. 

After that she spent century after century alone. Plagued by the sounds of your screams, she would try to fill it with retribution to mankind that she thought they deserved. She no longer held any value for human life. She took when she needed to, she punished those who hunted for others like they had you, and she decimated populations in a way that history books would label as plague or natural disaster. But after a century or so of that, the rage shifted to numbness and in her boredom and isolation she decided to learn more about her own nature. Up until this point in time she had spent the rest of the centuries becoming stronger.

Somewhere along the way she found the answer she had been searching for all those years ago when she had mistakenly left you alone. In the bitter irony of finally getting the one thing she had wanted at the time, she had come to the conclusion that she didn’t need this answer anymore, not when another interesting question had finally posed in her mind. If she can become more than human, if she can bend the elements, manipulate reality, and have mortality bow to her, why can’t she defy death in a different way? Why can’t she bring back the one soul that ever held significance to her? 

She didn’t know how plausible this new purpose was. She was so old now, her magic so powerful she could encompass the world and bend it to her will if she so chose–So to force a soul to come back into the realm of the living, to rip a soul from wherever it rested and bring it to her reality again, she had to believe it wasn’t impossible.

Decades ago, she had thought she came close. She had felt something in her search to resurrect you. She just wasn’t sure what. But when she searched for you in the world. When she tried and tried to find your face all around the world, she found nothing. And then after about 10 years, she had given up and decided another method was needed.

She was years deep into following this new lead into resurrecting a soul when she was drawn to an area she hadn’t felt the need to return to in the near 600 years since losing you. 

To her, it had felt like the smallest shift in the atmosphere, but Wanda was not used to feeling anything at all. So, she followed that shift. She found herself traveling straight to where her old cottage used to be, the building long gone with the woods as well. Now, it was a small town, with cobblestone streets, small houses, stores, and a university not far from the very place you had lost your life. 

Wanda felt like she had double vision as she walked the streets, trying to find a reason for why her intuition had taken her here and not closer to the research she was currently working on. As she walked the streets she saw flashes of how it once was while simultaneously taking in the drastic changes of what it is now. 

She couldn’t help but flinch when she realized she stood at the very spot you took your last breath, not even a single speck of dust or dirt the same as it once was.

And then she kept walking, wandering through the streets, trying to shush the inner turmoil in her mind as your screams replayed in her memory with cruel clarity. But just as they worsened and her chest tightened, her anger flaring and thoughts spiraling, everything suddenly went silent.

Then there you were, fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, a small smile playing on your lips as you sat on the other side of the window, enjoying a book alone at a local cafe.

Wanda could’ve fallen to her knees.

You looked the same. Your clothes were modern, your hair was longer, but all in all you looked the exact same. Wanda didn’t have to second guess if it was you, she felt it in her soul in the same way, she realized, that she had felt when you fled to her that first day. It was finally you. 

She wasn’t sure what worked or how it worked. She didn’t, in all honesty, care when it meant she had you back. But Wanda wasn’t sure what you could remember; if you could remember anything of her at all.

It was very obvious very quickly that you remembered nothing. 

Wanda followed you for a few days, staying a few steps behind and trying to gather what exactly your life was like now in this wretched town. 

She learned quite quickly you weren’t from here, but as you told someone in a dialect of German that was very different from any of the locals, you had always felt drawn to this place and were researching its past–specifically, the historic witch trials of the 1400s. 

Wanda flinched when she heard you say that. She wondered if you had a specific reason or if it was cosmic fate that made you want to pursue this. She pieced together very quickly that she hadn’t ripped your soul from its resting place to resume right where the two of you had left off. No, you had been reborn and the universe gifted you back to Wanda when you were exactly the age she had lost you. It was like the fates had unpaused her love story with you, even if you were absolutely oblivious to the significance of your existence. 

Even if Wanda figured out that you had a new history, a new family, a new upbringing, she wanted to see if you knew her.

She followed your patterns closely, watching as you would work in the same cafe every weekend and that’s when she began her first test. 

Living for nearly a millennia did not stop Wanda from feeling the nervous anticipation for the moment she would meet your gaze again. She sat across the cafe from you, waiting a respectable amount of time so she could feign curiosity for the book you were reading.

“Excuse me,” Wanda faked an innocent smile as she stood behind the empty chair across from you. “I was curious about the book you’ve been reading.” 

“Oh!” You jumped at Wanda’s approach and she had realized in that instant she had been away from human society a bit too long and forgot how quiet she could be without needing to. 

“I’m sorry to startle–”

“No no, I was just in my own little world.” You had laughed and finally peaked your head over the book to meet Wanda’s eyes and in that moment Wanda’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest.

To hear your laugh again, outside of her own memories, was like hearing the first birds sing at the end of the long winter. And to see your eyes shine as you smiled–Oh, how Wanda had longed for that exact image to be back in front of her again–Wanda could’ve wept at that table.

But she wouldn’t, not when she had to make you hers again. She wouldn’t waste much time this time, not when she needed to fix you too. This time she would make sure nothing could take you from her, she would make you like her. She knew how and she refused to be alone a second longer when the love of her existence was sitting right in front of her again. 

Only, to make you hers before was so effortless. You were so kindhearted, so easily willing to give to a much younger Wanda what she so desperately craved. Now Wanda was different. Now whatever humanity she had left when she loved you the first time had seeped out of her like a wound. As Wanda grew more powerful so too did she grow more cruel and callous. She seriously doubted if you could see the same goodness in Wanda you once had.

But it did not matter to Wanda at this moment. She didn’t think it ever would matter again. She was done fulfilling your wishes when your final was a plea of mercy for your murderers. Now, whatever you wished would only be granted after Wanda had ensured that you were hers for all eternity. 

“It’s um, a book on the historical timeline of the Valias Witch Trials,” you finally answered, a blush creeping over your cheeks at the intensity of Wanda’s stare. 

Wanda blinked once, trying to shake off the euphoria of seeing your face again before she could slip back into character.

“A little bit of a dark topic to be reading for fun, don’t you think?” Wanda leaned forward, flashing a wide smile.

“Oh, it’s not for fun,” you replied, finally placing the book down on the table. “I work for the university, I’m trying to do research on the local history here. We’re a little bit outside of the area for the Valais Trials but I was hoping some of the research on that would lead me to more information on this town.”

“Has it?”

“Er… No, not yet.” When Wanda saw the way your nose scrunched in frustration, if she had any doubts before, they were definitely long gone now. Everything was exactly how she remembered. Your mannerisms, the way you talked, everything about you was a carbon copy of how you were once before. 

“You know,” Wanda pulled the chair out from the other side of the table, not waiting for your invitation and sitting regardless. “I’ve seen you here for a while, reading those history books. I’m a bit of a history fan myself and I’ve done a lot of research on this subject.”

Your eyebrows shot up, but you leaned forward in interest. “Really?” When you bit your lip, Wanda’s eyes flicked to them in a flash, taking in a sight she missed so much, but trying not to break the facade she was carefully crafting.

“Yeah,” Wanda smiled, “and I don’t think you’ll find your answers in those books.”

“Oh,” the way your face immediately fell into a dour frown made Wanda do something she hadn’t done in centuries–she let out a genuine laugh.

“No, definitely not in those books,” Wanda continued. “You need to get your hands on historical records. Old journals and written law. It will tell you about the history of the area better than those will.”

Your frown only worsened and Wanda could’ve sworn she was seeing you pouting now. It felt more endearing than it ever had all those years ago.

“Those don’t really exist for this town,” you were trying so hard to keep a normal tone, but Wanda could see the frustration in the scrunch of your eyebrows. “Most of the records got destroyed before the town was rebuilt nearly a century after the locals burned it down in an effort to stop a plague.”

