21 - not from an English speaking country My name is Mathea, but you can call me Mat or Thea
This blog is 18+, MDNI
⋆·˚ ༘ * Masterlist
requests are open but per now i only write for Elizabeth Olsen and her charters (mainly Wanda), she can be written w reader (boy or girl) and with Scarlett Johansson (or Natasha)
Wanda Maximoff;
Oneshots:
- The Cabin Rule
Series
nothing yet
Headcanon(s)
- Safeword - mommy!wanda
- Lactating - bottom!wanda
- Moblife - sub!wanda (ft. natasha)
- Wanda wants kids
WARNINGS;
- Once again, this account is an 18+ account, this is your last warning, leave this page if you’re under 18
Wanda Maximoff arrives in Los Angeles as the new girl at Burlesque, a club where talent meets sensuality under vintage art deco lights. Natasha Romanoff is the star that everyone comes to see. When Wanda's technical skill can't hide her lack of stage presence, Natasha is assigned to give her private lessons. But some lessons can't be taught with words alone, and the line between professional instruction and something far more personal proves thin.
Chapter 1 of Welcome to Burlesque
18+, NSFW | 8.4k words
ao3
Los Angeles looked nothing like the postcards.
Wanda had expected glamour, sunshine, and palm trees swaying against blue skies. What she got instead was smog, traffic, and the distinct smell of hot asphalt mixed with something she couldn't quite identify but suspected was probably piss. Her entire life savings—three years of working double shifts at the diner, weekend gigs at the community theater, and one absolutely soul-crushing summer cleaning houses for rich people who didn't even look at her—had bought her a one-way bus ticket, two months' rent on a shoebox studio apartment in a neighborhood the landlord had described as "up and coming" (which Wanda was learning meant "crime happens here regularly"), and enough money left over for groceries if she was very, very careful.
She'd arrived in LA exactly six hours ago with one suitcase, a duffel bag full of dance shoes and practice clothes, and a dream that felt simultaneously more real and more impossible than it had back in Iowa.
Now she stood outside a club called Burlesque on what had to be the most intimidating street in Los Angeles, staring up at the art deco facade and the vintage marquee that promised "An Evening of Elegance and Entertainment." The building looked like it had been plucked straight from the 1920s and dropped into modern-day LA without permission. Beautiful in a way that made Wanda's chest ache with want.
The audition video she'd sent three months ago had been a Hail Mary. A desperate last-ditch attempt to make something happen before she turned twenty-five and had to accept that maybe dreams were just things other people got to have. She'd filmed it in the high school theater after hours, begging the janitor to let her in, performing a routine she'd choreographed herself. Small-town nobody trying to convince a LA club owner she belonged on a stage she'd never even seen in person.
Agatha Harkness had responded within a week. Four lines, no punctuation, no greeting:
got your video
you have something
show up next week and we'll see if you can actually do it
dont disappoint me
Wanda wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning for her first official day. But she'd been too restless in her tiny apartment, too wired with nervous energy and anticipation. She'd needed to see the club, to feel the space, to make it real in her mind before she walked in tomorrow and tried to prove she belonged there.
The marquee announced showtimes: performances at 8 PM and 10 PM nightly except Mondays. Her phone read 7:58 PM.
Wanda pulled open the door and walked inside.
The interior stole her breath completely.
Red velvet everywhere—curtains framing the stage, upholstery on the curved booths, cushions on the chairs arranged around small tables. Gold leaf caught the low amber lighting, art deco patterns spiraling across walls that had probably looked exactly like this in 1925. A massive crystal chandelier hung over the main floor, currently dimmed but clearly capable of spectacular brightness. The stage itself dominated the space, polished wood gleaming under stage lights that were just starting to come up, burgundy curtains still closed.
The club was packed. Every table occupied, people pressed three-deep at the bar running along the left wall, excited energy buzzing through conversations that quieted as the lights began to dim.
Wanda found a spot to stand near the back, tucked against the wall where she wouldn't block anyone's view. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The chandelier dimmed to almost nothing. The stage lights came up bright and hot. The curtains began to part.
Music exploded through the sound system—brassy, big, impossible to ignore. The opening notes of "Welcome to Burlesque" filled every corner of the club as six women strutted onto the stage in perfect formation.
But Wanda's eyes went immediately to the woman in the center.
She had to be Agatha Harkness. She moved with the kind of commanding presence that came from decades of stage experience, owning every inch of the space around her. Her costume was pure vintage cabaret—a fitted black bodysuit that formed the base, structured like a corset with visible boning and a sweetheart neckline that created a sharp hourglass silhouette. Over it she wore a tailored tailcoat-style layer cut close to her body, plunging open at the front to reveal a striking red lining that flashed with every movement. Sheer black stockings and simple black heels completed the look, keeping focus on the dramatic lines of the outfit itself.
She lip-synced to the track with theatrical precision, her mouth forming each word with exaggerated expression, her arms spreading wide in a gesture that encompassed the entire club and everyone in it. She was the ringleader, the mistress of ceremonies, introducing her dancers with sweeping gestures and knowing smiles.
The dancers flanking her were gorgeous. Talented. They moved through the choreography with synchronized precision, hitting every mark, their costumes catching the light—sequins and feathers in jewel tones.
Then the formation shifted.
The dancers parted like a curtain, creating space in the center as a figure stepped forward from upstage, and Wanda forgot how to breathe.
Red hair fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the stage lights and turning almost burgundy under the hot glow. She wore a black corset, structured to emphasize every curve. Fishnet stockings hugged her legs and her heels had to be at least six inches tall, making her legs look long. Her stage makeup was dramatic—dark eyes, red lips, face sculpted by contouring that made her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut.
She moved like water, like silk given human form. Every step across that stage was deliberate, controlled, graceful. While the other dancers executed their choreography with technical precision, this woman transformed the same movements into something that looked less like dancing and more like a promise of things Wanda had never even thought to want.
She hit her mark center stage and executed a turn that ended in a slow, controlled descent to the floor. Her back arched in a perfect curve, her hair brushing the polished wood, and then she rolled her body in a wave that traveled from her hips up through her spine to her shoulders. Rising back to standing in one fluid motion that made Wanda's stomach flip and heat pool between her legs.
The redhead moved across the stage with predatory grace during what should have been a simple walking sequence. Her hips swayed just slightly with each step, her shoulders moved in subtle rolls, her head tilted at an angle that was both inviting and dangerous. She made walking look like seduction.
The song built toward its climax. The choreography got sharper, more intense. All six women moved in perfect synchronization, but Wanda couldn't look away from the redhead. The way her body hit every beat while somehow also floating above the music. The way her hair whipped when she turned and fell perfectly back into place. The way her costume shifted with her movements—the corset holding firm while allowing flexibility, the stockings creating lines that drew the eye up the length of her legs.
The final pose had all six women arranged in a pyramid formation, the redhead at the apex with one leg extended behind her, her back arched, her arms raised, her face tilted toward the lights. The chandelier came up gradually, bathing the stage in golden light, and the club erupted into applause.
Wanda's hands were shaking. Her face felt hot. Her heart was doing something concerning in her chest that probably required medical attention.
The dancers held their final pose for a beat, then broke formation and exited stage left in a line as the curtains began to close. The house lights came up slightly—not full brightness, but enough for people to see their drinks and each other. Intermission, Wanda realized. Time for the audience to order another round before the next number.
She needed to move. She needed to get backstage and find Agatha like she'd planned. She needed to stop standing here like an idiot replaying that performance in her mind over and over.
Wanda made her way through the crowd toward the side of the stage, looking for any kind of backstage entrance. She found it tucked behind a curtain—a heavy door propped open with a folding chair, light and voices spilling out into the club.
She stepped through into absolute chaos.
The backstage area was small and packed with organized mayhem. Costume racks lined one wall, makeup stations with mirrors and lights took up another, and in the limited floor space between, women moved with frantic purpose. Some were stripping out of the costumes they'd just worn on stage, others were stepping into new outfits, everyone talking over each other while also somehow listening to shouted instructions from multiple sources.
And in the center of the storm, moving like a hurricane in human form, was Agatha.
She'd lost the tailcoat but still wore the bodysuit, now with a silk robe thrown over it that she hadn't bothered to tie closed. She was simultaneously unpinning an elaborate updo from one dancer's hair while talking to another about a quick costume repair while taking a drink away from a blonde woman who looked unsteady on her feet.
"Carol, I swear to god," Agatha was saying without even looking at the blonde as she confiscated what looked like a flask, "if you're going to drink, don't do it where I can see you. And definitely don't do it before you go back on stage in—" she glanced at a clock on the wall, "—eight minutes."
"It's barely anything—" Carol protested.
"I don't care if it's holy water blessed by the Pope himself, you're not going back out there tipsy." Agatha finally got the last pin out of the brunette's hair and patted her shoulder dismissively. "There. Go get your wig on for the next number, and someone please help Maria with that zipper before she dislocates something trying to do it herself."
Two dancers immediately moved to assist the brunette—Maria—with a complicated costume zipper.
Agatha turned to survey the room and her eyes landed directly on Wanda. Her expression shifted from harried to surprised. "You're early."
Every conversation in the backstage area stopped. Every eye turned to Wanda.
"I'm sorry," Wanda started. "I know I'm not supposed to be here until tomorrow morning, I just wanted to—"
"Get a feel for the place before your first official day." Agatha's lips twitched into something that might have been approval. "Good girl. Shows initiative." She raised her voice to address the room. "This is Wanda Maximoff, she starts tomorrow, be nice to her or at least pretend."
A scattered chorus of greetings. Maria smiled warmly despite being halfway into a complicated costume change. Carol gave a little wave. Several other dancers called out hellos while simultaneously doing their hair or touching up makeup.
"You're expected at nine AM," Agatha continued, already turning to help someone out of a feathered headdress. "Sharp. Not nine-oh-five. We'll run through group numbers, small group work, solos, all of it. See how fast you pick things up." She freed the headdress and handed it to someone else. "Don't be late and don't make me regret hiring you based on one audition video."
"I won't," Wanda promised. "Thank you so much for the opportunity—"
"Yeah, save the speech." Agatha waved her off, already moving toward the next crisis. "Now get out of my backstage before someone trips over you. We've got five minutes until curtain and I will not have my girls going out there looking anything less than perfect."
Wanda was already turning to leave, her heart so full it felt like it might actually burst, when she collided with someone coming through the door.
She stumbled backward, caught herself on a nearby costume rack that swayed dangerously, and looked up into the most striking green eyes she'd ever seen.
The redhead from the stage. Up close she was even more devastating. Sharp cheekbones highlighted by stage makeup, full lips pressed into a line of clear annoyance, and those eyes that were currently looking at Wanda like she was an irritating obstacle.
"Sorry!" Wanda blurted. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was—"
But the redhead had already turned away, projecting her voice across the backstage area. "Agatha! The waitresses are backstage again! I thought you said you'd fix it!"
There was no response from Agatha, who was currently elbow-deep in someone's costume adjustment.
The redhead turned back to Wanda with clear dismissal. "Waitstaff entrance is on the other side of the building. This area is for performers only."
"I'm not—" Wanda tried, but someone had already appeared at her elbow to escort her back toward the door.
"Come on, sweetheart," an older woman said kindly but firmly. "Let's get you back where you're supposed to be."
Wanda was ushered out into the main club before she could explain, the door closing behind her with a solid thunk.
She stood there for a moment, but she wasn't disheartened. She'd just watched the most incredible performance of her life, she'd met Agatha, and tomorrow she'd be back here as an actual member of the company. The redhead had been rude, sure, but Wanda was already leaving anyway, and tomorrow she'd have plenty of time to prove she belonged.
Wanda made her way back through the club—the intermission crowd parting around her—and out onto the street. The LA night wrapped around her warm and full of promise.
(-)
Nine AM sharp found Wanda backstage at Burlesque, changed into practice clothes and trying not to look as nervous as she felt.
The space looked different in fluorescent lighting. Less magical, more functional, though still beautiful in its organized chaos of costumes and props and equipment.
She wasn't alone.
The redhead from last night stood near one of the makeup stations in simple black practice clothes—fitted pants and a tank top that somehow looked expensive on her—examining her reflection while touching up already-perfect eyeliner. She glanced up when Wanda entered and her expression shifted to confusion.
"You're the waitress from last night."
"I'm not a waitress," Wanda corrected, moving further into the room with confidence she didn't quite feel. "I'm the new dancer. Starting today."
The redhead's eyebrows rose. "Are you."
"Yes." Wanda held out her hand. "I'm Wanda Maximoff."
The redhead looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment before taking it. Her grip was firm, her palm warm and soft but with calluses along the base of her fingers that spoke of years of training. "Natasha Romanoff."
Of course her name sounded like it belonged in a vintage Hollywood film.
"Nice to meet you properly," Wanda said. "I'm excited to learn from everyone here."
"Mmm." Natasha released her hand and turned back to the mirror. "Good fucking luck with that. This job eats people alive."
Before Wanda could figure out how to respond, voices echoed from the hallway and the rest of the dancers started filtering in. Maria from last night, Carol looking significantly more sober, and several others Wanda didn't recognize yet. They greeted each other with easy familiarity, inside jokes and casual touches that came from working together for years.
Wanda felt suddenly aware of how much of an outsider she was.
Then Agatha swept in and everyone fell quiet immediately.
"Good morning, ladies," Agatha announced, surveying the room. "We've got a full day ahead of us and no performances tonight, which means we're using every minute. Wanda needs to learn the rotation, everyone else needs to stay sharp, and I need to see the new small group piece before I decide if we're adding it to Friday's show." She clapped her hands twice. "Maria, start Wanda on the opening group number. Carol, you're on water duty. Everyone else, warm up. I want to see the full lineup in forty-five minutes."
The room exploded into movement.
Dancers scattered to their designated warm-up areas. Carol disappeared toward what was presumably a water station. Maria appeared at Wanda's elbow with that same warm smile from last night.
"Don't worry about Natasha," Maria said quietly, clearly having noticed the less-than-warm exchange. "She's protective of this place. Seen a lot of new girls come and go. She'll warm up once you prove you can keep up."
"Is she always that intense?" Wanda asked, watching Natasha settle into a perfect split while scrolling through her phone like it required zero effort.
Maria laughed. "That's not intense. That's her being polite. You haven't seen anything yet." She grabbed Wanda's arm. "Come on, let's start with basics."
The next six hours were the most exhausting and exhilarating of Wanda's life.
Maria walked her through the opening group number first—"Welcome to Burlesque," the same one Wanda had watched last night. The choreography was more complicated than it looked from the audience. Sharp synchronized movements that required perfect timing, formation changes that happened in counts of eight, levels that shifted constantly to keep visual interest.
Wanda picked it up faster than she'd expected. Her body remembered years of training even when her mind fumbled, muscle memory kicking in when she stopped overthinking. By the third run-through she was hitting most of the marks, keeping up with Maria's count.
"Good!" Maria called out over the music. "Now we add the performance element. You're not just dancing, you're selling it. Make eye contact with the audience, smile, make them believe you're having the time of your life up there."
They ran it again with performance energy and Wanda felt the difference immediately. Felt herself connect to the music and the movement in a way that went beyond just executing steps correctly.
After the group number, Maria handed her off to Carol for small group work. A trio piece to "Big Spender" that was sharper, more aggressive in its styling. Wanda worked with Carol and another dancer named Jen, learning to move in tight formation, matching their energy and style.
Then came solo work.
Each dancer had signature numbers they performed individually while the others did quick costume changes or took breaks. Agatha wanted Wanda to learn the basic framework of a solo routine even though she wouldn't be performing one for weeks.
"Just so you understand the structure," Agatha explained, pulling up a track on the sound system. "How to command a stage alone. How to work a crowd when you don't have the safety net of other dancers."
Wanda worked through a basic burlesque routine to "Fever"—classic, relatively simple choreography, but hard to execute with the right amount of sultry confidence. She stumbled through it the first time, overthinking every movement.
"Stop being so technical," Agatha called from her position near the sound system. "This isn't a ballet exam. Burlesque is about seduction, about making the audience feel something. Loosen up."
Wanda tried again, this time focusing less on perfect execution and more on the feeling of the music, the character she was trying to embody. It was better, but still not quite right.
Throughout the day, Wanda rotated through different numbers, different groupings, different styles. A jazz-influenced piece that had her and four other dancers doing sharp, staccato movements. A slower, more sensual routine that focused on floor work and body rolls. A upbeat ensemble number that was pure fun and energy.
She was sweating through her practice clothes, her muscles burning, but she'd never felt more alive.
And through it all, she felt Natasha watching.
Those green eyes tracked her during group numbers, assessing her timing and technique. Watching when she learned small group choreography, cataloging her strengths and weaknesses. Present even when Natasha was working on her own routines across the room.
Wanda tried not to let it make her nervous. Tried to focus on the work, on proving she belonged here. But she was hyperaware of every mistake she made, every moment she wasn't quite polished enough, knowing Natasha was witnessing all of it.
By 3 PM, Agatha called for a break.
"Thirty minutes," she announced. "Hydrate, eat something if you need to, then we're running the full Friday lineup straight through."
The dancers scattered. Some headed for the small break room, others collapsed on the floor where they stood. Wanda grabbed water and found a spot against the wall, drinking deeply and trying to process everything she'd learned.
Maria sat down beside her. "You're doing great. Really. I've never seen someone pick up choreography that fast."
"Thank you," Wanda said, meaning it. "Everyone's been so helpful."
"We take care of each other here," Maria said. "It's a good group. You'll fit in."
The full lineup run-through at 3:30 was intense. Every number back-to-back with only enough time for essential costume changes, simulating an actual performance night. Wanda made it through on pure adrenaline, hitting most of her marks despite exhaustion setting in.
When Agatha finally called an end to rehearsal at 6 PM, Wanda was drenched in sweat and her legs felt like jelly, but she was grinning so hard her face hurt.
Agatha surveyed the room, making notes on a clipboard. "Good work today, everyone. Friday's show is going to be excellent." Her eyes landed on Wanda. "You. Not bad for your first day. You pick up choreography fast and your technique is solid."
Wanda's heart soared. "Thank you—"
"You've got one major problem though."
The soaring stopped abruptly. "What?"
"You're not sensual enough." Agatha said it like she was commenting on the weather. "You've got the technical skill, you've got the performance energy, but burlesque isn't about hitting marks and looking pretty. It's about sensuality. Making the audience feel something beyond 'wow, that was a clean double pirouette.'"
"I can work on that," Wanda said immediately. "Just tell me what I need to do—"
"Can't be explained in five minutes." Agatha's gaze shifted across the room to where Natasha was toweling sweat off her neck. "Romanoff. You're staying after dinner break to work with Wanda on sensuality."
Natasha's head snapped up. "What?"
"You heard me. Dinner break for you two is six to seven-thirty. Both of you back here at seven-thirty. Teach her how to move like she actually wants to seduce an audience instead of auditioning for a high school production."
"Agatha, I have—"
"Cancel it." Agatha's tone left no room for argument. "You're the best we have at this and she needs the best if she's going to be ready for Friday." She turned to Wanda. "Seven-thirty sharp. Don't be late."
She clapped her hands twice. "Everyone else, go home. Get rest. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."
The dancers scattered, gathering their things and heading out. Wanda hung back, glancing at Natasha who looked distinctly unhappy about this arrangement.
"I'm sorry," Wanda offered quietly. "I didn't mean to mess up your evening."
Natasha looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. "Just be here on time."
Then she grabbed her bag and left, leaving Wanda standing alone in the empty backstage area.
(-)
Wanda spent dinner break at a taco place down the street, too nervous to enjoy her food. She kept running through the day's choreography in her head, trying to identify exactly where she'd failed to be "sensual enough."
Was it in how she held her body? Her facial expressions? The energy she brought to movements? She'd been so focused on getting the steps right, on keeping up, on not falling behind. Maybe that focus had made her too technical.
She could fix this. She would fix this.
Seven-thirty found her backstage again, changed into fresh practice clothes, warming up her muscles and trying to calm her racing heart.
Natasha arrived at seven-thirty-two. She'd changed too—different black practice clothes, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail that exposed the elegant line of her neck. She carried a small bag which she set on one of the makeup stations before turning to look at Wanda with an expression that was impossible to read.
"Agatha thinks you need sensuality training," Natasha said. "Show me what you've got."
"What do you want me to—"
"Dance. Any routine from today. I want to see what she's seeing."
Wanda's mouth went dry. Performing for a room full of dancers with Agatha watching was one thing. Performing for Natasha alone in this empty space was infinitely more terrifying.
But she'd wanted this. She wanted to be here, wanted to learn.
"Can I have music?" she asked.
Natasha pulled out her phone and scrolled through a playlist. "Which number?"
"The opening group routine."
Natasha queued it up and the opening notes of "Welcome to Burlesque" filled the space. Wanda took her position, took a breath, and started dancing.
She hit every mark. Every turn, every formation change even without the other dancers, every moment exactly as Maria had taught her. She kept her chin up, her shoulders back, her movements sharp. When the song ended she held the final pose, breathing only slightly elevated, and looked at Natasha expectantly.
Natasha's expression was thoughtful. Not impressed, not disappointed. Just considering.
"Come here," she said, gesturing.
Wanda crossed the space between them, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. Close enough to see faint freckles across Natasha's nose that stage makeup usually covered.
"Look at me," Natasha commanded, and without thought, Wanda obeyed.
Natasha studied her face with an intensity that made Wanda want to squirm. Then, without warning, she reached up and cupped Wanda's jaw with one hand. Her thumb pressed against Wanda's lower lip, dragging slowly across it and smudging the lipstick Wanda had reapplied after dinner.
The touch was casual. Professional. Like Natasha was adjusting a prop.
Wanda's entire body went hot.
"You're pretty," Natasha said, still holding her jaw, her thumb making another pass across Wanda's bottom lip. "Anyone can see that. But pretty isn't enough here. Burlesque isn't about being pretty. It's about being desirable."
Wanda couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. Natasha's hand was warm against her skin and her thumb kept moving, kept touching, and Wanda's brain had completely abandoned higher functions.
"You dance like you're trying to prove something," Natasha continued, finally releasing Wanda's jaw and stepping back. Wanda immediately missed the contact. "Like you're in a competition and you need to show everyone you belong here. That energy reads as desperate, not sensual."
"I am trying to prove I belong here," Wanda pointed out, finding her voice even though it came out rough.
"I know. But the audience doesn't need to see that." Natasha moved toward the stage. "Come on. I'm going to show you something and then we'll work on you."
Wanda followed her onto the stage, the polished wood smooth under her feet, the overhead lights bright and hot. The club was empty, chairs still stacked on tables from earlier, making the space feel larger and more intimate simultaneously.
"Stand there," Natasha directed, pointing to a spot center stage. "Don't move. Just watch."
Wanda obeyed, watching as Natasha pulled out her phone and selected a different song. The opening beats of "Candy Man" by Christina Aguilera exploded through the sound system—upbeat, playful, fast.
Then Natasha started dancing and Wanda forgot how to breathe.
The song was fast. The tempo was relentless, driving, meant to be energetic and fun. But Natasha moved through the choreography like she was rewriting the rules of how bodies could move through space.
She hit the opening count with a sharp hip pop that snapped to the beat, but the way she rolled her body through the movement transformed it from technical to sensual. Her arms came up in the next eight-count, hands moving through the air in fluid motions that drew the eye up the length of her body—from her hips to her waist to her chest to her face—while her feet executed quick, precise steps.
The choreography called for a turn sequence. Natasha spun through it with her ponytail whipping around her, the red strands catching the stage lights, and when she came out of the final turn she dropped her chin and looked up through her lashes in a way that made Wanda's stomach flip.
A quick step-touch combination that should have been cute and bouncy became something else entirely when Natasha added a subtle shoulder roll, her tank top shifting with the movement and exposing the line of her collarbone.
She moved across the stage in a traveling sequence, her hips swaying just slightly more than the choreography strictly required, each step placed with absolute precision. Her practice pants hugged every line of her legs, highlighting the flex of her thigh muscles, the curve of her calves, the way her body weight shifted from foot to foot.
The song built toward a breakdown and Natasha dropped low, her knees bending as she descended in a controlled squat that showcased her strength. Then she rolled her body up slowly—hips first, then her spine vertebra by vertebra, her shoulders last—rising back to standing in one continuous wave of motion that defied physics.
Her ponytail had come slightly loose, a few red strands escaping to frame her face. Her skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat under the stage lights. Her breathing was slightly elevated but not labored, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that drew Wanda's eyes and made heat pool low in her belly.
Natasha executed a quick turn and suddenly she was facing Wanda directly, making deliberate eye contact. She ran her hands down her own body—from her neck to her chest to her hips—in a movement that was part of the choreography but felt intensely personal with their eyes locked together.
The final sequence was a series of sharp isolations—chest pop, hip pop, shoulder roll—executed with machine-like precision but somehow still fluid. Natasha hit the final beat with a pose that had one hip cocked, her weight on one leg, her hands in her hair pulling out the ponytail holder and letting the red waves fall free around her shoulders.
The music ended and Natasha wasn't even breathing hard. Just standing there in the stage lights looking like sin in practice clothes.
"That," she said, gesturing to herself, "is sensuality. Not the steps. Not the costume. The energy. The confidence. The absolute certainty that you deserve to be watched and wanted." She moved closer to Wanda, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Your turn. Same song, same choreography. But stop thinking about the steps. Think about how you want to make me feel watching you."
Oh god.
Wanda's face burned but she nodded, moving to the starting position as Natasha restarted the song.
The opening beats, and Wanda started dancing.
She tried. She really tried to channel what she'd just witnessed, to move with that same confidence. But she was hyperaware of Natasha watching her, evaluating her, and it made her movements feel stiff instead of fluid.
The fast tempo didn't help. She was so focused on keeping up with the beat, on executing the steps cleanly, that she couldn't find the sensuality underneath. Halfway through she missed a turn transition, stumbled slightly, caught herself and kept going but the mistake rattled her.
By the time she hit the final pose she knew it hadn't been good enough.
When the music ended she turned to face Natasha, bracing for criticism.
"Better," Natasha said, which was clearly generous. "But you're still too much in your head."
"I know, I just—" Wanda hopped down from the stage, misjudged the distance because she was still breathing hard, and stumbled forward.
Natasha caught her.
Strong hands on Wanda's waist, steadying her, pulling her upright. They were suddenly very close, close enough that Wanda could feel heat radiating from Natasha's body, could smell her perfume—something subtle and expensive.
"You okay?" Natasha asked, not releasing her grip.
"Yeah. Sorry, that was clumsy." Wanda tried to laugh but it came out breathless. "How did I do? Honestly."
Natasha's hands were still on her waist, warm through the thin fabric of Wanda's tank top. "Honestly? Agatha's right. Your sensuality is severely lacking."
"I'll do whatever I need to do," Wanda said immediately. "Just tell me how."
Something shifted in Natasha's expression.
"Sensuality isn't about doing more," she said, her voice dropping lower. "It's about control. About understanding exactly how much to give and how much to hold back." Her hands tightened on Wanda's waist. "About space, distance, and tension."
Wanda's heart hammered hard enough that Natasha had to be able to feel it.
"Like this," Natasha said.
She pulled Wanda forward suddenly, eliminating all space between them until their bodies were pressed together. Wanda's breath caught. She could feel every point of contact—Natasha's hands on her waist, her hips against Wanda's, her chest just barely brushing Wanda's with each breath. It was overwhelming, too much sensation all at once, left no room for anticipation or want because everything was already happening.
"This is too much," Natasha said softly against her ear. "Too close. Doesn't leave any room to breathe, want, or wonder."
Then she shoved Wanda away.
Not hard, but firm enough that Wanda stumbled back several steps, suddenly cold where Natasha's body had been. The loss of contact was jarring, almost painful, left her feeling unmoored and desperate to close the distance again.
"And that," Natasha said, "is too little. Too distant. No connection at all."
She moved forward slowly this time, each step deliberate. Stopped just inside Wanda's personal space—close enough that Wanda could feel her presence, could smell her perfume, but not quite touching. Her hand came up to rest on Wanda's waist again, light pressure that somehow felt more intimate than when she'd been pulling her close.
"This is the sweet spot," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Close enough to make them want."
She leaned in slightly and Wanda's breath stuttered. Her heart was doing something concerning in her chest. Natasha's face was inches from hers, those green eyes locked on Wanda's with an intensity that made her knees weak.
"Far enough to make them desperate," Natasha continued.
She tilted her head like she was going to kiss Wanda, moving incrementally closer. Wanda could see the exact shade of her lipstick, could count her eyelashes, could feel her breath against her mouth.
Natasha stopped with maybe two inches between their lips. Close enough that if Wanda moved forward even slightly they'd be kissing. Close enough to feel the heat of her. Far enough that the anticipation was genuinely painful.
"This," Natasha breathed, "is how you leave them breathless."
Wanda's breath shuddered out in a way that was definitely not leaving anyone breathless. More like announcing to the world that she was completely wrecked.
Natasha's hand on her waist slid around to the small of her back, pulling her incrementally closer. Not touching anywhere else, just that one point of contact that was somehow more intimate than anything Wanda had ever experienced.
Her other hand came up to cup Wanda's jaw, thumb brushing across her cheek in a feather-light touch.
They stood there suspended in that almost-kiss. The air between them felt charged, electric, crackling with something that had nothing to do with burlesque training and everything to do with want.
Wanda could see Natasha's pupils dilate slightly. Could see her pulse beating in her throat. Could feel the infinitesimal way her fingers tightened on Wanda's back.
"And when you've got them right where you want them," Natasha said, her voice rough now, "when they're desperate…and wanting…and willing to do anything for more..."
She closed the final distance and kissed Wanda.
Soft at first. Almost tentative, like she was testing whether this was something Wanda wanted or just something she was tolerating. But when Wanda made a small desperate sound in the back of her throat and leaned into the kiss, everything changed.
Natasha's hand tightened in Wanda's hair and her other hand pulled her flush against her body. The kiss deepened, Natasha's tongue sweeping into Wanda's mouth with clear intent, claiming her in a way that made Wanda's knees actually buckle.
Wanda kissed back desperately, hours of being hyperaware of Natasha's presence all combining into this single moment where she finally got to touch, got to taste, got to have.
Natasha pulled back slightly, just enough to speak against Wanda's lips. "Is this okay?"
"Yes," Wanda gasped. "Yes, please don't stop—"
"Thank god," Natasha breathed, and she kissed her again harder.
She backed Wanda up step by step, controlling their movement without breaking the kiss, until Wanda's back hit something solid—one of the tables they'd pushed to the side earlier. Natasha's hands moved to Wanda's hips and lifted her with surprising strength, setting her on the edge of the table and stepping between her spread thighs in one smooth motion.
Wanda wrapped her legs around Natasha's waist on instinct, pulling her closer, desperate for more contact and friction. Her hands found Natasha's hair and tangled in the red strands, holding her in place even though Natasha showed no signs of pulling away.
Natasha's hands moved to the hem of Wanda's tank top, pulling it up and off in one motion and tossing it somewhere behind them. Wanda's sports bra followed immediately after, leaving her topless under the bright overhead lights.
Natasha pulled back to look at her and Wanda should have felt self-conscious, should have worried about being exposed. But Natasha was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen and nothing else mattered.
"Fucking gorgeous," Natasha breathed. Her hands moved to cup Wanda's breasts, thumbs finding her nipples and making her gasp. "So fucking pretty."
"Really?" Wanda managed.
"Really." Natasha's mouth found her neck, kissing and biting in a way that was definitely going to leave marks. "You're so earnest. Trying so hard to be perfect."
Her teeth found that spot where Wanda's neck met her shoulder and bit down hard enough to sting.
"I—I just want to do well," Wanda gasped.
"Oh, you are," Natasha said against her skin. "But we'll make you better than 'well.'"
Her hands moved lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of Wanda's practice shorts and the underwear beneath. "Lift up."
Wanda obeyed, lifting her hips, and Natasha pulled both garments down and off her legs, leaving Wanda completely naked on the table.
"These," Natasha said, holding up Wanda's underwear which were visibly soaked through, "are destroyed." She tossed them aside carelessly, the fabric ripping slightly as it caught on the edge of the table. "Absolutely ruined. What were you thinking about that got you this wet?"
"You," Wanda admitted, past embarrassment.
"Good girl," Natasha said, and the praise sent heat straight between Wanda's legs.
Natasha's hand moved between her legs, fingers sliding through her arousal with an obscene wet sound. "Fucking soaked. All from kissing? Or were you already wet watching me dance?"
"Both," Wanda gasped. "God, both—"
"I knew it." Natasha's fingers circled her clit with perfect pressure, making Wanda's hips jerk involuntarily. "I could see it on your face. The way you watched me. You want me."
"Yes," Wanda agreed desperately. "Please—"
Natasha's fingers slid lower, teasing her entrance, pressing just barely inside and then pulling back. "Please what? Use your words."
"Your fingers. Inside me. Please—"
Natasha pushed two fingers inside her in one smooth thrust and Wanda cried out, her back arching off the table. The stretch was immediate and perfect, Natasha's fingers curling inside her to find that spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
"Look at you," Natasha said, starting to move with devastating precision. Her wrist angled just right, her fingers working in and out with a rhythm that had Wanda gasping. "Taking my fingers so perfectly. So wet and desperate."
She added a third finger and Wanda's vision blurred. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, exactly what she needed.
"This is what I wanted to do earlier," Natasha continued, working her ruthlessly. Her thumb found Wanda's clit, circling in time with the thrust of her fingers. "When you stumbled during rehearsal and I caught you. Wanted to push you against the nearest wall and fuck you until you couldn't remember your own name."
"Natasha—" Wanda could barely form words, her entire body focused on the sensation of Natasha's fingers moving inside her, the pressure building low in her belly.
"That's it. Say my name." Natasha leaned down and bit the curve of Wanda's breast hard enough to mark, her teeth scraping across sensitive skin. "Let me hear how good this feels."
Her thumb pressed harder against Wanda's clit while her fingers maintained their relentless rhythm. Wanda was suddenly right on the edge, building toward orgasm faster than should be possible.
"Natasha—oh god—I'm close—"
"I know you are. I can feel you clenching around my fingers." Natasha's voice was rough, her own breathing elevated. "You're going to cum for me. Right now."
She curled her fingers inside Wanda, hitting that perfect spot while her thumb maintained steady pressure on her clit, and Wanda came with a shout that definitely echoed through the empty club. Her entire body seized, her hands flew out to grab Natasha's shoulders, nails digging in through fabric. Her thighs trembled on either side of Natasha's hips, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around Natasha's fingers.
Natasha worked her through it, her movements slowing but not stopping until Wanda collapsed boneless against the table, gasping for air.
"That was fucking amazing," Natasha said, pulling her fingers out slowly and deliberately. She brought them to her mouth and licked them clean while maintaining eye contact, and the sight sent a fresh wave of arousal through Wanda's oversensitive body. "And we are so not done."
She helped Wanda sit up, then pulled her off the table entirely. Wanda's legs were unsteady but Natasha was already kissing her again, hard and demanding, her hands roaming over Wanda's naked body with clear possessiveness.
They stumbled backward together, Wanda walking on shaky legs while Natasha guided them. Her back hit the edge of the stage and Natasha boosted her up onto it without breaking the kiss, climbing up after her with fluid grace.
Wanda's hands found the hem of Natasha's tank top and pulled it up impatiently. Natasha broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over her head, her sports bra following immediately. Her practice pants and underwear came off in quick succession, kicked aside carelessly until she was as naked as Wanda.
Wanda stared. She'd seen Natasha in costume, had watched her dance, but seeing her completely bare was entirely different. All lean muscle and pale skin, small scars scattered across her body like a map of a life Wanda didn't know yet.
"Like what you see?" Natasha asked, moving closer.
"You're perfect," Wanda breathed.
"Hardly." Natasha's hands found Wanda's hips, guiding her down to the stage floor. "But I'll take the compliment."
The polished wood was hard and smooth under Wanda's back, the overhead lights bright and hot. Natasha settled beside her, one hand trailing over Wanda's stomach in a way that made her muscles jump and twitch.
Natasha shifted position, and it took Wanda a moment to understand what she was doing. Straddling one of Wanda's thighs while positioning her own thigh between Wanda's legs, creating this configuration that—
"Oh," Wanda breathed as she felt the wet heat of Natasha pressed against her thigh.
Natasha settled her weight more fully, and Wanda could feel everything—Natasha's wetness on her skin, Natasha's thigh between her own legs creating perfect pressure against her oversensitive clit.
Natasha started moving, rolling her hips in a slow deliberate rhythm. Wanda gasped as the pressure against her clit increased and decreased with each movement. She could feel the way Natasha's breathing was getting faster, could feel her wetness spreading across Wanda's thigh.
The realization that Natasha was getting off on this too, that she was using Wanda's body for her own pleasure, sent fresh arousal spiking through her.
Wanda's hands moved to Natasha's hips on instinct, and she started rolling her own hips up to meet Natasha's movements. Grinding against Natasha's thigh while simultaneously providing pressure for Natasha to grind against. They found a rhythm together, like a dance they'd choreographed without words.
The sensation was overwhelming. Different from Natasha's fingers but just as intense—the friction and heat and the visual of Natasha above her moving with clear purpose. The way her breasts moved with each roll of her hips. The way her face was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.
"God, look at you," Natasha said, her voice rougher now. She increased her pace slightly, grinding down harder. "So fucking perfect like this. Taking what I give you."
Wanda's hands gripped Natasha's hips tighter, helping guide her movements, pulling her down harder. The pressure against her clit was building, the friction exactly right, and she was getting close again fast.
Natasha's movements were getting less controlled now, more frantic. Her hips rolled with increasing urgency, chasing her own pleasure while giving Wanda what she needed. The sound of skin on skin and their combined breathing filled the empty club—gasps and moans and the wet slide of their bodies moving together.
"I'm close," Wanda gasped, her hands digging into Natasha's hips hard enough to leave marks.
"Me too," Natasha managed, her rhythm faltering slightly. "Together—fuck—together—"
They came within seconds of each other, Wanda first and then Natasha. Wanda's back arched off the stage floor, her thigh pressing up hard against Natasha as her orgasm crashed through her. Natasha's body shook, her hips grinding down one final time before she collapsed forward, catching herself on her hands on either side of Wanda's head.
They stayed like that for a moment, both gasping for air, both trembling with aftershocks.
Then Natasha was kissing her again, not giving either of them time to recover. Wanda kissed back just as frantically, her hands roaming over Natasha's sweat-slicked skin, touching everywhere she could reach.
They stumbled to their feet somehow, still kissing, hands all over each other. Natasha backed her toward the edge of the stage and they half-climbed, half-fell down the steps together, not caring about grace or coordination, just needing to keep touching.
They crashed into something—a costume rack—and sent it toppling. Elaborate costumes tumbled to the floor in a heap of sequins and feathers and silk. They kept moving, kissing against walls, Wanda's back hitting a makeup station and sending bottles scattering. A wig stand tipped over. Someone's headdress got crushed under Natasha's foot.
Somehow they ended up in Agatha's office, stumbling through the door and collapsing onto the leather couch that took up most of the small space. Wanda ended up on her back with Natasha on top of her, both of them breathing hard, covered in sweat, absolutely wrecked.
Natasha's hand was already moving between Wanda's legs again, fingers sliding through her wetness. "You're still so wet for me. Such a good girl."
"Natasha—" Wanda was oversensitive, her body still trembling from her second orgasm, but she wanted more.
Natasha pushed three fingers inside her in one smooth motion and Wanda cried out, her back arching off the couch. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but Natasha worked her with the same devastating precision as before.
"That's it," Natasha said, her voice rough and dark. Her thumb found Wanda's clit, circling with perfect pressure. "Take it. Take what I give you."
Her fingers moved faster now, harder, curling to hit that spot inside Wanda that made her see stars. The wet sound of Natasha's fingers working inside her was obscene, filling the small office.
"You're going to look so fucking pretty on my strap," Natasha said, and the words sent heat straight through Wanda's core. "Next time. I'm going to fill you up properly. Make you take every inch."
"Yes—" Wanda gasped, her hips rolling up to meet Natasha's thrusts.
"I want to know what sounds you'll make," Natasha continued, her voice getting rougher. Her fingers worked relentlessly, building Wanda toward another orgasm with single-minded focus. "When I fuck you properly. When I make you take it deep. Want to see your face when you're so full of me you can't think."
The image Natasha was painting—her with a strap, Wanda spread out beneath her, being fucked properly—combined with the relentless movement of Natasha's fingers was pushing Wanda toward the edge faster than should be possible.
"Going to make you beg for it," Natasha said, leaning down to bite Wanda's neck. "Make you tell me exactly what you want. How you want it. Make you say please."
Her thumb pressed harder against Wanda's clit while her fingers maintained their ruthless rhythm, and Wanda was suddenly right there, balanced on the edge of orgasm.
"Natasha—I'm going to—"
"Cum for me," Natasha commanded. "Right now. Let me feel it."
She curled her fingers inside Wanda one final time and Wanda came with a broken cry, her entire body seizing. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically around Natasha's fingers, her thighs trembling, her hands grabbing at Natasha's shoulders for something to hold onto.
This orgasm was different from the others—less explosive but deeper, longer, rolling through her entire body in waves that left her gasping and shaking.
Natasha worked her through it until Wanda was genuinely sobbing with oversensitivity, her body wrung out and trembling. When she finally pulled her fingers out, Wanda collapsed boneless against the couch, completely spent.
They lay there for a moment, both breathing hard, covered in sweat. Natasha's weight was warm and grounding on top of her.
Natasha's fingers were still wet with Wanda's release. She brought them to her mouth and licked them clean slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on Wanda's face. The sight sent a weak pulse of arousal through Wanda's exhausted body.
Natasha's other hand came up to cup Wanda's face, thumb brushing across her cheek with surprising gentleness.
"You want more?" Natasha asked, her eyes dark and intense and searching Wanda's face.
And Wanda—despite her body feeling like liquid, despite knowing she should probably say no and let them both recover—looked up at Natasha above her.
The woman who'd captivated her from the moment she'd seen her on stage. The woman who'd just made her come apart three times in ways she'd never experienced before. The woman who was looking at her right now like she was something precious and wanted.
A/N: I’m back with a miniseries. Hope you like it!
The battlefield is already wrong when you arrive.
HYDRA facilities usually scream their intent—alarms, red lights, chaos designed to overwhelm. This place is quiet in a way that sets your teeth on edge. Too controlled. Too prepared. The kind of silence that means someone planned for you.
Smoke curls low over fractured concrete, the air thick with dust and the sharp tang of ozone. Somewhere to your left, a Quinjet roars overhead. Somewhere to your right, gunfire erupts in violent, staccato bursts.
And somewhere ahead of you—
Wanda.
You feel her before you see her. You always do.
Her power hums through the battlefield like a living thing, a pressure behind your sternum, warm and electric. Red light fractures the air as she moves, tearing weapons apart mid-flight, hurling HYDRA soldiers back like they weigh nothing at all. She is furious, focused, incandescent.
Too incandescent.
“Hydra’s pulling back!” Sam shouts through the comms. “They’re regrouping near the central structure.”
Your eyes lock onto the structure instantly.
It isn’t defensive. It isn’t fortified.
It’s technological.
Tall, skeletal, threaded with cables that pulse faintly as if breathing. The hum coming from it vibrates through the soles of your boots, up your legs, straight into your bones.
Your stomach drops.
“Wanda,” you say sharply into the comm. “Get away from the tower. Now.”
She turns just as a pulse ripples outward.
The world changes.
It isn’t dramatic. There’s no explosion, no flash of light. Just—absence.
The red disappears.
Not fades. Not flickers.
It vanishes.
Wanda stumbles mid-step, her balance gone, her breath knocked from her chest like she’s been hit. You hear her gasp over the comm, sharp and frightened.
“Wanda?” you say. Louder now. “Wanda, talk to me.”
“I—” Her voice cracks. “I can’t feel it.”
Your heart slams violently against your ribs.
You’ve heard her afraid before. You’ve heard her angry, grieving, furious—but never this.
Never hollow.
“They’ve built a dampener,” you say, already moving, sprinting toward her position. “It’s tuned to her. Steve, listen to me—we need to fall back.”
The response doesn’t come immediately.
You slide behind cover as bullets tear into the concrete where your head had been a second earlier. You fire back on instinct, your mind racing faster than your body can keep up.
“Steve,” you repeat, breathless. “Wanda is compromised. Her powers are offline. We are outnumbered and outgunned. We cannot hold this position.”
There’s shouting on the other end of the line. Orders being exchanged. Metal screaming as something explodes.
Then Steve’s voice cuts through.
“We can’t retreat,” he says. “That structure is a priority target. If we leave it standing, HYDRA wins.”
Your hands curl into fists so tight your gloves creak.
“She’s vulnerable,” you snap. “You’re asking her to fight powerless.”
“She’s still an Avenger,” he replies. “She can handle herself.”
You nearly choke.
“Tony,” you cut in, desperation creeping into your voice despite your effort to keep it professional. “Back me up here.”
A pause.
Then: “We’re close to the data vault,” Tony says. “Two minutes. If we pull out now, we lose everything.”
Everything.
You look at Wanda again.
She’s dropped to one knee.
Her hands are braced against the ground like she’s trying to keep herself upright by sheer will alone. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. Blood trickles from a cut at her temple, disappearing into her hair.
She looks small.
Human.
For the first time since you’ve known her, she looks like someone who can be killed.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” you say, voice shaking now. “She will not survive this.”
Steve doesn’t answer immediately.
When he does, his voice is resolute.
“We stay.”
Something inside you fractures.
You don’t argue again. You don’t have time. The decision has already been made—for all of you.
You run.
You reach Wanda just as another blast tears through the air, throwing you both sideways. You hit the ground hard, pain flaring across your shoulder, but you barely feel it. All your focus is on her.
You drag her behind what remains of a shattered wall, shielding her with your own body.
“I’m here,” you say urgently, cupping her face. Your hands are shaking. “I’ve got you.”
Her eyes meet yours, wide and glassy, fear swimming just beneath the surface.
“I can’t—” she whispers. “I can’t fight like this.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “We’re leaving. I don’t care what they say. We’re leaving together.”
She swallows hard, her fingers clutching weakly at your sleeve like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“They won’t,” she says softly. “They won’t leave.”
You don’t deny it.
You can’t.
You open your mouth to say something—anything—when the gunshot rings out.
It’s loud. Close. Final.
Wanda’s body jerks violently in your arms.
For a split second, nothing makes sense. Your brain refuses to process the sudden weight against you, the way her breath leaves her in a broken gasp.
Then you see the blood.
So much of it.
“No,” you whisper. “No—no, no, no.”
You press your hand against her chest, against the wound, desperate and futile. Her eyes stare past you, unfocused. Her lips part like she wants to speak, but no sound comes.
“Stay with me,” you beg, your voice breaking completely now. “Please. Wanda, please.”
There is no red glow.
No healing surge.
No miracle.
Just silence.
Something slams into the side of your head. Pain explodes behind your eyes. Hands rip you away from her, dragging you backward as you scream her name until your throat burns.
You fight. You claw. You bite.
It doesn’t matter.
The last thing you see before darkness takes you is HYDRA soldiers surrounding Wanda’s body—and the Avengers arriving too late.
⸻
You wake up restrained.
Cold metal bites into your wrists. Your arms are stretched painfully above your head. Your body aches in places you didn’t know could hurt.
HYDRA doesn’t rush.
They let you sit with it first.
They show you the footage. Wanda falling. The team retreating. The mission reports. KIA.
They play Steve’s order again. And again. And again.
We stay.
They tell you she died alone.
They don’t need to lie.
You already believe them.
They hurt you, yes—but more than that, they guide you. They take your grief and shape it, sharpen it, give it purpose.
They don’t create your hatred.
They only teach you where to aim it.
You hate HYDRA.
But you hate the Avengers more.
Because they were your family.
And they chose the mission.
They chose papers and data and objectives over the woman you loved.
ohmygod u HAVE to continue the sub!wanda reader x dom! maria natasha for kinkmas !!!! somnophillia f.exxxx 😋😋
Kinkmas Day 2- Somnophilia
Sub Wanda, Sub Reader, Dom Natasha, Dom Maria
Word Count: 1k
Masterlist
The only sound in the safe house was the soft crackle of the fireplace and the even softer rhythm of two sets of breathing. The blizzard outside had sealed you and Wanda in a world of white, the Christmas lights strung along the mantelpiece casting a warm, multicolored glow across the living room. Nestled deep within the plush confines of the oversized couch, you were both lost to the world, a tangle of limbs and shared warmth under a thick, fuzzy blanket.
You didn’t hear the nearly silent hiss of the electronic lock disengaging. You didn’t see the shadow that fell across the room as the reinforced door opened and closed without a sound.
But you felt it.
A shift in the air. A Presence.
A chilled fingertip, fresh from the winter storm outside, traced the shell of your ear. You murmured in your sleep, a faint sound of protest, and nuzzled deeper into the crook of Wanda’s neck. Her scent, vanilla and ozone, was a familiar comfort.
The cold touch retreated, only to be replaced by a warm, soft mouth. Lips pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your jaw. A quiet, appreciative hum vibrated against your skin. Natasha.
Your body knew her even if your mind was adrift in dreams. A sigh escaped you, your hips shifting unconsciously. The blanket was pulled down, just enough to expose your shoulder, then the top of your breast. The air was cool against your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the mouth that followed, trailing a line of fire down your collarbone.
Another presence knelt before the couch. Maria. Her cool, analytical gaze swept over the both of you, a predator surveying her territory. Her hands, steady and sure, slid under the blanket and found your bare thigh. Her touch was different from Natasha’s, firm, deliberate, possessive. She squeezed, her thumb rubbing slow circles on your inner leg, inching higher with each pass.
On the couch behind you, Natasha’s exploration grew bolder. Her hand slipped beneath the thin cotton of your sleep shirt, her palm skimming over your stomach, your ribs, before finally, finally cupping your breast. Her fingers plucked at your nipple, rolling the hardening peak until it ached, a sharp, delicious point of sensation that pulled another moan from your sleeping throat.
Wanda shifted beside you, a soft whimper escaping her lips as Maria’s other hand found its way under her sleep shorts. You could feel the subtle tremor that ran through Wanda’s body, a silent echo of the pleasure-pain that was building within you. Maria’s fingers, skilled and knowing, began a slow, torturous rhythm against Wanda’s core, the fabric of her shorts doing little to mute the slick, wet sound that started to fill the quiet room.
You were suspended between them, a puppet on their strings. Natasha’s mouth was on yours, her tongue plunging deep in a claiming kiss you couldn’t possibly return, yet your lips moved instinctively against hers. The taste of her, peppermint and danger, flooded your senses. At the same time, Maria’s fingers, now slick with Wanda’s arousal, traced your own entrance, painting wet, maddening circles over your clit.
Your back arched off the couch, a silent scream forming in your throat. Natasha broke the kiss, her breath hot against your cheek. “Shhh, malyshka. Just feel. We’ve got you.”
Maria’s finger, a single, firm pressure, pushed inside you. Your body, hot and pliant from sleep, yielded to her instantly, clenching around the delicious intrusion. She was slow, methodical, curling her finger to stroke that perfect, hidden spot deep within you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. A second finger joined the first, stretching you, filling you with a steady, relentless rhythm.
Beside you, Wanda’s breathing hitched, becoming sharp, shallow gasps. Natasha’s hand had wandered lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Wanda’s shorts to mirror Maria’s actions. You could hear the wet, erotic sounds of Natasha’s fingers moving inside her, a syncopated rhythm with Maria’s movements inside you. The room smelled of sex and pine and the smoky sweetness of the fire.
The pleasure was a coil, winding tighter and tighter in your belly. You were floating, aware only of the twin points of exquisite friction, Maria’s fingers pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt, and the rough pad of her thumb pressing insistently on your clit.
“Look at them, Nat,” Maria’s voice was a low, authoritative murmur. “So perfect. So oblivious. Taking their pleasure so sweetly.”
Natasha’s response was a dark chuckle. “They’ll be sore for us in the morning. They’ll wake up aching, soaked, and wondering what delicious dreams they had.”
Their words washed over you, feeding the dark, hungry part of your subconscious that thrilled at being used for their pleasure, at being their beautiful, sleeping toys.
The tension broke. A wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy crashed over you, so violent it was almost painful. Your body seized, back bowing as a silent, breathless cry was torn from you. Your cunt clenched rhythmically around Maria’s fingers, milking them, a pulsing, wet heat that seemed to go on forever.
Through the hazy aftermath, you felt Wanda’s own climax ripple through her body, a shuddering convulsion that pressed her tight against you. Her magic, unbidden and uncontrolled in her state of extreme pleasure, sparked in the air like static electricity, making the Christmas lights flicker wildly.
Maria slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her lips. Her eyes, dark with lust, locked on yours, though she knew you couldn’t see her, as she slowly, deliberately, sucked them clean.
“So good for us,” she purred.
Natasha was rearranging the blanket, tucking it back around your spent, slick bodies with a tenderness that contrasted with the violation. She pressed a final, soft kiss to your temple.
The pressure in the room shifted. The Presence receded. The electronic lock hissed once more.
Silence returned, save for the fire and the now-steady breathing of two women, deeply asleep, their bodies humming with the lingering echoes of a pleasure they would only half-remember. The taste of Natasha and the feel of Maria were already fading into the fabric of a dream.
Summary: the princess gets everything she wants and more… AKA, Wanda may have bitten off more than she could chew, not realizing you were equally infatuated with her. But it all works in her favor :)
Words: 8.4k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top!reader, loss of virginity (w), explicit violence, murder, coming untouched, oral sex, fingering, semi-public sex, shower sex, overstimulation, mutual obsession, possessive behavior, strap-on, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, rough sex, exhaustion, consensual somnophilia, this is 90% porn, aftercare, (lmk if i missed any!)
AN: freak4freak type shi… Welcome to the final part! Ur comments have been so sweet & im glad ppl like this! I hope this ending is satisfying to y’all!!! I’ll try my best to post the other kinktober fics i missed this month 💔 glad I could at least post this. Btw I think this version of the song fits the vibe! Happy belated Halloween y’all. Enjoy! 🎃🧡
If it wasn’t clear enough, you’d completely folded your life into Wanda’s. The only time you weren’t together was at work, and even then you found excuses to bump into each other. You’d drop off papers to be shredded, she’d pick up your print job and deliver it right to your cubicle, then of course, your lunch break together.
The office hummed with its usual gossip. People watched you both like hawks and whispered into sleeves. You ignored them, focusing on your work and the girl you were head over heels for. Plus, the party of the year was coming up.
Halloween at the magazine was ridiculous in the best way. You’d gone as a magician. Top hat, tailcoat, the whole performative bit. Wanda was a Sokovian fortune teller, all jewel toned spandex and tights that clung to her in the most criminally flattering way. Erik had turned the cafeteria into an almost otherworldly party space. Purple LEDs, a buffet wall that made your head spin, live music, and a selection of European wines and vodkas that you couldn’t even pronounce. Talk about boosting employee morale.
At one point Wanda got up to fetch drinks, leaving you at a standing table with a plate of baked ziti. Two coworkers slid in beside you, leaning on the table with those tipsy, predatory grins.
“Hey! We’ve got a question for you,” Raven said, hiccup laughing, one hand already on your shoulder.
You raised a brow. “Okay...? Shoot.”
She dipped in close, her breath warm against your ear. “Is Erik paying you to hang out with his weirdo kid? I mean, come on… I’ve been here for years and she’s scared off everyone she’s ever looked at. She’s got those crazy eyes, ya know?”
Your jaw tightened. “First, she’s not a kid. She’s an adult. And second, no. I hang out with her because I like her. She’s been nothing but kind to me.” You let the last part hang, cold as ceramic.
Raven snorted. “Mm. I don’t buy it. I’d have dipped after getting the September feature. Or is she making her daddy buy you like a prized horse? Ooooh, does she make you fuck her every night too? I heard you even live together now so—”
“That’s enough.” You slapped her hand off in one motion. “Wanda’s the sweetest, most thoughtful person I know. She works hard. And I don’t appreciate how any of you treat her. She just wants to be included. Is that so fucking difficult? I’ve never used Wanda to get to Erik, but you’re making it really hard not to. Because I could make it my business to ensure that you and everyone else regret treating his family like this. Say one more nasty thing about her and I will happily see to it.”
For a heartbeat everything went quiet. The chatter, the music, the clinking of glass. Then you saw Wanda. She was standing at the end of the row, hands shaking, two plastic cups clutched so tight they crumpled. Tears welled in her eyes, and without even dropping a word she let the cups slip from her grip and ran.
Panic slammed through your chest. You glared at Raven and her tag along, then bolted through the crowd and out of the cafeteria, calling Wanda’s name as you barreled down the corridor. No answer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You took the elevator up to the office floors, heart hammering, the party noise fading behind you as you searched. You found her trembling, breath rapid, bent over her desk with her back to you.
“Wanda, hey…” you said softly, closing the distance. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that shit. We don’t have to listen to those people. They don’t know us.”
You set a hand on her hip and gently turned her toward you.
She looked down for a second, fingers tightening on your tie like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. “Nobody’s ever defended me like that…” Her voice dissolved into a high, uncontrollable giggle. Tears happily streaked her cheeks, and beneath them a manic grin spread. Joy and hunger braided together. “You’re so fucking perfect. I’m so— oh my god…” she practically moaned.
“Wanda, baby… I’ll always defend you. You mean everything to me,” you breathed, cupping her cheek. Your heart hitched at the sight of her. Elated, needy, ravenous. And before you could think it through, you closed the space between you.
Her surprise cracked into urgency. She grabbed you, clawing at the back of your coat as if she’d never let go. The kiss was feral, her tongue demanding, searching, she bit your lip hard enough to make you taste blood.
You stumbled back, breathless and dazzled. “Fuck…” you panted, holding her to you like you were afraid she might vanish.
“All my hard work is finally paying off…” she murmured into your shoulder, so small you almost missed it.
When the air evened, the words you’d been chewing on spilled out, raw and unavoidable. “Wanda, I love you. I’m tired of pretending I don’t. I’ve been so scared of losing you. I still am. You’re everything to me, and I would never—” You swallowed. “I don’t care if it’s an HR nightmare or if your dad fires me. I just want you.”
Her eyes exploded with light, tears wet her lashes. “Oh my god, please. I love you so much. I’ve loved you since you gave me that handkerchief. Everything I am is yours. Take me. Please, Detka…”
You laughed, half crying, half cursing, stunned by the clarity of it all. You lifted her, legs wrapping around your waist, and set her on the edge of the desk. Your mouths collided again, hungry and desperate. Her thighs hooked at your hips, clothing creaked as you ground her hard against you.
She moaned deep when you gripped her hips, pulling her impossibly close as she rutted against your stomach. At first, you thought it was just desperation, her body begging for more friction, but then you felt her freeze for half a second, her lips parting in a silent gasp before they trembled against yours.
Her jaw dropped as the gasp turned into a ragged cry. Her nails scraped down your back, desperate for something to hold onto as her entire body jolted.
Her thighs clamped around you like a vice, trembling violently as the heat between you grew damper, hotter, overwhelming.
“Ah— oh god—” she choked, face twisted in helpless pleasure. You’d barely touched her, yet she was unraveling, her voice breaking into frantic, high-pitched whimpers. Her legs shook around your waist, spasms rippling through her body as if every nerve had been waiting for this exact second.
You froze, stunned, just holding her through it. All you could do was keep your arms locked around her, grounding her as her body shuddered again and again.
“That’s it, baby, I’ve got you,” you whispered, pressing kisses against her hairline even as your heart hammered from the sheer intensity of watching her fall apart.
Her moans ebbed into desperate little mewls, each softer than the last, until she finally sagged against you, boneless and trembling, her chest heaving.
Holy shit. She just came untouched.
“Wanda… did you just—” your voice cracked, disbelief dripping from every syllable.
Her face burned red as she buried herself into your neck, words muffled and broken. “I’m sorry… I-I didn’t mean to… I’m just so turned on… I couldn’t stop it…”
You tugged her hair gently, forcing her dazed eyes to meet yours. You leaned in close, smiling against her lips.
“That was so fucking hot… don’t you dare apologize for that.”
You kissed her, softer this time, though your hands betrayed the tenderness, roaming, groping, squeezing her body until she whined into your mouth. Each desperate little sound spurred you on.
Your lips trailed lower, down the column of her throat, sucking bruises into her skin, claiming her inch by inch. When your hand slid between her thighs and tugged the crotch of her bodysuit aside, you growled in frustration at the leggings still blocking you.
The sharp rip echoed in the air as you tore through them. Wanda gasped, arching against you when your fingers finally slipped through, gliding against her slick folds.
You both moaned at the contact.
“Fuck, baby…” your voice broke with awe. “Is this all for me? You’re dripping…”
Her mouth hung open, panting, eyes glassy with need. You tugged her costume lower until her breasts spilled free, flushed and perfect, and latched onto one aching nipple. You sucked greedily, tonguing her like you were trying to drink her down, while her fingers tangled in your hair, dragging you closer.
“Yes— ahh, yes baby, it’s all for you,” she cried, writhing against your hand. “My pussy is yours, please—”
But then you pulled your fingers away. She whined at the loss, only to watch your lips wrap around them. You moaned shamelessly at the taste, eyes fluttering shut as your tongue savored her slick.
“Fuck,” you groaned, nearly shaking from restraint. “Fuck, you taste so good. I need to eat your pussy right now.”
She didn’t even have time to reply before you dropped to your knees, dragging her toward the edge of the desk. Your teeth grazed her inner thigh, nipping and tearing at what fabric remained, shredding it away until nothing kept you from her.
You didn’t even bother teasing, your hunger was too sharp. She squealed when you buried your mouth against her soaked cunt, the high sound breaking off into a sob as your tongue dragged through her folds. You groaned into her, shameless and guttural, like the taste of her was something you’d craved your whole life.
Her hips twitched helplessly under your grip, thighs trembling against your ears. Wanda’s nimble fingers tangled in your hair, clutching tight like you were her anchor in a storm. Her head tipped back, a strangled moan escaping that made your spine buzz.
The office floor was silent but for you two, amplifying every obscene sound. Your mouth worked greedily, tongue sliding and lips sucking, the wet noises bouncing off the walls like a filthy soundtrack to her unraveling.
And then her voice, breaking and desperate, spilling over the slick chorus.
“Fuck— fuck, baby— oh my god, you’re so fucking good—” she panted, the words cracked by gasps and mewls. “Oh, this is better than I’ve ever dreamed— fuck, I’m not gonna last—”
You shoved deeper, tongue thrusting inside her, nose rubbing tight circles over her clit. She yelped, a sharp, needy cry that turned into a broken whimper. Her thighs clamped around your head, body jolting as her stomach tightened and then—
It hit her all at once. Her release tore through her, a loud cry ripping from her chest as she squirted hard against your mouth. The wet gush splattered across your face, your chin, dripping down onto the desk. You groaned in delight, sucking and swallowing what you could, the sound of it wet and messy as hell. You eased her down with gentle kitten licks, savoring the aftershocks as her moans tapered into small, shaky cries.
Wanda whimpered again, then yanked you up by the hair, crashing your lips together in a needy kiss. You let her devour your mouth, all tongue and desperation, while your hand slid between her legs.
Your fingers slipped inside with ease, the lewd squelch loud in the quiet office as you pumped slowly, deliberately, mapping every velvet curve of her pussy while her whines and gasps vibrated against your lips.
But the heated moment ended when you heard hollering and whistling behind you.
You jumped apart, looking over your shoulder to see your coworkers, Josh and Aiden. The floor was supposed to be empty, everyone else was still at the party three levels down, but somehow, these two had wandered up here drunk.
“Shit…” you muttered, ripping off your coat to wrap around Wanda’s exposed body.
“Ooooh, don’t stop on our account!” Josh slurred, stumbling closer with Aiden snickering behind him. They reeked of alcohol, voices too loud in the otherwise silent office.
“I have to say… everyone suspected you were giving special favors at work,” Aiden sneered, eyeing Wanda up and down. “Glad to know it’s confirmed.”
You stepped in front of her protectively. “It’s not like that. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to leave.”
They laughed, shoving you aside. You fell, your head smacking against the table leg, vision blurring as Wanda gasped behind you.
“Don’t be selfish,” Josh cackled, leering at Wanda.
“Yeah, I’ve been dying for a raise,” Aiden hummed, leaning in too close.
The sharp crack of Wanda’s hand split the room as she slapped him hard enough to stagger him back into his friend. “Don’t come near me, pervert,” she spat, her accent slipping through.
Your vision sharpened instantly at the sight of them cornering her.
“You fucking slut,” Aiden hissed, clutching his cheek. “You can’t just pick and choose favorites—”
Something inside you snapped. You didn’t remember grabbing them, but suddenly a pair of scissors was in your hand. And before you could even think, you lunged, driving them into Aiden’s back.
Wanda’s jaw dropped, but then she smiled. Wide and dreamy. “Holy shit…” she breathed like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Josh’s face drained of color. “Holy shit…” he echoed, stumbling backward.
You stood over Aiden, chest heaving, blood soaking your hands. But you didn’t stop there. You straddled him, plunging the scissors again and again until his body went limp and the carpet was ruined beneath you.
Behind you, Wanda’s voice broke through, trembling but breathless, “Yes… yes, don’t stop… oh my god…”
Each wet, meaty thud seemed to pull a gasp from her. You could hear her panting softly, like she couldn’t catch her breath, like this was making her dizzy in the best way.
Then your gaze snapped up to Josh. His horror sobered him instantly. He scrambled backward, trying to crawl away, babbling pleas you didn’t even register.
You dropped the scissors with a clatter, picking up the nearest heavy object, a three ring hole puncher. With a low growl, you advanced.
You swung. The sharp crack echoed through the empty office, followed by another, and another. Grunting between each swing as you bashed his skull into oblivion.
“Yes… fuck yes…” Wanda’s words trembled in time with the impacts.
When you finally stopped, both men were still. The office was quiet again, eerily so, as if the building itself hadn’t noticed what just happened.
You shuddered, turning to Wanda as you dropped the hole puncher with a heavy clank. The sound echoed through the empty floor, final and heavy. Blood stained your once-white shirt, spattered across your hands and face.
“I… I don’t know what came over me, Wanda. I just— fuck… what just happened… what did I do…” Your voice cracked, ragged with adrenaline.
Wanda scrambled toward you, her grin wide, almost feral. “You killed them for me…” she breathed, like it was the most intoxicating gift she’d ever received.
You reached for the tissues, pulling one after another, trying to scrub the red away. Each sheet came back soaked, useless, dropping in a bloody pile at your feet.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ve never—” you shook your head, trembling, “I was just so angry… I finally have you, and I— I didn’t want them touching what’s mine… please— please don’t leave me I don’t— I won’t hurt you—”
Her hands shot up to your face, fingers curling in your blood-matted hair as she made you look at her. Her eyes sparkled, dark and hungry, like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. “I never thought I could love you more…” she panted, lips parting, a bitten off moan caught in her throat before she crashed her mouth against yours.
You groaned, kissing her back desperately, smearing blood between you. “I fucking love you… so fucking much… I never wanna love anyone else… only you…” you rasped between breaths, frantic, like you needed her tether just to keep from unraveling. Then you pulled away, panic washing over you again.
“I… we need to go… we need to do something about—”
“Daddy will take care of the mess,” she cut you off, her tone low but sure, almost soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
The next moments passed in a strange, muffled quiet. Wanda made the call first, her voice steady, efficient, while you just stood there staring at your bloodstained hands. You didn’t even question it when her father began arranging a cleanup crew without the faintest hint of surprise.
Then she moved to you. She peeled off your ruined shirt with steady fingers, her touch soft. The sting of chemical wipes pressed against your skin as she scrubbed away the blood. Methodical, precise, like she’d done this before. From her desk, she pulled a spare set of clothes for the both of you, folded and ready. Maybe she’d stashed them away for coffee spills, maybe for ink stains. Certainly not for this.
You let her handle everything, silent and pliant. Wanda was composed, focused, while your mind buzzed in static. You couldn’t fathom how she was this poised, this calm, right now. Your guardian angel. She should add it to her resume: flawless crisis management.
The cleanup wasn’t perfect. The stickiness still clung to your skin. Your hair reeked faintly of iron. You needed a shower, you needed to think. Wanda cradled your face, gently patting away the last of the blood. When she was finished, she leaned in, kissed you soft and sure, as if the world (and Josh’s skull) hadn’t just cracked open.
“It’s okay,” she whispered against your lips, her thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. Your shoulders eased in an instant. Electricity flowing through you that was just buzzing her name. Wanda Wanda Wanda.
She smiled at you. And you smiled back. Because you trusted her. And if Wanda said it was okay, then it was.
Your fingers interlaced, her hand tugging you along, pulling you out into the cool night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Instead of walking, Wanda had arranged for one of her father’s drivers to bring you home. The ride was silent, save for the hum of the engine. But in the backseat, silence didn’t exist the moment she straddled you. Filling the quiet with each other, every breath, every frantic press of lips, every desperate clutch.
You couldn’t stop. Neither of you could. Every time you pulled back, gasping for air, her hands dragged you close again. And when she paused, you chased her mouth like you’d die if you didn’t have it. It wasn’t lust, it was need. A fever running under your skin.
There was no groping, no fumbling for more. Just your hands cupping her face like you could mold her into your palms, and her arms locked around you so tight it was like she wanted to fuse your bodies together. You kissed her again and again until your lips stung, until your jaw ached, and still it wasn’t enough.
It didn’t feel like kissing anymore. It felt like praying. Worshipping. Proving to yourselves, over and over, that the other was real, still there, still yours.
Neither of you spoke. There was nothing left to say. The silence between you was louder than words. A vow, a pact, an obsession so consuming that it bordered on holy.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Once you arrived at the building, things only escalated on your account. Wanda fumbled with the elevator key, letting out a surprised chuckle as you hugged her from behind, leaning down to press hot kisses to her neck. Sucking, licking, biting. Each touch like you poured vodka on her flaming heart.
You couldn’t keep your hands off her in the lift either, hoisting her into your arms, pressing her back against the cool mirror, grinding your hips between her legs.
“You’re so fucking pretty…” you muttered hungrily against her neck, “I’ll never let anyone lay a damn finger on you, angel.”
Wanda’s head fell back with a thud. Utterly overwhelmed by the attention you were giving her. God… she knew she needed you. And knew that she wanted you to need her back. But this? Absolutely nothing could’ve prepared her. And she wouldn’t want it any other way.
You cupped her sex with deliberate pressure, coaxing a pathetic whine from her throat. “D-detka— fuck… I— we should get inside first… at least—“
The elevator dinged open, cutting off her rugged speech. You wasted no time. She yelped as you whisked her off her feet, rushing inside, hastily setting her on the kitchen counter.
Practically ripping her clothes off, your mouth traveled down her torso, lips sucking lightly on her tits, tongue teasing her hard nipples as you switched back and forth. She whimpered at the tingling sensation, groaning louder when your hand slipped under her panties, digits sliding gently between her wet folds.