To hear this filtered version of your own history nagged at Wanda. Her jaw clenched as she listened to you regurgitate a version of history that erased your own suffering and torture without even knowing any better. Her hands moved to her lap and she dug her nails into her knees with bruising force as she tried to keep her polite smile plastered on.

“Not necessarily,” Wanda offered. “You just have to know where to look.”

“Everywhere I’ve looked is a dead end,” you muttered more to yourself than to Wanda. 

“You haven’t looked with me yet.”

The look you gave Wanda mirrored the same confused look you had given her when she had first asked you to stay with her as an apprentice. It was innocent and curious, but Wanda could tell you were trying to turn her every word around in your mind to figure out her hidden meaning. 

“I don’t think I know what you mean…” you mumbled, your eyes searching earnestly for an answer in Wanda’s

“I’m sorry,” Wanda breathed out an easy chuckle. “I should explain first. I own a collection of journals that detail the history of the area and the town before it was rebuilt. I’m somewhat of a private collector.”

You blinked at Wanda and she knew you were trying to figure out how one person could have a private collection of historical documents when the town was reduced to ash by her very own hands. Lucky for Wanda, she was being truthful. There was one surviving record, her own record, and she kept them. She kept journals that span back centuries, before she met you even. But she held onto every one of them, just in case they held answers she would need. Never did she think the answers they held would be how to get you closer to her. 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I’ve been hoping for a scholar of sorts to take a look at them,” Wanda continued, her smile growing wider. “Seeing as you’ve been researching these topics and you said you work for the university… would you be willing to take a look?”

Your eyes grew wide and you leaned back. Wanda wondered if she was pushing it, but as you looked between her and the book that was so far causing you way more frustration and disappointment than you anticipated, she knew she was winning the silent debate in your mind.

“What exactly are you hoping for if I do look at them?”

You were skeptical, that was to be expected.

“Just someone to verify authenticity.” 

You nodded slowly, still yet to say yes.

“Of course,” Wanda added, “you’ll have to come to where I have them stored, so that I’m sure they’re safe. These journals are quite pricy…” priceless actually, Wanda thought. “But I think if you can verify their authenticity it will greatly add to your research and it may even change the way we understand the past of this innocent little town.” She tried not to grit her teeth at the choice of adjective she used. 

You paused for a moment, your eyes searching Wanda for any sign of insincerity and part of Wanda hoped you were naive enough to not second guess her, but the other part of her knew she would have to do more to teach you to be more careful of those you trusted. Obviously, you have had two lifetimes worth of bad choices when it came to who you put your trust in. 

“Okay, yeah,” you began to nod your head faster. “I think I’d like to take a look at these journals.”

“Excellent,” Wanda purred. She stretched her hand out to you. “I’m Wanda by the way.”

And when you took her hand she swore you felt the same spark of electricity that she did. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

From there Wanda was able to convince you to set a regular schedule with her. She had met you a couple more times at the cafe to talk about logistics and more details on the journals, as well as providing you pictures of them for proof so you wouldn’t think you were just being lured into a stranger's home for no reason.

When it came time to have you in her home, Wanda had set up a modest house on the outskirts of town and arranged for her collection to be shipped from one of the various locations she had globally. It came in record time and within a week she had a home that looked like she lived in it.

Wanda waited anxiously for the day you were meant to show up at her doorstep and again, just like the first moments she saw you again, she felt like she was seeing two lifetimes all at once. The way you knocked on her door, your eyes meeting hers with confidence rather than fear as you asked her questions about the journals while you followed her to the room she had them carefully stored. 

Humans over the years after she had lost you all seemed to know to stay away from her. People would be visibly uncomfortable under her gaze or tend not to linger long in her presence. But, just like her first meeting with you, you seemed at total ease standing next to her. The only hint that her gaze got to you was the pink tinge of your skin when she locked eyes with you too long or leaned too close.

When you first saw Wanda’s collections of her own journals, she had feared you would question them. However, nowhere in them did she mention her own name, so in that regard she knew she was safe. And as you did your first readings of a couple of them, she knew you trusted their authenticity just by the material used and the way in which language had differed back then. Being a history scholar like you had explained to Wanda, she knew this was going to be the find of your career. The only thing was, once Wanda made you remember your significance to each other, there would be no room for a career. Not with the life the two of you would have to lead as beings outside of mortal society. 

She thought she would feel a little guilt for that and for the idea that she would be ripping you away from a life that seemed to be treating you much better than your first one. But she felt no guilt at all. Only impatient anticipation for the moment she could reveal it all to you. 

It took months for you to get through just a couple of the journals, and you hadn’t even reached the journal where Wanda would inevitably meet you yet. Wanda had spent careful nights removing parts of the journal that mentioned anything about her that would hint that she was more than human and then blaming it on damage over the centuries. When you finally got to the journal that had the five short years the two of you spent together in your first lifetime, that was when Wanda would unravel all to you.

“This one,” Wanda placed the journal delicately in your waiting hands, “is the one that will change everything for you.”

You looked up with her, your eyes full of excitement as you graciously took the delicate book and began to handle it with care.

Wanda couldn’t help but admire your misplaced aspirations. In the time that you had begun working with Wanda, she felt as if she fell in love all over again with this version of you. She found you were as headstrong as you were back then, but somehow even more kind and patient. You had a deep care for the world around you, something Wanda lost interest for a long time ago. She wanted to give you all of your dreams, but at the same time she knew your dreams would only be of a future with her once you knew. So in the meantime she spent her days with you praising your accomplishments and aspirations. 

And all the while, Wanda closed the distance between the two of you slowly. It started with her gaze, then moved on to light touches and finally, after just a few short months, Wanda had you nearly completely comfortable with her. 

Often, you’d scan the pages of the journal, making reprints to keep them safe from harm, and sit so close to Wanda as you read them, that the two of you would be nearly touching. 

You didn’t jump anymore when Wanda would reach over and tuck your hair, or flinch when she would run her finger tips across your arm to get your attention. She watched as you effortlessly eased back into her touch and she thought, with how easily this was all going, that taking the final steps would be just as easy too. 

As you worked through this next edition of Wanda’s personal records, you were eager to work more often and for longer hours. Wanda had no qualms with this, as it just meant instead of waiting a few months, she would just wait weeks or days even to address the whole truth with you.

After one week went by, you were beginning to react in the way Wanda anticipated you would to the first unedited journal in her collection. 

“This one is so different from the last,” you mumbled to yourself as you jotted down some notes. “The author… I think they believed they weren’t human. They may even consider themselves a witch too.” 

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed as she sat across from you, pretending to pay attention to a book when really she was observing your every reaction to the words in front of you. “In those times, would someone like that call themselves a witch? That used to be the word forced onto the innocent before they were given a death sentence.”

“I suppose you’re right…” you chewed at your bottom lip as you read over the same entry again and again. “But what did they think they were?”

“Maybe they didn’t know,” Wanda’s gaze on you was intense, but you were still too glued to the writing in front of you. “Maybe they didn’t feel a need to know because before the witch trials, magic was revered, not feared.”

“Maybe…” you mumbled and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t think to question her intensity more. Instead, you went back to reading. 

After another week, you shared with Wanda what you had read and what you were finding. “I don’t really know why,” you admitted, “but I feel so much anxiety for what must have happened to the author.”

“It’s not her that you have to worry about,” Wanda muttered under her breath as you continued to meticulously absorb every single word you were reading. 