“Shit… fuck— baby, that feels so good… oh my god— y-you’re so perfect,” she breathed, mind hazy as she clutched your hair, tugging you closer to her chest. You played with her a moment longer before pulling away, causing her to let out a needy little whine.
You chuckled, leaning up to kiss that adorable pout away before pushing her back on the cold marble, climbing up to place your head between her legs. “Trust me sweet girl, you’ll enjoy this a lot more…” you hummed, kissing her thighs.
You dove in, tongue working hungrily against her clit, damn near growling at the taste as your nails dug into her thighs. Wanda writhed beneath you, gripping your head, attempting to attach your mouth to her pussy entirely. Only your wet slurps and her cries echoed in the kitchen…
Until the buzz of her phone cut through the heat.
She gasped, attempting to shove your head away, but your hold stayed strong as you continued feasting on her pussy like it was your last meal.
“F-fuck— detka— ah—! Oh my god— it’s my dad— shit— I sh-should answer,” she staggered between moans, chuckling breathlessly at your eagerness.
You reluctantly pulled back, licking her juices from your lips. “Answer it, baby… don’t worry about me.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, catching her breath before she picked up the phone.
“Papa! Hey, we got back a bit ago, just freshening up for the night after… everything,” she spoke casually, softly running her fingers through your hair.
They eventually switched to Sokovian. Seemingly, Erik was just updating her on the clean up crew situation while she explained in detail about how everything went down.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, you leaned back down, slowly dragging your tongue along her pussy. She shuddered, biting her lip as she tried to remain composed. But she didn’t push you away…
Instead, she laid back, draping her legs over your shoulder to pull you closer by her heel. Humming blissfully and grinding on your face as she barely paid attention to the conversation.
“Mhmm… yea she’s so good to me. So sweet,” she sighed dreamily, biting back a moan. Your heart fluttered at the praise, urging you to pick up the pace.
Her grip tightened, trying her absolute best to seem unfazed, but her body told an entirely different story. Her jaw slack, head tipped back. Squirming, arching into your electric touch, sending shivers up her spine. Voice shaking with every word while her eyes squeezed shut.
“Mhmm! I— um— yeah, she’s in the other room! Let me grab her real quick,” she stammered, immediately muting her phone and slamming it down on the counter.
“Fuck— oh, fuck baby I’m gonna come— p-please don’t stop— y-yes! Oh fuck yes!” She cried out, thighs trembling around your head. Rolling her hips against your tongue with no rhythm. Pleasure shooting through every vein in her system.
You groaned against her, directing vibrations throughout her body until she couldn’t take it anymore, eventually pulling you up, capturing your tongue in a deep, hungry kiss.
“Shit… fuck— my dad wants to talk to you. Is that okay?” Her breaths ragged against your lips.
Your lips found hers softly, just a peck. Then you grinned. “Of course, angel. As long as you can keep quiet.”
She tilted her head, unable to question anything before you took the phone off mute, putting it on speaker instead.
“Hello, Mr. Lensherr! Wanda said you wanted to speak with me?” you said in your most professional corporate voice. But your hands roamed unprofessionally…
You hovered over Wanda’s body, covering her mouth, while your other hand slid between her legs, fingers teasing at her entrance.
“You can call me Erik now… Wanda told me what happened. How you defended her. Took a life for her.” He shared, tone hard to read.
Your breath hitched, processing the words as your fingers pressed inside her. Two to start.
“I did, yes. I’ve never… done that before. But I’d do anything for your daughter, Sir. I would never hurt her. Only those who stand against her.” You picked your words carefully, picking up the pace along with them. You stayed calm, fingers thrusting, curling expertly inside her, pressing right up against that sweet spot that drives her crazy.
Wanda’s eyes were blown. Full of love, lust, adoration, and need. Ears perked on your every word. She could come just from the way you talked about her.
“I’m not calling to scold you. I’d like to say that I’m proud of you… for having the guts to do what’s necessary. I’m happy that she has you. Happy that she loves you,” a beat passed, his voice dropping low. “Are you in love with my daughter?”
Why the fuck kind of question is that? Of fucking course...
You stared down, directly into her sparkling green eyes. Those sweet, pleading, princess eyes. Wrist beginning to ache, but you persevered. Your gazes remained locked as you spoke your next words.
“Your daughter means everything to me. I wanted to wait… to make sure she knows I’m here for her, not the rewards. But I couldn’t resist her long enough. In the time I’ve known her, I’ve fallen so hard I can’t bear a life without her” you confessed. “So, yes. I’m in love with her. More than anyone or anything that’s ever been in my life.”
Erik paused, taking in your words. Meanwhile, Wanda reached up, clawing at your back and pulling you close, her whimpers muffled by your hand. Needy girl. You insert a third finger.
“Very well. It’s good to know that she’s finally met her match. You will take care of her,” he ordered simply.
You grinned, watching Wanda’s wrecked state. “Of course, Erik. I’ll make sure she never goes a second without feeling 100% of my adoration.”
He hummed approvingly, then finally ended the call.
You wasted no time freeing her moans and crashing your lips into hers. She returned the motion with equal desperation. Shamelessly crying into your mouth as her hips moved in tandem with your thrusts. Every curl of your fingers igniting a flame within her lower stomach.
“Yes—! Fuck, baby— you’re so fucking good with your hands, I— fuck… I fucking love you so much. Mine— You’re mine,” she whimpered, writhing beneath you as your thumb circled her clit.
Your other hand cupped her pretty face, and you smiled watching her melt into your touch. “I’m yours forever. Come for me, baby. I’ve got you.”
Wanda nodded shakily, unable to form words just yet. One last press against that sweet spot undid her entirely. She clung to you as pleasure jolted through her body, her moans sweet on your ears like they could be mistaken for a hymn.
You held her through it, kissing her neck, shoulder, cheek. Whispering praise as she came for the third (or fourth?) time of the night. And you were nowhere near done with her. When she finally came down, you helped her sit up, rubbing her back and kissing her softly while she recovered. Cradling her jaw, your tongue slid against hers, tilting your head as you practically devoured one another.
“Mm… you’re so good at… everything… my god…” Wanda mumbled against your lips, her hand pressed against your chest to halt your movements. “We have to shower soon, there’s still blood in your hair.”
You whined, agreeing anyway. Then allowed her to lead you to the bathroom.
Clothes came off in a blur (mainly yours, since she was mostly naked). Her soft hands drifted in easy motions. Washing your body with an almost maternal touch. God, she’d be a great mother.
And while she let the shampoo bubble in your hair, she scrubbed thoroughly, nails dragging along your scalp in a soothing motion. She looked up at you as if you were her most precious gift. More sacred than anything money could buy.
Once the last bit was rinsed from your hair, it was her turn. She insisted that you didn’t have to, but you needed to. Every bone in your body urged you to take care of her. And she didn’t know how to handle it.
She’s always been used to doing everything for the people she loved. Always used to cooking, cleaning, running errands, working for affection, only to be shut out. Loving so hard, unrequited, driving her to the point where she’d eventually need to remove them from the equation when they wouldn’t give her what she needed.
She leaned into your hold, shuddering at every graze of your hands over her body. And when you groped her ass, pulling her close for a rough, depraved kiss, she whimpered pathetically. You smirked against her mouth.
“Can you handle more tonight, angel?” you whispered, bringing your hand around to her front, fingers ghosting over her clit once again. Your other hand came up, gripping her throat, not tight yet.
If it weren’t for the sound of water trickling on your bodies, she could almost hear her heart hammering in her chest. Pliant in your arms, she looked up at you, nodding and batting her pretty eyelashes in that way that makes you fall harder everyday.
“Mhmm. I’ll take everything you give me. I’m yours… more than you’ll ever know. God— you can fuck me till I pass out and still keep using me, I— I just wanna be yours…” she babbled breathlessly, surrender laced between each word.
You chuckled, watching her fall apart in your possessive grasp. “You’re my only girl. You’ll never have to worry about other women. And I…” you grumbled against her mouth, shoving three fingers inside her, beginning a brutal pace as your grip tightened on her throat, “...am never gonna worry about anyone either. I’ll fucking kill anyone who thinks they can take you from me… you’re my angel… nobody else’s.”
Her eyes rolled back into her head, clinging onto you, legs unyielding around your waist as you held her up. Her cries bounced off the cold, wet tiles. Every whine, moan, gasp, and groan amplified by the acoustics of the bathroom. You ambushed her neck, recklessly marking the soft skin.
“Yes— oh god, that’s so good— fuck— I’d kill for you too— I have—! I’ve killed so many for you—! And god, I’d do it again… I’d do anything… Everything I am is just for you—!” she sobbed, utterly wrecked by your fingers, only half conscious of what she’d just confessed.
Your breath hitched… Something inside you turned. Something between fear, arousal, and curiosity. Tilting your head, you grabbed her chin, forcing her to hold eye contact with you. “Yeah? Who… tell me everything, baby… I’ll still love you. Promise.”
She bit her lip, teary eyed as she shook her head no. So you scoffed, slowing your pace which caused her to whine in protest. “Wait— no, no, I—”
“Names. Tell me or I’ll stop,” you hummed, voice turning low and firm. “Don’t cry, baby… Even if you’re pretty like that… not like this.”
“I— fuck— the first was Illyana… I followed you… I broke in… I couldn’t—” she gasped when your momentum quickened. “Shit— I took out Ikarus, Kingo, Thena— everyone who spoke badly of you— your landlord… I wanted you with me— I needed you to be here— all the time…”
She kept going.
A waitress who was apparently making fuck me eyes at you.
Some girl from accounting who liked your Instagram post.
The man who pickpocketed you on the subway.
Your ex who wouldn’t stop texting you (now you know why she stopped).
By the end, the shower was cold, but your bodies still hot. Her legs trembled around you, not allowing her to come until she told you everything. The ways she took them out.
How she caught Illyana on her morning run, but still went back to save her cats from having no owner (because she’s sweet like that).
How Ikarus cried in terror as she poured the gasoline.
How Kingo was the one walking around drunk at night, so it was only a matter of time.
How Thena was just too busy staring at her phone at the intersection, all she needed was a little push.
And your least favorite… how your landlord fought back when he found her destroying the pipes. She wasn’t planning on killing him… just wanted to cause some irreversible water damage to ensure you needed to leave that godawful apartment.
But he grabbed the axe, overpowered her.
She told you how she had to do it because she needed to come home to you. And all you could think of? Your poor girl must’ve been so scared…
And when you finally said one word. Come. Her swollen cunt gushed like a broken dam. Body going limp in your arms from the edging, overstimulation, and the weight of everything lifted off her shoulders.
Her slim figure clung to you like an anxious koala, nails grounded on your back, head buried in your neck, and twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm. You turned the shower off, hands soothing her body as you stepped out.
You placed her on the counter, drying both of you off. She stayed quiet, looking down when you dried and brushed her hair. When you were done, you set down the brush.
“There. Pretty girl’s all cleaned up,” you smiled, kissing the corner of her mouth.
But she only pouted, biting the inside of her cheek. Your brows furrowed, as you cupped her face, tipping her head up. “Hey… What’s wrong sweetheart?” You spoke softly.
She hesitated, biting her lip, “You’re not mad at me?”
You tilted your head, genuinely shocked that she would ever think so. I mean, yeah, all the killing was a bit much. But how could you be upset with her when it all led to this?
She wasn’t manipulating the situation, just… shaping your realities. And you couldn’t blame her for that. She grew up spoiled, so of course, she can’t help but get what she wants…
She’s still your sweet girl. Nothing’s changed, just… some extra information coming to light.
You chuckled, kissing that pout away from her soft lips, “I could never be upset with you, angel. Wouldn’t be fair if I was, considering how tonight went, right?”
Her eyes shined, holding all the love in the world as a heartfelt grin spread across her face, she slung her arms over your shoulders, pulling you close and brushing her nose against yours. “God… you’re even more perfect than I could ever imagine… I’m so fucking lucky.” she practically moaned.
A chaste kiss was shared between your lips before you sighed dreamily. “I’m the lucky one here… I just wish I knew where my strap was so I could use it on you… think I lost it in the move…”
Wanda opened her mouth, snapping it shut just as quickly, looking down shyly… You eyed her, knowing something was on her mind. “What’s wrong now, angel?”
A coy smile crept up her face, cheeks blushing. “I might’ve been using it… well— kind of? I, um— I found it while we moved you in and…” her throat dried at the memory.
“The night you had that dumb hour long seminar on Zoom, I— I tried to use it, but it was just too big… I don’t think I can fit it in without your help so… I could only grind on it, pretending it was you, and— god, it was so good… I was trying to be quiet, then I squirted so hard on the bed... I had to change the sheets before you came back…” she confessed innocently, as if she just told you she secretly stole the last cookie in the jar.
“You, seriously…” you weren’t angry, but your eye twitched, mouth watering at the vision of her squirting on your cock without you. Heart hammering as you spoke, “Fucking hell, baby… I could’ve fucking helped you… Jesus, I was just… sitting in the other room while you—” you took a deep breath. “Show me where it is. I need to fuck you properly.”
She nodded eagerly, heat pooling in her belly from your commanding tone. You followed right behind as she scrambled to the bedroom, digging through her side drawer and pulling out the strap and harness. She sat patiently on the bed while you tugged it on, buckling in easily. Her mouth hung open, damn near drooling as she looked up at the long, thick toy with hooded eyes.
Instead of pinning her to the bed, pushing her legs back, and fucking her in missionary like you’d imagined a million times, you urged her up, “Come here.” you grumbled, voice sharp.
You held her wrists behind her back, walking her across the room as she giggled like a damn brat, “Detka what are we— agh—!” She yelped, feeling her tits press against the cool window, the city lighting up the night sky.
“You’re my perfect girl, you know that?” you gritted, moving her hair aside, mouth assaulting her sensitive neck. “Perfect girls should be shown off to the world… For everyone to see… Not to touch…”
She shuddered when you slid the toy between her folds, her hips grinding back into you like second nature. You tugged her hair, whispering in her ear, “I wanna show everyone what’s mine… that okay, angel? You want the whole city to see you get fucked stupid on my cock? The only cock you’ll ever have…”
“Yes! Please—! Please fuck me stupid with your cock— I need everyone to know who I belong to… I need you!” she begged, tears welling in her eyes from utter need.
“This’ll only hurt for a bit, okay? You’ll adjust… I’ll hold you through everything, my love,” you muttered, lips trailing the back of her neck, fingers ghosting over the smooth skin of her stomach. She gave you one last reassuring nod, spurring you on to continue.
You lined the strap with her entrance, steadily pushing in. Oh… she was right… it would definitely be a tight fit…
She winced when you were hardly an inch in, “Shh, it’s okay baby… I’ve got you… We’ll get there… I’ll go slow for you, angel…” you cooed, kissing her temple.
She whined, a sound of pleasure and obedience, the faint reflection of her eyes in the window screaming for more. So you gave her exactly that. Deeper and deeper. Soothing her with belly rubs, kisses, words of praise.
“Atta girl…”
“You can take it…”
“My sweet angel… it’s okay…”
And once you were buried to the hilt, you weren’t so gentle. But it started that way! Your smooth thrusts, pressing her closer to the glass, telling her how good she was being for you, trying to help her adjust.
But it changed when she rutted her hips back against you, whining, “Fuck me harder! I need it— I need you to ruin me.” She squirmed, quite literally crying for more.
You were taken aback. Not offended, just surprised. She never acted like this with you. Needy and clingy were nothing new, and you knew she was spoiled too, but a spoiled brat in the bedroom? Oh, this is gonna be fun…
A hand crept up, wrapping around her neck, while the other made home on her waist, nails digging crescents into her skin. “Yeah?” you huffed playfully. “Let’s see if you can take it like you promised…”
The snap of your hips turned her head to static. She almost swore her ears were ringing when you began pounding relentlessly. A choppy rhythm. Slick ran down her thighs, wet slaps and broken cries echoing off the walls.
“F-fuck… it’s so fucking big, oh my god— you’re gonna break me in half—!” tears slipped from her eyes, overwhelmed from pain and pleasure, like a fallen angel for the world to observe. Anyone with a good enough lens could witness this moment.
“Aw, you’re crying now? Shit, you look so pretty like that… I thought you could take it…” you teased, grip tightening on her throat. “You like being my pretty fuck toy, right? Is that why you killed Illyana? Couldn’t handle sharing my cock with anyone else, huh?”
Her breath fogged the glass, huffing out in needy little gasps. “Yes— Yes, I love being your toy— I— I never wanna share you… ever— I’ll take everything, I—” a strangled moan interrupted her as you pressed her lower belly, exactly where you felt the strap prodding at her insides. “I’ll get rid of anyone who thinks they can play with you— mine— ah—!”
Your pace turned punishing. You could practically feel her holding back. It became increasingly difficult to hammer her tight little cunt with the way she clenched around you. She writhed uncontrollably, an absolute mess of throaty groans and jagged breaths, ready to crumble at any second.
Her face was flushed, red, teary. “D-detka I— I’m gonna— I’m gonna come— Please, let me come— I— I need to come right now,” she sobbed, choking on every syllable in time with each thrust.
“Oh, you can come whenever you want, baby…” you purred, a devious grin manifesting itself on your face. “No need for my permission for the rest of the night, okay?”
“Mhmm— y-yes— I— FUCK—!” she mewled, her juices gushed out once more, sploshing across the glass. Oh, the poor maids…
Convulsing in your hold, she couldn’t come down. Her orgasm wouldn’t wash over her… it consumed her entirely. You were in awe, absolutely in love with her, and the way her body reacted to you.
Reaching around, your fingers found her clit. That sweet little button to send her off the rails. She shrieked at the contact, squirming in your grasp while you thrusted with the same brutal force. The dual sensations overloading her mind.
“B-baby wait, it’s too much, I— I can’t—” she croaked, weakly pushing at your wrist. She squirted endlessly, and you intended to milk her dry.
You hesitated briefly, but she did tell you to use her as much as you wanted. So you tilted your head. “Hm… You sure, sweetheart? Say stop, and I will.”
The ball was left in her court. A beat passed. Nothing was said.
Chuckling, you kissed her neck, keeping up the same motions. “You really don’t wanna stop, huh? Yeah, I knew you were gonna be my good girl… My perfect girl… Just keep letting me use your pretty pussy till you can’t take it…”
She nodded, letting out a small “mhmm,” paired with a precious smile. Wanda fell loose in your arms, sweet dreamy whines and sloppy, wet sounds hummed through the air.
You don’t know how much time passed, but at some point, the cries stopped. The trembling stopped. The juices stopped. Her body went slack, nearly collapsing to the ground.
Concerned, you pulled out, holding her up as you cupped her cheek. “Wanda? Baby? You okay?”
Her entire body was overworked, but her arms weakly wrapped around you. “Wh— why stopped…?” she mumbled, hardly coherent.
Fuck… You’d nearly forgotten that she was a virgin before tonight… And you’d just fucked her for what was probably over three hours…
You scooped her up bridal style, smiling at her tranquil, ragdoll figure. Laying her gently on the bed, you kneeled over her, thumb brushing her arm, “Hey, sweet girl… I’m gonna get you some water, yeah?”
Her eyes were shut, peaceful. She made no noise, just her chest rising and falling with little breaths. You weren’t entirely sure if she was awake anymore. So you just chuckled, kissing her cheek and retiring the strap for tonight before you padded to the kitchen.
You came back minutes later with two water bottles, gatorade, and a bag of her favorite chips. “Sweetheart? You awake?” you stroked her cheek, attempting to rouse her.
“Mhmm…” she nodded. You bit your lip, holding back a small laugh. You didn’t really believe her. Setting the snack and drinks aside, you sighed and pulled her in close for cuddles, unsure of what to do next. You really wanted her to have something in her system, but couldn’t exactly force feed her unconscious body. And you didn’t have the heart to wake her.
But one thing bugged the back of your mind… the mess left between her legs.
Biting your lip, her words from earlier rattled in your brain, an indulgent echo.
you can fuck me till I pass out and still keep using me
Weighing the scales in your head, it wouldn’t hurt to clean her up… and you absolutely did not want her juices to go to waste.
You deliberately rolled her onto her back. Staring in awe at the body of a woman who finally belonged to you. Your mouth claimed a trail starting at her neck. Not bothering to focus too heavily since you’d already marked that to hell. Little purple bruises scattered like constellations.
The next stop was her perfect breasts. You’d been drawn to them since you met. The way her blouse would hug her tits, sometimes you swore those buttons would burst in the middle of the day… and when she started wearing corset tops at works? Bralettes around the house? God, you were in trouble.
She hummed sleepily when you took them into your mouth. Sucking intentional specks into that smooth, milky skin you know and love. May no other soul ever get the chance to know or love them. You forced yourself to pull away, reminding your mouth that this is a cleanup job, don’t get carried away (not that she’d mind all that much, if at all).
A simple path carved down her stomach, like footprints in the snow, finally leading to the scene at her legs. Slickness clung to her thighs, her pussy swollen and red from the beating it took. You frowned slightly, but secretly almost felt proud of how much you could do, and how much she could take.
Your tongue dragged on her inner thighs clearing the mess you caused. The taste still fresh, but cooler on your tastebuds. Lapping delicately till sticky skin turned soft. Once satisfied with the result, you scooted up, thumb massaging the sensitive flesh between her legs. She stirred, causing you to look up. Still not awake.
Lowering your head, your tongue moved with languid strokes. Slow and indulgent. Her warm cunt twitched beneath you. You shuddered, refraining from devouring her completely. But that didn’t stop you from sinking deeper, burying your face in her wet heat. You’re just being thorough.
With every swipe, stroke, and lick, you grew hungrier. Shakey breaths, nimble fingers holding her legs open.
Before you realized, Wanda sighed, letting out a yawn that dissolved into a moan.
She blinked down at you, hands lazily tangling in your hair. “Hm? Am I dreaming?”
You chuckled, looking up and wiping her juices from your chin. “Cleaning up the mess we made. Just lay back, angel. I’ll give you a bath after this…” you explained softly, caressing her thigh before continuing the motions.
Her breath hitched, jaw hanging open as her head tilted back in absolute bliss.
She drew you in closer, grasping at the strands of your hair, hips gyrating in an unhurried fashion. “Mmm… you’re fucking perfect… fuck— I wish we could do this forever…”
You hummed in agreement, mouth working slow and greedy. Her body was still buzzing from everything today. She was aching, pulsing, and dizzy… but she couldn’t help wanting just one more moment of pure ecstasy.
It didn’t take long to get there. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t explosive. But it was everything.
One last breathy cry as she arched into your mouth. Little tremors, light quivers. Satisfaction.
Satisfaction over finally getting her win. Satisfaction over feeling your pure, undying love.
Everything.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Wanda couldn’t tell what happened between the bed and the bathtub. Only processing the fact that she was sitting between your legs, back pressed against your front.
She protested when her mind came back clearly, insisting that she could take more rounds. But you promised her that’s an adventure for another night. Right now, you just needed her.
You held her close. Tying her hair up in a bun to avoid getting it wet. The water warm and still. You fed her snacks and cradled her jaw, coaxing her mouth open to hydrate, then whispering praise for her obedience.
You told her how perfect she was, and how much you love her. Calling her your sweet angel, your perfect doll, your precious girl.
You kissed her swollen lips. Kissed her jaw, her temple, her rosy cheeks, her shoulder.
And when you finally lifted her out of the tub, you helped her step into her soft, pink panties. Following up with one of your large shirts draping over her form. Her body and mind becoming soft and small for you.
You curled under the sheets together, tucking her head into your chest.
“Thank you for loving me… defending me… fucking me…” she drolled on, hardly aware of her words as she clung to you.
Stroking her back, you smiled against her forehead, “I’d do anything for you. Morning or night. I’ll be around.”
Wanda hummed dreamily, breaths turning to soft little snores.
Your chest ached in the best way, eternally grateful to find a love like this. To find a love with someone like Wanda. Your sweet, precious, guardian angel, Wanda.
Someone you’d kill for. Someone who’d kill for you.
The woman you could ruin and hold sweetly afterwards.
The woman that was beautiful, sexy, and adorable. Inside and out.
The woman you care most about. The woman you want this much. The woman you love this much.
Every part of you loves Wanda, and even with the chaos, you wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Multi Partner Dynamics (Sub Reader, Sub Wanda, Dom Natasha, Dom Maria)
October 25
Word Count: 1.2K
Master List
The sharp crack of leather meeting leather echoes through the playroom, and you know you’re in for it. You and Wanda had pushed it too far, a coordinated effort of eye-rolls and defiant, muttered remarks during the evening debrief. It was a childish game, a test of boundaries that you both knew you’d lose. And the price of losing was so, so sweet.
Natasha’s voice is a low, purring caress that somehow carries more threat than a shout. “Did you two really think we wouldn’t notice your little performance?” She circles you both, a predator assessing her prey. You’re on your knees beside Wanda, still in your mission gear, the scent of ozone and adrenaline clinging to you both.
Wanda, ever the more vocal of you two, huffs. “We were just expressing our opinions.”
Maria’s laugh is a short, sharp thing. She doesn’t circle. She stands directly in front of you, her hands on her hips, her posture all business. “Your ‘opinion’ sounded an awful lot like insubordination. And you both know the rules.”
“We do,” you murmur, your eyes downcast, but a thrill shoots through you. This. This is what you’d been craving all night.
“Then you know what comes next,” Natasha says, her fingers trailing over Wanda’s shoulder, making the witch shudder. “On the bed. Both of you. Now.”
You move in unison, scrambling onto the large, low platform in the center of the room. The black silk sheets are cool against your flushed skin. You lie on your stomachs, side by side, the anticipation a live wire between you. You hear the soft rustle of clothing behind you, and then the distinct sound of a cap being unscrewed.
The first touch is a surprise, as it always is. Cool, slick liquid drizzles onto the small of your back. Natasha’s hands, warm and impossibly skilled, spread it over your skin, her thumbs working into the tense muscles there. A soft, unbidden moan escapes your lips.
“Quiet,” Maria commands, her voice closer now. You hear a similar treatment being administered to Wanda, who lets out a tiny, breathy sigh.
The massage is a delicious torture. Their hands are firm, knowing, working out the knots of the mission and layering on the tension of what’s to come. They move in tandem, Natasha on you, Maria on Wanda, their movements mirrored. Fingers press into your spine, palms smooth over the curves of your ass, thumbs dig into the flesh of your thighs. You’re melting under the attention, your earlier brattiness evaporating under their focused care.
Then, the tone shifts. Natasha’s hand comes down on your right buttock in a stinging slap. It’s not meant to truly hurt, not yet. It’s a punctuation mark. A promise.
“Such a naughty girl,” she coos, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Needing so much attention.”
Another slap, on the other side, a perfect mirror. A gasp is punched from your lungs. Beside you, you hear the identical sound and Wanda’s sharp intake of breath. Maria is administering the same treatment, a synchronized discipline.
The spanking begins in earnest then, a rhythmic, alternating pattern that paints your skin with heat. Each slap builds on the last, a crescendo of sensation that blurs the line between pain and pleasure. You bite your lip, your fingers twisting in the silk sheets. The sting is immediate and sharp, but it’s followed by a deep, throbbing warmth that spreads through your entire lower body, a pooling heat between your legs. You are utterly exposed, completely at their mercy, and the surrender is an intoxicating high.
You chance a glance at Wanda. Her eyes are clenched shut, her lips parted, her chest heaving. A faint red glow, the barest hint of her power, licks at her fingertips before she fists her hands, controlling it. She’s losing herself in it, just like you are.
The spanking stops as abruptly as it began. The sudden absence of sensation is almost as jarring. You’re both panting, your skin humming.
You feel Natasha’s weight dip the bed beside you. Her fingers, gentle now, brush your hair away from your sweat-dampened forehead. “Turn over, malen'kiy,” she whispers, her voice soft but firm. “Let us see you.”
You obey, rolling onto your back, your movements clumsy. Wanda does the same. You’re laid bare before them, your bodies flushed, your nipples pebbled tight from the adrenaline and the cool air of the room. Your arousal is undeniable, a slick heat begging for attention.
Maria looks down at you both, a pleased, possessive smile playing on her lips. “Look at you. All that fight gone. Just two perfect, needy little brats waiting for their rewards.”
Natasha leans over you, her red hair a curtain that blocks out the rest of the world. Her mouth finds yours in a deep, claiming kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s a conquest. Her tongue plunders your mouth as her hand slides down your body, her fingers finally, finally dipping into the wet heat between your legs. You cry out into her mouth, your hips bucking off the bed involuntarily.
Beside you, you hear Wanda’s choked moan as Maria’s mouth closes over one of her breasts, her hand working between Wanda’s thighs with the same ruthless efficiency.
Natasha’s fingers are inside you now, curling, searching, finding that spot that makes you see stars. Her thumb circles your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the slick sounds of her movement obscenely loud. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she murmurs against your lips, her breath hot. “To be taken apart. To be reminded who you belong to.”
You can only nod, a broken, gasping mess. Your world has narrowed to the feel of her fingers inside you, the scratch of her nails on your inner thigh, the scent of her perfume mixed with your own arousal.
You feel a shift on the bed, and then Maria is there, her body pressed against your side. “Look at her, little one,” Maria commands, her voice a gritty rumble. You force your eyes open and turn your head. Wanda is writhing under Natasha’s now-free hand, her back arched, her magic casting a soft crimson light across the ceiling as Natasha fingers her with the same devastating skill.
“See how beautiful she is when she breaks?” Maria continues, her own hand replacing Natasha’s on your clit, her touch slightly rougher, more demanding. “You two did this together. You’ll cum together.”
The command is absolute. The shared sight of Wanda coming undone, combined with Maria’s relentless fingers and Natasha’s whispered praise in your ear, pushes you both to the edge. You can feel it building in Wanda, a psychic echo of her impending climax humming in the air, and it pulls your own orgasm from you.
It crashes over you, a wave of pure, mind-shattering pleasure. Your body seizes up, a silent scream on your lips as the contractions grip you, milking Natasha’s fingers deep inside. A split second later, Wanda cries out, a real, raw sound as her own release hits, her magic flaring in a harmless, beautiful shower of red sparks that dance across your skin.
You float in the aftermath, boneless and spent. Natasha slowly withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her mouth with a predatory smile. Maria strokes your hip, a gesture of possession and approval.
You turn your heavy-lidded gaze to Wanda. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure and a shared, secret understanding. You had been brats. You had been punished. And it had been perfect.
A/N: before this day i actually haven't seen what a fuck machine actually looks like yall (i always just assumed LOL) my search history leading to and during this month is BONKERS let's leave it at that
main masterlist | kinktober 2025
Honestly speaking, you weren't initially sold on the idea of a fuck machine, but when Wanda looked entranced in front of the display, your mind was made that you're buying it for her as a secret birthday gift.
You weren't exactly drowning in money but you have decided to get her the most sturdy and high quality looking one. You're a couple hundred dollars poorer now but you try not to think about it and just focus on assembling it in the basement, making sure Wanda wouldn't accidentally see it.
Thankfully, you were able to get it ready and set up in your play room with your girlfriend none the wiser. The stars were aligned, you think to yourself, since you both have been busy at work that any free time you've had was spent snuggling with each other and catching up on much needed sleep.
You did have to move around meetings and workload to make sure you're free on the weekend of Wanda's birthday.
The first part of your surprise — a romantic dinner in an upscale restaurant — went through without a hitch you just knew the stress and extra hours were worth it.
The second your front door closed, you're crowding Wanda against the wall, your lips hot and insistent against her own. “I have one more gift for you,” you whisper against her ear.
Panting, Wanda furrows her brows in question. Once she is satisfied she had successfully breathed enough air in her lungs, she says in delighted exasperation, “You spoil me too much.”
“You say that like I shouldn't be spoiling you.”
She chuckles, her arms circling your shoulders, “I never said you shouldn't.”
You grin at her, hands splayed on her waist, “Guess not.”
“Well, don't keep a girl waiting,” she prompts.
You shake your head at her, your mock disappointment not fooling anyone with the way you’re excitedly leading her to the play room. You stop in front of the door, pulling a silk handkerchief from your pocket. When you dangle it in front of her, you had an uninterrupted view watching her eyes dilate.
Wanda looks up at you under her lashes, lips already parted.
You’re sure she’s game to play with you, but you’ve always made sure to check in with her before starting or engaging on any scenes with her.
“Color?”
“Green, Daddy,” she breathes out.
“Thank you for telling me, sweetie,” you press a gentle kiss on her forehead, the last act of gentleness before you fully step into the role. “Turn around, will you?”
Wanda does as she’s told quickly, much to your delight. With her back facing you, you wrap the cloth to cover her eyes, making sure to leave a generous length for the slip knot so that your girlfriend could remove it herself if she needed. “Not too tight?” you murmur against her hair.
“No, it’s not too tight.”
With your hand on the small of her back, you lead her inside the room. “I'm going to take your clothes off now, baby.”
Wanda stays still, her arms relaxed on her side. “Okay,” she whispers.
You try your best to stay as clinical as possible while undressing her, but for every sliver of bare skin that gets revealed, you feel your control slipping away to give way to lust. You can't help but trail kisses down your girlfriend's body.
Once you've finished, the two of you are trembling with anticipation. You guide her to settle on the middle of the bed, laying her on her back and placing a pillow under her hips.
You tell her your usual spiel before any scenes — asking her about her color, if she remembers her safe word, and to always communicate how she feels for every action that you do and make her do and for every word that you say to her. When you're satisfied with her answer, you capture her lips in a deep kiss.
“Daddy's just going to ready your surprise, alright? Won't be long.” You slide off the bed and position the machine at the foot of the bed and secure Wanda's favorite dildo on the attachment.
“Ready?” you ask as you extend the arm and tap it on her quivering pussy.
Wanda jerks in surprise at first but quickly settles down and arcs up to get more friction on her neglected cunt. “Yes, Daddy.”
Without warning, you slip a finger inside her, thrusting once and twice before adding another. You start slowly, letting Wanda adjust, but when she starts mewling, you up the tempo of your thrusts and fuck her properly.
You could never get used to this — having her so pliant and so willing under you. You press your thumb on her clit, the resulting moan Wanda lets out is liquid fire on your veins.
“Daddy, please, so close,” she babbles.
“Not yet,” you say, stilling your fingers.
The whine Wanda lets out is filthy and petulant and gives you reason to be more cruel. You click your tongue, pretending to be disappointed.
“It's supposed to be a reward, baby, don't be bratty now.”
Wanda bites her bottom lip, shaking her head, “’am sorry, Daddy.”
“Good girl,” you say, pulling out your fingers and tapping them on her lips. She parts her lips without prompting, sucking your wet fingers clean. After a while, you wipe them on her cheeks, knowing that she loves it.
You don't linger too long, as much as you love edging her, today is not a punishment. You crawl to the edge of the bed, taking hold of the dildo and tapping it again on Wanda's pussy, letting her feel the weight of it. You wait for a few seconds to see if she'll call for yellow, but when she doesn't, you slowly push the toy inside and turn on the machine.
As it whirs to life, you watch as Wanda slowly realizes what it is that's actually fucking her. She lets out a silent moan, her back bowing. Despite having her vision blocked, she tilts her head towards you, “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You're welcome, baby,” you pat her thigh affectionately, moving to sit against the headboard.
Unbuckling your belt, you fish your cock out from your slacks and start pumping your hands in the same rhythm as the machine.
It’s loud, especially when you increase the pace, but somehow it’s still drowned by Wanda’s moans and pleas and the rush of blood in your ear.
Ever since meeting your girlfriend and engaging on this dynamic with her, you’re both proud and somehow ashamed to admit that your hand could no longer make you come — making any time away from Wanda a very difficult and torturous experience, especially when she dole out physical intimacy on the daily. Needless to say, you’re horny as hell, yes, but you couldn’t quite reach the peak. Unlike Wanda, who’s having her fourth orgasm of the night.
You’re taken out of your frustration by Wanda’s tentative voice calling for you, her hand patting the bed, “Y/N?”
You’re immediately alert, decreasing the intensity of the machine to a lower level before sidling up to her and holding her hand, “yes baby?”
Wanda bites her lip, gripping your hand in a tight hold, “yellow.”
You remove her blindfold, letting her adjust to the low light of the room, then turn the machine off completely. “Want me to pull the toy out, baby?”
“Please.”
Climbing off the bed, you slowly pull out the dildo from her pussy and put the machine away from the bed. You start rubbing and tracing random patterns on her thighs, coaxing her down from her high and letting her take time to breathe. Once you feel her settled, you lay down beside her, making sure leave a few inches of distance between the two of you so she doesn’t feel crowded.
“Wanna feel you,” she murmurs, turning to face you and making grabby hands in your direction. She intertwines your fingers, pulling you on top of her. You easily let her manhandle you into the position she wants — kneeling between her legs, her thighs flush on your hips, her arms circling your shoulders.
You chuckle lowly, peppering her face with sloppy kisses. Being the anxiety riddled person that you are, you want to know what made her call for ‘yellow’ but in the years you’ve been together, you’ve learned that Wanda likes to continue and put the rational talk until later.
She giggles, her legs locking on your back, “Inside, please, Daddy.”
You line your cock to her pussy, slipping in easily. You breathe out a sigh of relief, the feeling of finally having her wrapped around you unlike no other.
As you start a slow rhythm, Wanda plays with the small hairs on your nape. “It felt… mechanical, no pun intended.”
You hum, smiling, waiting for her to continue.
“It was fun, at first, but it felt impersonal the longer it went,” she whispers, burrowing her face on the crook of your neck. “I liked it, Daddy, but maybe you can hold me next time or no blindfolds?”
“Thank you for telling me, baby girl,” you say. “And no blindfolds and I’ll be holding you next time we play with it.”
Wanda hums happily in reply as she clenches on you, hips following your thrusts. “Faster, please.”
As soon as you thrust faster, Wanda mewls beneath you, pulling you closer. It doesn’t take long until you feel that tell-tale tingling on your spine, making your movements uncoordinated and shallow. You lean down and prop yourself on your elbows, mindful to not crush your girlfriend under your weight.
Just like you know how to read her signs, Wanda also knows your body language — sometimes you do suspect she knows you more than you do. “Come inside me, Daddy,” she whispers against your ear.
At her permission, you bury yourself to the hilt, spilling your seed inside her inviting hole. It triggers her fifth, and final, orgasm of the night.
She’s boneless and warm and smiley wrapped in your embrace and you know you’re sporting the same giggly demeanor. She beats you to saying, “I love you,” when you both come down from your shared peak.
“I love you too, princess,” you say, plopping down on the mattress and taking her with you.
summary: Wanda, Natasha and Carol are on a mission. in space. they are on Carol's ship. they are just floating on the space sky, watching the planets, stars, comets and etc while they drink and relax. they are talking about their past experiences the fun ones. and then one of them talks about some sexual experience, and the other two teases her. soon, it turns into something more.
tags: oral sex, fingering, pwp
The cockpit of Carol’s ship was dark, save for the ambient glow of the cosmos. A lazy, sprawling nebula painted the viewport in hues of violent magenta and deep indigo, a silent, cosmic storm raging millions of light-years away.
A bottle of something amber and vaguely alcoholic, pilfered from a trading post on Xitaung, sat open between them.
Carol was reclined in her pilot’s chair, boots propped up on the console, a cocky grin playing on her lips.
“Okay, okay, but the best was this Kree intelligence officer. Built like a brick shithouse, had this deep, gravelly voice. We were on shore leave in this dive bar on Hala, and she tells me she can dislocate her jaw.”
Natasha, perched on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat with a glass of the alien liquor, snorted. “Let me guess. You saw that as a challenge.”
“Damn right I did,” Carol laughed, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Best damn head I ever got. Had to take a knee for a minute afterward. The room was spinning, and it wasn’t from the booze.”
Wanda, curled up on a cushioned bench behind them, pulled a blanket tighter around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed. “Carol! Must you be so… graphic?”
“What? It’s a fond memory,” Carol said, her bright eyes glinting with mischief as she looked from Wanda to Natasha. “Don’t tell me you two saints don’t have any stories. Come on, Romanoff. Before you were all domesticated and cooing over your witch, you must’ve had some fun. All those deep-cover ops? You can’t tell me you never had to… liaise… with a target.”
Natasha’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. She took a deliberate sip from her glass, her eyes never leaving Carol’s. “There was a French arms dealer. A woman. She had a thing for knives.”
Wanda’s head perked up. “Knives?”
“Mmmhmm,” Natasha hummed, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “She liked to play. See how close she could get without drawing blood. We spent a whole night in her penthouse in Monaco, seeing who had the steadier hand. She’d trace the edge of a stiletto down my spine… I’d hold a blade to the pulse point in her thigh…”
“Fuck me,” Carol breathed, her swagger momentarily forgotten. “Did you…?”
“I got the intel,” Natasha said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And she came so hard she broke a two-hundred-thousand-euro bottle of champagne she’d been saving. I’d call that a successful mission.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts. The hum of the ship’s life support seemed louder. Wanda’s blush had deepened, and Carol was staring at Natasha with a whole new level of respect and raw hunger.
Natasha broke the spell. She set her glass down and uncoiled from her seat, moving toward Wanda. “But that was work,” she said softly, kneeling in front of her. “This is pleasure.” She took Wanda’s hand, bringing her knuckles to her lips. Then she looked up at Carol, her eyes a clear, blatant challenge. “And I’m much better at pleasure.”
Carol let out a low whistle. “That’s a bold claim, Romanoff.”
“It’s not a claim if it’s a fact, Danvers.” Natasha turned her attention back to Wanda, her thumb stroking the back of her hand.
“Besides,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to Wanda’s lips. “My girl here likes to be the center of attention, don’t you, moya krasavitsa?”
Wanda’s breath hitched. She could only nod.
Without another word, Natasha leaned in and kissed her. It started soft, a simple reclaiming, but quickly deepened, Natasha’s tongue sweeping into Wanda’s mouth with a confident, possessive rhythm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carol swing her boots off the console and lean forward, fascinated.
When Natasha finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected their lips. She licked it away slowly, then looked back at Carol, whose eyes were dark with lust.
“Still think your Kree officer was more interesting?” Natasha purred.
“I’m reserving judgment,” Carol said, her voice tight. She stood up and moved toward them, her presence radiating a unique, powerful heat. “I’m gonna need a more… hands-on demonstration.”
She stopped beside them, her hand coming to rest on Natasha’s shoulder, her thumb stroking the exposed skin of her neck. “But I don’t like to just watch.” Her gaze dropped to Wanda, who was looking up at her with wide, wanting eyes. “Move over.”
Natasha shifted, allowing Carol to kneel on Wanda’s other side. They were a triangle of want, enclosed in the star-dusted darkness.
Carol leaned across Wanda, her lips finding Natasha’s in a bruising, demanding kiss. It was a power play, a clash of two Alphas, and it sent a bolt of lightning straight through Wanda.
While they kissed, Carol’s hand slid down Wanda’s front, her fingers tangling in the hem of her shirt.
Natasha broke the kiss, a smirk on her lips, and her own hands went to Wanda’s pants. Together, they stripped her, their movements practiced and efficient, until she was naked and trembling between them.
“So beautiful,” Carol breathed, her eyes roaming over Wanda’s flushed skin. “Let’s see if you taste as good as you look.”
Carol dipped her head, her mouth closing over one of Wanda’s breasts while Natasha’s hand slid between her thighs. Wanda was already dripping wet.
“Oh, you’re ready for us, aren’t you?” Natasha whispered, her fingers slipping inside her easily. “So eager. So needy.”
Wanda cried out, her back arching as Natasha’s fingers curled inside her, pressing against her g-spot, while Carol’s tongue and teeth tormented her nipple.
Natasha pushed Carol’s head away gently. She replaced Carol’s mouth with her own, suckling hard, while Carol moved lower.
“Fuck, yes,” Carol growled, burying her face between Wanda’s legs. Her tongue was electric, a shocking, expert assault on Wanda’s clit.
Wanda was lost. Trapped in a vortex of pleasure. Natasha’s fingers were buried deep inside her, Carol’s mouth was devouring her, and their combined scents, power, and lust were overwhelming.
“Please,” she sobbed, her hips bucking. “I’m gonna– I’m so close!”
“Come for me, baby,” Carol’s voice was muffled against her.
“Look at her,” Natasha whispered, her voice a rough caress. “So beautiful, coming for us.”
Wanda cried out as her orgasm tore through her, a wave of fire and light that made the distant stars seem to splinter. Her body convulsed, her inner muscles clenching around Natasha’s fingers.
Before she had even settled, Natasha pulled her fingers out, slick with Wanda’s release, and crawled over her. She pinned Carol by the shoulders, pushing her onto her back on the deck plating.
“My turn to judge your technique, Danvers,” Natasha snarled, before crashing her mouth down onto Carol’s. She kissed her roughly while her hand, still wet with Wanda, found Carol’s cunt. Carol groaned, her hips lifting off the floor, instantly aroused.
Wanda, still dazed and trembling, watched them. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. She crawled forward, her hair brushing the floor, until she was positioned at Natasha’s feet. She looked up at her lover, then down at the powerful body of the Captain.
Then, she dipped her head, her tongue flicking out to taste the sweat and salt on Natasha’s thigh, before moving lower, her mouth finding Natasha’s clit just as Natasha’s fingers found Carol’s.
It was a symphony of sin. Three bodies, three mouths, three sets of hands, all working with a singular, filthy purpose.
The sounds of their pleasure; wet, open-mouthed kisses, slick flesh slapping together, choked sobs and guttural moans filled the small cockpit, a starkly carnal soundtrack to the silent, majestic dance of the galaxies outside.
A/N: Hi. I received a request for heat during mission and it might be what you expected, but I hope you like it! (This story contains A/B/O dynamic. For those who don’t know what it is, I suggest you search before reading it.)
Main Masterlist
---
The first time Y/N saw Wanda Maximoff, she hadn’t known what to make of her. She had only been on the team for a few weeks then, still figuring out her place among Earth’s Mightiest, when Wanda was introduced.
Wanda had looked at her with those green eyes, sharp and guarded, and Y/N had felt something tug deep inside her chest. Something familiar but unnameable. She’d tried to smile, offer her hand, but Wanda only gave a curt nod and turned away.
It didn’t matter. Y/N was hooked.
She couldn’t explain it — the strange, magnetic pull toward the Sokovian witch. She wasn’t the type to get caught up in fleeting crushes; she had control, discipline. But Wanda had made her heart pound in a way no one else had.
The only problem? Wanda wanted nothing to do with her.
Every time Y/N tried to ask her out — coffee, a walk, even just training together — Wanda turned her down. Sometimes with a clipped excuse, sometimes with barely concealed irritation. It was clear: Wanda didn’t like her. Or maybe she didn’t like Alphas at all.
Wanda was a Beta, so maybe that explained some of it. Most Betas resented how much the world revolved around Alphas and Omegas. Y/N couldn’t blame her. Still, it hurt more than she cared to admit.
But none of that mattered on the mission.
---
Today’s mission was supposed to be simple — infiltration, extraction, clean getaway. Of course, missions never went that smoothly. The Hydra base had more guards than intel predicted, and the team split up to cover more ground.
Y/N ended up partnered with Wanda, much to the witch’s dismay.
They were moving down a narrow corridor when a Hydra agent burst out from the shadows, weapon raised. Y/N reacted without thinking—her arm shooting out, shoving Wanda behind her as she drove her blade into the man’s chest before he could fire.
The body hit the floor with a heavy thud.
But before Y/N realized it, something else filled the air. A low, protective growl slipped from her throat, her alpha pheromones spilling into the space—dominant, warning, wrapping thickly around Wanda as if to shield her too.
Wanda froze, wide-eyed, then her jaw tightened. She shoved Y/N’s arm off her.
“You stay out of my way,” she hissed, her accent cutting sharp. “I don’t need you playing hero. I don’t need *you* at all.”
Y/N swallowed hard, pulling her pheromones back under control. She didn’t answer, just nodded and stepped aside, letting Wanda storm ahead.
She wasn’t here to fight with Wanda; she just wanted them both to get out alive.
For a while, everything went smoothly again. They moved through the halls in sync, Wanda’s scarlet energy crackling at her fingertips, Y/N covering their flank. But halfway through the mission, Y/N noticed Wanda slowing down.
Her breathing was heavier, her skin flushed.
“You okay?” Y/N whispered, scanning the shadows for movement.
“I’m fine,” Wanda snapped, brushing past her. But her steps faltered, and Y/N caught her elbow before she stumbled.
That was when Y/N smelled it.
It hit her like a punch — sweet, heady, intoxicating. Omega pheromones, thick and undeniable. Not just any pheromones either. Heat.
Y/N froze. Her entire body tensed, her Alpha instincts roaring awake. No. That couldn’t be right. Wanda was a Beta. She’d said so herself. Everyone believed it. But there was no mistaking this smell: Wanda was an Omega. And not just that — she was in the middle of a dangerous, overwhelming heat.
“Wanda…” Y/N murmured, her voice low, almost strangled. “You’re—”
“Shut up!” Wanda hissed, though her voice trembled. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare.”
But her legs gave out, and Y/N had no choice but to catch her before she hit the ground. Wanda writhed in her arms, her body hot, trembling with need she clearly despised.
Y/N’s instincts screamed at her to claim, to soothe, to sink into the Omega who smelled so maddeningly perfect in her arms. But she clenched her jaw, fighting it. This wasn’t about her. Wanda didn’t want this. She didn’t even want her.
“I have you,” Y/N whispered firmly, gathering Wanda up bridal-style. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
Wanda’s nails dug into her shoulder, her scarlet magic flickering uncontrollably around her. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction, broken by a needy whimper.
“I don’t have a choice,” Y/N said, carrying her down the hall, scanning for exits. “You’re burning up, Wanda. You can’t fight like this. You’ll get hurt.”
Her Omega.
The thought seared through her mind unbidden, primal and raw.
Y/N shook her head. She needed to focus. She had to get Wanda out, away from danger, away from enemies who would smell her condition and know exactly how vulnerable she was.
They made it out of the base and into the forest, Y/N’s arms tight around Wanda as she followed the map in her comm to the nearest safe house. Wanda was half-conscious, panting, trembling against her. Every whimper nearly undid Y/N, every shift of her body against Y/N’s chest a brutal test of self-control.
Then Wanda shifted closer, her nose brushing the curve of Y/N’s neck. For a split second, Y/N thought it was an accident—until she felt the soft inhale, the shiver that ran through the Omega in her arms.
Wanda breathed her in, desperate, her lips parting against Y/N’s skin. A small, broken whimper escaped her throat, the sound laced with need.
Y/N froze, her Alpha instincts flaring violently. She wanted—needed—to answer that call, to soothe, to claim. But she clenched her jaw, forcing her body rigid as she kept moving through the trees.
“Easy,” Y/N murmured, her voice rough, betraying the storm inside her. “Just hold on. I’ve got you.”
Wanda’s fingers curled tighter in Y/N’s shirt, another needy sound catching in her throat as she pressed closer to that intoxicating Alpha scent, too far gone to fight the pull anymore.
Y/N’s boots thudded heavily against the wooden steps as she reached the cabin. She shifted Wanda in her arms just enough to reach for the door, shouldering it open with a force that rattled the frame.
Inside was dark and dusty, but it was safe — four walls, a roof, and most importantly, solitude.
She carried Wanda straight to the narrow bed in the corner and laid her down as gently as she could. But before she could pull away, Wanda immediately reached for her, slender fingers snagging the fabric of Y/N’s combat top. Her body arched subtly, like her heat wouldn’t let her tolerate even a moment without the Alpha she clung to.
“Wanda,” Y/N whispered, crouching beside the bed. Her own breath came harsh, shallow, as she tried to put space between her instincts and the woman she had fallen before her. “You need to rest. I’ll get water, I’ll make sure you’re okay—”
Wanda’s glassy eyes fluttered open, unfocused but locked on Y/N. She inhaled shakily, the sound almost a sob, before burying her face into the crook of Y/N’s neck again.
The rush of her Omega pheromones filled the small room, wrapping around Y/N like a suffocating embrace. Sweet, dizzying, primal. Y/N’s muscles tensed, her hands flexing against the urge to pull Wanda into her lap and have her way.
“Please,” Wanda whimpered, her voice muffled against Y/N’s throat. She wasn’t even fully aware of what she was asking, but her body knew. Her scent knew.
Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. She had wanted Wanda for so long — her laugh, her smile, her attention, anything she’d give. But not like this. Not when Wanda was vulnerable and suffering, when the choice wasn’t truly hers.
Y/N forced her voice low, steady, though her pulse hammered in her throat. “Wanda, listen to me—do you have an emergency suppressant? In your suit, your pocket, anywhere?”
Wanda only whimpered, shaking her head against her neck, fingers clawing weakly at Y/N’s shirt like a lifeline. Her body trembled, her Omega scent spiking hotter, sweeter, overwhelming.
“Damn it,” Y/N hissed under her breath, dragging in a sharp inhale through her nose and immediately regretting it. The pheromones were thick, suffocating, pressing against every inch of her restraint. Her cock strained against her pants, the ache unbearable.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. If she stayed, if she breathed Wanda in for another second, she was going to lose control. And the last thing she’d ever forgive herself for was hurting Wanda.
“Wanda,” she said harshly, voice rough with desperation. “I can’t— I can’t stay here. Not like this. If I don’t get out, I’ll—” She cut herself off, teeth gritting.
Wanda lifted her head then, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, lips parted with shallow breaths. She looked utterly undone, caught in the throes of her heat, her instincts reaching for this Alpha. For her.
“No,” Wanda whispered, her accent thick, her hand fisting tighter into Y/N’s shirt. “Don’t go.”
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down a groan that tore from her chest. “Wanda, you don’t understand—I might hurt you if I lose control. I can’t risk that.”
But Wanda’s heat had already swallowed her whole. She pressed closer, nuzzling into Y/N’s neck, her teeth grazing skin before a needy whine slipped from her throat. Her pheromones surged again, flooding the air until Y/N felt dizzy, drunk on her.
Every instinct in her screamed to claim, to soothe, to give Wanda what she was begging for without words. Her body shook with the effort of holding back.
Y/N’s breath came ragged, her voice breaking. “You’re killing me, Wanda…”
Y/N’s hands trembled as she shoved them into her own pockets, praying she’d been smart enough to carry an emergency alpha suppressant. Please, please… She patted down her vest, her belt, every compartment. Nothing.
Her chest tightened. “Shit.”
Wanda whimpered at the sound, clinging tighter. Her scent was practically liquid in the air now, coating Y/N’s lungs, seeping into her skin. The Alpha in her howled for release, for the Omega crying out against her chest.
Y/N gritted her teeth and forced herself to act. She hooked her hands gently but firmly under Wanda’s arms, pulling her away from her body. The moment her warmth left, Y/N felt the cold slam into her — relief and agony all at once.
“I can’t,” she rasped, pushing to her feet, every muscle rigid with restraint. “I need to get out of here before I hurt you. Before I—”
But before she could even take a step, Wanda’s hand shot out, desperate and uncoordinated, and caught her wrist. She pulled with surprising strength for how weak she looked, her body bowing toward Y/N again like a magnet to steel.
“Don’t go,” Wanda pleaded, her voice raw, her eyes glossy with heat. “Please… don’t.”
Y/N froze, chest heaving, staring down at the Omega who wouldn’t release her. Wanda’s nails dug into her wrist, trembling as she tried to drag Y/N closer. Her pheromones flared, thick and demanding, her entire being screaming for this Alpha. Her Alpha.
Y/N’s body shuddered with the effort it took not to give in. Her cock throbbed painfully in her pants, and every instinct urged her to turn around, to pin Wanda to the mattress, to sink into her until the need was gone.
But this wasn’t about instinct. This was Wanda.
Y/N’s throat worked around the words, broken and harsh. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Wanda’s fingers curled tighter into her shirt, her whole body trembling. She tilted her face up, glassy green eyes locking on Y/N’s with a desperation that made Y/N’s chest ache.
“I… I need you,” Wanda whispered, her accent thick, voice hoarse with heat. Her thighs rubbed together, clenching as another wave of fire rolled through her body. A broken whine escaped her lips, sharp with pain and want. “Please—make it stop.”
The sound gutted Y/N.
Her Omega was shaking, suffering, looking at her with helpless need. Not because she wanted Y/N, but because her body demanded it.
Y/N’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Her cock strained painfully against her pants, her Alpha instincts screaming take her, claim her, soothe her. But she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—cross that line, not unless Wanda chose her outside the haze of heat.
“Wanda…” Y/N’s voice cracked, raw with restraint. She gripped the edge of the mattress so hard the wood groaned, anchoring herself in place. “You don’t know what you’re asking me. If I give in, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t care,” Wanda gasped, her nails digging into Y/N’s chest as she pressed closer, her body wracked with another needy tremor. Her legs squeezed together tightly, a low whimper slipping through her clenched teeth. “It hurts—please, Alpha…”
The word cut straight through Y/N. Wanda had never once addressed her like that — never even acknowledged her as an Alpha without disdain. Hearing it now, dripping with helpless need, only proved how far gone she was.
This wasn’t Wanda speaking. This was her heat, dragging her under.
Y/N’s mind raced. I have to get out, I have to—if I stay, I’ll break. I’ll hurt her. Her instincts screamed the opposite, urging her to give in, to soothe her Omega, to take what was offered.
Then movement drew her eyes back down.
Wanda’s trembling fingers fumbled at the hem of her own top, tugging it upward. She was shaking too hard to be precise, but determination drove every clumsy movement. Fabric rose, inch by inch, baring pale skin flushed pink from heat.
Y/N’s eyes widened, blood rushing hot to her face. “Wanda—!”
Before she saw more than she should, she spun around, her back rigid, fists clenching at her sides. Her ears burned, her throat dry, every nerve in her body alight with the effort it took to not look back.
Her cock strained painfully against her pants, the sight of Wanda undressing burned into her mind even though she hadn’t let herself see more than a glimpse.
“Stop,” Y/N choked out, voice rough and frantic. “Don’t—don’t do that. You’re not yourself right now.”
Behind her, Wanda let out a needy whimper, the soft rustle of fabric making Y/N’s chest tighten with panic.
She squeezed her eyes shut, muttering under her breath like a prayer. “God, I can’t stay in this room…”
Y/N forced herself to take one shaky step toward the door, her back still turned, heart hammering against her ribs. If I can just get out—just one breath of clean air—
But before she could reach the handle, Wanda’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
“Wanda—!”
Y/N barely had time to react before the Omega’s strength, fueled by need and desperation, yanked her backward. They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Y/N’s back hitting the mattress with a heavy thud.
The breath was knocked from her lungs, and then she realized the full weight straddling her hips.
Wanda.
Only in her bra and underwear now, flushed skin glowing in the dim light, her hair mussed, her thighs trembling as she pressed down onto Y/N. The sight stole every ounce of oxygen from Y/N’s chest.
Her blush flared so violently it felt like fire across her face. But when her gaze dropped — unwillingly, instinctively — she saw it.
The slick coating Wanda’s inner thighs, glistening as it smeared against her trembling skin.
Y/N’s entire body went rigid. Her fangs itched, sharp and aching, threatening to drop. Heat surged through her veins, primal and demanding.
A strangled groan tore out of her before she slapped a hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as though that could erase what she’d just seen, what her instincts screamed at her to take.
But Wanda, lost in her own heat, shifted slightly, lowering herself onto Y/N’s covered hardness. The friction hit like a shockwave.
A loud, desperate moan escaped Wanda’s lips, raw and unrestrained.
Y/N froze entirely, paralyzed. Her body refused to obey, every nerve on fire, every muscle trembling. Wanda’s pheromones enveloped her like a physical force, thick and heady, searing into her lungs, sinking into her blood.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t pull away. She couldn’t think. Her Alpha instincts roared, raw and relentless, whispering claim her, claim her, claim her.
Her hands shot to Wanda’s waist, gripping in a mix of panic and instinct, but even that was half-hearted; her body was teetering on the edge of losing control entirely.
“Wanda…” she gasped, voice trembling, barely a whisper. “I… I can’t… I really… can’t… You’ll hate me…”
Her words died in her throat, choked off by the overwhelming scent, the slick heat pressed against her, the needy moans of her Wanda. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying she could hold on, praying she could resist, but her body was screaming in rebellion.
Wanda whimpered, shifting again, almost instinctively pressing closer, completely lost in her own need. Every movement, every sigh, pushed Y/N closer to the edge she had fought so hard to resist.
Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, teeth gritted, the struggle written across every trembling line of her body. She was on the verge of losing it—completely, utterly.
Wanda’s whimpering grew more frantic. She shifted desperately, pressing into Y/N again before suddenly freezing, her hands fumbling at the buckle of Y/N’s combat suit pants.
“Wanda—no!” Y/N gasped, her voice cracking as panic and arousal warred violently inside her. Her hands shot down instinctively, trying to stop Wanda, but her body was already trembling, every nerve alight from the overpowering pheromones.
Wanda’s green eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide with heat-driven need. She didn’t hesitate, her fingers working at the buckle, jerking at it with fumbling insistence. “Please… I need you…” she whimpered, voice raw and desperate, completely lost to her instincts.
Y/N’s chest heaved, sweat beading on her temple. She pressed her palms harder against Wanda’s shoulders, trying to push her back, but even that small movement was agony — every second of proximity burned hotter, every scent, every motion pulling her closer to the edge.
“I… can’t… You’ll hate me!” Y/N choked out, voice trembling, eyes squeezed shut. Her teeth clenched as her fangs itched uncontrollably, her cock straining painfully in her pants. She had to stop herself, had to get away, but Wanda wasn’t letting go.
Wanda whined again, pressing closer despite Y/N’s frantic struggle, letting her hands roam, utterly consumed by need. The room was thick with heat, scent, and tension — every second a battle Y/N might not survive.
Wanda didn’t pause. Every rational thought gone, every instinct overridden, she continued removing Y/N’s clothes with clumsy, desperate movements.
First the combat suit top — it went over Y/N’s shoulders, tearing slightly at the seams as Wanda’s hands fumbled with the fabric. Y/N groaned, pressing her eyes shut, trying to resist, trying to keep control as the scent of Wanda’s heat swirled around her.
Wanda’s eyes roam Y/N’s chest, seeing the black bra, but then her eyes caught the little patches under Y/N’s collarbones. Pheromone blockers. Two tiny pieces meant to keep Y/N’s Alpha scent contained, meant to protect both of them from this very scenario.
Wanda’s nose twitched, and before Y/N could even speak, she let out a low, throaty growl — a pure, omega growl, sweet and desperate, utterly lost in need.
Y/N’s heart jolted. Her cock throbbed painfully, fangs aching to sink. That tiny growl — so raw, so needy — did something unrelenting to her body. She could feel herself reacting, alpha instincts screaming, arousal flaring like wildfire.
“Wanda—stop, no!” Y/N gasped, tugging at her, voice broken, panicked. But Wanda didn’t care.
With trembling hands, slick with heat and desire, Wanda ripped the pheromone blockers from Y/N’s collarbones. The instant they came off, Y/N felt it — her Alpha pheromones bursting free, thick, heavy, alive, flooding the room.
The effect was immediate. Wanda moaned, a high, desperate sound, and trembled against Y/N, pressing down harder, her hips rocking slightly on instinct. Whimpers tumbled from her lips as her body reacted violently to the flood of Alpha scent, heat and need colliding in a heady, intoxicating storm.
Y/N’s hands shook, gripping Wanda’s waist, nails digging in as she fought to maintain control. Her own instincts were screaming, telling her this is yours, claim her, she’s yours, she needs you!
But Y/N’s mind still screamed louder. Not like this. Not while she’s lost to heat. Not until she can choose.
Wanda’s thighs squeezed tightly around her, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. “I… I need you… inside me… please… Alpha…”
The words were broken, pleading, dripping with heat-fueled desire. Every tremor of her body, every whimper, drove Y/N closer to the edge.
Y/N’s chest heaved. Her Alpha scent now rolling thick and heavy into the room, mixing with Wanda’s heat, making the air almost electric. She was trapped, every part of her body screaming in need, but her mind still fought — for Wanda, for control, for both of them.
Wanda pressed herself onto Y/N, her small body practically melting into the Alpha. Her nose brushed along Y/N’s neck, teeth grazing lightly in little nips, lips pressing soft, frantic kisses against the curve of Y/N’s jawline. Every touch was a plea.
“It hurts… it hurts so much,” Wanda whimpered, her voice ragged with need. Her hands clawed weakly at Y/N’s shoulders, desperate for grounding, for comfort, for anything.
Y/N gasped, body trembling violently. Every nerve was on fire, every instinct screaming to claim, to soothe, to answer her heat. Her hands shook, her mind spinning, and for a moment she thought she could fight it. She tried.
But the pleading in Wanda’s voice, the way she pressed into her, the way her pheromones engulfed Y/N, was too much. She couldn’t hold anymore. Not for a single second longer.
With a sharp inhale, Y/N shifted, carefully but decisively flipping them both so that Wanda was lying on the mattress. The moment Y/N’s body left her, Wanda’s legs spread instinctively, her inner heat desperate, exposed, calling for what she needed.
Y/N pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to Wanda’s cheek, murmuring, “I’m sorry… I can’t… I can’t help it anymore.”
Wanda let out a low, needy whine — and then, without hesitation, she pulled Y/N down into a heated, desperate kiss. Her lips crushed against Y/N’s with all the frustration, longing, and ache she had been holding back. Her hands tangled in Y/N’s hair, tugging gently, claiming.
Y/N groaned softly into the kiss, hands trembling over Wanda’s body, heart pounding as desire and restraint collided. The heat between them was electric, thick with pheromones and need, yet threaded with something else — care, apology, and something neither had dared admit until now.
The world outside the cabin ceased to exist. There was only heat, scent, and the frantic, desperate press of their bodies against each other.
As their lips met in a heated, desperate kiss, Y/N pressed a trembling hand to Wanda’s cheek, her voice low and rough against her lips.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Wanda,” she murmured, breathless. “I’ll make it stop. I… I can’t hold it anymore, but I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
Wanda’s only response was a whine, a tiny shake of her body pressing closer, needy hands clinging to Y/N as though letting go wasn’t an option.
Y/N’s hands moved with shaking precision, carefully sliding Wanda’s underwear down, exposing her heated, slick skin. Wanda’s legs spread wider again, hips wiggling instinctively against Y/N, silently begging for more.
Y/N swallowed hard, fumbling with the waistband of her own combat suit, pulling it and her boxers down in one motion. She froze for a moment, staring at the desperate, glistening heat before her, heart hammering, every Alpha instinct screaming. She couldn’t afford to lose control, not entirely. She had to be careful.
Sliding slowly forward, she positioned herself at Wanda’s entrance, pressing gently against her damp heat. Wanda’s hips moved instinctively, tiny whimpers escaping her lips as Y/N tried to take it slow, careful, resisting the urge to go faster, to sink deep and claim her the way her body demanded.
The moment Y/N slid inside, Wanda gasped, a long, loud moan that reverberated through the small room. The sound hit Y/N like a lightning bolt, every nerve screaming, and she pressed a shaky hand to Wanda’s hip to steady herself, to try to keep the pace gentle.
But Wanda didn’t want slow. Her arms shot around Y/N’s waist, pulling her down, urging her faster, her legs instinctively closing around Y/N’s hips to guide every movement. Her moans grew louder, desperate, tinged with frustration and pure, raw need.
Y/N groaned softly, apologizing again, even as Wanda’s walls clenched and rolled around her, forcing her deeper. “Wanda… I’m sorry… I—”
Wanda only pressed closer, grinding her hips against Y/N, lost in the intensity of the sensation, unable to wait. “More… faster… please…” she begged, voice broken, trembling as she arched up into every movement, chasing the overwhelming pleasure rolling through her.
Y/N’s body tensed, heart hammering, struggling to maintain that thin line between restraint and giving in completely. Every motion of Wanda’s hips, every tight, needy clench of her walls, threatened to push her over the edge. And yet, even as she lost a fraction of control, she kept sliding in slowly, softly, matching Wanda’s frantic rhythm as best she could, whispering apologies with every thrust.
The cabin was filled with the sound of desperate moans, their ragged breathing, and the slick, wet friction of two bodies moving together — a storm of pheromones, heat, and the first tentative surrender to a bond that neither had fully understood until now.
Y/N’s hands pressed against Wanda’s hips, holding her steady, trying desperately to maintain some control. Her movements were deliberate at first, slow and measured, coaxing Wanda gently, whispering soft apologies between ragged breaths.
But every thrust, every tight, rolling squeeze of Wanda’s walls, ignited something deep within her. Her body screamed, her Alpha instincts clawing at her mind. Claim her… claim her… The words repeated over and over like a mantra, echoing in her head, growing louder with every moan and whimper from the Omega beneath her.
Her hips began to betray her, moving gradually faster, deeper, more desperate, even as her mind fought. Each inch she sank into Wanda sent a thrill shooting through her veins, the friction against her tightening body almost unbearable. Y/N’s fangs itched, her breath came ragged, and yet she held onto the smallest threads of restraint, whispering apologies to the woman beneath her.
Wanda’s moans grew louder, higher-pitched, frantic with need. Her hips jerked, grinding against Y/N with abandon, each movement coaxing her Alpha closer to the edge.
“Wan… Wanda—” Y/N gasped, voice breaking, as Wanda’s walls clenched around her again.
And then it happened. Wanda’s second climax hit, her body shuddering violently, nails digging into Y/N’s shoulders, head thrown back, moaning like it was the only language she knew. The scent of her heat filled the small room, thick and intoxicating, almost too much to bear.
But even that wasn’t enough. Her body didn’t relax; her hips jerked, pleading for more, chasing another wave of pleasure. Y/N’s own heart thudded violently as she realized it — Wanda needed her more than her body could tell, more than any single release could satisfy.
Her walls clenched again around Y/N, teasing, desperate, and the raw, unrestrained heat pressed against every inch of her. She was lost, caught between restraint and desire, every instinct screaming claim her, claim her, claim her.
Y/N groaned, biting her lip as she buried herself deeper, sliding in harder, moving with her need, desperate to bring Wanda what she wanted — even if it pushed her closer to losing herself entirely.
The cabin echoed with the sounds of desperate pleasure, panting breaths, and the unstoppable pull of fated desire, the storm between them only growing more consuming with every passing second.
The pull inside Y/N only grew stronger, a roaring tide she could no longer ignore. The voice in her head — her Alpha instincts — was deafening now. Claim her. Claim her. Make her our Omega. Our Omega. My Omega.
She pressed herself against Wanda again, groaning and growling, lips crushing onto hers as she tasted her desperate need. Every nerve in her body was on fire, every motion stoking the heat between them. Wanda writhed beneath her, moaning and gasping, lost in the haze of her own heat and desire.
Before she even realized it, Y/N shifted positions, moving behind Wanda, positioning her butt up before slipping inside her in a deep, demanding thrust. One arm braced against the mattress to hold them both up, the other wrapping around Wanda, pulling her close.
Y/N’s lips found the nape of Wanda’s neck — a sensitive, intimate spot, the very place where an Alpha’s claim would bond an Omega forever. She licked and nipped repeatedly, feeling Wanda shiver and mewl under her, hips pressing harder, desperate for every touch. Every movement, every sensation screamed claim her in Y/N’s mind.