It took only one more day for you to be determined to reach the end. Wanda was surprised when you asked to stay overnight so that you could work even later. It was something she was planning to suggest to take full advantage of the situation and have you closer, but she didn’t even need to when you looked up at her with pleading eyes and posed the question yourself. 

That night, Wanda noted the way your hands shook as you read the pages Wanda had memorized by heart. All about the life the two of you had, how she had fallen in love with a village girl and attempted to save her from her own family’s cruelty. Wanda wondered if somewhere in you, you knew these words were written about you–that you were re-reading your own life from someone else’s eyes. 

That night, when you fell asleep at the desk in Wanda’s study, Wanda effortlessly picked you up and carried you to her own bed. You were too tired to even question the sheer strength of Wanda or where she was moving you. And she sighed in relief when you didn’t stir as she lay next to you, never sleeping, just watching as she finally had you back in her bed. 

When you woke up, Wanda had food already prepared for you and was eagerly anticipating the moment that she knew would inevitably come later that day for you to discover the full truth. She knew what pages you had left. She knew there was a gap in this account, as she had used a separate journal to document her finds to cure you of your mortality. She knew you’d get to the last words, her last moments with you alive, and then you’d move on to her anger and sorrow from there.

She was ready to reveal it all.

You ate breakfast happily and even spent a little time walking with Wanda in the garden on her property. As Wanda walked with you, she saw the version of you that walked the garden outside her modest cottage and she silently promised herself that wherever the two of you stayed after this, she would make sure she had a garden for you to enjoy. Your childlike wonder for the beauty of nature was never something that grew old to Wanda then, and she thought she could spend the rest of eternity feeling the same now. 

When you returned to pouring over her journals with care and scrutiny, Wanda sat anxiously and waited until you finally reached the conclusion of your own story.

Her heart pounded in her head as she watched the anguish wash over your face. When tears began to well in your eyes, you rubbed at them with frustration and nervously mumbled an apology. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I’ve read so many other accounts of these trials, but this one is getting to me I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda reassured as she stood and crossed the room to where you sat. She knelt down by your chair and brushed a tear from your cheek. “I’m sure no account you’ve read has been as intimate as this personal journal. And there’s pain in these pages that one can only imagine how unbearable it was to live through.” She thought to herself of all the things she had done since losing you in that moment. All the pain that left a gaping wound in her heart that never healed, only festered. She could never fix the humanity she lost when you left, she had hardened and changed, but she could get rid of the pain by having you again. She could soften a little, even if it was nowhere near how she had softened in her first life with you, it was something. It was proof that her love for you stayed just as strong as the pain throughout the centuries. “Keep reading,” she urged.

Wanda pulled up a chair and sat next to you, patiently waiting as the hours ticked by and you went through the last pages of her first life with you. She knew when you got to the point where she had denied the nightmares of your death and Wanda had to reach out and place your own trembling hand in hers as you turned the next page to finally learn of your own fate.

When you set down the scan of the last page, your eyes were red rimmed with tears you were trying so hard to suppress. The silence in the room felt suffocating to Wanda. 

She held your hand tight for a moment, knowing she had to break the silence, wondering if you were still trying to understand the visceral reaction you were having to reading your death described in detail by the woman who loved you so fiercely she then tore apart every living soul who dared to hurt you with her own bare hands. 

“Forgive me, my love,” Wanda finally broke the silence, her voice thick with emotion, speaking in the original form of the language from the text. “For mercy is a plight too great for the very monster these men have borne.” 

Those were the last words of that journal and Wanda knew them by heart. The chapter closed on the only time in Wanda’s immortal life where she had felt happy before all had fallen apart. She believed that the monster in her lie dormant until your murders were forced to awaken it. And when they did she drowned in the horrifying capabilities of her power, learning ways to cause pain that she didn’t know she was capable of; ways that barely scratched the surface of her own anguish.

When Wanda spoke those words, she did not translate, she uttered them effortlessly in the same way the language once was nearly 600 years ago. You looked up with surprise, your free hand rubbing at your teary eyes. “You know what that means?” You whispered.

“Of course,” Wanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I wrote it.” 

“That’s not funny,” you tried to withdraw your hand from Wanda’s slowly, but she gripped you suddenly.

“I’m not joking.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head before looking at Wanda with confusion rather than accusation like she had expected. “That would mean all these are falsified, but the way the language evolves between the journals… you’d have to be better than the best scholars to write all of this. Even I can barely understand them.”

“They’re not falsified.” Wanda’s eyes were stern, unwavering.

“Then I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It’s what I said,” Wanda leaned forward at the same moment you leaned back. “I wrote it.”

“Be serious,” you yanked at your hand, but Wanda held tight. “You couldn’t have possibly–”

“I did,” Wanda’s hand tightened on your wrist. “I wrote all of them. They all document my life. And the one you just read documents yours as well.” 

The scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor as you flew from your seat felt deafening in the otherwise tensely silent room. Wanda followed you up, her hand never leaving your wrist as the both of you stood. “What the hell are you doing?” You demanded, trying to put some distance between you and the woman currently holding you tight with little effort, despite how hard you were trying to pull away.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Wanda gave you a pitiful smile, but the look in her eyes was beginning to become unnerving. “I wrote that journal. I wrote every single moment from the time before we met to the time I first lost you. Can you not see that? Do you not feel the connection we had–and still have.”

“I– I felt sad for the person who wrote this but–” you were trying so hard to back up, but with Wanda’s hand on your wrist, each step you took back she just took a bigger one forward. 

“You felt my pain,” Wanda insisted. “You shed tears at my loss. It was my loss of you.”

“If you wrote this… then you’re hundreds of years old. You’re not human.” 

Wanda’s lips formed a harsh line as she stared back at you, trying to will you to believe that she was serious and that you were right about every unbelievable conclusion you were coming to. 

“This isn’t happening,” you shook your head, “you’re just fucking with me.”

Wanda didn’t want to scare you, but she also didn’t have the patience for your disbelief. Not when she wanted to finally reach the moment when you were back to being hers. She wanted your eyes to look at her with love rather than the unfamiliarity she has had to settle for the past few months. 

“I promise you, my love,” Wanda’s voice was low, sending a shiver down your spine. “I am being honest. But I will show you, so you believe.”

Wanda let go of your wrist finally, and you snatched it to your chest as if her touch had burned you. Her heart twisted in pain when she saw that, but she shook it off. She knew having you love her as she is now would be more difficult. This was to be expected, but she would still succeed. She had to. 

“Do not leave.” she warned as you took another step back from her towards the wall. This time she did not step forward, instead she took a deep breath after she was sure you wouldn’t make a run for it to the door.

In an instant, she did the one thing she had wished she wouldn’t have to do in front of your eyes just yet. She let you see just how monstrous she had become since the day you perished.

Using magic to hide the physical indicators of her sins had become second nature to her in the centuries she had to blend in whenever she needed to travel through mortal society. But to shake off this small trick took time.

You watched in confusion and then terror as vibrant skin chipped away like paint. First, from her finger tips and then past her arms to reveal ink black skin, as if they had charred over a fire. Her eyes, which you knew to be a beautiful green, began to shift, filling with red as if a drop of blood was tainting the original color. Her skin, where the ink black did not reach, was different too. The color from it drained, growing paler. Her cheek bones changing and growing sharper and all at once her height, her muscle growing larger until it felt as if you were cowering her shadow.

She did not look human. She didn’t look not human either. It was the kind of almost human that brought a primal fear in others. It elicited the feeling that said something was wrong, but one might only recognized the wrongness when it was too late. 