The voice in her head continued to scream, relentless, possessive.
Then, somewhere deep in the fog of sensation, Y/N realized what she was doing, and panic lanced through her. No… stop… Wanda already hates me… I can’t… not like this… please. she fought the voice desperately, as tears streaked her cheeks. Her Alpha instincts raged against her mind, her body betraying every word.
Her movements didn’t slow, her tongue didn’t stop, every thrust and lick carrying her closer to the edge. She could feel the knot starting to swell, thick and urgent as she continue to thrust into Wanda. Her fangs aching to claim, to mark, to bind Wanda to her forever.
In a flash of desperate clarity, she bit down hard on her own arm, tasting copper, drawing blood, anchoring herself just enough to ride out the flood of instinct without losing control entirely.
Wanda’s cries and moans surrounded her, pleading and needy, urging her on even as she tried to fight. But it was too late — the sensations, the pheromones, the overwhelming pull of fate and heat were unstoppable.
With a shuddering cry, Y/N climaxed, knot swelling and slipping fully inside Wanda, locking them together. Waves of pleasure tore through both of them as Wanda’s body convulsed beneath her, moaning loudly, pressing every inch of herself against Y/N, utterly lost in need and release.
Y/N collapsed against Wanda, trembling, her body shaking with the storm of sensations she had just survived. Soft sobs escaped her lips, muffled against her arm she was still biting. Every fiber of her Alpha instincts was still thrumming with need, guilt, and the residue of pleasure. She bit down harder on her arm, the sharp pain cutting through the haze and grounding her just enough to keep from losing herself further.
She wasn’t sure what would happen if she let go completely — if she released the tension in her body, would she lose control again? Would her instincts push her too far? The thought made her shiver, and she held herself together by clinging tightly to Wanda.
Wanda, finally sated for the moment, had gone limp beneath her. Her breathing was slow, even, and her heat, for now, was tempered. She was sound asleep, curled instinctively against Y/N, small whimpers escaping her lips from lingering pleasure and fatigue.
---
Next Morning
Wanda stirred, eyelids fluttering open. Her mind was sharp now, lucid, and for a brief moment she felt… nothing unusual. Somehow, the overwhelming pull of heat was gone. She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts.
Then her body betrayed her. A dull ache radiated from her core, sore and wet, muscles tight from tension and release. Her nakedness on the bed made her gasp softly, a mix of shock and embarrassment flooding her. Slowly, memories crept back — the mission, the sudden onset of heat, the way it had overwhelmed her, how she’d lost control.
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t supposed to happen… but it did. And Y/N… The picture of Y/N carrying her from Hydra’s base, soothing her, staying close as her body demanded, forced itself into her thoughts.
Wanda’s chest tightened. She had always hated Alphas. They claimed, they abused, they forced Omegas into submission and then blamed them for manipulating with pheromones. The very idea of being at their mercy made her stomach twist. And now, naked and sore, she remembered how completely she had been at Y/N’s mercy.
Panic rose in her throat. Her hand shot to the back of her neck — the sensitive nape where Alphas claimed Omegas, the mark that would bond them forever. Her fingers traced her skin, finding… nothing. No bite, no mark. Relief washed through her, quick and sharp, but confusion followed almost immediately.
And then she heard it. A wet, ragged sound behind her. Alarm flaring, she turned sharply, eyes wide.
Y/N was there. On the bed, writhing, fangs bared, biting fiercely into her own arm. Blood smeared across her skin and the sheets. Her body trembled violently, taut with tension, every muscle straining, lost somewhere between instinct and desperation.
Wanda froze, heart hammering. “Y/N?” she whispered, voice shaking.
Y/N’s head lifted slightly, eyes glazed, unfocused, and a low, guttural groan escaped her lips. She wasn’t aware of Wanda’s gaze, wasn’t seeing her — she was trapped in the raw storm of her Alpha instincts, trying to control herself, trying not to harm the woman she loved.
Wanda’s mind spun. Her core ached, sore and sensitive from the intensity of her heat, every muscle still trembling from the release she hadn’t fully expected. And now she was faced with Y/N — the Alpha she hated, yet couldn’t deny the pull toward.
The Alpha she had refused countless times, brushing her off, cold and distant. The Alpha she had believed embodied everything she despised: possessiveness, entitlement, and the dangerous instinct to take what she wanted.
And yet… here she was. Naked, vulnerable, writhing, and entirely human in front of Wanda. The Alpha who had carried her from Hydra’s base, soothed her, and — astonishingly — slept with her during her heat without claiming her. Without marking her.
Wanda’s chest tightened at the memory, confusion and a strange, reluctant admiration mingling with the lingering ache between her legs. She had been so sure of what Alphas were, what they did, and yet Y/N had… restrained herself. She had indulged her need, had given in to her Alpha instincts, yet she hadn’t taken Wanda by force.
Her hands tightened slightly on the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as she stared at Y/N, who was still lost in her own storm of instincts, biting her arm, fangs itching, trembling to keep control.
Part of Wanda wanted to flee, to retreat, to bury herself in self-protection and old hatred. But another part — a deeper, more confusing part — couldn’t look away. She couldn’t ignore the way her body still ached, the way it still craved the closeness, the lingering warmth of Y/N pressed against her during the heat. And then there was the strange, disarming comfort in seeing Y/N struggle so hard not to hurt her.
Her eyes widened as she noticed the crimson staining Y/N’s arm — the Alpha had been biting herself to fight her instincts, to hold back the primal need to claim her. Wanda’s breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, she reached out, hands glowing faintly with red magic, and gently cupped Y/N’s face.
“Stop… stop hurting yourself,” she whispered softly, voice trembling with a mix of awe and worry.
Y/N froze for a moment, still trembling, and then let out a broken sob, lowering her head into Wanda’s hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered, “I… I’m sorry… I… I couldn’t… I tried…” Her voice cracked, raw with guilt, shame, and the lingering pull of instincts she had fought to restrain.
Wanda blinked, stunned. She had always assumed that Y/N — just because she was an Alpha — was dangerous, forceful, impossible to control, someone who would take without thinking. And yet here she was, a woman trembling, crying, and apologizing for not being able to control her own instincts.
Her hands moved instinctively, glowing as she closed the shallow wound on Y/N’s arm, the magic knitting the skin together, easing the sting and the blood. Y/N flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t resist, allowing herself to be cared for, even as sobs continued to shake her body.
“You… you didn’t hurt me,” Wanda said softly, voice barely above a whisper, still trying to process what she was seeing.
Y/N wiped at her tears quickly, shifting back slightly, keeping a careful distance. “Are you… okay? I didn’t… I didn’t hurt you, did I? Did I—” Her voice trembled, emotion raw, as she pressed her hands together in front of her. “I swear I was trying… I just…”
Wanda shook her head slowly. “No… you didn’t…” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “You… you didn’t hurt me at all.”
Y/N took a cautious breath, still keeping a small space between them. Her voice was quiet, tentative. “Your… heat… how… how come it’s over? I… I thought it lasts a week.”
Wanda blinked, still processing the situation herself. She shifted slightly on the bed, running a hand over her forehead as if trying to steady her thoughts. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, voice low, confused. “It… it wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this. It felt… induced, sudden… maybe because of the mission, or… or being so close to you. I… I think it never fully developed.”
Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, disbelief mingling with curiosity. “Induced…?” she echoed, her own instincts still twitching at the memory of Wanda’s scent, her pheromones, the way she had lost herself completely.
Wanda nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah… it… it was triggered, I guess… by… by you being there. But it wasn’t my full heat. That’s why it passed so quickly… I… I think.” Her voice faltered, uncertainty and fatigue threading through her words.
Y/N’s chest tightened, a mix of relief and lingering tension pressing down on her. “I… I didn’t know it could… stop like that,” she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I thought it would last… longer… I…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, trying to reconcile the lingering pull of instincts with the reality of Wanda’s sudden calm.
“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice heavy with emotion. She reached for one of the blankets draped over the bed, wrapping it quickly around her naked form. Every movement felt clumsy, still taut with residual Alpha tension, but necessary — she needed distance, needed to ground herself.
“I… I need… I need to shower,” Y/N said quietly, avoiding Wanda’s gaze. Her voice was small, hesitant, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. “I’ll… I’ll be back.”
Without waiting for a response, she stepped away from the bed, blanket clutched around her, and moved toward the small bathroom of the safe house. The warmth of the water, she hoped, would help wash away some of the intensity, some of the instincts still clawing at her mind.
Behind her, Wanda remained on the bed, naked and vulnerable, still processing the surreal aftermath of her heat and the shocking reality of Y/N’s restraint. She lay there quietly, watching the door close, feeling both confusion and a strange, reluctant sense of trust beginning to form toward the Alpha who had… not claimed her, despite everything.
The room was silent except for the faint sound of running water, and in that quiet, both of them had a moment to breathe, to begin untangling the chaos of heat, instinct, and unexpected connection.
---
After leaving the bathroom, Y/N finally contacted the team, her voice calm but firm over the comms. “We’re both okay,” she said. She deliberately lied about the situation, fabricating a sudden rut and claiming Wanda had used her powers to contain her in the safe house. She carefully avoided exposing Wanda’s true second gender, protecting her secret as always.
The team acknowledged the message, voices full of concern, and promised to debrief them once they returned. Y/N ended the call, taking a deep breath and steeling herself for the trip back.
When they arrived at the compound, Y/N led Wanda inside quietly. Once they were alone, she turned toward her, eyes full of remorse. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered once more, voice heavy with everything left unsaid. “For… for all of it.”
Wanda nodded silently, still processing, her mind tangled with the memories of her heat, the sensations, and Y/N’s restraint. She opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t find the words.
Without another word, Y/N wrapped herself in a blanket, avoiding further closeness, and retreated to her own room, leaving Wanda on her own to gather her thoughts.
The following week, Y/N deliberately kept her distance. She didn’t approach Wanda, didn’t try to talk or touch, carefully giving space while her instincts simmered beneath the surface, waiting.
Wanda, meanwhile, was still processing. Her emotions were tangled and confusing — relief, lingering desire, admiration, fear, and the faint stirrings of something unfamiliar and unsettling. She replayed the moments over and over, the feel of Y/N’s body, the way she had restrained herself, the closeness she had offered without claiming her.
She didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. All she knew was that despite herself, her thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N, and she couldn’t deny that the memory of the Alpha who had cared for her so intensely left her… unsettled in a way she didn’t understand.
---
The team had realized almost immediately that something was off. Y/N, who had spent every spare moment chasing Wanda since the day she joined, had suddenly gone silent. No teasing, no persistent invitations, no casual touches or lingering glances. If anything, she seemed to be actively avoiding the witch.
Nat was the first to break the silence. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She barged into Wanda’s room, slamming the door behind her with a sharp clack. “Alright,” Nat said, crossing her arms, her tone firm. “Spill it. What the hell happened with Y/N?”
Wanda looked up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I… what do you mean?”
Nat sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Wanda. Y/N told us she had a sudden… rut during the mission. You both didn’t come back for two days, and now… now it’s like you’re actively avoiding each other. Something happened, and I’m not letting it slide. Tell me.”
Wanda’s stomach tightened. The memories of the heat, the safe house, the way Y/N had restrained herself, all surged back. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, trying to form words that wouldn’t expose herself.
Nat’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “Did she—? I mean, did Y/N force herself on you?” she asked, carefully but directly. Her voice was edged with concern, but there was also that hard, unyielding undertone that made it clear she wouldn’t accept vague answers.
Wanda’s eyes widened. Her chest tightened. She had been so confused herself about what had happened, about her own feelings and sensations… and now Nat was asking this. Panic surged.
“No,” Wanda said quickly, shaking her head. “She… she didn’t. She—” Her voice faltered, and she stopped, unsure how much to say. “She… she tried to… hold back. She didn’t… she didn’t force me. I… I don’t know how to explain it…”
Nat’s expression softened slightly, though the concern in her eyes remained sharp. She crossed the room and stood in front of Wanda, arms folded, a knowing look on her face. “Okay,” she said slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “But… you two *did it*, right?”
Wanda blinked, caught off guard. “I… what?”
Nat’s voice dropped, quiet but laced with steel. “Wanda… did she hurt you?”
Wanda’s breath hitched. The question slammed into her, tearing at the knot in her chest. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. How could she say it? That it wasn’t Y/N’s rut but her own heat? That she had been the one losing control, clinging to Y/N, begging her? That Y/N had been so careful, so patient, even when instincts were eating her alive?
Her silence stretched too long.
Nat’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “She did, didn’t she?” Her tone hardened, venom dripping with every word. “That bastard— I’ll kill her.”
“No!” Wanda shot up from the bed, panic surging through her as her eyes glowed faintly red. “No, Nat, stop—please!”
Nat froze, thrown off by the desperation in Wanda’s voice.
“It wasn’t like that,” Wanda rushed out, her words tumbling over each other. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her chest. “She didn’t hurt me, she… she helped me. I wasn’t—” She choked, swallowing hard, her face burning with shame. “I wasn’t in control. It wasn’t her rut, Nat. It was… it was my heat.”
Nat’s brows knit together, her head tilting slightly. “Heat? But you’re a… beta.”
The word stung, almost like an accusation. Wanda’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding in her ears. She lowered her eyes, shoulders curling inward as though the weight of the truth might crush her.
“I’m not,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m not a beta.”
Nat blinked, caught off guard. “Wanda…?”
Her lips trembled, the confession clawing its way out of her throat. “I lied. I’ve always lied. I had to. No one would’ve let me stay here, no one would’ve taken me seriously if they knew I was an Omega.” Her hands clenched against her knees, knuckles white. “But I am. And the suppressants— they just—” she shook her head, frustrated tears burning her eyes. “They stopped working when I met her.”
Nat’s face hardened, jaw tightening as the realization sank in. “So you’re telling me… you went into heat. And Y/N was there.” Her voice was sharp, clipped—dangerously controlled.
Wanda’s chest tightened. “Nat—”
“Did she mark you?” Nat cut in, her green eyes burning with fury. “Tell me right now if she forced a claim on you, Wanda, because I swear—”
“No!” Wanda blurted, panic lacing her voice. She grabbed Nat’s wrist before she could stand, holding her down with desperate strength. “She didn’t. She didn’t do anything like that.”
Nat’s nostrils flared, unconvinced. “You were in heat, Wanda. You were vulnerable. And she’s an Alpha. Don’t you dare protect her if—”
“I’m not protecting her,” Wanda interrupted, her eyes glassy with tears. “I’m telling you the truth. She didn’t force me. She could’ve, but she didn’t. She was careful, Nat. She helped me through it. She… she was good to me.”
Her voice cracked, shame and longing spilling out in the same breath. “She held me when I thought I was going to fall apart. She touched me like I mattered, not like I was just an Omega in heat. And now she won’t even look at me, and I—” She bit her lip hard, cutting off the words, but it was too late.
Nat froze, her fists still clenched, but the sound of Wanda’s voice cracking made something twist in her chest. She sat back slowly, watching Wanda with sharp, searching eyes.
“Wanda…” she said carefully, her tone quieter now. “You’re saying she didn’t take advantage of you?”
Wanda shook her head fiercely. “No. She… she was the only thing holding me together. She didn’t hurt me, Nat. She helped me.” Her voice wavered, and she added in a whisper, “And I hate that she’s avoiding me now. I hate it because I miss her. I miss everything.”
Nat inhaled slowly, trying to let the fury drain out, but her protective instincts weren’t so easily calmed. “Alright,” she said finally, voice steady again. “If that’s what happened, then I believe you. But…” her eyes narrowed, “…I thought you hated her.”
Wanda froze. Her breath caught in her chest, her lips parting but no sound coming out. She had spent months making sure everyone knew how much she despised Alphas—their arrogance, their entitlement, the way they looked at her like she was something to claim. And Y/N…
Her throat tightened. Y/N had asked her out more than once, always gently, always with a hopeful smile that Wanda crushed every single time. She remembered the way she’d scoffed, the way she’d rolled her eyes, the venom in her voice when she told Y/N she would never want someone like her.
So why was her heart aching now, days later, because Y/N wouldn’t look at her?
“I…” Wanda’s hands fisted in her lap, her eyes stinging. “I don’t know anymore.”
Nat tilted her head, studying her. “You don’t know if you hate her, or you don’t know if you like her?”
Wanda’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded so hard it drowned out the quiet hum of the room. Deep down, she knew. She’d known from the very first time she laid eyes on Y/N—that strange pull in her chest, the way her stomach fluttered when those Alpha pheromones brushed over her like an invisible hand.
Suppressants had always worked for her, even when she was surrounded by other Alphas. But with Y/N… the pills faltered. Her body burned for her. The ache in her bones, the warmth that coiled low in her belly whenever Y/N was too close—it all made sense now, even if Wanda didn’t want to accept it.
She hated Alphas. She’d told herself that over and over, built up her armor against them. But Y/N wasn’t like the rest. Y/N wasn’t arrogant, wasn’t entitled—she was kind, steady, respectful. And that only made it worse.
So she pushed Y/N away. Again and again. She used her cold words, her scoffs, her glares as a shield. Because every time Y/N smiled at her, every time she inhaled those intoxicating pheromones, her body betrayed her. It ached. It *wanted.* Sometimes, it even tipped her into heat like it had this time—unexpected, brutal, undeniable.
Wanda swallowed hard, blinking fast as if the motion could push the truth back down where she’d buried it. But Nat’s piercing gaze cut right through her defenses.
“I don’t hate her,” Wanda whispered finally, her voice trembling. “I never did. I was just… scared. Because whenever she’s near, it feels like I can’t fight it anymore.”
Nat’s eyes narrowed slightly, her sharp mind putting pieces together with alarming speed. Suppressants failing. Heats triggered by a single Alpha. The way Wanda’s voice cracked just speaking of Y/N.
“Wanda,” she said slowly, deliberately, “this isn’t just attraction. Not the casual kind. You know what this means, don’t you?”
Wanda froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Nat leaned forward, lowering her voice even though they were alone. “Your suppressants don’t just stop working for no reason. Heats don’t just spike like that around any Alpha. That only happens with one person. Your person.” Her eyes softened, even as her words struck like a blade. “Y/N is your mate.”
Wanda’s lips parted, but no words came. Her whole body went still, as if the truth had knocked the air right out of her lungs.
Mate.
The word rattled in her chest, terrifying and undeniable all at once. She wanted to argue, to deny it, but deep down—deep where no walls or excuses could reach—she knew Nat was right. Every moment, every ache, every stolen glance at Y/N had been building to this truth.
And now that it was spoken aloud, there was no taking it back.
---
After talking to Nat, Wanda felt overwhelmed. She thought about Y/N being her fated mate. Was it true? Were they fated. But she swore she wouldn’t end up with an alpha. She swore she would fight. And now she found her mate.
She stayed the whole day thinking about it. When she realized it was already midnight.
With a sigh Wanda stand up and go out of her bedroom, heading for the kitchen.
The kitchen was dim, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Wanda padded in, expecting silence, but stopped short when she saw Y/N leaning against the counter, a half-empty glass of water in her hand.
The Alpha looked worn down, shadows bruising beneath her eyes. The second her gaze flicked up and met Wanda’s, she startled—almost like she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“W—Wanda,” Y/N muttered quickly, setting the glass down with a clink. “I’m going already. Sorry.”
She moved fast, shoulders hunched, as if she could escape before Wanda’s presence unraveled her further. But Wanda’s hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could flee.
“Wait,” Wanda said, breathless. Her touch tightened instinctively, her heart hammering. “I want to talk.”
And then it happened. Without meaning to, without even realizing, Wanda’s control slipped. The subtle pulse of her Omega pheromones slipped free, sweet and heavy in the air.
Y/N froze. Her eyes widened, panic sparking instantly as the scent hit her like a wave.
“Wanda—don’t.” Y/N’s voice cracked with desperation as she tried to pull away, but Wanda’s grip held fast. “Please, you—you can’t—”
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Wanda whispered, realizing too late what was happening. Her body was betraying her again, answering to Y/N in ways she couldn’t stop.
The Alpha’s chest rose and fell sharply, like she was fighting for every breath. Her pulse thundered in her neck as she wrenched her wrist back, stumbling toward the hallway. “I need to go.”
But Wanda followed, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.
“Y/N, please!”
Y/N reached her room, slammed her palm against the door and tried to shut it, but the wood halted mid-swing, glowing faint red. Wanda’s magic held it open, trembling with the force of her own turmoil.
Y/N turned back, eyes dark and frantic. “Wanda—stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
But Wanda only took a step closer, her voice breaking as her eyes shone in the dim light. “Then tell me why it feels like I can’t breathe when you’re not here.”
Y/N’s chest tightened at Wanda’s words, the raw plea in her voice cutting straight through her. But instead of relief, instead of the hope she secretly craved, dread crashed over her like ice water.
Her hands trembled as she pressed harder against the door, trying to make it budge despite Wanda’s magic. “Don’t say that,” Y/N rasped, eyes locked on the floor, refusing to meet Wanda’s gaze.
Wanda blinked, stunned. “What?”
“You’re only saying that because of what happened,” Y/N forced out, voice low and ragged. “Because your heat—because I—” She stopped, swallowing hard, unable to finish the thought. Her throat burned with shame.
“That’s not true.” Wanda’s voice cracked, her fingers tightening on the wood as if she could hold her words in place the way her magic held the door.
Y/N shook her head fiercely. “You don’t mean it, Wanda. You think you do, but it’s just the bond messing with you. If I let myself believe it…” Her jaw clenched, her eyes finally lifting to Wanda’s, glistening with the weight of sleepless nights. “If I let myself believe you actually wanted me, and then I found out it was just pheromones—just your body tricking you—I wouldn’t survive that.”
The words landed like a blow. Wanda’s breath hitched, tears pricking her eyes. She didn’t let go of the door, didn’t let go of Y/N. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice trembling but fierce.
“Then make me prove it.”
Y/N’s eyes widened, caught off guard.
“Let me prove that it’s not just my body,” Wanda whispered, her Omega pheromones pulsing heavier now, unable to be contained. “That it’s me. That it’s always been me.”
Y/N staggered back a step as if the force of it pushed her. “Wanda—”
But Wanda only moved forward, refusing to let her retreat again.
Y/N’s voice broke through the tension, bitter and trembling all at once.
“Then why did you always say no?” she asked, her eyes searching Wanda’s with an ache that made her stomach twist. “Every time I asked you out, every time I tried—you pushed me away. You even said…”
Her voice faltered. She looked down, jaw tight. “You even said you don’t like Alphas.”
Wanda’s lips parted, her throat tightening with guilt. “Y/N—”
Y/N’s voice cracked again, sharper this time. “So what changed, huh? Suddenly because your suppressants failed, because your body wants mine, now I’m good enough?”
The words burned as they left her, because even as she said them, her heart begged to believe otherwise.
Wanda flinched, tears welling at the edges of her eyes. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it, Wanda?” Y/N snapped, finally lifting her gaze to meet hers, raw and desperate. “Because I can’t—” Her voice wavered, broke. “I can’t be the mistake you regret in the morning. I can’t be something you hate yourself for.”
Wanda’s breath shook, and she took a trembling step forward. “I never hated you,” she whispered, her voice thick with guilt. “I hated what you made me feel. I hated that every time you were near, my chest ached, my skin burned, and no amount of pills could make it stop. I told myself I hated you because it was easier than admitting the truth.”
Y/N’s brows furrowed, her whole body tense. “And what truth is that?”
“That you might be the one I’ve been running from my whole life,” Wanda admitted, tears sliding down her cheeks now. “That you’re the Alpha who can undo me with a single look.”
The silence that followed was crushing. Y/N stood frozen, caught between disbelief and the yearning that clawed at her chest.
“Please,” Wanda whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t make me keep pretending I don’t want you.”
Wanda’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her hands clenching at her sides. “I always hated Alphas,” she admitted, her voice raw, almost trembling. “Do you know why? Because they take whatever they want. And then they turn around and blame it on us—on Omegas. They say we tempted them, seduced them, like we’re nothing but… toys. Something to use when they can’t control themselves.”
Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway. “I swore I would never let myself become that. Never let an Alpha decide who I was. So I hid. I took suppressants so strong they made me sick sometimes, but it was worth it. They hid my scent, they dulled my heat. They gave me control.”
Y/N’s jaw clenched, her chest aching as she listened, but she stayed rooted in place.
Wanda’s lips quivered as she continued, softer now, vulnerable in a way Y/N had never seen. “But since I met you, nothing works anymore. No matter how much I take, it’s like my body knows. The scent won’t stay buried. The heat keeps breaking through. And after… after that day in the cabin…” Her voice cracked, her eyes glistening. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About how it felt. I thought if I put enough distance, if I froze you out, it would fade. But it hasn’t. It’s only gotten worse. I miss you. I miss you so much it feels like it’s tearing me apart.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, pressing down on both of them.
Y/N finally exhaled, the sound shaky, almost broken. “You’re not the only one who felt it,” she whispered, her voice low but steady enough to make Wanda’s heart jolt.
Wanda’s breath caught.
“When I first met you, there was this… pull. Something I couldn’t explain. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. And it didn’t make sense because you were a Beta—at least, that’s what everyone thought. Alphas aren’t supposed to feel something like that toward Betas, but I didn’t care.” Y/N gave a weak laugh, though her eyes stayed fixed on the ground between them. “I thought I was losing my mind, being drawn to you like that.”
She lifted her gaze then, meeting Wanda’s trembling one.
“And when I finally smelled it—your pheromones, your real scent… god, Wanda. Do you know how hard it was to hold back at the cabin? To fight my own instincts in that tiny place, when all I could smell was you?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, words scraping out like a confession she’d buried too long. “It felt like every part of me was screaming to take you, to claim you, and it terrified me. Because I didn’t want you to think I was just another Alpha—like the ones you despise. I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I wanted…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I wanted you to choose me, not be forced.”
Y/N’s voice cracked, the restraint in her tone raw. “So I fought it, even when my body was burning, even when it nearly broke me. Because the truth is, Wanda…” her lips parted, breath uneven, “…I’d rather destroy myself fighting those instincts than hurt you. Than become exactly what you’ve always feared.”
Wanda’s chest rose and fell too quickly, her eyes shimmering. She looked like she wanted to speak, but the words caught, tangled in her throat.
Y/N drew in a shaky breath, her voice low, almost breaking.
“I like you, Wanda. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” Her eyes softened, even as her chest ached. “But I don’t want you to choose me because of… what happened. Because we lost control in that cabin. That wasn’t fair to you.”
Wanda’s brows knit, lips parting to protest, but Y/N pressed on.
“I didn’t claim you. I made sure of that. You still have a choice. You can walk away from me, and if you want to—” her voice faltered, throat tightening, “—you can mate with someone else. Someone you actually choose.”
The words hung in the air like poison. Wanda flinched as if they were physical blows. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
“Someone else…” she whispered, the phrase tasting wrong, bitter, like ash in her mouth. Her stomach turned violently, nausea crawling up her throat at just the thought. The very idea of another Alpha touching her, of another scent binding to hers, made her feel sick, made her body recoil.
But across from her, Y/N wasn’t any better. The moment she let the possibility slip out loud, it was like she’d swallowed broken glass. Her gut twisted, her whole chest aching with the image of Wanda with anyone else. Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt, bile rising at the thought.
Both of them stood there, breath unsteady, their bodies betraying the truth their words refused to voice: the mere thought of belonging to anyone else was unbearable.
Wanda swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Nat… she told me something. She said… she said we might be—”
“Fated mates?” Y/N interrupted softly, her voice trembling. “I know. But even if that’s true, I… I won’t force you into anything. You have a choice. I’ll even—” She grimaced, pressing a hand to her mouth, “The thought makes me wanna puke but… if it makes you happy… ”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed, a flush rising to her cheeks. The sheer insistence, the self-denial—it irritated her more than she expected. “Y/N,” she said sharply, stepping closer, voice low but firm, “if you want a date with me… just shut up.”
Y/N blinked, startled by the intensity, her own body tightening with a mixture of fear, anticipation, and longing. “I—” she began, but Wanda cut her off with a frustrated groan, leaning closer, eyes locked on hers.
“I want you,” Wanda said, voice rough, desperate but controlled. “Not because of some heat or pheromones. Not because of anything else. Just… me. Only me. Understand?”
Y/N’s chest ached, the tension in her limbs fading just enough for her to breathe. She nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I… I understand.”
Wanda’s lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile, though her hands were still tight at her sides. “Good,” she murmured. “Then… maybe we can start with a date. And you can stop overthinking everything.”
Y/N let out a small laugh, shaky but genuine, and for the first time in days, the pull in her chest didn’t feel like torment—it felt like possibility.
Before Y/N could respond, Wanda stepped forward and threw her arms around her, pressing close. Her voice wavered, soft and desperate.
“Now… can you please… release your pheromones?” she whimpered against Y/N’s shoulder. “I’m… I’m going crazy.”
Y/N froze for a heartbeat, heart hammering in her chest. She could feel the subtle pulse of Wanda’s pheromones even through the embrace—an involuntary signal of need, of trust. Wanda’s body trembled against hers, shivering slightly as if her very nerves were raw and exposed.
Slowly, Y/N exhaled and let herself relax just enough, the tiny release of her Alpha scent washing over Wanda. Wanda’s grip tightened, letting out a soft sigh as her body visibly began to calm.
“You… you can breathe now,” Y/N murmured, voice gentle, careful. She rested her chin lightly on Wanda’s head, letting the subtle pheromone flow steady, protective. “I’ve got you.”
Wanda’s arms clung tighter, nuzzling into Y/N’s neck. “Don’t ever leave me like that again,” she whispered hoarsely, voice muffled against her shoulder. “I… I can’t handle it.”
Y/N hugged her back firmly, a small, reassuring smile brushing her lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly. “I’ll always be here. You just have to let me help.”
Wanda shivered again, but this time it was relief, not need or panic, as her breathing slowly evened out. For the first time in days, she felt safe—and like maybe, finally, she could trust someone completely.
Y/N hugged Wanda tighter, pressing her body gently against hers. She buried her nose in Wanda’s hair, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of her Omega pheromones. A low groan slipped past her lips, the pull of her instincts undeniable even now.
“Dang it,” Y/N cursed under her breath, feeling her body betray her again, her cock stirring despite the calm between them.
Wanda pulled back just enough to look up at her, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Careful, Alpha,” she teased, the tension in her voice light and playful for the first time in weeks. “Don’t get too carried away before our date.”
Y/N couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her own lips, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll try,” she muttered, though her hands lingered gently on Wanda’s back, reluctant to let go entirely.
They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, a warmth spreading between them that had nothing to do with heat or pheromones—just trust, understanding, and the first flickers of something new and real.
Wanda tilted her head, resting her cheek against Y/N’s collarbone. “I think… I think I like this,” she murmured softly, eyes half-lidded, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
Y/N chuckled, tightening her hold once more. “Me too,” she admitted, voice low and full of affection. “Me too.”
And in that quiet kitchen, with only the hum of the refrigerator and their steady breaths around them, they found a fragile, hopeful beginning. A chance to explore what they felt without fear, without control, just two people learning to trust that the pull between them could be something beautiful, something worth holding onto.
For the first time, both of them allowed themselves to imagine a future together—one step at a time, with love and hope guiding the way.
Summary: Wanda’s ovulation has left her desperate, aching to be bred and completely insatiable. When Natasha catches you both breaking one of her rules, punishment follows, but so does a front-row seat to every gasp, every shudder, and every whimper as Natasha bends her to her will, stripping her of all control right before your eyes.
A/N: This fic combines two of the most requested things, Wanda ovulating and R finally getting the long-teased voyeuristic view of Natasha and Wanda together. I know it took forever, sorry about that, but I hope it is worth the wait. This is pure, unfiltered smut with basically no plot, oops.
P.S. if you have any requests for future parts, please let me know in an ask or comment 🩵
Word count: 13,946
NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3. Other fics can also be found in my masterlist.
You woke to the scent of bacon and eggs drifting gently through the cracks in the bedroom door, warm and savoury, curling around you like a soft embrace. For a moment, you stayed wrapped in the cocoon of warmth beneath the duvet, eyes closed, savouring the calm settling deep into your bones. Your hand moved instinctively, sliding over the sheets, searching for the familiar weight of one of your girlfriends beside you. You knew one of them would almost certainly be downstairs, cooking breakfast, but as your fingers traced the empty space, there was no one there.
A frown tugged at your lips, followed by a quiet huff, more a reflex than real annoyance, but the scowl that followed was unmistakable. Being left alone in the mornings was rare. Usually, if both were up, one would wake you too. Today, though, you were alone. With a reluctant sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cool floor. Your fingers caught on the first thing within reach, a large, soft T-shirt, Natasha’s, you think. You shrugged on the shirt, ignoring the chill of the morning air against your skin, and made your way downstairs.
The kitchen was bathed in sunlight, the warm rays flooding in through wide windows and catching motes of dust floating in the air. From the corner, the radio played softly, an old tune humming low and crackling gently, barely audible beneath the sound of Wanda’s humming. She stood at the stove, hips swaying subtly with the rhythm, having just plated two servings of breakfast.
Your eyes flicked around, a pang of disappointment tightening somewhere deep inside upon realising that Natasha wasn't there. Then back to Wanda, she seemed utterly absorbed, caught in her own bubble, unaware of your presence standing silently in the doorway. “Wands?” Your voice broke through, rough with sleep, softer than you intended.
Her head snapped up sharply, and she spun around, the movement fluid but charged. Her green eyes locked onto you, sweeping slowly from head to toe, darkening like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The hunger in her gaze was unmistakable, fierce and unyielding.
“Good morning, malysh (baby),” she said finally, voice low and husky. When her eyes met yours, they burned, searing through your skin, straight into your core.
Your stomach clenched, heat pooling deep and sudden. You forced your voice steady, focusing on something else. “Where’s Nat?”
“She went to get groceries,” Wanda replied simply, but her stare didn’t waver. It held you captive, heavy and insistent. A shiver, part thrill, part confusion, traced down your spine.
“What?” you said, lifting a hand awkwardly to your face, searching. “Do I have something—?”
She chuckled softly, breathless and frayed around the edges. “No, sweetheart. Come here.”
Her voice trembled now, uneven and raw, and it twisted your pulse into knots. Without thinking, you crossed the kitchen floor until you stood before her. “What’s up?” you tried, but the words barely left your mouth before her lips were on yours.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was fierce, hungry, as if she’d been holding back while you slept and now she could finally let it free. Teeth grazed, tongues tangled, and her body pressed hard against you, warm and desperate. The edge of the counter dug into your back as she pinned you there, her breaths shallow and quick.
When you broke apart, your lips tingled and your head spun. You laughed breathlessly, “Good morning to you too.” But there was no softness in her smile. Her eyes remained dark, fixed, burning with something unsettling and raw.
Before you could even catch your breath, her hand found yours, sliding it down to the waistband of her leggings with a trembling urgency. She guided your fingers gently against the warmth beneath, and you froze, blinking up at her in surprise. “Baby, I need you,” she whispered, her voice stripped of its usual sharp command, devoid of dominance. Instead, it was raw, pleading, vulnerable, aching. “Please.”
Her words echoed in your mind, stirring a confusing urgency that tangled with hesitation. Natasha’s rules surfaced unbidden: no sex in the kitchen. That boundary had been drawn early, long before Natasha ever touched you, though she had seen Wanda’s insistent attempts to ‘christen’ every surface of the house with your release.
“Upstairs?” you croaked, even as your hand twitched involuntarily.
Wanda shook her head, stubborn and fierce but trembling at the same time. “No,” she said, voice cracking. “I need you now. Please.” Her eyes shone like they might break entirely if you refused. Sensing your hesitation, her voice dropped lower, desperation bleeding into every word. “I’ll deal with Nat, I promise. Just… please.” Her fingers trembled as they yanked her leggings down with frantic urgency, kicking them off to reveal skin flushed hot with need.
“Fuck,” you breathed, her raw desperation striking something deep inside you. You expected her to pull you in, to push your hand beneath her underwear and demand your touch, or maybe even to push you to your knees. But she stood there, eyes locked on you, silently begging you to make the move. Gathering your courage, you closed the distance, capturing her lips.
This time, you pressed her back against the opposite counter, something bold and unfamiliar for you, but this wasn’t your usual dominant Wanda. This was needy, pleading Wanda, and you intended to give her exactly what she wanted. You kissed her hard before peeling off her shirt, moaning softly as you took her in. “So beautiful, Wands,” you murmured, trailing kisses down her neck.
She was down to just her underwear now, and before you even realised, you’d lifted her up onto the counter, standing between her spread legs. Her head flung back against the cupboard, fingers clutching the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. “Baby, please,” she whispered, her voice fragile and desperate.
You looked down and saw the evidence of her longing, her underwear soaked through, not just a damp patch but dripping, her arousal tracing wet lines down her inner thighs. A low moan escaped you at the sight of her.
You slid her underwear aside and lowered your head, your tongue drawing a slow, wet stripe along her folds, collecting every drop of her essence with a satisfied hum. Wanda’s breath hitched, and one hand tangled itself in your hair, pulling you closer. “Shit, please, please,” she begged, her voice trembling.
You gave in without hesitation, your mouth closing firmly over her clit, sucking with a deliberate, hungry pressure. The slick heat beneath your tongue was intoxicating, and when you slipped two fingers inside her, there was no resistance, only the smooth, wet warmth and the flush of her trembling skin pressed against your hand.
Her hips began to move, rolling and chasing the rhythm of your fingers as if desperate to pull you closer. Slowly, your other hand moved to her bra straps, sliding them down her arms and exposing her breasts to the cool kitchen air. Your lips followed, planting a trail of soft, teasing kisses along the curve of her skin, before closing around one nipple. Your tongue swirled and flicked, eliciting a sharp, guttural moan that tore from her throat, vibrating through the small space.
In that moment, you knew you had her completely. Your fingers curled deeper, hitting the exact spot she craved, making her whimpers and moans echo off the walls. Her cunt clenched around your hand, muscles tightening with every stroke, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The tension built quickly, spiralling higher and higher until she was trembling on the edge. “God… please…” she whispered, voice thick with desire and desperation. “So close…”
But just as the first tremors of release began to wash over her, the door swung open sharply. Natasha stepped inside, her eyes immediately locking onto the scene before her. The sudden intrusion snapped the world taut, silence crashing down like a thunderclap. Both of you froze, caught in the act, breath heavy and hearts pounding.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Natasha’s voice was sharp and clipped.
Your mouth opened, but all that came out was a breathless, “I… I…” Your fingers were still inside her wife, betraying any chance at finding an excuse.
Natasha’s lips curled into an amused smile. She repeated your stammer mockingly, before stepping closer with an unsettling calm. “You’re breaking my rules, clearly,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto Wanda’s flushed face. “And you…” She pointed a finger, “Why would you let her, hmm?” There was something in her tone, quiet knowing, like she’d been waiting for this moment, piecing it together long before you did.
“Nat… please,” Wanda’s voice cracked, soft and vulnerable again, but desperate beyond measure. “I need her. I need you. I just…”
“You need to be filled, don’t you?” she interrupted Wanda’s rambling. “Is it that time again? When all you want is to be taken, to be bred, to be full of my cock, my cum?” The words were filthy, and you felt them strike deep, your breath hitching as your body reacted without thought. Wanda’s cunt tightened around your fingers again, her nod frantic, eyes wild with need and submission.
You glanced back and forth between Natasha and Wanda, heat pooling deep inside you, but your face was etched with confusion. Natasha caught the look immediately, a knowing smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, malyshka (Little One),” she said softly, her tone teasing but tender. “You haven’t seen Wanda like this before, have you? This isn’t Mommy. This is my desperate malen'kaya shlyukha (little slut).”
With that, she smacked her hand down sharply on Wanda’s exposed clit, and a sharp, breathy moan escaped Wanda’s lips. Natasha chuckled, the sound warm and fond as she watched Wanda’s reaction. “She sometimes gets like this while she’s ovulating,” she explained, eyes flicking to you with a mix of amusement and something almost protective. “I hoped you’d finally be around to see her like this, not so dominant now, is she? She's just a slut waiting to be used. Waiting to be put back in her place.”
Your mouth dropped open, shock flooding every nerve at Natasha’s words, the bluntness, the raw edge of it all, especially coming from her about Wanda. You’d heard vague mentions before, discussions about limits and boundaries, but those had felt clinical, distant. You hadn’t truly grasped the weight of it, hadn’t imagined it could be this intense.
Frozen in place, your fingers still buried inside Wanda, your whole body trembling with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something you couldn’t yet name, you simply stood there, utterly speechless, mouth agape.
“Hey,” Natasha’s voice was suddenly soft, almost tender, breaking through the haze as her hand slid up to cradle your jaw. Her touch was firm, turning your face until your eyes locked with hers. The steadiness of her gaze was grounding, an anchor in the swirling confusion. “Colour?” she asked, her tone calm but probing.
You didn’t even need to pause, the answer came instinctively, almost like a reflex. “Green.”
“Good girl,” Natasha whispered, her voice thick with approval as she leaned forward, brushing her lips lightly over yours in a brief, intimate kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. Then her attention shifted back to Wanda, whose breaths were ragged, her chest heaving, and her eyes glazed. “And your colour?” Natasha asked softly but with unmistakable understanding.
“Green… please, Nat.” The words hung in the air, fragile and urgent.
Natasha’s expression softened just a fraction, but her tone remained firm and unyielding. “Khoroshaya devochka (Good girl),” she murmured, the praise laced with quiet authority. “Then I think it’s time we take this upstairs. And don’t think for a second either of you are getting away with breaking my rule.”
Wanda whimpered, a low, aching sound that squeezed at your chest. Your breath hitched, and your mind scrambled. What now? Do you pull out? Wait for instruction? Do you rush to make Wanda cum before Natasha can stop you? The flurry of thoughts crashed in your head, but before you could decide, Natasha’s hand was suddenly in your hair, her fingers tangling fiercely as she yanked your head back toward her.
“I said, upstairs,” she commanded, her voice low but edged with steel.
You blinked, swallowing down the nervous flutter rising in your throat. You gave a quick, obedient nod, sliding your fingers from Wanda’s heat and straight into your mouth. Your eyes flicked to Wanda’s face, flushed and strained, and saw the sharp slam of her head against the cupboard, frustration radiating from her.
“Hey, none of that,” Natasha snapped sharply, as she brought her palm down decisively on Wanda’s exposed clit again. The impact drew a whine from Wanda, her body arching involuntarily.
“Did you really think I was going to let her finish you off here?” Natasha asked, voice low but biting, eyes sharp with warning.
Wanda shook her head slowly, her gaze flickering up to Natasha with a pleading vulnerability. “I just want something inside me,” she whimpered.
Natasha’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, leaning in to press a tender, grounding kiss to Wanda’s flushed cheek. “You’ll get it, I promise,” she whispered soothingly, her fingers brushing gently along Wanda’s jaw, steadying her. “But you have a punishment to take first, okay?”
“Okay,” Wanda breathed, the fierce hunger in her eyes still glowing but tempered now with trust.
She slid down from the counter, taking Natasha’s hand with a shaky grip. The three of you moved toward the stairs, the atmosphere thick with a mix of raw tension and quiet anticipation.
Your heart hammered in your chest. You had no idea what the punishment would be, or what awaited once you reached the sanctuary of the bedroom, but the thrill raced through your veins.
—
You stepped into the bedroom first, followed closely by Wanda and finally, Natasha. The click of the door shutting behind her seemed to seal you all in, the weight of her authority settling over the space like a shroud.
“Both of you. Strip and kneel,” she commanded, her voice smooth but uncompromising.
You didn’t hesitate. Clothes were gone in seconds, urgency thrumming through your veins, and you dropped to your knees on the soft rug without thought, spine instinctively straight, eyes lowered. But Wanda didn’t move as quickly.
She stood there in just her underwear, which she had fixed from your previous ministrations, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and for the first time since you’d touched her in the kitchen, there was a spark of defiance in her gaze. Her gaze flicked to Natasha, then to you, then back again.
Natasha’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “What’s this?” she murmured, stepping closer with slow, measured strides. “Does moya malen'kaya shlyukha (my little slut) not want to give in now? Not here? Not in front of our little one?”
Wanda’s chin lifted. She shook her head once, deliberate and sharp. Natasha’s laugh was quiet and dark, the kind that held no real amusement. “Oh, really? That’s interesting.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she studied Wanda like a puzzle she already knew how to solve. “Because you didn’t seem to mind giving in when she had you spread out on the kitchen counter. I could hear you from outside, Wanda. Those sweet, desperate little noises.”
Wanda’s breath hitched, but her stare didn’t waver. Her fingers flexed at her sides, betraying the tension coiling through her body.
Natasha moved then, fast and fluid, with predatory grace in every step until she was right in front of her. Her hand shot up, tangling in Wanda’s hair and yanking her head back with a harsh, practised motion that made Wanda gasp and arch slightly into the pull. It was the same grip she’d used on you downstairs, but this time there was no mistaking the edge of punishment behind it.
“If you want my cock,” Natasha said, voice dropping low and dangerous, “then stop being a brat and do as you’re told.”
Wanda didn’t answer. She didn’t nod, didn’t shake her head. Her lips parted like she might speak, but then closed again, her defiance shining brighter for the silence she held.
Natasha’s smile sharpened. “Fine,” she said, her tone shifting to something cool and deliberate. “You’re just not ready. Don’t worry, I’ll have you begging soon enough.”
With that, she dragged Wanda across the room by the hair. She stopped near a wall, and only then released her, the absence of that pull almost as sharp as the grip itself. “Both of you, stay,” Natasha said, her voice cutting through the air. You didn’t dare move from where you knelt, though your pulse pounded with confused anticipation. Wanda didn’t move, but she still didn't kneel either. She stayed standing, chest heaving, eyes still fixed on Natasha with that same simmering defiance.
Natasha turned her attention to the cupboard. She opened it with a practised hand and began pulling items out one by one. Lengths of smooth red rope, a black leather flogger, a vibrator that you definitely had seen before, and a strap-on that looked… different. Heavier. More intricate. Your stomach tightened at the sight of it all, excitement tangling with nerves.
Each item was laid across the bed with meticulous care, an artist setting her stage. Then Natasha picked up the ropes. She crossed back to the wall and pressed her palm to a panel you hadn’t realised could move. The section of wall shifted with a muted click, revealing concealed circular hooks set into the wall. Your breath caught, the pieces falling into place even before she turned back to Wanda.
“Come here,” she said simply, though she didn’t wait for compliance. She guided Wanda the final step until her body was flush against the wall. Wanda’s breath quickened audibly, though she still didn’t look away from Natasha. She took Wanda’s wrist, her movements almost clinical as she secured the first loop of rope, tugging it snug before knotting it to the hook.
You couldn’t stop staring. The sight of Wanda being methodically restrained while still standing, arms spread, made your mouth go dry. Every pull of the rope made Wanda twitch, her muscles tightening, and you swore you could feel her anticipation like static in the air.
Before Natasha moved to the second wrist, she paused briefly to check the first, fingers pressing against the tied flesh, adjusting minutely until she was satisfied. Wanda’s chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, her knuckles flexing and curling.
You were still kneeling, lungs burning as though the air itself had grown heavier. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the tremor in your hands resting obediently on your thighs. And it hit you all at once that you were just as trapped in this moment as Wanda was in those ropes. Her wrists were bound by rope; yours, by the weight of Natasha’s command and the pull of your own need.
Your eyes kept darting to Wanda. She looked devastating like this: arms stretched taut, chest heaving, strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her lips were parted, and even though she wasn’t looking at you, you felt consumed by her presence, by how much you wanted her, by how much you wanted to see what Natasha was going to do to her.
Natasha’s voice broke through as she leaned in close to Wanda. You couldn’t make out the words, only the cadence, soft and deliberate, a secret meant for her alone. But you saw the effect. Wanda shuddered, the tension in her shoulders stuttering like a frayed wire, that fierce challenge in her eyes softening, melting into something hungrier, rawer.
Then Natasha turned to you. “Come on, kotenok (kitten),” she said, her hand extending towards you with a quiet authority that made your stomach flip.
You moved immediately. There was no hesitation, no thought, just the need to obey. Your legs trembled as you stood, and when your hand slid into hers, the firmness of her grip grounded you even as it pulled you deeper into the current of her control. She guided you to the bed, arranging you against the pillows with precise, almost ritualistic care. From this angle, Wanda was framed perfectly: restrained, radiant, and utterly at Natasha’s mercy.
Natasha leaned over you, her breath grazing the shell of your ear, her voice dipping into that husky register that always turned your insides to liquid. “Today,” she said slowly, deliberately, “you finally get to watch.”
Your breath caught. The words threaded through you like a spark racing down a fuse, equal parts anticipation and dread. Part of you was thrilled at the idea, a dark curiosity curling beneath your skin, desperate to see what this side of Wanda truly looked like. But another part of you was already unravelling. You hadn’t even been touched, and your body was screaming, every nerve frayed with want, begging for relief.
You swallowed hard and gave the only answer you could. “Yes, Daddy,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain.
Her lips curved into something sharp, pleased, and then she kissed you. Her mouth claimed yours with deliberate hunger, her tongue sliding past your lips and setting the pace, slow enough to torment, deep enough to leave you gasping when she finally pulled away.
You barely had time to recover before her hand was on you, skimming down your torso with infuriating patience. Her fingertips traced over your stomach, your hips, before finally pressing against your clit. The sudden jolt of pleasure sent your body arching off the bed, a broken sound escaping you without permission.
Natasha chuckled against your cheek, low and mocking. Her fingers played you like an instrument, teasing, circling, dipping lower to stroke at your entrance without giving you what you wanted. “Here I was thinking I’d have to get you ready,” she sneered softly, her tone thick with amusement, “but of course you’re soaked. You’re always soaked.”
You whimpered, unable to stop yourself from grinding into her hand, humiliation burning through the pleasure. “R… ready for what?” you asked, your voice already fraying, each word a plea.
Her smirk deepened. “Ready for your punishment, of course.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. One hand left you briefly, and when she returned, she was holding the vibrator. Without ceremony, she pushed it inside you, and the sudden fullness tore a loud, desperate moan from your throat, your nails digging into the sheets as your hips bucked helplessly.
“I’m going to control this,” Natasha said, her voice maddeningly calm, as she held up her phone and tapped the screen as some sort of sick demonstration. “While Wanda gets her punishment.” Her gaze cut back to you, sharp and unyielding. “And you are going to watch, and you are not going to cum. Do you understand?”
The vibrator whirred to life, and you gasped, the sensation tearing through you like fire. You were nothing but nerve endings, raw and desperate, and you knew you were about to be edged over and over. “No, please!” you sobbed, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of it. “I’ll be good, I will watch, just let me cum, please?”
Natasha didn’t flinch. “No,” she said, her tone slicing through your begging with surgical precision. “This is a punishment, and you’ll take it like a good girl. Or…” Her voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “You’ll spend the rest of the night in Wanda’s spot, just watching.”
A frantic whine burst from you. “No! No, I’ll be good,” you promised, words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
For a moment, something in Natasha’s expression softened. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle, grounding, almost heartbreakingly tender after everything else. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the praise settled deep in your bones, leaving you trembling.
Then she switched the vibrator off, leaving you throbbing and desperate in the worst possible way. “I promise it’ll be worth it later… if you behave,” she said, her voice dipping low again, dark and full of promise,
Natasha didn’t rush. She never did. She collected the flogger from the bed with the same deliberate ease she used for everything, running the leather strands through her fingers as though she were testing their weight. When she finally turned back to Wanda, a slow, sinister smile curled across her face, and the air in the room seemed to tighten.
Wanda’s defiance was fading. You could see it in the way her eyes followed Natasha now, less challenge, more need. You couldn’t help but imagine what it must feel like to be left bound and wanting like that, stripped of control but still desperate for more. If it were you, you’d already be begging.
“You ready to take your punishment?” Natasha asked, her voice calm but laced with steel. Wanda nodded once, sharp and restrained, but Natasha wasn’t having it. “Words,” she snapped, a sneer tugging at her mouth. “You know how to use them.”
“Yes,” Wanda gritted out, her jaw tight, her voice low but steady. “I’m ready.”
That earned her a pleased hum from Natasha. Without warning, Natasha reached for Wanda’s bra, the one she’d refused to shed earlier in her little act of defiance, and yanked it down hard enough that the cups folded uselessly beneath her breasts. They spilled free, flushed and perfect, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gasping.
Natasha didn’t hesitate. Her palm came down sharply against Wanda’s breast, the sound cracking through the room. Wanda’s jaw clenched even tighter, her teeth grinding together as she refused to make a sound. Another slap, then another, each one forcing her breasts to bounce under the force, her skin already beginning to pinken. Still, she stayed silent, her breath hissing through her nose.
Natasha stepped back. The flogger swished through the air once, twice, three times, as though she were warming up, or maybe just making sure you both heard the sound. The leather moved beautifully in her hands, her muscles shifting with each precise motion, and you found yourself mesmerised. Even the practice strokes looked dangerous.
Then the first strike landed. The leather snapped against Wanda’s chest with a sharp sting, not brutal yet, but enough to make her grunt, short and low, as though she was determined not to give Natasha more than that. Another strike followed, then another, each perfectly placed across the swell of her breasts. You could see the marks blooming across her skin, spreading in angry reds.
The next blow came harder. Wanda flinched, her whole body jerking against the ropes as the flogger connected, but even now, Natasha was careful. You could see it in the precision of her aim, never anywhere that could do real harm. Just her breasts, and Wanda was already looking wrecked and beautiful, you couldn't take your eyes off her.
You were so caught up in watching, so consumed by the sight of Wanda being dismantled, that you didn’t notice Natasha take her phone out of her pocket. Not until the vibrator inside you roared to life. “Oh! Oh shit!” The words tore out of you, raw and uncontrolled, the sudden rush of sensation slamming through your body so violently it felt like your spine might snap in half.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and commanding. “Shhh, malyshka (Little One),” she warned, her tone a razor’s edge of authority. “If Wands won’t make her pretty sounds for us, you don’t get to either.”
You whimpered, your thighs shaking as you forced yourself to bite back any more noise. Her look, sharp and promising consequences, was enough to make you clamp your mouth shut, your teeth digging into your lip so hard you tasted copper.
Natasha turned back to Wanda as though you weren’t even there, though you knew she hadn’t forgotten you for a second. The vibrator kept pulsing inside you, and every second you stayed silent felt like an impossible test.
Then three more strikes came in quick succession, harder now, and this time Wanda broke. The sound that tore from her chest was raw and drawn out, a cry that sat right on the knife’s edge between pain and pleasure. It rolled through you like a shockwave, and you were suddenly, violently close to the edge, your body tightening against the pillows.
“Daddy, please!” you choked out, voice cracking under the strain. “I’m going to cum!” you gasped, voice trembling with desperate warning. You needed her to know, needed to plead, yet you wouldn’t break the rules, no matter how much your body screamed for release.
The moment your confession left your lips, the vibrator halted suddenly, leaving a crushing void of silence pulsing through your core. Your body betrayed you, bucking restlessly, desperate for relief, craving the buzz that had filled you moments before. Every muscle tightened as you fought back tears, the ache of denied release twisting inside you like a knife. Your climax slipped away, vanishing into nothingness like smoke fading in a cold breeze.
While you wallowed in your own pity, more strikes landed on Wanda, quick, sharp, relentless, each one followed by a new sound escaping her lips. Soft gasps turned into breathy whimpers, edging closer and closer to moans. You couldn’t stand the distance, your chest tightened painfully as you longed to reach out. To touch her, to press your lips to the heated skin, to soothe the sting of each mark with tender kisses and soothing strokes of your tongue. A low, helpless whine slipped from your throat.
“So needy,” Natasha commented, her voice low and amused, as she flicked the vibrator back to life without sparing you so much as a glance. The relentless buzzing overwhelmed your senses once again, stirring fresh moans from deep within your body. This time, there was no reprimand, no warning, just the steady, calculated strikes landing on Wanda’s skin.
And Wanda… Wanda was falling apart. Her head tipped back against the wall, her lips parting as her sounds grew louder, sweeter, more desperate with every hit. You could feel your own climax clawing at you again, so close and so impossible, as though her voice alone was dragging you towards the edge.
Then it happened. A particularly sharp strike landed across her chest, and the noise that burst from her wasn’t a grunt or a moan; it was a plea, soft and wrecked and dripping with surrender. “Daddy… please.”
Your head snapped up, shock ripping through your haze of arousal like ice water. You’d never heard her call Natasha that before. The word hung in the air like a spark, and you couldn’t decide if it made you shiver or burn.
“There she is,” Natasha cooed softly, voice laced with something almost tender. “Moya khoroshaya devochka (My good girl), finally surrendering to me.” Her words weren’t laced with triumph or satisfaction, but with pure, reverent love, the quiet joy of seeing her wife yield again.
Wanda simply nodded, breath shaky and eyes fixed on Natasha, while you watched, utterly transfixed. Natasha’s eyes softened as she stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from Wanda’s damp forehead. Her fingers traced a slow, gentle line down Wanda’s cheek, grounding her even as the flogger still lay within reach on the bed. Wanda’s breath hitched, vulnerability and desire flickering in her gaze as she leaned into the touch, surrendering not just to Natasha but to the moment itself.
You stayed where you were, back pressed into the soft mattress, every nerve in your body taut with need and anticipation. The vibrator’s hum was a dull murmur now, almost insignificant compared to the electric tension that pulsed between the two women. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, caught between the urge to reach out and the silent command to stay still.
“Such strength in you, Wands,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and reverent, almost a whisper meant only for Wanda’s ears. “But sometimes you just need to let it go for me, hm?”
Wanda’s eyes glistened as she nodded slowly, her breath shaky yet full of relief. “Yes, thank you, Daddy,” she murmured, her voice raw but grateful, carrying a depth of need and trust.
It was clear this wasn’t something forced or unwelcome; rather, it was a language they’d painstakingly learned together, a sacred exchange where breaking down became a gift and surrender a source of power. The vulnerability in Wanda’s voice told you just how much she craved this, how much she needed Natasha to take the lead and guide her through it.
Natasha’s fingers traced the delicate line of Wanda’s jaw with the gentlest touch, a grounding anchor amid the storm of sensation. Then slowly, deliberately, her hand slid down, grazing the soft, flushed skin just above Wanda’s damp underwear. Your eyes locked onto the path of those fingers, each subtle movement amplifying the restless buzz deep inside you, the vibrations thrumming in perfect sync with your quickening pulse.
When Natasha ripped the fabric from between Wanda's legs, she gasped, the sound a mix of genuine surprise and practised playfulness. “My God, Wands,” Natasha murmured, voice thick with dark amusement and something tender beneath it. “You’re a mess. I thought Malyshka (Little One) was soaked before, but this… this is a whole new level.” Wanda’s cheeks flushed a vivid scarlet, a mix of bashful shame and aching want, her breath catching in a soft, involuntary whine.
“See,” Natasha whispered, her voice low and commanding, “I always knew you secretly loved being watched by her. Watching her mommy be reduced to nothing but a desperate, beautiful fucking slut for us.” Her gaze flicked over to you, sharp and unyielding. “Now say it. Tell her you like it.”
Wanda’s breath hitched, vulnerability shining through. Her voice was shaky but sincere, a tender confession spilling into the charged air. “I like it. I like it… Please, please just touch me.”
Without hesitation, Natasha’s fingers plunged deep inside Wanda, rough and possessive, drawing a visible shudder from Wanda. Her soft whine filled the space while your own body betrayed you, hips lifting, pressing insistently against the relentless, pulsing vibrator buried inside you.
“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha warned, her voice a low growl, eyes burning with control as they pinned you down. You nodded wordlessly, lips parted, heart hammering against your ribs as your body screamed for release but obeyed.
Then everything shifted. Natasha’s fingers moved hard and fast inside Wanda, each thrust deliberate and fierce. With every plunge, her palm struck Wanda’s clit, the crisp smack echoing in the quiet room, punctuating every gasp and cry.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Natasha’s teeth sank into Wanda’s bruised breasts with a raw, possessive bite that made Wanda’s head snap back against the cold wall, her breath ragged and uneven. The sight of her, so exposed and trembling, sent a shiver down your spine, mixing pleasure and longing into a tangled ache.
Wanda’s cries were guttural and broken, every sound laced with desperation and surrender. Her entire body quivered, legs weak beneath her as she hung suspended between Natasha’s grip and the ropes binding her wrists. The tension in her muscles was palpable, a living thing you could almost feel through the space between you.
The vibrator thrummed relentlessly between your thighs, its vibrations feeling like they were somehow pulsing in time with Natasha’s brutal rhythm. You pressed your hands into the bed, trying to anchor yourself, but the tight coil in your belly was winding dangerously close to snapping.
You tried to control your breath, steady the frantic beating of your heart, but the symphony of Wanda’s desperate moans, Natasha’s ruthless ministrations, and the buzzing inside you became overwhelming, flooding your senses until all you could do was drown in it.
“Listen to you both,” Natasha’s voice was a low, sultry growl, thick with hunger and reverence. “Moaning for me, begging for me… so fucking pretty, so mine. I’m going to ruin you both.”
Your moans spilled out uncontrollably, mingling with Wanda’s raw pleas. You didn’t care anymore how exposed or pathetic you sounded; you needed to cum. But Wanda broke first, her voice trembling but urgent: “Fuck… please, let me cum. Daddy, please.”
Natasha chuckled, a dark, pleased sound. Her eyes flicked to you, flashing with wicked delight. “I think she wants to cum too,” she said softly, amused. But the torment wasn’t over. Natasha kept thrusting deep and fast into Wanda, fingers curling inside her with relentless precision, the vibrator’s vibrations coursing through you like electricity.
You and Wanda exchanged a glance, a fragile, silent plea for mercy. The air between you was thick with shared desperation and unspoken understanding. This was it, the end of your punishment, she was just seeing if she could push you both that little bit further.
At last, Natasha’s voice sliced through the haze of desperation, low and commanding, every word a deliberate strike: “Go on, sluts. Cum for me. Cum for Daddy.”
Wanda broke first. Her entire body seized in a violent shudder, breath hitching and fracturing into ragged gasps. A raw, guttural cry ripped from her throat, pitched somewhere between a moan and a scream, reverberating off the walls and straight through your chest. You watched, mesmerised, as her legs trembled uncontrollably and her back arched, her head falling forward in complete surrender.
The sight of Wanda undone like that dragged you under with her. Heat exploded through you in a searing rush, your body convulsing in sharp, uncontrollable spasms as release tore you apart from the inside out. Every nerve burned bright and unbearable, every tremor wracking you with relentless force. The world around you blurred, narrowed to nothing but fire and sensation as wave after wave broke over you. Your lips trembled as you breathed out the whispered words, barely audible, but filled with gratitude, “Thank you… Thank you… Thank you…”
Your eyelids fluttered closed, too heavy to fight, exhaustion pulling at every fibre of your body. Through the haze, you caught fragments of Natasha’s voice. She was murmuring to Wanda, her tone coaxing her through the jagged edges of her comedown, anchoring her gently back into the quiet. Then beside you, warmth shifted. Wanda’s familiar scent wrapped around you as her breath ghosted over your cheek. You dimly registered the hum of the vibrator falling silent, the device slipping away from your oversensitive cunt.
“My two messy girls, so pretty, so good,” Natasha whispered, reverence softening every syllable. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Wanda’s damp forehead, then to yours, her lips lingering just long enough to make the words sink deep into your bones. “We’re going to get some water in you both,” she promised quietly, eyes flicking between you and Wanda with fierce tenderness. “And then, printsessa (princess),” she added with a teasing smile, “you get to watch Wands being bred.”
Your mouth fell open, breath catching in your throat. Wanda’s eyes snapped wide, a spark of desperate hope lighting her exhausted gaze as she nodded eagerly. “Please,” she whispered, voice raw but pleading, the unspoken hunger still burning fiercely beneath her worn exterior.
—
Natasha made sure neither of you crashed too hard, handing you both glasses of water, her teasing never quite stopping, soft touches to your thigh, a murmur about how wrecked you both looked, a smirk every time her eyes roamed either of your bodies. But beneath it all, she was steady, making sure your breathing evened out, making sure your hands weren’t shaking when you passed the glass back.
She disappeared for a moment, and you sank into Wanda, who curled around you like she needed the anchor just as badly. You didn’t even try to guess what Natasha was doing, though you caught a glimpse of that strange strapon in her hands again. Confusion flickered faintly in your chest, but you didn’t care enough to hold onto it; Wanda was warm, and you let yourself melt into her for those few minutes of quiet.
When Natasha returned, the air shifted again. She’d stripped down completely except for the strap around her hips, and it made your breath stutter. Power radiated off her, pulling your gaze whether you wanted it to or not. Both you and Wanda stared at her with the same hunger, like you were both tethered to her gravity.
She stopped at the edge of the bed, her eyes locking on you. “Kotenok (kitten),” she called, voice smooth and commanding, “come here. You’re going to get this ready for moya malen'kaya shlyukha (my little slut). ”
The words hit you like a jolt of heat. You scrambled off the bed so fast your legs nearly gave out, dropping to your knees in front of her, her cock there waiting, her presence overwhelming every sense you had. It wasn’t shame that burned through your cheeks but something hotter, heavier. The thought of looking up at her while you did this sent a shiver down your spine.
You stayed perfectly still, waiting for her command, because it didn’t feel right to start without her say-so. Her hand came down gently to cradle your face, the contrast between her softness and the weight of her dominance making your chest tighten.
“Good girl,” she murmured, so quiet it felt like it was just for you. Then her gaze shifted over your head, landing on Wanda sprawled across the bed. “Moya malen'kaya shlyukha (My little slut),” she said, her voice dipping lower, “you get to watch now. You can touch yourself for us. I want your needy cunt dripping for my cock.”
You didn’t look at Wanda, couldn’t. But you heard the breathless, obedient “Yes, Daddy,” followed by the rustle of sheets as she adjusted herself. Then Natasha’s voice again, warm and firm, “Khoroshaya devochka (good girl).”
The Russian rolled off her tongue, and though you didn’t know exactly what it meant, you felt it. You’d heard “shlyukha” before, once, maybe twice, always laced with sharp affection, but never the rest of it, and never “khoroshaya devochka.” You wanted to ask her what they meant, wanted to hold onto the words and pick them apart, but now wasn’t the time. And anyway, you didn’t need a translation to know Wanda loved it. Her soft moans and broken little whines made that painfully clear, each sound syncing with Natasha’s Russian like it was pulling something out of her that English never could.
Natasha didn’t rush you. Her thumb traced along your jaw as though she was savouring the sight of you kneeling there for her, waiting. That deliberate patience of hers always twisted something sharp and sweet in your stomach, like she was stretching the moment just to see how much you could take before you broke.
“Go on, kotenok (kitten),” she murmured at last, her voice a low hum that seemed to settle in your bones. “Show me how good you can be.”
You swallowed, your chest already tight with anticipation, and leaned forward. The strap was bigger than you’d expected, and the moment your lips brushed it, the faint tang of silicone mixed with the warmer trace of Natasha’s scent hit you all at once. You started slow, almost cautious, your tongue sliding deliberately along its length, coating it in your spit until it glistened under the low light.
Natasha shifted her stance slightly above you, wide and sure, the kind of posture that said she knew exactly how she looked towering over you like this. Her hand rested in your hair, not pushing, not guiding, just there, a quiet reminder of who you were doing this for.
Behind you came a soft, broken sound from Wanda. You didn’t need to turn to picture her, her hips twitching as she touched herself like Natasha had told her to, her wide eyes fixed on the sight of you on your knees. The noise sent a jolt straight through you, a sharper kind of heat curling low in your belly. She was watching you. She liked this.
“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, her voice roughening just slightly. “So obedient. So eager to make it perfect for her.”
The praise landed like a spark. You pressed harder, hollowing your cheeks as you took more of it into your mouth, the stretch pushing at the corners of your lips. It was impossible to keep your breathing steady with her voice coiling around you like chains, with the weight of her presence bearing down from above.
“That’s it, kotenok (kitten),” Natasha said again, lower this time, almost a growl. “Take it deeper.”
You obeyed, easing forward until the head of it nudged the back of your throat. Your eyes watered instantly, tears pricking hot and fast, but you held it, your hands clenching against your thighs. Natasha didn’t help you. She stood perfectly still, letting you work for it, letting you prove yourself. “Good girl,” she purred when you finally pulled back with a wet, desperate gasp. A string of spit clung between your lips and the strap before it snapped, dripping messily down your chin.
You pushed back down almost automatically, needing to show her you could do more. Natasha’s hand tightened in your hair, just enough to make your scalp tingle, her gaze heavy on you as you bobbed your head, saliva coating the strap and your lips with each pass. “She’s doing so well for you, Wands, my cock is so wet and messy.”
And then she changed the game. Her grip shifted without warning, and suddenly she wasn’t letting you set the pace anymore. She pulled you forward with a sharp, commanding tug, rolling her hips to meet you. The strap drove deeper, rougher, until it hit the back of your throat with force that made your whole body jerk. You gagged around it, choking on the stretch, spit spilling freely down your chin and onto your chest. Natasha didn’t let up.
“That’s it,” she said, calm and steady as though she’d planned this all along. “Take it. Don’t pull away.”
Another thrust, harder. You tried to breathe through your nose, tears now streaming hot down your cheeks, your chest burning as you fought to keep your body from flinching away. Each movement was precise, deliberate, rough enough to brand the moment into you, to remind you exactly who she was and what she owned.
Wanda moaned so loudly in response that it almost startled you. “You like that, moya malen'kaya shlyukha (My little slut)?” Natasha called out, her voice smooth even as she kept thrusting into your mouth. “You like watching her choke for me?”
“Yes!” Wanda gasped, her voice ruined. “God, yes, please—”
Natasha angled your head so you had no choice but to look up at her. Her gaze burned down into yours, cold fire and molten heat all at once, her mouth twisting into something darkly satisfied. “Hear her?” she asked softly, almost a purr despite the rough rhythm of her hips. “She’s going to come just from watching you gag on my cock. My perfect girls.”
Your lungs heaved by the time she finally slowed, easing back to let you suck in a wet, desperate breath. The sound you made in the process was humiliating and broken, but it only drew another helpless cry from Wanda, her pleasure spilling into the air like static. “Enough, shlyukha (slut),” Natasha said suddenly, her voice cutting through Wanda’s sounds like a blade. “I didn’t tell you to get yourself ready just so you could cum before I got there.”
You were still panting when Natasha knelt in front of you, her expression softening just enough to twist something deep in your chest. She dragged her hand over your face, wiping away the spit and tears, only to smear them purposefully across your skin before sliding it down over your chest. “Such a dirty girl,” she murmured, almost fond. “You did so well for me, printsessa (princess).”
She guided you to the bed, easing you back against the headboard beside Wanda. Just as you began to catch your breath, Natasha leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips. When she pulled back, she turned to Wanda, “Shlyukha, idi potseluy nashu khoroshuyu devochku (Slut, come kiss our good girl).”