Your feet stumbled back until you hit the bookshelf behind you and your eyes shot to the door, trying to plot out an escape. But this time Wanda stepped forward, her ink black hands reaching for you as she did.

“What do you want from me?” Your voice shook as your eyes took in the change in the being before you. 

Wanda scoffed, a sarcastic smile of disbelief playing at her lips as her hands slowly grabbed onto your waist. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

You shook your head vehemently.

“I want you by my side again,” Wanda’s voice was sweet but her demeanor was entirely different. No longer was she the gentle woman you had come to know these past few months. Instead, what stood in front of you was a version of her that dripped with danger. Every alarm bell in your head told you to run, but Wanda would not let you. She would never let you go again. She had finally learned from past mistakes.

“You think…” your mind was trying to piece together everything that was happening much too fast. “You think I’m her?”

Wanda shook her head before leaning forward, you had nowhere to go in Wanda’s grip. You were forced to tremble under her touch as she pressed her forehead to yours. “I know you are her.” 

Her lips trailed your cheek and you felt sick as you finally realized her touch felt colder than a human’s should. 

“I’m not,” you insisted. “That’s impossible.”

“My very existence is an impossibility to the human world, so why would your soul returning to me be any different?” Wanda used her hands to pull your body flush to hers. “Surely, you feel our connection like I do.”

You shook your head, wriggling in her embrace. Wanda’s patience was beginning to wear thin, especially when you denied what she knew that just hours ago you had felt. 

Wanda pulled back, her hands moving to hold either side of your face in a near bruising grip. “You cannot lie to me, my love.” As she warned you swore you watched the red swirling in her eyes begin to turn black. 

“No, no,” you pleaded. “I’m not her. We are not the same person!” 

Wanda’s grips on your face tightened and her eyes grew frantic. You saw, maybe just for a moment, a glimmer of clarity, but it was soon replaced with anger and a stubborn determination that she had been holding onto for centuries. She would make you see, she would never hear you deny your feelings for her again. She just had to push harder

“Yes, you are,” her voice was low. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. At your core, you’re her. You’re mine.”

“But how can you know that? Wanda I- I do not know you. Even if it’s true, the me from hundreds of years ago– that girl that was with you is not the same as me today,..” Your hand reached up, trembling as it did, to touch her cheek too. Your eyes searched hers, imploring her to understand where you were coming from. “I’m so sorry, Wanda. I know how painful it must be to accept this. I know you have waited countless life times and you must be so lonely, but she is gone. Maybe I remind you of her, maybe we have similarities, but I could never be the girl you once loved.” 

Wanda’s eyes blurred, tears threatening the edge of her lids. You watched with bated breath, hoping she would accept your response. 

“Of course,” Wanda sighed and you exhaled the breath you had been holding. 

“I’m sorry to—“

“Of course, you would comfort me even now. Just as you would’ve then.” Your blood ran cold. “Trying to comfort me, in my loss of you, when you are right in front of me…” She chuckled to herself breathlessly. “You think your soul has changed, but I assure you it has not. How do you not see?”

Wanda let go of your face to grab your hands and press them to her chest, to feel her beating heart. “I have looked for you in every room, in every person, for centuries. If I had decided to settle for a false memory of you in another person, don’t you think I would’ve done that earlier? Instead, I waited centuries to have you again. There has only been one soul I have loved in my immortality and it is yours. I would know you from anyone, whether we were apart for 600 years or 6000, I will always find you. I will always love you and you will always be mine.” 

“That is not how this works, Wanda,” you begged but she just shook her head. “I still don’t know you. If I were her, wouldn’t I feel the same?” 

“Don’t lie to me about your own feelings for me!” Wanda snapped, her nails digging into your skin as she held you still against her chest. “Do you think I don’t know how you feel? Do you think I don’t know the way your pulse quickens whenever I am near? Before you even realized who I was to you, your heart was already mine.” Wanda pulled your arms to her chest before wrapping her own around you in a tight embrace–as if to cage you in with her arms. “No matter the version of you, no matter the time that has passed, you are always going to be mine in every lifetime. I felt you the first time you ran to me then and I felt you the first time you were destined to find me now. I had to wait so long in between and I refuse to wait any longer.”

With one strong arm folded around you like an iron bar, the other reached for your chin. She tilted it up, her body bent down, shielding you, your senses, from anything other than Wanda as she’s towering over you. “You do not understand,” her voice is barely above a whisper, yet her eyes are still just as fierce. “The love that we have, it transcends time. You don’t know now, you have yet to learn in this lifetime, but you will. I will show you.” 

Her lips pressed to yours then with a fierceness you did not expect, even as her anger dripped off her like poison. Yet, when her lips did meet yours, you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. With inky black fingers spread across your cheek, nails pressing into your skin just enough to leave faint marks, you squeezed your eyes shut as Wanda’s lips moved against yours with force.

The worst part was, as her tongue trailed against your own lips, there was a familiarity in her taste. Something deep inside of you that knew the way this should have felt. Yet in the back of your mind, you knew that even if you were her, the Wanda in front of you was not the one your soul may have known. This Wanda’s touch, as she pushed your lips to part with her own, held no ounce of familiarity. Yet her scent held a nostalgic feeling that touched something deeper inside you, a feeling you didn’t know you even could have. 

She pressed her body to you in a way that both made you want more and made you want to recoil. She made you feel like you were coming home. A feeling that caused visceral fear that Wanda was right about your supposed reincarnation. Yet, the way in which her knee slotted between yours, her unnervingly cold body making its own space to press against every inch of you also made you feel like the only natural thing to do was to flee. It made you feel like your sense of security was a false one. Your instincts were fighting with your heart and your head, trying to scream at you to run.

She pulled away for just a moment, head pressing against yours again. The iron grip around you was finally released and instead her hands were tangled in your hair as she tried to catch her own breath. “See?” She breathed with a gravely voice. “I know what you are feeling. I know what’s inside your head.” 

Wanda was admitting more than she probably should, but she was so drunk on the slightest taste of you that she didn’t care about repercussions anymore. 

“Don’t fight how you feel for me,” Wanda whispered as she turned your head with her grip on your hair in order to trail her lips against your jaw. “We have waited so long to have this moment again.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt her lips move down to the tender skin of your neck. 

“Wanda…” your voice came out thicker and lower than you wanted. “Can we at least slow down?”

“I have already taken it slow when I first found you.” Her teeth nipped at your neck. “Do you see now? That you are her?”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “Can we talk about it?” Anything to slow her hands down as her nails dragged down your back, ripping the fabric of your sweater with it. 

“What is there to talk about?” She purred against your skin. “We’ve talked for months, my love. Let us finally just enjoy what was taken from us.”

Your mind and body were warring. Half of you wanted to give into the primal terror coursing through your veins and flee. Half of you wanted to melt into the way lips pressed wet kisses against your overheated skin. Either way, it was already too late to fight off Wanda’s touch when she was so much stronger than you. She was so much stronger than any human being really and she proved that by the way she ripped away your sweater like it was paper thin. 

Her lips were pressing their way down your collarbone now and you didn’t dare open your eyes to the reality of the version of Wanda in front of you. It was not the Wanda you knew. The fingertips that ghosted up your sides until they reached your breast felt familiar, but you knew if you saw them they’d be the charred black you had been shown before. You knew the eyes watching the way your breath hitched as her teeth sank into the most tender parts of your flesh weren’t the emerald green you were beginning to love, but the blood red that felt like they burned as they bored into you. And you knew the paleness of her face, that looked as if a fresh corpse was reanimated, would haunt you if you saw the way it replaced the vibrance of the woman you so quickly and foolishly trusted.