You didn’t understand the words, but Wanda clearly did. Before you could even ask, she was in your lap, her hands threading through your hair as she captured your mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of filthy. She tasted like desperation, her hips grinding down against your thigh, slick and hot as it soaked into your skin. Your breath caught in your throat, trying to keep up with how quickly everything had shifted.
Mercifully, Wanda broke the kiss long enough for you to gulp in air, only to attach herself to your neck, biting and sucking as though she wanted to mark you everywhere at once. The two of you writhed against each other, a messy tangle of hands and mouths, heat and desperation, until Natasha decided she’d had enough.
One sharp tug and Wanda was gone, pulled backwards with a startled gasp that broke off into a whimper. Her chest hit the mattress in front of you, her ass high, and her knees spreading instinctively, as if her body already knew what Natasha wanted.
Natasha’s eyes found yours for a brief, unreadable moment before she knelt behind Wanda. One hand pressed firmly between Wanda’s shoulder blades, pinning her to the bed, the other guiding the thick strap back inside her in a slow, deliberate push that had Wanda shuddering.
“Keep your eyes on her, shlyukha (slut),” Natasha ordered, her voice cutting through the uneven, desperate sounds Wanda was making. “Look at her while I fuck you. Let her watch you come apart for me.”
Her hips snapped forward, skin meeting skin in a harsh, wet smack that echoed in the room. Wanda’s cry was raw, her head tipping forward, but Natasha gave her no reprieve, each thrust landed with bruising force, stripping away any softness, driving her higher and higher without mercy.
You couldn’t look away. Wanda was taking it all, clinging to the sheets, her arms trembling, mouth open as helpless moans spilled free. Natasha leaned down, her lips brushing Wanda’s ear, her voice low. “You want me to make you a mommy, don’t you?”
Wanda’s lips parted, trembling like she might answer, but only a broken sob escaped. Her fingers curled tighter into the bedding, thighs quaking as Natasha pounded into her without slowing.
Your breath stuttered when Natasha’s hand slid up Wanda’s body, wrapping around her throat with a possessive grip. She tilted Wanda’s chin, forcing her glassy, tear-bright eyes to lock on yours again. “Say it,” Natasha murmured, a sharp command in her tone. “Let her hear you beg for it.”
Wanda swallowed hard, her voice wrecked when it finally came out. “I want you to make me a mommy,” she gasped, the confession trembling in the air.
Natasha’s grin sharpened, satisfaction dripping from it, and she drove into her harder, faster, making Wanda’s breath turn into ragged, helpless pants.
The flare in your chest came hot and unrelenting, protectiveness tangled with hunger, edged with a jealousy that had nothing to do with Natasha and everything to do with that word. Mommy. The title you gave Wanda when you were most vulnerable, when you were hers. Hearing her beg for it now, as if she wasn’t already yours, stung.
The thought shattered when Natasha’s hand came down in a sharp crack across Wanda’s ass, making her jolt and cry out. “Not yet,” Natasha growled, her grip on Wanda’s hips tightening. “We’re coming together,” Natasha promised darkly, her hips never slowing. “And I’m going to fill you.”
Wanda whimpered, breath hitching between the punishing thrusts, voice breaking as she begged, “Please, please, I need it now,” her words desperate and ragged.
You stayed rooted in place, watching with wide eyes as Natasha’s body tensed visibly, muscles coiling tight as she drove deeper, thrusts becoming sloppy and urgent. Her jaw clenched hard as she pushed herself to the edge. Then, with a rough curse, “Blya, konchi dlya menya! (fuck, cum for me)” she gave herself over completely.
Wanda screamed, her whole body convulsing under Natasha, trembling and shuddering as her release rocked her. Natasha grunted, collapsing on top of her, continuing to thrust through the climax, riding it out with a primal satisfaction. Both panting hard, sweat slick and shining on their skin, they finally stilled. When Natasha pulled free, your eyes immediately caught the sight of a thick, white, milky liquid seeping from Wanda, evidence of why that strap seemed so different.
A moan escaped your lips, pure lust spilling freely. All you wanted was to lean forward, taste her, drink in the traces of both their releases, even if Natasha’s was nothing more than a special lube. Natasha shifted slowly, rolling Wanda onto her back with a care that belied the fierce hunger still burning in her eyes. Her fingers pressed gently against Wanda’s slick, trembling core, nudging the liquid back inside.
Wanda whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sensation, her body wracked with overstimulation, every muscle loose, every breath shallow and uneven. You could see the absolute exhaustion in her face, her cheeks flushed and wet with sweat, her lashes heavy as she fought to stay present. Yet despite Wanda’s broken state, Natasha’s expression held a quiet, unyielding promise: she was far from done.
“Come here, malyshka (Little One),” Natasha’s voice softened, the steel beneath her tone just barely masked. “Hold Wanda close. Keep her safe while I put my cum back where it belongs.”
Without hesitation, you moved behind Wanda, gathering her fragile frame into your arms. She leaned against you, her body pliant and trembling, barely able to lift her head. You felt the rapid thudding of her heart against your chest, the slight shivers running through her limbs.
For the first time, you were the one to check in first. You pressed your hand gently over hers, giving a slow squeeze and waiting, searching her face for any sign of distress. Wanda’s fingers curled once in response, soft, reassuring, a tiny anchor that steadied your racing thoughts. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, relief washing through you like a balm.
Natasha’s gaze found yours, her dark eyes flickering with softness. “Good girl,” she said quietly, almost reverently. “So good of you to watch over her. I know this is new to you, but I’ll keep her safe.”
You nodded, voice steady with certainty. “I know.”
Her lips curled in a brief, warm smile before her tone shifted, gentler now. “Are you okay, Printsessa (princess)?”
You met her gaze and nodded again, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m good.”
That soft tenderness faded slowly, the familiar dark smirk returning to Natasha’s lips. Without hesitation, she slid a pillow beneath Wanda’s hips before her eyes flicked to Wanda’s face, then back to you, as she pressed the strap deep inside again. Wanda’s breath hitched in a shuddering gasp, and you instinctively tightened your hold on her, your arms a silent promise, you were here, just as she had always been for you.
Natasha’s hands slid beneath Wanda’s knees with effortless control, fingers curling firmly as she spread her wide, pushing her thighs up and out until she was completely bared. The shift pulled a soft whimper from Wanda, her hips tilting instinctively as Natasha settled in over her. Their bodies pressed flush, Natasha’s weight holding her in place, each thrust deep and deliberate.
You could feel every movement, Wanda’s body pressing into you with each push, the subtle, delicious friction against your clit that sent sharp jolts of heat through you. The air was thick with your mingled sounds; Wanda’s breathless cries, Natasha’s low grunts, and your own broken moans all tangled together.
Natasha’s hips drove forward again and again until Wanda’s back arched helplessly into her. Wanda trembled, her muscles tightening and shivering in ways that made your chest ache with a fierce tenderness. You felt every quake, every desperate clench, like you were the one taking each thrust.
Her breath hitched again, hot and uneven against your skin, her fingers tightening on your thighs as though she needed something to anchor herself, something real to hold onto. Natasha’s hands gripped her hips with a steadiness that was anything but gentle, the pressure bordering on bruising as though she meant to pin Wanda exactly where she wanted her. Then Natasha’s mouth claimed hers, stealing what little air Wanda had left, drawing another muffled sound from deep in her chest.
When Natasha finally broke the kiss, her lips were wet and swollen, her gaze cutting straight over Wanda’s shoulder to you. “She’s close again,” she murmured, voice thick with certainty. “Feel it?”
You swallowed hard, nodding, because you did. Every twitch beneath your palms, every tremor in her thighs, every frantic pulse hammering beneath her skin screamed how close she was to the edge.
Natasha’s mouth curled into a slow, knowing smirk, her eyes glittering with intent. “Then help me.”
You nodded, letting your hand travel upward, gliding with deliberate patience until it cupped the soft curve of Wanda’s breast. The warmth of her skin was intoxicating. You squeezed gently at first, grounding her, your thumb brushing with reverent care across the red lines left behind by the flogger. Her breath caught sharply at the touch. You circled lower, pressing into the hardened peak straining beneath your palm, teasing until she arched back into you, her lips parting on a broken moan.
Unable to resist, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the curve of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, while her pulse fluttered wildly beneath your mouth like a caged bird.
Natasha’s eyes locked with yours, sharp and commanding, heavy with dark approval yet glinting with challenge. “Go on,” she drawled, her voice a husky rasp. “Be a bit rougher, malyshka (Little One).”
The words lit something fierce inside you. Instinct took over. You squeezed harder, your palm firm and deliberate around Wanda’s breast, coaxing another helpless sound from her lips. Your other hand rose to join, fingers pinching and rolling both nipples with just enough bite to have her hips jolting, her moan high and trembling.
A low, approving growl slipped from Natasha’s throat, filling the space between the three of you, thick and primal. Encouraged, you let your hands wander, sliding down Wanda’s flushed sides. Your nails scraped slow and teasing against her skin, leaving light scratches, each drag drawing a ragged hitch of breath, each touch making her shudder harder against you.
You glanced back at Natasha, craving her reaction, and the smirk she gave was quick and wicked. Her nod came with words that made your chest burn. “My good girl,” she purred, her voice rich with desire and approval. “Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well for us, kotenok.”
Wanda whimpered in response, a soft, needy sound. As if Natasha understood the unspoken plea perfectly, she murmured against Wanda’s skin, “And you, Wands... so good. Taking me so well.”
Your hands moved with more intent, one trailing down the curve of Wanda’s ribs, nails grazing softly but with purpose, the other wrapped possessively around her breast, squeezing and pinching in time with Natasha’s relentless rhythm. Your mouth found the soft, warm skin beneath Wanda’s jaw, teeth grazing lightly before you sucked with deliberate strength, leaving a dark, bruising mark blooming against her pale flesh.
Natasha’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and piercing, a single brow lifting slowly, curiosity tangled with a spark of intrigue that sent a jolt through your chest. Her smirk softened slightly, but the question in her voice held a challenging edge. “Who do you think you’re marking?” she murmured, voice low, sharpening the air between you.
You hesitated, lips still pressed to Wanda’s skin, breath catching as you met Natasha’s unwavering gaze. “My mommy,” you breathed, possession thick in the words despite the tremble of hesitation beneath Natasha’s scrutiny.
She held your eyes a moment longer, that eyebrow still quirked in silent question, before a slow, dark smile curved her lips. “Oh?” she said, voice teasing yet heavy with understanding. “Jealous, are we?”
You exhaled a breathy huff, warmth blooming across your cheeks. Somehow, even through the haze of pleasure, Wanda caught the shift in your tone. “Always your mommy, baby,” she murmured, voice shaky but sure, lifting her hand from your thigh to cradle your cheek, holding you close against her neck.
You slid your arm more securely around Wanda. Your breath was low and intimate as you whispered, “Mine,” the word thick with possessiveness and quiet devotion.
Natasha’s chuckle rumbled deep in her throat, slow and dark like a storm gathering strength. With a brief, deliberate squeeze on Wanda’s hip, she tightened her grip just enough before resuming her thrusts.
Wanda’s moan spilled out long and ragged, a shuddering sound that trembled against your chest. The fingers on your cheek pressing in with desperate need, while the other clenched into your thigh. Then, between Natasha’s ruthless thrusts came the breathless chorus of Wand’s voice, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You going to come again, Wands?” Natasha asked, her voice low and teasing, though you both already knew the answer by the way Wanda’s body tensed, every muscle taut with anticipation.
“Yes! Please, yes!” Wanda’s cry was sharp, filled with frantic need and surrender all at once.
“Go on, let it go,” Natasha urged, her tone a commanding whisper that brooked no refusal.
Then, with a sound ripped raw from the depths of her being, a guttural, shattering scream that filled the room and seemed to shake the very air, Wanda’s body seized with brutal intensity. Every muscle clenched, rigid and trembling, her spine arching into a desperate, exquisite curve as wave after wave of release crashed through her, unrelenting and all-consuming. Her breath came in broken gasps, mingling with sharp, involuntary cries.
Natasha’s eyes narrowed with a fierce, satisfied gleam as the strap slipped free for a heartbeat, pushed out by the overwhelming force of Wanda’s climax. A slow, dark smile curved her lips, thick with pride. Without hesitation, she drove the strap back inside with a firm thrust, reclaiming her with urgent insistence.
For a brief moment, you were uncertain what that look in Natasha’s eyes meant, until the unmistakable warmth pooled beneath you, spreading softly over the sheets. The wet heat soaked you, and your breath hitched, a low moan escaping your lips at the evidence of Wanda’s release.
Natasha’s voice came low and husky in front of you, dripping with satisfaction. “Can you feel it, Kotenok (kitten)?” she murmured, her dark eyes locked on yours. “She squirted for us.”
You nodded, words failing you in the wake of what you’d just witnessed. Wanda said nothing, utterly spent, her limbs heavy and slack beneath Natasha’s weight. Natasha’s hips never faltered, coaxing Wanda through the lingering ripples of release, drawing every last tremor and spurt with relentless dedication.
You watched, completely enchanted, as Wanda’s hands slipped from you to weakly push at Natasha in a futile attempt to slow the overwhelming overstimulation.
“Behave,” Natasha growled with dark authority. “I’m not done.”
She shifted Wanda’s hands firmly back to your thighs and continued. You couldn’t believe how much Wanda could take; you’d be long passed out if it were you. So you held her as Natasha drove her towards the edge once more.
“Ah, ahh, Nat, stop... I can’t again, I can’t,” Wanda whimpered between ragged breaths, voice breaking and desperate.
“Until I hear the safe word, I won’t stop,” Natasha said firmly, her voice hard but edged with care. “You know this.”
Her eyes searched Wanda’s face, scanning every flicker for distress or hesitation. Wanda gave a small, exhausted nod, her body trembling but willing.
Natasha’s hand drifted down to circle Wanda’s clit, hips softening their pace into something gentler yet still deeply intent. The moans returned, quieter now, soft and intimate until Wanda came again. This time, it was silent, her body tightening briefly then melting fully into you, utterly boneless.
And then, subtle but unmistakable, you felt it, three delicate taps on your thigh. You didn’t need to say a word. Natasha’s sharp eyes caught the signal instantly.
With a murmured promise, she pulled out carefully, cradling Wanda’s face in her hands and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Shh, shh,” Natasha soothed, voice low and tender as Wanda dissolved fully into your embrace. “Khoroshaya devochka. Ty tak khorosho postaralas' dlya menya (Good girl. You did so well for me).”
Natasha’s hands lingered softly on Wanda’s cheeks, her touch gentle but unwavering as she held Wanda’s gaze, a silent reassurance that she was safe. Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed, the fierce storm inside her slowly softening into a fragile calm.
With smooth, deliberate movements, Natasha removed the strap and placed it carefully on the bedside table, to be dealt with later. She then reached for one of the glasses from earlier, softly encouraging Wanda to drink.
Wanda was barely present, more a delicate, pliant shape responding to the smallest prompts. Natasha settled back beside you both on the bed, draping an arm protectively over her wife, her hand resting lightly on Wanda’s chest, no doubt feeling the rapid thrum of her heart gradually slow. Wanda’s breathing evened out quickly, surrendering to the gentle pull of sleep.
You lay quietly in the warmth and stillness that wrapped around you all. After a while, Natasha’s voice broke the silence, soft and careful. “Do you need anything, malyshka (Little One)?”
You knew exactly what she meant. You knew Natasha wouldn’t let you go without what you needed, they always provided. Yet despite the lingering heat still burning fiercely inside you, demanding release, you had no intention of letting go of Wanda now. Not while she was so utterly spent, even if you were sitting in the pool of her surrender.
None of that mattered. Anxiety clawed at your chest, seeing her like this, part of you understood it was okay, but another part simmered with anger at Natasha. You scowled without meaning to, pulling Wanda tighter into your arms. “No,” you answered simply.
Natasha shifted slightly, still holding Wanda but meeting your eyes with a softness that surprised you, given your tone. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
You glanced down at Wanda, voice low and raw. “Don’t like it.”
Natasha’s gaze softened, a gentle understanding flickering in her eyes as she reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Wanda’s ear. “It’s okay to feel like that,” she murmured softly, voice like a quiet embrace. “You’ve never seen her like this before.”
You frowned, your eyes fixed on Wanda’s peaceful face. Natasha let out a small, knowing chuckle, her hand lingering briefly on Wanda’s cheek. “It’s always scary the first time you see her like this,” she said, voice thick with memory. “I felt the same the first time I saw it, and the first time I saw you like that too.” Her breath hitched slightly, then she continued, “But do you want to know what she told me?”
Your eyes widened, hope flickering quietly as you nodded, desperate for some comfort in your swirling emotions.
Natasha’s smile deepened, warmth steady and sure in her eyes. Her voice dropped to a low, tender murmur as she spoke. “She said that for someone to trust you so completely, to let themselves fall like that, it is a gift.” Her gaze met yours, steady and sincere. “And I know that for Wanda, it’s even harder. As a domme, her mind would have been fighting to hide that side of herself, to keep you, her sub, from seeing her so vulnerable. Because how can she be your domme, your mommy, if she’s this… undone?”
Your heart tightened with the weight of it, but your voice stayed firm. “That’s… no, that’s not fair. She’s my mommy. Always.”
Natasha nodded slowly, her fingers tracing a feather-light path over Wanda’s face. “Exactly,” she breathed, voice low and intimate. “And she knows that. That’s why she could let herself fully go, for both of us. It’s a rare and precious gift, a trust she’s given us with everything she has.”
Your eyes drifted down to Wanda’s face, still peaceful but slack with exhaustion. Without really thinking, your hand found hers, fingers curling around hers with a careful tenderness. The simple warmth of her skin against yours grounded you, anchoring you to the present in a way nothing else could. “A gift,” you whispered back, voice hushed, almost awed. “She trusts me like she trusts you.”
Natasha’s smile deepened, a steady flame of warmth and certainty. “I know you were a little jealous before,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm that wrapped around you like a gentle shawl. “But you’ll always be our malyshka (Little One). Wanda will always be your mommy. We were just playing, nothing more. You have her heart, and that will never change.”
“And you’ll always be my daddy?” you asked softly, averting your gaze, knowing the question sounded a little silly but wanting to hear it anyway.
Her hand came up to tilt your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes shone with quiet amusement and fierce affection. “They’ll have to pry you from my cold, dead hands if they want to stop me being your daddy, little one,” she murmured, her voice a velvet growl. Then, breaking the seriousness with a mischievous grin, she reached out and gently booped your nose.
You giggled, mock-exasperated but delighted. “You can’t boop my nose after saying something so dark.”
“I can, and I did. Deal with it. Daddy says so,” Natasha replied, attempting to boop you again with deliberate playfulness.
You tried to catch her finger in a playful nip, but she pulled it back just in time, eyes wide in mock shock. “Try that again, and I’ll bite you back, and I won't miss,” she warned, her voice teasingly fierce, the edge softened by laughter bubbling in her tone.
“You know I wouldn’t mind,” you teased, your voice lightening into a playful lilt. Then, your gaze flickered down to Wanda, but more specifically, the bed beneath her, and you added with a faint smile, “But maybe later, this wet patch is making me itch.”
Natasha’s eyes followed yours, “Oh yeah, we should probably get that sorted, huh?” she said, her tone both amused and tender.
You nodded, the slight weight of hesitation settling over you. Aftercare wasn’t something you were used to managing, and you weren’t quite sure where to start. Natasha’s voice softened but carried an unshakable quiet authority that settled the uncertainty like a balm. “Pass her over to me. You run the bath, okay? And don’t forget her favourite bubbles,” she added with a knowing smile, as if she could already see you fumbling.
Without a second thought, you carefully lifted Wanda, still fragile and heavy in your arms, and shifted her gently into Natasha’s waiting lap. Natasha caught her with ease, cradling her as if she weighed nothing at all. Her arms were a sanctuary, steady and strong, wrapping Wanda in her safety.
You moved quietly to the bathroom, turning on the tap and watching the warm water swirl and rise in the tub. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the air as you added the bubbles you knew Wanda loved. You gathered the softest towels nearby, folding them with care, wanting everything to be just right.
Returning to the bedroom, you paused in the doorway just in time to watch Natasha lift Wanda into her arms and towards the bathroom. She moved with an almost liquid grace, every step unhurried yet sure, every shift of her hold purposeful. Her touch was the kind that spoke volumes, tender, protective, saturated with the quiet, steadfast devotion that defined her.
You moved to the bath and turned off the tap, the gentle slosh of the water falling into a hush. When you looked up again, Natasha had taken a seat on the closed toilet lid, Wanda still cradled against her. One hand supported Wanda’s back, the other lightly tapping her cheek in an effort to rouse her.
“Come on, Wands,” she coaxed, her voice dipped in warmth, the kind that could unravel even the deepest exhaustion. She pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Wanda’s head. “You need a bath, Moya lyubov' (my love).”
Wanda’s response was little more than a soft, sleepy whine, her arms winding around Natasha’s middle in an almost instinctive cling. She burrowed in, refusing to lift her head. Natasha chuckled quietly, her lips brushing the crown of her wife’s hair. “So clingy like this, hm?” she murmured, the fondness in her voice making it more statement than question.
Still, Wanda didn’t budge, content to mould herself into Natasha’s body. Natasha looked over at you then, her eyes softening further. “Get in the bath. You need one too. And you can hold her for me, yeah?”
There was no question in your mind, you obeyed without hesitation. The moment you sank into the warm water, your body eased, muscles loosening under the heat. Natasha rose and stepped forward, bending gracefully to lower Wanda into your arms. The transition was seamless; the moment Wanda’s body touched yours, she curled into you as if you were the only place she belonged.
A wide grin spread across your face before you could stop it. You tucked your chin, murmuring into her hair, “I’ve got you, Wands.” Your hands began their slow, grounding path up and down her sides, the motion gentle and steady. You leaned back against the bath’s edge, careful to keep the water nowhere near her face, letting her sink fully into the safety you offered.
Natasha lingered for a moment, watching the two of you with a look that was equal parts pride and tenderness. “I’m going to change the sheets,” she said at last, her tone a quiet request wrapped in trust. “Keep her safe for me?”
“Of course I will,” you answered, your arms tightening instinctively around Wanda.
When Natasha left, the room seemed quieter, the only sounds the faint lapping of water and Wanda’s slow, even breaths against your collarbone. It occurred to you then that normally, one of them would be helping you wash down after a scene. This time, it felt right to turn that care towards her.
You shifted slightly, reaching for the washcloth draped over the bath’s edge. Your movements were unhurried, almost reverent, as you began to wash her. Every stroke of the cloth was gentle, designed to soothe rather than scrub, the touch soft enough to coax her into deeper relaxation but firm enough to lift away the remnants of the night. You took special care when your eyes caught the faint marks the flogger had left along her skin.
Natasha reappeared as you finished, her gaze soft and approving. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice rich with pride. “I didn’t even have to ask. So good for us, detka (babe).” She leaned down to kiss you, the contact lingering. “Is she with us yet?”
You shook your head, smiling faintly. “Don’t think so, considering her entire body weight is on me right now.”
“She will be soon,” Natasha assured you, her hand brushing over your hair. “I’m going to get her out and into bed, then I’m coming back for you, okay? My little one deserves some aftercare too.”
“It’s okay,” you replied quickly, your arms tightening around Wanda again. “I don’t want her to be alone.”
Natasha’s voice softened, threaded with reassurance. “She’s okay, I promise.”
“I know… I just feel better knowing one of us is with her,” you said quietly.
Her smile was warm, understanding. “Okay, little one. That’s okay. I just don’t want you to feel left out, or like you aren’t cared for.”
“I don’t,” you said with quiet confidence. “Tonight was about Wanda, and I loved it. It doesn’t always have to be about me. I know you still love me.”
“You’d better,” Natasha said with a smirk, leaning in to kiss you again. “Because I love you very much. My malyshka (Little One). My good girl.”
You felt heat rush to your cheeks at her words, your lips curling shyly. She pecked you once more before carefully lifting Wanda from the water, wrapping her in a thick towel. As she headed for the door, she glanced back over her shoulder with a teasing smile. “Get washed up and get here fast. We have some serious cuddles waiting.”
You cleaned yourself up quickly, the warm water chasing away the lingering stickiness of the night. Wrapping yourself in one of the soft, fluffy towels, you padded quietly back towards the bedroom.
The sight that greeted you was enough to make your chest ache in the best way, Wanda, now looking a little more awake, lay draped completely over Natasha’s chest, her body moulded against her wife’s like she was afraid to be anywhere else. Her fingers were moving in slow, lazy circles over the fabric of Natasha’s pyjama top, the motion absent-minded but deeply intimate. Both of them were in fresh pyjamas, hair slightly mussed, their faces softened with that particular post-intimacy glow.
You slipped in without a sound, not wanting to disturb the perfect stillness. Pulling on your own pyjamas, you moved with deliberate care, your mind already ticking over. As much as you wanted to climb into that pile of warmth and affection, there was something else pressing, your stomach gave a low grumble, a reminder that breakfast had been sacrificed to Wanda’s very enthusiastic interruption earlier. And if you hadn’t eaten, you were willing to bet neither of them had either.
Heading downstairs, you kept your steps light. You knew your cooking skills left a lot to be desired when Wanda wasn’t there to guide you, so you opted for something safe, sandwiches. Quick, simple, and impossible to ruin. You made a small stack, cutting them neatly and arranging them on a plate, before setting about the more important task: Wanda’s favourite tea. You brewed it exactly the way she liked, the fragrant steam curling up in soft tendrils, knowing full well her throat would be sore.
Balancing the tea, the plate of sandwiches, and grabbing three fresh bottles of water, you made the cautious journey back upstairs, your arms full and your focus entirely on not dropping anything.
“I brought food,” you announced softly as you stepped back into the bedroom, careful not to shatter the calm. Then, tilting your head towards Wanda, you added with a little smile, “And tea.”
At that, Wanda sat up slightly, her grin sleepy but radiant. “Have I ever told you I love you?” she murmured, voice scratchy and tired, but her eyes bright with warmth.
“Hmm, once or twice,” you replied, setting the steaming mug carefully into her waiting hands before passing the plate of sandwiches to Natasha. The bottles of water you dropped onto the bed in a decidedly less graceful manner, freeing your arms at last so you could clamber onto the mattress yourself.
You settled in close, your knee brushing against Wanda’s thigh, and for a moment you simply watched her cradle the mug in both hands, blowing gently at the steam before taking the smallest sip. She hummed quietly in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut as the warmth seeped through her.
“Perfect,” she murmured, the single word carrying more meaning than the drink itself, it was gratitude, reassurance, and affection all rolled into one.
Natasha leaned over, plucking one of the sandwiches from the plate and biting into it without ceremony. “Good thinking, Printsessa (princess),” she said between chews, her eyes flicking to yours with quiet approval.
Wanda shifted closer to you, her legs tangling with yours beneath the duvet. She handed the mug to Natasha without looking away from you, then eased forward until she could press her forehead to yours. Her skin was warm, and you could still smell faint traces of the bath bubbles clinging to her hair.
“I really do love you,” she whispered, softer this time, as though she was confiding a secret meant for no one else.
Your lips curled into a smile. “I know, Wands. I love you too.”
Natasha let out a low, satisfied hum beside you, the kind that vibrated through her chest, and reached over to set Wanda’s tea carefully on the nightstand. “My girls,” she sighed, the words warm and content as she kissed Wanda’s temple, then tilted her head to brush a kiss across your cheek. “Both of you were perfect tonight.”
“You did alright yourself,” Wanda replied, voice lazy but carrying that sly curl of amusement. She reached across Natasha’s chest to reclaim her tea, taking another sip with exaggerated nonchalance.
“Alright?” Natasha scoffed, a bite of disbelief laced through her words. “Just alright?” She bit into her sandwich, chewing with a deliberate slowness as if she were giving Wanda a chance to take it back. “Do you know how much I have to train to fuck you like that?”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re always in the gym,” you chimed in, trying to keep a straight face as you tore into your own sandwich.
“Exactly.” Natasha jabbed the half-eaten sandwich in your direction for emphasis, eyes narrowing in mock outrage. “And all I get in return is ‘alright’?”
“Fine,” Wanda relented in a drawl, rolling her eyes with enough drama to rival a theatre performance. “You were amazing. Spectacular. The best I’ve ever had in my entire life.” She tilted her head just enough for her hair to spill over her shoulder, letting her lips curl into something wicked. “Is that enough praise for you… Daddy?” The title was drawn out deliberately and entirely unserious.
You instantly choked on your sandwich, clapping a hand over your mouth as you dissolved into a fit of laughter.
Natasha’s brows lifted high, though the smirk breaking across her face betrayed her amusement. “Careful, brat,” she warned, her voice dipping into something low and velvety, more playful than threatening, but still enough to make your skin prickle. “Keep talking like that, and it’ll be more than a flogger next time.”
“Promises, promises,” Wanda shot back without missing a beat, sipping her tea like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the conversation.
That was enough to make you snort into your sandwich, the sound sending all three of you into fresh peals of laughter until Natasha grumbled, without the slightest trace of heat, “Absolute menaces, the pair of you.”
—
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Nosy Neighbor (Wanda Maximoff x Reader x Agatha Harkness
Summary: Agatha is mildly offended she hasn't been offered a place in your "sex den" yet. Oops.
Words: 3545
Warnings: Smut, strap-on sex (briefly, Wanda receiving), finger sucking, cunnilingus (Agatha and Wanda both receiving), language, degradation, voyeurism.
A/N: This is the fourth and the current last part planned for now for pervy!Wanda. I got too many other stories I'm working on. Including a Kate Bishop two-shot and/or really, really long oneshot for any Kate fans.
-X-
It started, like most things in this neighborhood, with Agatha watching too closely.
She didn’t knock or ask questions, not at first. Just lingered longer than necessary when the trash bins were out, watering plants that didn’t need watering, pretending to check the mail even though it was Sunday. She was always there—in the periphery—her sharp blue eyes flicking between you and Wanda like she was trying to solve a puzzle she already knew the answer to.
It only got worse when, one late evening, she noticed a gorgeous redhead slipping from your home. Walking like her legs were still a little shaky, a sated smirk playing on her lips as she slipped into the nondescript black SUV. She wouldn’t admit it—even to herself—that she was mildly offended. Not because she wanted love but because she liked to think she was an attractive woman and not once had either of you invited her into what was clearly becoming your sexcapades.
And Wanda?
Wanda knew.
Oh, she felt those eyes from across the street like a match struck too close to skin. Every time Agatha tilted her head and asked, “So, you and her, hm?” Wanda would just smile, a feral curl of her lips and say nothing.
She didn’t owe Agatha the truth.
But she wanted her to see it.
-X-
It was Thursday when it happened.
The kind of summer heavy evening where windows stay open just a little too long and curtains flutter just enough to invite trouble.
You were in Wanda’s living room, half-dressed—if you could even call it that, your pants and underwear completely gone with only your bra covering your tits—and already deep inside her, your strap buried to the hilt as she writhed beneath you on the couch. One leg slung over your hip, her nails biting into your shoulders, her moans loud, echoing off the walls like a dare to the quiet world outside.
Or maybe just your nosy neighbor.
Outside, Agatha stood frozen in front of Wanda’s living room window, half-shielded by the bushes, her expression unreadable—lips parted, cheeks flushed—as her cat, Salem, meowed up at her impatiently. She hadn’t meant to stay… but she didn’t move away either.
And inside, Wanda’s eyes flicked toward the window for a split second as another drag of your strap left her moaning wantonly and a slow, depraved grin spread across her flushed face as her breath caught in your ear.
“She’s watching,” she whispered. “Our nosy little neighbor can’t help herself.”
Her cunt clenched around the strap at the idea.
“Let her watch,” Wanda purred darkly, hands sliding up your chest. “Or better…”
She turned her head slightly—just enough for her voice to carry through the cracked window.
“You wanna come inside, Agatha?” she called out, voice trembling with heat and challenge alike. “Or are you going to make yourself come out there like a good little pervert?”
There was a beat of silence before Agatha’s voice crept through the crack in the window. “…give me a moment,” as she disappeared towards her house, presumably to put Salem inside before she walked around to the door.
“Door’s open,” you called out, hips never faltering as you continued to pound into Wanda almost desperately. Like you still couldn’t get enough of her.
Wanda’s keening whine only spurred you on.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re practically dripping onto the couch… the idea of Agatha’s fingers shoved in that pretty mouth while I pound this pussy’s got you clenching around me, huh, baby?” you smirked.
Wanda practically screamed, her head thrown back against the cushions, her locks sticking to her sweat-slicked skin as your cock slammed into her again and again—every sound a little wetter, every grunt a little louder as your hips continued to drive through the motion.
Every thrust made her cunt clench harder around you, her inner thighs soaked, nails carving down your back like she was trying to brand you. She was a beautiful little fucked out mess; eyes half-lidded, mouth open, moaning wildly at your words, at the image of Agatha’s fingers down her throat.
“Yes—fuck—yes!” she sobbed. “I want her fingers in my mouth while you fuck me!”
The door creaked open and Agatha’s heels clicked softly on hardwood, pausing only to make sure the door clicked shut behind her.
Agatha stepped in like she owned the fucking place—like she wasn’t simply joining her neighbor’s “fuck den” as she’d been referring to it in her head. She stared at your mostly naked bodies, eyes dark and riveted by the sight in front of her.
Wanda, bare and spread, gasping and soaked and taking your strap like she was born for it. You, flushed and panting, teeth grit as you drove into her without hesitation.
Agatha’s lips curved into something wry, her smile bordering on ravenous.
“My, my…” she drawled, eyes sliding over you both as she slowly peeled her wrap off one shoulder. “You’ve been having all the fun without me.”
She walked toward the couch—pretending to be unbothered by the sight but her pupils blown, her breathing quickening as she watched your cock disappear into Wanda’s dripping pussy over and over again. You shared a brief look before Agatha slipped her fingers into her own mouth, licking two digits before trailing them over Wanda’s lips.
“Don’t bite,” she warned with a smirk.
You grinned wickedly, shifting Wanda’s leg until the angle became perfect, the thick head of your strap rubbing along the sweet spot of Wanda’s walls. “You can be rough with her. The little slut likes it.”
Agatha’s blue eyes glittered at your words—something dark and amused flickering behind them as she pressed her fingers deeper into Wanda’s mouth, slow at first, then rougher, until her knuckles brushed flushed lips and Wanda moaned around them like she was starving for it.
“I can see that,” Agatha purred, tone mocking. “Such a greedy little thing…”
Wanda gagged slightly, but didn’t stop—wouldn’t—her eyes rolling back as she rocked against your cock, her cunt soaking your strap with every brutal, perfect thrust. Her throat bobbed as she tried to moan around Agatha’s fingers, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes from the stretch of your strap, from the pressure of Agatha’s fingers, from the sheer overload of it all.
Your grip tightened on her hips, driving up into her with wild, unrelenting force, each impact loud, the wet slap of skin a goddamn chorus in this house of sin you’d built together.
“That’s it,” Agatha cooed, twisting her fingers just enough to make Wanda gasp around them. “Take what we give you, sweetheart. And don’t you dare cum yet.”
Wanda sobbed, voice muffled, spit clinging to the corners of her mouth as her entire body quaked in your arms, clit rubbing desperately against the base of your strap as her pussy clenched and spasmed around you.
“You wanna cum for us, princess? Wanna show Agatha what it looks like when you make a mess like the good little whore you are?” you taunted.
Wanda let out a choked moan, Agatha’s fingers still buried deep in her mouth as she nodded frantically—eyes wild and glistening, her whole body vibrating with the need to break. Her cunt clenched so tight around your cock, teetering on the edge as she bucked wildly into every sharp thrust.