Yet, as her lips pressed over your now bare chest, as you felt the way she kissed right above your heart, you still felt it jump. Not in fear, not in anger, but in a feeling that you could only ever describe as a sorrowful longing. The type of longing that felt like it would lead to hopeness. It was a sadness then that washed over you. One you didn’t know you held. One you realized, felt older than your body, older than a young soul should understand. In fact, you didn’t understand it, but in that moment–that brief second of Wanda’s gentleness as her ear replaced your head and you felt her take a shuttering sigh at the sound of your own heartbeat–you stopped fighting her. 

You were more aware of her body again rather than what she was doing to you and you realized, finally, she was sobbing. Your hands moved on their own, shaking fingers reaching for her red hair. You couldn’t help it. Another force felt like it was guiding your body now as you felt yourself stroke her hair with one hand, and wrap around her shoulders to press her closer with the other.

Wanda let out a watery laugh, her hands dragging down your abdomen as she did. “See?” her voice was different now. Less filled with confidence and more broken, scared even. “I have loved you the same, even in the absence of you. So long, I have wanted you and I know you feel for me the same way. You can’t push me away, my love. You were made for me.” 

And she believed that. In all of her time with and without you, she had believed that you were brought to her the first time to bring life to her dimming existence. Like divine intervention trying to prevent–or in her case, prolong–the monster she would become. And now, as her soul darkened to near black, the universe gifted her with you again. As if to the cosmos themselves understood how deep her pain ran and knew that when it inevitably swallowed her, she would swallow the world in response. You were her distraction, her gift for sparing the world. 

Her lips began to trail down, your hand never leaving her hair, but gripping a bit harder to it when suddenly she fell to her knees. 

Her lips were above the button to your jeans, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the naked skin right by it when you felt the nails that once felt effortlessly sharp as they ripped your sweater from your shoulders, now teasing and delicate as they popped the button from its place. You tried with all your strength to stop the trembling of your entire body. You swallowed hard again, your head falling back, your eyes still not daring to open and see the version of Wanda that was now knelt before you. 

When your jeans were pushed down, inch by inch, with agonizing slowness, your underwear came with them. Wanda watched as your chest heaved in anxious anticipation. Part of her felt a pang of guilt for the fear she could feel coursing through your veins, but she also could not deny herself of you for one more second. She could feel the way you warred with yourself, trying to deny all Wanda had presented to you. You just needed one more push. Just one step forward and then perhaps she would have you in the way she had been waiting for.

Her lips pressed a kiss right above where she knew you needed her most, letting her inhale your scent for the first time in over half a millennia. When her lips kissed lower the both of you let out a groan and Wanda swore she was in heaven. She licked the taste of you off her lips and that was when any last rational thought left her and she dove straight in.

The grip on her hair would be bruising for anyone else, but for Wanda it just excited her more. Her tongue lapped at your clit eagerly and your head hit the bookshelf behind you as you pressed one of your hands to your mouth and bit down on your own palm.

Your mind, that was once spinning, was now utterly focused on keeping your eyes shut and trying to envision the Wanda you had known these past months between your legs. Not this version, who’s humanity bled out of her right before your very eyes. But even then, as you feared the monster knelt between your legs, pulling moans of pleasure from your body without your permission, you wouldn’t make her stop. In fact, you pressed her face closer and you felt the rumble of her growl as she drank you in with all the selfish anticipation she has lived with for far too long.

Her hands moved to grab at the back of your thighs, keeping you standing and upright as she shoved them open for her. With her strength you wouldn’t fall, but Wanda needed to make sure you knew that so she could taste you more; drink from you deeper.

When her tongue ran across your opening you bit down harder on your knuckles and your thighs quaked against her head. Wanda breathed you deep before slipping her tongue in, moaning nearly as loudly as you did when she finally was able to taste you from the source.

Wanda’s nails dug into the back of your thighs, her hands moving in a way that forced your own body to buck and ride against her lips. Your attempts to remain quiet were in vain, your hand did nothing to muffle the way your moans filled the room.

But right when you were close to the edge she stopped. In that moment your eyes snapped open and the image before you burned into your mind. 

There was Wanda, looking up at you with eyes as black as coal. Her lips, glistening with your own wetness, were parted and panting as she drank in the sight of you. She was terrifying, she was monstrous. But you realized, as afraid as you might be, that she was still just as breathtakingly beautiful.

She stood in front of you then, her charcoal fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your neck, and dragged you forward to meet her lips. Her tongue swept into your mouth and all you could do was whimper as she kissed you so deeply, filling your mouth with the taste of yourself on her own tongue. You felt drunk with want, the fear in you still present, but distant. Dulled. 

“I need to feel more of you,” Wanda growled against your lips, her teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip before she released you and allowed you air. 

In a blink you weren’t against the shelf anymore. In a haze, you realized you were falling back and then with a soft thud, you were on her bed. You didn’t have time to process the second unbelievable thing to happen in front of your own eyes though, because in an instance you felt the entirety of Wanda’s naked body pressed against yours. She was on top of you, her hands already moving down your body again, her lips kissing down your chest again, this time to your nipples before she could take one in and bite to elicit a pained, but pleasured hiss from you. 

Your head met softness when you let it fall back this time, hitting a pillow rather than the hard wood of the shelf.

“Do you know,” Wanda mumbled against your wet, bare skin, “how hard it was to resist you, when you slept so peacefully in my bed?”

You shook your head, your stare never leaving Wanda’s gaze as her own fierce eyes looked up at you from your body. 

“My love,” Wanda purred as her fingers moved from your body to trail down her own, “I fear that was the last bit of mercy I could afford you.” 

Your eyes followed her hands down, watching in morbid curiosity as you realized they stopped between her legs to grab at a crimson red appendage you hadn’t seen before. When your eyes flicked back to hers, Wanda nearly enjoyed the anxious trepidation written all over your face. 

“Wanda,” your voice cracked as your hands moved to brace themselves on her shoulders, her body pressing closer and closer, the feeling of the hard, otherworldly toy pressing closer and closer between your legs. “That will hurt. Please.” 

Wanda knew that. It was her magic that formed the shape of it out of thin air. She could set the size, she could’ve been kinder. But she wanted to feel the way you’d writhe under her as you took from her all she could possibly give. She wanted to know the way your body would fit as close as possible against hers. How being inside of you would feel when you opened yourself to make room for Wanda. She wanted to know how you’d endure being broken apart for her and if you’d trust that she would be the one to put you back together.

“Shhh,” Wanda purred, her mouth coming back to your own, moving deep and slow against your own quivering lips. And as she kissed you slowly, you felt it, the moment when Wanda lined the strap up and pressed with force against your opening. 

Your hands pushed harder at her shoulders, but she didn’t budge an inch. Instead she dipped your head back more, licking into your mouth and kissing around your cries of pain.

The way the burn of the toy being fully pushed inside your body had your head swimming. Your eyes began to roll back in your head before Wanda even really began. She gave you a moment to adjust, but it was more for her than for you. With her magic, she could feel everything. And the way in which your body fluttered around hers made her feel more powerful than she had in her near 1000 years of life. 

It was wonderfully twisted for Wanda to realize that she could decimate whole cities, best the strongest armies, but nothing made her feel more powerful than when she had you beneath her. When the both of you drowned in shared pleasure as she made the two of you fall apart by her own hand, that was when she felt at the height of her power. It was all too much for Wanda. She knew she wasn’t lying when she said she was out of mercy, even for you.

Maybe it wasn't your fault that your mortality led to an early end for you. Maybe once, she loved the gentleness in you that first asked for the mercy of your family and last asked for the mercy of your murders. But that was once and she’s much different now. Now her anguish built in her a need to make you understand her anger. An anger that festered the longer she waited for your return to her arms. An anger that boiled over with each failed attempt to bring you back to her world. How dare you let her become such a hate filled creature, when you could’ve been tending to her soul these past 600 years?

Her thoughts spilled over and she felt that rage in her entire body, and with that her hips drew back and snapped. 

Your hands left her shoulders to try to cover the cry of painful pleasure that pierced the room, but Wanda was quicker, grabbing both your wrists and slamming them above your head. 

“Don’t hide from me,” she threatened as her body moved against yours with a force that felt like you’d shatter underneath her. “Let me hear you scream. Let me know that you finally feel my pain too.”

“Please, please, please,” you didn’t know if you were begging her to stop or to bring you back to the edge you were just about to fall over moments ago. The feeling of her strap stretching you out from the inside was the strangest mix of pain and pleasure you’d ever experienced. And the feeling of Wanda’s bare body, cooler to the touch than it should be as it slid against yours, was making you struggle to focus on anything other than the sensation of ice–cold against your own overheated body. 

You were already worked up from before. So, when Wanda held your wrists with just one hand and moved her other to slide under your body and force you to arch her back into you, her strap hitting an even deeper part of you, you came against her with a broken moan. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you realized that Wanda didn’t slow even for a second. “I want more,” she groaned as her hips kept rolling into you. “I need to have more of you.” 

Your head had lulled back, the fight and resistance you had first attempted when Wanda gathered your wrist was all but gone and you were reduced to nothing more than a ball of pleasure, falling apart underneath Wanda’s body.

She sped her hips up and the burn of the stretch was gone and replaced with the hollowing feeling of wanting more mixed with a fear that it would never ever be enough. When Wanda let go of your wrists, no doubt bruised from how tight she was holding them, you found yourself wrapping your arms around Wanda’s neck. This time, when she pressed her hips into you, she reveled in the fact that you chased them with each moment they pulled back. You had finally fallen too far. You let Wanda invade every part of your being now, and all you knew was the pleasure Wanda was pulling from you. All you knew is that this was the feeling you had been waiting for too, even if you didn’t realize it until the very moment Wanda made you fall apart against her the first time.

Your orgasm was building again, but so was Wanda’s. She was moaning on top of you, trying to hold back and make the moment last. Reveling in the way your body squeezed against her magic toy as you came the first time. 

Wanda’s head tilted back as she felt her own body shake against yours. She was so close, but she needed this moment. She needed to feel the way your body would be in sync with hers. 

“Look at me,” Wanda husked between her own moans, “look at me, please.” 

And when you finally forced your eyes open again, for a moment you saw the familiar green looking back at you. Her features softer, her skin more vibrant, the look in her eyes less filled with fear and desperate need, and more filled with the vulnerability of how much this moment meant to her. 

She kissed you then. It wasn’t full of possession, it wasn’t with force or bruising passion. It was a kiss filled with the love and despair she felt every single waking moment she was without you. She had stopped punishing your body for having to go without, and now, as her hips moved, she just felt herself sink into the feeling of fulfillment as she finally had the one thing she wanted most of all.

And when you kissed her back it was as if the cosmos moved themselves until everything felt like it slotted together. Timelines converged, feelings sorted, the conflicting versions of you in your head becoming one. You saw two lifetimes in that kiss, as Wanda’s body kept moving against you and her intense love began to replace her suffocating want. You felt the love you once had, the pain it caused you. And, at the same time, you felt the love you began to have again before you knew the truth about your monstrous lover. 

Your arms wrapped around Wanda’s neck. You kissed her harder, tears falling from your eyes as you worked your body in time with hers. She took from you at first out of fear, out of a horrible need to erase the pain of not having you for life time after life time. Now she took from you out of necessity. A necessity to accept what she so badly wanted to be given to her and waited centuries to be offered again. And you finally offered her your all. 

When Wanda fell apart inside of you, you cried out and came with her. The feeling of your body, stretched to its limit, immediately disappeared as Wanda collapsed against you. 

Your eyes fluttered open again, expecting to see that original version of Wanda gone again and replaced with the reality of her. But it wasn’t. Instead, looking back at you was the same Wanda you had known centuries ago. With skin kissed by the sun, eyes shining brighter than emeralds, and fingertips that played with a strand of your hair no longer charred by the evidence of her monstrosity, but perfectly normal. 

“I remember now,” you finally said after a moment of letting yourself lay beneath her. 

“You do?” Wanda felt you nod beneath her before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your hand still shook as you lifted it to cup Wanda’s cheek. She let you tilt her face up until you could meet her eyes again. “I’m so sorry that you had to endure your pain alone for far longer than you deserved.” 

Wanda didn’t answer, she just pressed forward until you willingly met her lips for a gentle kiss.

“You’re here now,” Wanda finally whispered against you. 

There was a silence that fell over the two of you and she felt the tension in your body. “But I can’t be forever,” you admitted, your tone holding a gentle seriousness that told Wanda you understood just how far her grief had made her fall. If she lost you once and burned town after town down, what would happen when you inevitably succumbed to your own mortality again?

“Don’t worry,” Wanda’s demeanor shifted again, the warning signs of red returning to her irises. “I’ve found a cure for that.” 

You swallowed as the tension that returned to your body felt like it permeated the air now too.

“You’ll be different,” Wanda admitted as her nails dug into the skin of your arms again, as if to hold you still, knowing you again felt that primal fear creep up your spine again. “You’ll be like me.”

You thought back to how you knew Wanda before. How her soul was darkened, but not nearly pitch black as you had been shown today. You could love Wanda this way, you could brighten what was once dimmed. But you still knew, as her mask fell and she fucked you looking like the monster she truly was, that being like her meant kindness was a choice. That care was something she could shed at a whim. You knew that being like her meant the values you held, the ones she supposedly saw shine through you so brightly all those years ago–those would be stripped away.

“When you’re like me,” Wanda broke you from your spiraling thoughts, “you will never demand of me mercy again.” You swallowed, your eyes silently pleading with Wanda to grasp whatever ounce of humanity she could still muster. 

Her face twisted into a smile, her soft mask falling away right before your eyes yet again. “When you’re like me,” she repeated, “we’ll watch the world burn for the pain it caused us.”  

Maybe the soul you had loved was no longer remotely the same as the one before you now. Maybe you were wrong about being able to love the monster Wanda grew into today. You didn’t know what was destined for you now, as you stared at a different fate, crueler than your first. All you knew was that just as the townspeople before ignored your pleas, just as Wanda ignored your final request then, she meant what she had written. Mercy was a request far too great for her to ever grant you–or anyone for that matter–ever again.

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[zucchnini]

if you have any recs please link them!!!

[lesbiannbat]

"You attract what you fear"

Oh no!!!! Rough lesbian sex!!!!

[mightbelesbian4]

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[maximoffsbutch]

Happy Father’s Day

Pairing: Stepdad!Natasha x Fem!Reader Summary: Some daughters like to give their daddies flowers or ties for Father's Day. You have something different in mind. Content Warning: Stepcest/fauxcest, extremely Freudian, daddy kink, cheating, breeding kink, vaginal sex, mentions of pregnancy, GP!Natasha. Please be mindful this is not a healthy relationship between stepfather and stepdaughter! Word count: 2k A/N: charlie's fathers day gift to you! this one is as freudian as it gets, so be mindful of the content warnings. thank you for all the stepdad!nat love i've been getting lately. this one is for the freaks.

The house is completely still. The clock on the wall of your bedroom reads just past one in the morning. Your mother went to sleep hours ago after a long Father’s Day dinner, having complained of a headache. 

If only she was aware that her daughter has been counting down the minutes until she can hear a soft snore from the master bedroom.

You hold your breath, straining to hear any changes. None. 

As quietly as you can manage, you slip out of bed and head out of the door wearing nothing but panties and socks and a long sleep shirt, the hem just barely brushing the tops of your thighs. You couldn't waste time changing. Your heart hammers an uneven beat, echoing around in your ribcage, and you clutch the small black gift box in your hands a little tighter.

Mindful to avoid any squeaky steps, you tiptoe down the stairs, thankful for the quietness of your socks. Natasha’s home office is just here, next to the staircase, and as you slow your steps, you can make out the sounds of the idle tapping of a pen and a faint amber glow coming from under the door. You grin despite yourself.

Your hands are only slightly shaky when you lift one to grasp at the door handle. You turn it slightly, it’s unlocked, and then, with one final deep breath to steady your lungs, the door is pushed open until you’re standing in the doorway like some sort of sneak thief.

Natasha looks up immediately. She’s sitting in her nice leather chair, documents on her desk, boring things you’ve seen her review countless times. Her initial sharp gaze softens at the sight of you, her daughter, standing in the doorway nervously, then her curiosity is piqued by the little box you’re clutching like a lifeline.

“What’s this?” she asks, voice a low rumble.

You walk forward, the sound almost silent. Your heart pounds in your ears, mouth slightly dry, but there’s no backing out now, not when you’re standing right in front of your stepfather’s desk.

The small box is placed down gently in front of her. It’s wrapped in a little ribbon, girlish and delicate, and Natasha eyes it curiously.

You take a step back, swallowing to wet your throat before speaking. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

One of her eyebrows raises. Slowly, her hand reaches out to pick up the box, so much smaller in her grasp than yours, and the ribbon falls away with one deft pull. Natasha looks up at you curiously, and you tamper down a smile as she slowly opens the box, as if she’s expecting something to jump out at her.

Another box, slimmer, blue, rests delicately on a bed of red tissue paper. Your stepfather’s expression changes almost instantly, her curious smile disappearing into open-mouthed surprise. Her gaze meets yours, and though your cheeks are burning, you force yourself to nod.

“I haven’t taken my birth control in two weeks,” you whisper. Your voice feels almost deafening in the soft silence of the room. Natasha picks up the pregnancy test, thumb running along the edge of the box. Her gaze never leaves yours, eyes dark with something unspoken, and your knees almost buckle. “I’m ovulating.”

“For me?” she asks, her voice a rasp from dinner’s wine. You nod. Heat floods your lower belly.

Your stepfather stands slowly, pushing out the chair and rounding the desk. Her steps are slow, almost predatory, and when she stops right in front of you, the height difference forces you to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. Her fingers grasp at your chin firmly, eyes searching your face, perhaps for a punchline or some hint of humor, but there’s none.

“You stopped taking your pills two weeks ago and you didn’t say a word?” Her thumb brushes your lower lip, and it takes all of your strength to not open your mouth and brush your tongue against it. “You let me fuck you again and again, waiting until you were fertile for me?”

You nod obediently. “Yes, Daddy.”

The word hasn’t even left your mouth for a full second before Natasha’s mouth is on yours, claiming your breath, lips soft and full and undeniably Natasha. A gasp slips from your mouth at the force, but it’s swallowed by the eager kiss, and you softly whimper when she pulls away with a flash of teeth on your lower lip.

“Bend over the desk.” Her voice has slipped into that dangerous register, not Natasha anymore, but your stepfather.

Your body moves without thinking, turning around and leaning forward until your chest brushes against the wood. Natasha’s hand pushes the hem of your shirt over your ass, exposing sensitive skin to the cold air of her office. You shiver as her hand smoothes over your skin, then dips between your thighs.

“Already soaked,” she murmurs, pleased. “My little girl got this wet just thinking about giving her stepdad her womb as a present.”

Your thighs shake, arousal flaring in your belly. From this angle, the pregnancy test lies in front of you, and the thought of eventually using it makes you whine softly. Natasha huffs out a laugh, though not as lighthearted as it typically is.

A hand grasping at the waistband of your panties makes you twitch. They’re white, now translucent with your arousal. Your stepfather slowly slides them past the curve of your ass until they slide down your thighs, and now you’re completely exposed, cunt wet and aching for contact.

The sound of a zipper almost makes your mouth water. A moment later, the familiar head of her cock presses against your entrance, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from pressing against her. It slides up and down your already sensitive folds, nudging your clit cruelly, pulling a whine from your lips. 

Natasha makes a pleased sound. She leans forward, her comforting weight pressing against your back, and her lips just barely brush your ear.

“If I was your real dad,” she starts, voice like velvet, “I wouldn’t be able to do this, would I? Wouldn’t be allowed to bend my daughter over my desk and fuck her little cunt for Father’s Day.”

And then a pressure against your entrance as her hips push forward, her cock sinking halfway inside you in one smooth motion. You gasp, fingers scrabbling against the smooth wooden desk as you’re stretched, aching around your stepfather, trying to get used to the sudden sensation of fullness.

“But here you are,” she continues, pushing deeper until her hips meet your ass, until she’s deep inside you the way only she can reach, “offering yourself up like a gift. No pill.”

“Fuck– Daddy…” you whimper. She starts fucking you with slow, deep strokes, and you gasp softly every time she bottoms out, every inch disappearing inside you.

“You want me to breed you?” she asks, her voice rough. Your heart thrums in your ears when you nod, angling your ass just right, enough for every thrust to feel deeper, harder. Natasha grins. “You want your mother’s husband to knock you up? To put a baby in her daughter’s belly?”

“Y-Yes, yes,” you moan, tripping over your words like sticky syrup. “Please, Daddy. I want it so bad.”

A firm hand slides into your hair, gripping tight as she picks up speed. Her hips slam against you, and the sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet office, obscene and loud in the sleeping house.

“Say it properly,” Natasha demands.

“I- I want my stepdad to– to get me pregnant,” you gasp brokenly between thrusts. Her nails dig gently against your scalp, causing a flutter of warmth between your legs. “I want– fuck… I want you to cum inside me.”

Natasha groans in your ear, a rumbling guttural sound that rises up her throat. Her hips snap harder, fucking you with a force that makes your legs wobble unevenly. 

“Such a– shit– such a fucking thoughtful present,” she forces out as you tighten around her cock. “Stopping your birth control just so I can knock you up on Father’s Day. Been walking around this house for two weeks with a fertile pussy and you never said anything.”

Her pace quickens, the desk creaking and shaking under the force. One hand reaches under, nudging between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit. You almost scream at the contact, your swollen clit straining for more, your cunt squeezing, almost milking.

“Imagine it, baby,” her words are hot against your ear. “Your belly swelling up with a little brother or sister.” She groans roughly, making your clit throb at the sound. “Tits getting bigger. Wearing loose shirts so your mom can’t tell. Fuck, I wouldn’t stop coming to your room even when you’re pregnant.”

You’re shaking. Pleasure builds fast and sharp. “Daddy, please cum inside me,” you beg softly. It's a need, your body craving to fulfil its biological imperative.

Natasha straightens, posture perfect, and her hands move to your hips. She squeezes your soft flesh for a moment, making you squirm, and then her pace becomes unrelenting, fucking you with the singular purpose of breeding. You cry out, grasping at the desk, cheeks flushed with sweat, and Natasha can’t help her smile.

“Look at it,” she orders breathlessly. “Look at what you bought for your dad.”

You look at the little blue box, the pregnancy test, eyes blurry with tears of overwhelming pleasure. The thought of using it sends a gush of wetness between your legs, coating Natasha’s cock, and a moan pushes past your lips.

“I- I’m gonna cum, Daddy– fuck–”

“Do it,” she grunts, her thrusts becoming shorter and sharper. “Cum for me, baby.”

The heat is all-consuming. Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave. You bite your arm to muffle your sob, pussy fluttering wildly around your stepfather’s cock. 

Natasha doesn’t slow down, fucking you straight through it until your legs ache. As heat rolls through you, your cunt tightens around her cock, and then suddenly Natasha buries herself to the hilt and lets go of your hips.

“Fuck, I'm...” is all she manages to get out, her lips trembling with pleasure as her orgasm rolls over her, and you let out a high-pitched whimper as her cock throbs violently.

The warmth of her release coats your walls as she groans low and long, hips flush against your ass and grinding, pushing every drop as far in as it will go. 

She stays buried deep, breathing hard against your back, and after a long minute, she kisses the side of your neck. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten,” Natasha murmurs, and you whine softly at the praise. “My sweet little girl giving me her womb.”

Eventually, after what feels like hours, she pulls out slowly, careful not to let anything spill. She turns you around, lifting your legs up to sit you on her desk, and kisses your cheek, then mouth. The touch is so tender, almost reverent, that your heart does a silly flutter behind your ribcage.

“Keep your legs up for a while,” she whispers against your lips, tapping your knee. “I want it to stay in deep.”

You nod, dazed and glowing. Natasha hums, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and then her attention flickers back to the box on the desk. She picks it up, turning it over in her hand with a satisfied smile.

“Tomorrow morning,” she murmurs, her voice curling into something pleased, “you’re gonna use this for me. And if it’s negative…” She leans in and kisses you again, slower this time. “We’ll just have to keep trying until it turns positive.” 

You shiver at the promise in her voice. Her hand moves to cup your face.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” you whisper one more time. Natasha smiles against your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Best one yet.”

[isthatdirtyenoughforyou]

In celebration of father’s day, let’s appreciate the one who fixed all our daddy issues. Everyone, repeat after me. Happy Father’s Day, Dadd—

[isthatdirtyenoughforyou]

Fatherless? Say no more. Happy Father's Day, Daddy Nat🌷

[getlostsquidward]

freak like me

pairing: roommnate!nat x reader

warnings: handjob, blowjob, facefucking, come swallowing

summary: natasha gets turned on by your risque behavior.

natasha masterlist

Every day, she learns something new about you.

And in turn, she learns something new about herself, too–and how she can’t help herself getting so turned on by how risque you are acting right now. 

Natasha doesn’t even know when it started. 

How your hand fell on her inner thigh and squeezed when she'd stuttered on your dad's question, then slowly, surely, made its home in her crotch. She now regrets wearing jeans in an attempt to look more presentable in front of your parents, because it’s getting so tight and uncomfortable as she gets harder. She does not want to stain another pair of pants, thank you very much.

Natasha tried to swat your wandering hand away, but you’re persistent in making her suffer. You know she’s been longing to feel you–any part of you–and you decide to do it right now, with your mom and dad right there. 

She scoots her chair closer to the table to try to hide your lecherous hand, but it only makes you bolder as you now unzip her pants, trying to get her dick out. Natasha grips your wrists, but she’s not sure if it’s to take your hand off or use it to get her off. 

Natasha’s fork clatters from her hold as your fingertip touches the sensitive slit on the tip. The conversation stops, and the attention is now on her. 

“You okay, Nat?” you ask, as if you’re not the one who causes her so much ache and relief simultaneously right now, as if their precious daughter isn’t slowly stroking her shaft to full erection.

Natasha clears her throat. “Yep, all good,” she replies assuredly, picking up the fork and stabbing the piece of food from her plate. You give her a smile and her cock a squeeze in return. 

You continue to drive the conversation, your mom throwing her a question or two, but your parents remain focused on their darling daughter. Meanwhile, Natasha thinks about how she’s been waiting for this very moment.

She looks down briefly, noting that your fingertips indeed barely touch wrapped around her girth. Natasha’s eyes then flicker to your thighs, how tightly closed they are. It occurs to her then that you’re not entirely unaffected by your own actions. She has half a mind to give you a taste of your own medicine, but no. Not right now, anyway. 

Your roommate has perfected her poker face and acting mildly interested in the conversation, but Natasha knows it will be an entirely different game once she comes. 

How the fuck could she prevent her hips from bucking up and her thighs from shaking?

For once, the world is on her side.

Your parents mentioned something about being late to a gathering, and your hands leave Natasha’s dick. She tucks it back into her jeans as discreetly as she can and shakes the hand of your dad as he bids goodbye to her. 

Natasha watches you as you give your mom a one-armed farewell hug, and chuckles to herself as she notices your right hand being stuck behind your back. 

As soon as your visitors are out, Natasha's got you cornered against the door—again. She looks flushed and desperate, and she's already tugging her pants and boxers down and says, “Finish what you started.”

You watch her face and bite your lip, seeing how glassy her eyes look. She's looking at you fiercely, and you know it’s only a question of time before she takes matters into her own hands. Your eyes dart down to her leaking cock. “Can't believe how needy Natasha Romanoff is. All this for me?”

“You know it is. Fuck, just please.” Natasha catches your hand gently and places it on her shaft. “You know I’ve been waiting for this.”

When you start stroking her again, a deep grunt leaves her lips, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Now, she can bask in the feeling of your touch without any risks of getting caught. At this point, Natasha knows she wouldn’t last long. 

You tighten your grip around her, savoring the heavy breaths she’s letting out. Her forehead rests against yours, her lips parted as you continue to jerk her off. You couldn’t resist your roommate’s plump lips, so you capture them in yours, Natasha making you swallow her moans. At one point, you suck each other’s tongue, both now groaning in pleasure against each other’s mouth. 

“I’m gonna come, baby, I want your mouth,” Natasha whispers against your lips. “Want you to swallow my cum.”

You want nothing more than to finally taste her, so you nod in agreement, and then you slowly fall to your knees. You keep your eyes on her, looking at how her brows furrow and how her pupils drown out the green.

“I knew you’d look so pretty on your knees, detka.” Natasha whines, her hand now on the side of your head, ready to guide you.

With your hand getting a bit tired, you switch to your left hand and open your mouth, the head of her cock making contact with your tongue. You suck her cock in your mouth, getting as much of it as you can.

“Shit, baby. Can I fuck your mouth? Please?” 

You say yes by taking every inch of her until the head touches the back of your throat. Natasha now grips your head in place, fucking your face as she sees fit. You hollow your cheeks and let her chase her high. Tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes, getting used like this by your very hot roommate, and you think to yourself, you might let her use you like this just for her pleasure. 

Natasha cries in bliss as she shoots her load inside your mouth, making you swallow every drop of her. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she spills out the last of her. 

When she’s sure that you’ve milked her cock enough, she steps back a bit, admiring the way you show your tongue out for her, and the cum that gathered there. You never break eye contact as you make a show of swallowing her cum. The redhead’s eyes follow the way your throat bobs, and she’s hoisting you back to your feet as she smashes her mouth against yours to taste herself. 

Natasha pulls back to let you catch some breath and asks the million-dollar question. “What the hell are you thinking about, jerking me off like that in front of your folks like that?”

“Hmm.” you pepper kisses against her jaw as you wrap your arms around her neck. “Dunno, you make me feel very…naughty.”

“Yeah, you are. My naughty girl.”