Agatha smirked, her other hand trailing lazily down between Wanda’s breasts, circling her nipple with the pad of one finger as she cooed, “Go on then, sweetheart. Cum for us—let me see you.”
That broke her.
Wanda screamed around Agatha’s fingers as her orgasm tore through her. Her back arched off the couch, thighs trembling violently, cunt gushing around your strap in wave after wave of messy, devastating release. Her juices slicked her thighs, dripping onto the cushions, soaking everything beneath her as her whole body convulsed in your grasp.
Her hips twitched through the aftershocks, her lips parted as she panted around Agatha’s digits.
Easing out of Wanda slowly, you stood on shaky legs, gesturing to her soaked cunt. “…want a taste, Harkness?” you offered with a knowing grin.
Agatha’s brow arched slowly, like she’d just been dared—and she loved a good dare. Her fingers slipped from Wanda’s mouth with a wet pop, and she licked them clean, each drag of her tongue deliberate and alluring, her eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“She certainly makes a mess worth sampling,” she murmured, eyes flicking down to Wanda’s trembling, glistening thighs—spread, still twitching with the remnants of her orgasm.
Wanda was a goddamn mess, slumped back against the armrest, chest heaving and hair wild, lips parted around a breathless, satisfied moan but her eyes fluttered open just enough to catch the exchange.
Agatha stepped closer, then knelt between Wanda’s legs on the couch, elegant hands spreading her thighs wider, her face lowering until it was level with her slick folds. And without a single word—
She licked.
Long, slow, deep; her tongue dragging through Wanda’s cunt, lapping up the mess you’d left behind like it was a decadent dessert. Wanda cried out weakly, hips twitching, her overstimulated pussy still pulsing as Agatha devoured her with a skill that really didn’t surprise anyone.
Agatha moaned against her, then looked up at you with a shiny mouth and a wicked grin. “Delicious,” she drawled. “You have excellent taste.”
“Oh, trust me, I know.” You threaded your fingers through Agatha’s hair before dragging her face back into Wanda’s cunt.
Agatha let out a low, throaty laugh—the sound vibrating against Wanda’s soaked cunt as you guided her down, your fingers tangled in her thick, dark hair like a command she welcomed. Her mouth sealed over Wanda’s clit immediately, tongue circling with merciless precision as she moaned into it, lips wet and shiny with Wanda’s need.
Wanda sobbed, breath shuddering, her hips jerking weakly under the onslaught.
“F-fuck—” she gasped, her voice raw and trembling, thighs trying and failing to close around Agatha’s head. “Too much—I can’t—I’m gonna cum again!”
Agatha sucked harder, two fingers plunging deep into Wanda’s center, curling just right as her tongue flicked in fast, devastating strokes over her clit. Her moans vibrated against her, sending shockwaves through Wanda’s overstimulated nerves. Wanda screamed—loud and broken—as another orgasm slammed through her, her thighs tightening around Agatha’s head as she writhed into her mouth.
When Wanda finally rode out of the last of her ecstasy, you tugged Agatha’s head away from your girlfriend’s drenched folds. Agatha gasped softly, her lips wet and chin glistening with Wanda’s release. Her blue eyes flicked to yours just in time to be claimed by your mouth, and she melted into it with a moan, hot and breathless, her hands sliding into your hair as she kissed you back.
The taste of Wanda was thick between you—sweet and fucking filthy—her juices still fresh on Agatha’s tongue as it slid against yours. The kiss was needy, greedy, and utterly obscene; nothing but teeth and spit.
You could feel Agatha tremble slightly as you deepened it, her breath hitching as your tongue massaged hers, like you were trying to steal every lingering taste.
Wanda, still shaking on the couch, moaned at the sight of it, her glassy eyes catching the way your mouths moved together, how Agatha clung to you like she needed it, how you took her mouth and claimed it like it was your birthright.
“God, that’s hot…” Wanda rasped, her fingers dragging weakly over her own thighs as she watched you devour each other, her body still twitching with aftershocks. “Fuck…”
Agatha hissed through her teeth as your bite sank into her bottom lip—sharp enough to sting, deliberate enough to make her throb. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes darkened immediately, something nearly feral flaring behind them.
“We’ve got a bed upstairs… and I’ve wondered before what you taste like… and I know my sweet Wanda is a slut for riding someone’s face… which said bed upstairs can help accommodate both of these ideas…” you mumbled against Agatha’s lips, your free hand teasing the smooth plane of her sternum. “If you’re interested, of course.”
Agatha shivered under your touch; barely, but enough.
Her lips parted, but no witty retort came right away. Her pupils were blown, her flush deepening as her gaze flicked from your mouth to Wanda—still sprawled, flushed and sticky and lazily stroking herself in a slow circle, watching you both like she was already halfway to climbing someone like a goddamn tree.
“Well,” she murmured, tilting her chin just slightly, “I’d hate to keep the lady waiting.”
A moan of appreciation escaped Wanda, and you rolled your eyes as you lifted your limp, jelly-legged girlfriend up from the couch. Knowing fully well that her legs were utterly useless right then.
Wanda let out a soft, breathless laugh as you lifted her, arms wrapping instinctively around your neck, head dropping to your shoulder, her hair brushing your cheek as she melted against you like you were the only thing holding her together.
“God, I love when you do that…” she whispered against your throat, voice dreamy, exhausted, and utterly fucked-out. Her lips ghosted over your skin, pressing lazy kisses as you carried her upstairs as if she were a prize you’d stolen from a castle—
And she loved it.
By the time you reached the bedroom, Wanda was already pawing at you, whining into your neck like the little brat she was, “Put me down and make her show us everything.”
Agatha stood in the doorway, arms crossed under her bare breasts—you honestly had no fucking idea when she’d lost her shirt but honestly, you weren’t mad about it—watching with a sly, unreadable smile.
“Well,” she purred, “I was promised a bed. And a mouth. Let’s hope one of you can deliver.”
Your eyes raked over her, tongue wetting your lips absently. “Fuck, you are so hot. Like, unfairly so,” you muttered, catching her around the waist and tugging her into another kiss.
She moaned into your mouth, low and hungry, her hands sliding up your back with slow, deliberate pressure as she pressed into you like she’d been starving for the contact. Her lips moved against yours with a mix of challenge and surrender—like she couldn’t decide whether to devour you or let herself be devoured.
Behind you, Wanda let out a hoarse, delighted giggle, sprawled across the bed like a ruined goddess. “I want a kiss! You keep kissing each other and while it is very sexy to watch, I’m starting to feel neglected here.”
Leaning into Agatha’s ear, you murmured, “Go lie down and spread your legs—and I promise I won’t stop until you’re fucking begging me to,” before nipping at her earlobe teasingly.
Agatha's lips parted around a breathless exhale, her irises so fucking dark as she drank in the low, rough command. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she gave you a slow, sharp-edged smile that barely masked the raw hunger simmering beneath it as she slowly shimmied out of her slacks, letting them drop to the floor and pool at her ankles before stepping out of them.
Wanda watched her with hooded eyes, legs parted lazily, fingers teasing between her thighs as Agatha climbed onto the bed beside her. She stretched, back arched, legs sliding open until her glistening cunt was laid bare beneath the dim light the curtains let in from the outside.
She braced herself on her elbows, chin tilted toward you with that smug little smirk, but her voice was hoarse when she spoke.
“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” she rasped. “I’m not the patient one here.”
You watched as Wanda leaned down and kissed the older woman with a need that surprised even you. You’d known that Wanda once had a crush on Agatha—and you also knew that now those feelings had fizzled out, but you supposed that old burn still had a flicker or two in Wanda’s chest.
You dropped between Agatha’s thighs without preamble, throwing her legs over your shoulders as your tongue found her drenched folds. She gasped—a sharp, unfiltered sound that cracked straight from her throat against Wanda’s parted lips the instant your mouth sealed over her cunt. Her legs tensed over your shoulders, hips twitching upward as your tongue dragged a hot, greedy stripe through her folds, tasting her for the first time.
And fuck, she was soaked.
She let out a shuddering moan, hands fisting in the sheets as your tongue circled her clit, teasing—claiming—and just as her mouth opened to curse or praise or maybe even beg, a new weight settled over her as Wanda shifted to straddle Agatha’s face with a needy whine.
“Fuck, Aggie, please,” she whimpered as she sank down onto Agatha’s mouth, her thighs trembling on either side of her head as her hands tangled in Agatha’s hair.
Agatha groaned beneath her—muffled but audible—and her hips bucked against your face, overwhelmed, caught between your tongue and Wanda’s pussy on her mouth. She’d suspected for a while that someone who looked like you had to be good with her tongue but she hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Hadn’t expected to be stuck in the storm that was you and Wanda Maximoff.
She broke into a chorus of moans as you feasted between her thighs like you were starving for her, while Wanda rode her face, already on the edge of another orgasm.
Agatha cried out, the sound stifled against Wanda’s soaked cunt as your tongue plunged deep inside her. Her hips jerked off the bed, thighs tightening around your head as you angled her open and fucked her with your mouth like it was the only thing you knew how to do. She tasted sweet and sharp, her pussy clenching helplessly around your tongue with every deep, devastating thrust.
Above her, Wanda sobbed a moan, grinding down against Agatha’s mouth with reckless abandon, her hands in her hair, her voice cracked and soaked in something so lust-filled that it drenched you beneath your harness.
“She’s moaning into my pussy,” Wanda gasped, riding Agatha’s tongue faster. “Your tongue’s making her fucking moan while she’s licking me—fuck, fuck—don’t stop—”
Your tongue thrust deeper, faster, curling inside her, lips sucking hard around her clit. And she was so close—her breath hitching, thighs shaking, Wanda’s slick dripping onto her tongue, your mouth pushing her to the edge.
Then—
She practically screamed into Wanda’s cunt, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning, her legs locking around you, pussy gushing across your tongue as her back arched violently.
And Wanda was right behind her. Sobbing and gasping, her own climax tearing through her as she cried out a combination of yours and Agatha’s names, her thighs twitching around Agatha’s head as she rutted against her tongue.
Agatha shuddered beneath your mouth, her body twitching with each tender, possessive lick as you lapped up the slick mess between her thighs like it was your fucking reward. Her hips rolled weakly, helplessly, as your tongue dragged through her folds, catching every drop of her release.
She whimpered, a ragged, broken sound muffled beneath Wanda’s weight, her hands no longer gripping but clinging—to sheets, to air, to the last threads of composure she no longer needed.
“Fuck—fuck—” she choked, voice shaking, barely able to speak between Wanda’s soft, blissed-out grinding and the overstimulation tearing through her. “You’re gonna kill me…”
Agatha collapsed back against the sheets as you finally pulled away, her chest rising and falling in shallow, trembling breaths, eyes glazed and mouth slick with Wanda’s release. Her body was still twitching, even as you softly kissed her thigh.
“Mm, don’t be getting sweet on me now,” she teased breathlessly, nudging you away from her thighs.
Shrugging, you climbed up the bed, slumping on one side of Agatha while Wanda fell to the other. “Hey, you’re the one who spied on us and then decided to be sandwiched between us, Harkness. A little sweetness after the fact should be the least concerning thing that happened tonight.”
Agatha stilled for a moment—just long enough that the quiet in the room deepened, leaving you wondering if you’d said something wrong.
“I don’t do relationships or… sweetness,” she said after a quiet moment. “Not the real ones. And I have no intentions of settling down with you and owning a cottage in the woods… but I do enjoy late-night visits, sore thighs, and maybe letting you both hold me after, if I’m in the mood.”
You slung your arm around Agatha’s waist, snorting. “We’re not proposing to you, Ag. But a little aftercare and a nap before you head home won’t hurt… I promise.”
“…I suppose I can live with that,” she mumbled, exhaustion turning her bones heavy as she settled fully between you both.
“You like us,” Wanda teased.
“Don’t push your luck, Maximoff.”
You smirked sleepily, “That’s all she knows how to do, Agatha. You get used to it.”
Please write a story where the reader is dom and Wanda is a sub and the reader sucks Wanda’s breast when they get full with mīlk because of the pills the reader gave Wanda😝
THE CABIN RULE
summary: - She’s been showing up at your cabin in your old shirts, acting like it’s no big deal. Tonight, something’s different—she’s squirmy, teasing, and way too soft.
You already know what she did.
warnings: heavy dom/sub dynamics, dom reader, sub wanda maximoff, age gap (exact amount of years isn’t specified, w is 22, and reader is older), daddy (r) x bunny (w) undertones, breast worship, lactation (w), gender neutral reader - please tell me if i’ve forgotten something
an: thank you for the request!! sorry for taking so long - it’s my first time writing a story so this took quite some time 🥲 hope u enjoy!!
The first time she called you Daddy, it was accidental — or so she claimed.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
You raised an eyebrow. She didn’t flinch. Wanda’s twenty-two. Clever, restless, endlessly soft. You’re older. Steady. Quiet. Controlled in a way that makes her legs twitch and her brain melt.
She comes to your cabin most nights now, often wearing your old shirts with nothing underneath. You never invite her. She always shows up anyway.
Tonight is different.
She’s been squirming since she walked through the door, breath catching in that telltale way that says something’s up. You notice the way her chest heaves slightly more than usual — the faint weight shift beneath fabric that wasn’t there before.
You rest your hand on her lower back as she moves past you.
“You took it,” you murmur.
She freezes. Then looks back at you, biting her lip. “Mmhmm. Thought I’d surprise you.”
You hum. “You like how it feels?”
“Mhm,” she breathes. “They make them so fast-acting now. I’m already… sensitive.”
You don’t need her to explain what she means. Your eyes drop to her chest. Her nipples press softly against the thin cotton of your shirt — her shirt now, really. She practically claimed it. “You took it for me, didn’t you?” you ask, voice low.
Wanda nods slowly, coming closer. Her eyes glimmer with mischief, but there’s something else there too. Need. That undercurrent that always simmers beneath the bratty smiles and bunny energy. “You like when I get all soft for you,” she whispers.
You don’t answer. Instead, you cup her cheek, guiding her down to sit in your lap. She melts into you like she always does — legs folded on either side of you, head resting on your shoulder, hands playing with the collar of your shirt like she’s trying to undo you piece by piece.
You shift beneath her, hands running down her back, settling just above her ass.
“Do you remember our rule?” you murmur into her hair.
“Mhm.”
“Say it.”
“I don’t get to be needy…” she begins, voice soft, “…unless I ask nicely.”
“And?”
“And I say please.”
You nod, lips brushing her ear. “Good girl.”
She shudders — not from fear, but from recognition. From safety. You always let her come to you first. Her fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, eyes wide and pleading. “Please,” she whispers. “Please touch me.”
You don’t make her ask twice.
You guide her down onto the bed, watching as she lays back willingly, arms above her head, exposing the shape of her now-pill-plump breasts beneath your shirt.
You kneel beside her. Eyes locked. One hand comes to rest on her waist, the other slowly pushing the fabric up — inch by inch — until her chest is bare and rising under your gaze.
They’re heavier now. Rounder. Full of heat and tension.
You trace the side of one breast with your thumb, gently circling closer and closer to her nipple until she arches. “So soft,” you murmur. “All this… just for me.”
“Always for you.”
You lower your head, lips brushing the underside of her breast as your hand cups the other. You suck gently — not teasing, but devoted — the way she needs.
Her moan is barely audible, but her thighs squeeze together. You let your tongue trace a slow, wet circle before biting down — not hard, just enough to ground her.
“Fuck,” she gasps.
You look up. “Language, bunny.”
“S—sorry.”
“You can use that pretty mouth for begging. Not whining.”
She whimpers as you kiss lower, one hand sliding between her thighs but not yet touching. Just resting there. Reminding her. Her hips buck, desperate for more. “Please, Daddy,” she breathes. “Please touch me. I need—”
SUMMARY: Wanda wears a bunny suit and you lose your mind a little.
TAGS: 18+ only, wanda x transmasc!reader, reader calls wanda bunny, wanda calls reader sir, reader has a penis, creampie, breeding kink, blowjob, they will be fucking like rabbits
AN: i have nothing else to say in my defence other than i got possessed by the thought of wanda wearing a bunny suit. thanks for coming to my ted talk and im not sorry for this pure filth. there's a part 2 btw.
"Bend down for me, bunny."
You hear Wanda huff before doing as she's been told, bending down on the arm of your couch. You're delighted to know, through the connection Wanda has graciously shared with you, that she's trying not to seem as eager as she actually is. The little witch did always love her tricks and brattiness. Something that you know you'd sooner fuck out of her than later.
You spread her feet wider as you step closer to Wanda, your clothed bulge flushed against her core. Her heat and wetness seaps through the fabric of your slacks at the brief contact.
"Pretty bunny," you whisper, trailing your palm across Wanda's back — the red bunny suit clinging tight on her skin — until you reach her nape and grab it, squeezing a little. "Aren't you such a pretty bunny?"
You can't help it, not really, not when Wanda looks as delicious as she currently does. So fuckable and so pliant. So wholly yours. And so you start grinding against her ass, the shape of your cock sliding between her drenched folds, bumping against her engorged clit.
"I believe I've asked you a question, my darling bunny."
Just like you couldn't help but tease yourself and her of what's to come by letting her feel you against where she needs you the most, you couldn't help the way your palm meets her right ass in reprimand.
There's something so intoxicating about Wanda's trust, freely given to you, without any expectations nor conditions. It's addicting. Maddening. The power she grants you in your bedroom.
"This is a reward, bunny, don't make me turn it into a punishment. Not when you've been so good to me."
The wanton moan coming out of her mouth is but a prelude to the other sounds you'd be pulling out of her.
"Sorry, Sir, I am your pretty bunny," Wanda says, turning to look at you. You watch her lick her lips slowly, seductively, before it gets snagged between her teeth. "I'll be good, I promise."
By the dark glint in her emerald eyes, you know she won't, and she knows that you know she won't be good. That she'd challenge you all throughout the night, until you and her have consumed each other's desires.
It's this incomprehensible dynamic you've built with her that actually gets you going. That trust she places on your hand, and your's in her's.
With a small smirk you send her way and your other palm colliding against her left cheek, you say, "We'll see."
You gather her arms at her back and with your belt, you tie them together. You lean down closer to her head, kissing just behind her ear, you murmur, "Not too tight, sweetheart?"
You feel Wanda testing her restraints before she answers you. "It's perfect, just like you, my love."
You give her a quick peck on the lips.
As you resume your upright position, you push her to sink deeper against the couch, her ass higher in the air with her on her tiptoes. The sight makes you salivate.
You caress her ass before gripping it harder, before you part it forcefully until the shape of her open cunt is visible through the underwear part of her costume. You slap her pussy.
You fish your cock out of your pants and boxers, fisting it on the head to stave off your impending orgasm. You never knew if Wanda's effect on your libido is a testament of your desire for her or if her magic has fundamentally reshaped your being to desire her as much as you do.
No matter the truth, you really do not care. You've long accepted that you could come untouched by the sight of Wanda alone. But you're not here to come untouched, nor make Wanda be untouched, never when she's in your presence.
You tug the fabric of her sheer pantyhose until it rips.
You and her have a collection of ripped clothing, by you, by her. But she still plays along the indignant lover whenever you destroy any piece of clothing that keeps her intimate parts from your gaze and your touch. You let her be with her dramatics as you hear the sound of its ripping is accompanied by Wanda's indignant cry.
The sight of her bare, sopping cunt still makes you want to drop to your knees and bury your face on it, even after all these years.
But you have promised her a reward and she has asked you to breed her and flood her womb with your seed, and so you shall. They could peel your layers one by one until all you have left are your bones, and they would see Wanda's name branded into every piece like some sick proof of ownership.
You rub your length against her sweetness, coating it generously with her slick.
"Don't tease, please, Sir," Wanda begs.
"I won't," you answer her, snapping your hips in one motion, sliding your shaft inside her in one go.
The heat, the warmth, the softness that grips you is nothing like what you have ever imagined. Wanda runs warm, this you've learned over the centuries.
When Wanda's surprised gasp tapers off into a moan, you pull all the way out until only your tip remains, then you bury yourself to the hilt once more. Her silent moan turning into a pleasure-filled scream that reverberates inside your skull.
Your thrusts are unrelentless and so are Wanda's gasps and moans and "Oh, right there, Sir please, please, please."
You have no intention to, of course, but you do slow down after a while.
The whine that comes out of Wanda is almost enough to make you slip your cock inside her cunt again. But alas, you have a plan.
"Why'd you stop," Wanda petulantly asks, pressing her forehead deeper on the couch cushions, trying to regulate her breathing.
You watch her pussy twitch, slick dripping out of her open hole clenching on nothing.
You tug off her restraints, throwing your belt somewhere off to the side. Rubbing her wrists gently, you press kisses on the thin skin over them.
"Come, bunny," you help Wanda up, her legs wobbly and trembling when she tries to stand.
It gives you a sinful thought.
"Go to the bedroom and wait for me. I want you lying on your back with your legs wide open and a dildo buried in your cunt while you play with your clit. Understood?"
Wanda closes her eyes to the image you paint for her, biting her lip to prevent herself from moaning, surely. "Yes, Sir. Will I wait for long?"
"No more than a couple of minutes."
"Will you tell me what you'll be doing while I'm waiting?" Wanda asks, tone playful and innocent all at once.
"I will be jerking my cock off here, to the thought of your cunt clenching on a plastic cock while you desperately rub your clit to cum. But we both know you won't be able to, would you bunny?"
"Why?" Wanda lets out a frustrated groan, stomping her foot in protest. "My pussy is better than your hand."
Oh, how you love a sexually frustrated Wanda. The things that come out of her mouth are simply... devilish, for they are things she would shy away from uttering if she weren't so desperate. Desperation on Wanda is the best, she'll do anything, allow anything, to get what she wants.
You grip her jaw with more force than usual, drunk off your rocker due to the liquid arousal coursing through your veins. "Careful, princess, brats get fucked, yes, but they don't get bred."
You let go of her face when she looks down, defiance quelled at the show of force.
Instead of obeying, however, Wanda kneels in front of you. Her face is mere inches away from your throbbing erection.
She takes hold of your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. Wanda opens her mouth and descends on your twitching cock, her tongue guiding it inside her wet cavern.
You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes when you feel her hollow out her cheeks, sucking you deeper in her throat. You open them shortly, not wanting to miss the performance Wanda's giving you.
You catch her watching your expression down to the minuscule twitches of your muscles and she catches your trained focus on her outstretched lips where her blood red lipstick is staining your crotch and your cock.
"Fuck my face, please, Sir," you hear Wanda say in your head.
At her plea, a smirk blooms on your face. "No."
You push her away from your cock, tugging her to stand before you.
Wanda looks utterly debauched. Lipstick smeared with your pre-cum and her saliva shining on her lips.
You kiss her hungrily, licking at her lips until she gives your tongue permission to explore her mouth.
The way you kiss her is filthy, like you're trying to carve yourself into her. It doesn't take long, however, before you're pushing her away.
"Bedroom, baby, I won't ask again," you say.
Wanda pouts, mumbling incoherently under her breath. She wouldn't be your little brat if she didn't find any opportunity to try and challenge you.
You watch her trying her hardest to steady her legs enough to walk up the stairs toward your bedroom. The sight of her, her bunny suit still relatively covering her save for the obvious tear on her inner thighs, is something you know you'd recall for lonely nights when she's not with you.
You take a firm grip on your cock and you start rubbing it up and down, your thumb swiping against its slit.
When you feel your pleasure doubling, you know Wanda has started touching herself. The connection between the two of you shares every thought and every emotion through the link, no matter where you both are in the universe. You tell her through it, "I'm coming up, bunny."
"Mhm, hurry please," is her breathless answer.
You take the stairs two at a time. If Wanda is desperate for your touch, you're already miles ahead. Sometimes, it feels like you'd die if your hands or any part of your skin isn't tangled or touching hers. A physical manifestation of your desire and longing for the other woman.
What greets you is nothing short of sinful.
In the middle of your bed lies Wanda, her legs spread open and she's fucking herself with her favorite maroon dildo, her other hand circling her clit. Still wearing her bunny suit with the bunny ears headband.
You don't waste time climbing on top of her, pulling her hand with the dildo away from your prize. Without nary a word or a warning, you slip your cock inside her quivering hole. You take her other hand in yours, fingers drenched with her arousal, and put them inside your mouth. The second her taste reaches your palate, a moan reverberates deep in your chest.
Wanda wraps her legs around your hips, her ankles digging into the flesh of your ass. The action and the taste of her on your tongue spur you on. You thrust harder. Some part of you registers the sound of your creaking bed but it's easily drowned by the sounds of skin meeting skin, the breathy moans coming from under you.
You lean down until your body is flush against Wanda, your elbow propped beside her head to make sure you don't crush her with your weight. Wanda reaches out and pulls you in a feverish kiss. Her hands snake around you until her fingers are raking red welts on your back.
When Wanda's eyes flutter open and you barely see the emerald green of them with her blown pupils, you know fully that she sees the same look mirrored in yours.
You pull away from her hold and stand on your knees, her legs falling from their place on your hips. At the action, a sob bursts out of Wanda, "No, no, please. Don't go."
You lean down again to kiss her softly to reassure her. "I won't, bunny. I just wanna watch you fall apart for me."
You press kisses all over her face, down to her throat, sucking a hickey on the crook of her neck. You then lick a stripe down her sternum before biting on the exposed flesh of her upper breast. You make a mental note to remove Wanda's corset later to play with her neglected breasts.
When Wanda's distress calms down, you stand straight and look down on her — hair wild on the pillows, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and hands gripping the headboard tight.
You tug her lip down with your thumb before pressing it inside her mouth. Without any command, Wanda wraps her tongue around it, coating it in her spit. With a light grip on her chin, you make her open her mouth wider and press your thumb on her tongue. She looks up at you under her lashes, letting you prod her mouth with your digit.
After removing it out of her, you suck the same thumb in your mouth. Once you're satisfied with it, you press it on her clit.
Wanda comes with a silent cry, her legs tensing beside yours, her head digging on the pillows. You watch pleasure take ahold of your wife's body. Between the sight of her and the way her walls are clenching on your shaft, your climax doesn't surprise you.
The thought of coming directly against her womb suddenly springs on your mind, followed by a soft "Please," from Wanda.
Logically, you don't know how you could. But fuck logic. You promised in your vows to fulfill any wish, any desire, she might have on your wedding night.
And so, for every rope of cum shooting out of your cock, you jog your hips closer. You rest your forehead on Wanda's chest, overwhelmed and overstimulated.
When you come to, you feel Wanda's fingers carding through your locks, humming softly. You look up at her, still nuzzled against her chest.
"Hi," you greet her.
"Hey, you" she says in turn.
You wiggle a little when trying to sit up, only to wince alongside Wanda, when you realize your limp and very sensitive cock is still inside her also very sensitive pussy.
"Sorry," you say sheepishly, pulling out as gently as you could.
Your attention is arrested when you see your cum dripping out of Wanda.
"Pervert," you hear Wanda say in your head.
"I'll show you 'pervert.'"
Grabbing your semi-hard cock, you gather the dripping slick on your tip and insert them back in her twitching hole.
"Fuck."
You lick your lips, watching Wanda's serene expression melt into one of pleasure once more.
haiii ur fics are sososososo good :] may i request both bratty sub nat and wanda trying to win R's affection but in the end, R fucks them so they get along and both win either way 👀
Wanda and Natasha both held heavy scowls as they looked at each other every now and then, both simply waiting for you to get back so they could be swayed with your attention. They did love each other, yes, but they were also the most competitive in your relationship and craved your comfort, feeling jealous when believing the other received more. You left with one request, talk out your problems while you went to the store. And when you came back with a bag in hand and a hopeful grin, it was quickly replaced with a sigh.
“Seriously? You guys have forty minutes!” You paused and rubbed your temples with a grumble under your breath. “Please tell me you at least spoke a word…?”
“I tried talking to her and she wouldn’t listen-“
“She wasn’t even trying to talk to me, I was doing all the work-!” The two said in unison, both giving a short glare at each other before returning their gaze to you with apologetic smiles, trying to feign innocence but you saw right past it. You sat between the two of them and pulled out the snacks you bought, smacking their hands away gently when they tried to touch any.
“Nope, no snacks for you two until this is figured out.” You started scrolling through a site on the television to find the desired movie for the night. You leaned back, glancing at Wanda at your side.
“Will you please sit next to Natasha, sweetheart?” You asked in a gentle tone, and Natasha rolled her eyes when you weren’t looking, even if she knew she earned that same voice when you spoke to her privately.
“Of course, Mommy, anything you want.” She scrambled up and sat next to Natasha but kept a slight distance, still only watching you. “Wait, that’s not fair! Now Nat is sitting next to you, Mommy, not me!” She whined, watching the redhead smirk in victory.
“Both of you move to the other couch- now.”
“Great, you ruined it for both of us, idiot.” Came a low voice from the older woman.
“Natasha! Do not make me put you in time out, young lady.” She paused in her step and looked back to you, gulping nervously and nodding quickly in apology. She still grumbled as she sat next to Wanda on the separate couch.
“Good girls. Now take your pants off.” Their eyes widened with slight excitement as they hurried to do so, being left in only their panties and shirts as they looked over to you expectantly, but you kept your eyes on the movie.
“Wanda, lick your fingers and place them on Natasha’s clit, you know where that is?” She nodded and did as you instructed with a blush as you gave her a small rewarding smile. “And Natasha, I want you to do the same thing to Wanda. Do you know where her clit is?” She sighed under her breath and pulled Wanda’s underwear aside, glancing quickly before licking her fingers and placing them on the bud, the two creating slow motions on your command. It continued until you could hear their whimpers and low whines, Wanda sniffling quietly as her hips jutted up in a copy of Natasha’s digits.
“Mommy, can you touch us now? We- we did what you said…” Natasha was the one to weakly mutter this time, making you glance over at her and see her frown and her puffy cunt pulsing from the touch.
“Did you two talk it out yet?”
“Well, no-“
“Then no, I won’t lay a finger on either of you.” They mimicked each other with their pitiful expressions, but you only chuckled and turned back to the screen. Wanda glanced at Natasha and grabbed onto her wrist, guiding her to the achy spot just a little lower. The older woman let one finger slip inside slowly and had a small smirk at the other struggling to keep her composure. Her eyes closed shut and she tried keeping up with her own fingers on Nat’s clit.
“A-are you thinking of Mommy too?” Wanda whispered in her ear, making her smirk and nod. They both stared at you, your lack of care somehow turning them on more. Natasha grabbed onto Wanda’s hips with her free hand and turned her body to face her better, making her straddle Nat’s lap.
“Maybe we should just do what she said-” The witch tried to announce but it was quickly shut down with a louder moan, clearly piquing your interest but you tried not to show it.
“We’re not gonna just give in, that will make her think she’s right for ignoring us.” The two watched you stand and press pause on the remote before stalking towards them. You cupped Wanda’s cheek and wiped her slow-falling tear before glancing at Natasha.
“That’s because I’m always right, sweetheart.”
—
You knew it’d come. Wanda hoped for it. Natasha expected it. Your legs were spread as you sat on the edge of the bed, collars tied to both of their necks and the leashes in your hands separately. They each took turns, as you insisted, of eating you out and trying to make you cum. They each had forty-five seconds each turn, and you felt like you kept getting edged the moment you had to kick them away to bring the other forth. Natasha tried her best tricks, smiling whenever she’d get a moan out of you, and Wanda would try to be a bit quicker with her tongue, hoping to bring your release closer.
“Mm, right there, Princess…such good girls you’re being.” You praised the two, making the witch blush and the redhead motivated. It was Natasha’s turn now and she sucked your clit furiously, her tongue collecting your juices before swaying back up to return to your pulsing bud. Whenever she’d tease your hole in that way, her tongue would rub furiously against your clit, initiating a similar reaction as when she’d suck on it.
Wanda quickly moved in when it was her turn, and her mouth worked tirelessly to bring you to an edge, which you were clearly teetering off of as your legs began to shake and wrap around her head. Natasha frowned and shoved her aside when it was her turn, but you quickly tugged on her leash and forced her to look up at you.
“You do that again and you’ll lose your turn, you hear me? Say you’re sorry.” She was about to say her apologies to you until you stopped her. “To Wanda, not me.” She huffed and looked over at her girlfriend, mumbling the words ‘I’m sorry’ and being forced to say it until you could hear her loud and clear. Then, she instantly went back to work and at the last second, your foot clasped onto her back to hold her close and your orgasm rippled through you. Yes, Wanda was jealous, but also she just wanted to see you engulfed in the same pleasure you brought her. She slowly leaned in with hesitation and kissed along your thigh to help you recover while Nat gently eased away. She then turned to face Wanda and grinned victoriously.
“Look who won in the end.” You were about to discipline her amidst your state, but the other of the two simply shrugged with a small smile.
“Well, as long as Mommy got to feel good too then I’m happy you won.” You cooed in reaction, your hand stroking her cheek as her tiny dimples were evident, your praise turning her mentally mushy.
“Oh…well…thanks, I guess. I- I’m glad you came too, Mommy.” Natasha quickly retorted, making you chuckle softly and kiss her forehead.
“Thank you both for at least working some of that out.” You paused, your sweet smile disappearing slightly. “Now get on the bed, both of you. I want your faces in the pillows and your asses up for me.” They gulped nervously yet with a desirable fog and scrambled to get to the destination. And with their heads in the pillows, their eyes turned towards each other, they could only hear you entering the special drawer only meant for playtime, as Wanda called it. The two interlaced their fingers and you smirked from behind them, the bed sinking as you sat on it. They could only hope you had forgiven them by now.
Summary: Ever wonder how Steve, Bucky, Thor, and Sam would take care of you after a breakup leaves you an uptight workaholic? If your answer is a secret underground brothel, you would be correct. Becoming the Darkhold's newest victim is the least of your worries when the most divine woman in the world is your reward.
Or
SexWorker Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Top!Reader, Bottom!Wanda, GN!Reader, Reader Has A Penis, Smut, Marking, Scarring, Knife Usage For Initiation Ritual, Underground Brothel, Sex Worker Wanda Maximoff, Sex Worker Natasha Romanov, Breeding, Multiple Orgasms, Glory Hole, Sex Club, Oral Sex, Safe Words, Unsafe Sex (wrap it up peeps), Drinking, Marvel AU (let me know if I missed any)
A/N: DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS! I WILL HAUNT YOU
Word Count: 4669
Read on AO3 here :)
“Bro you need to lighten up a little bit,” Bucky says as he grips both of your shoulders from behind. A heavy sigh leaves your body as you spin around in your office chair to face him.
“I can’t, Stark will have my head if these aren’t done by Friday,”
“I know- but that doesn’t mean you gotta go all Quasimodo on us and be stuck here all night,”
“What does that mean?”
“Shit, we really do gotta get you outta here,” Bucky looks over your shoulder and at the spreadsheets you had created for Mr. Stark.
“You are much further along on this report than Sam, Thor, or Steve. Come on, let’s go out tonight, and I promise we can all go into the meeting room tomorrow and collab,”
You turn to look back at the reports stacked high on your desk and the 33 unread email notification on your screen. You desperately want to say no, but you also know that being stuck here isn’t going to do you much good. With life going the way that it was, you decided to throw yourself into work to distract yourself. The guys at the office must have noticed.
“Alright - but I want to be home by 2 am at the very latest,”
“That’s it! Let's gooo,” Bucky tries to hype you up. Sam now owed him $30, believing no one could get you away from the office.
“Go home, change into something a little more comfortable, then meet us back at the high rise around 8 pm,” Bucky says before taking off. You give him a weak smile and a wave before wrapping up your tasks.
Working for Stark had many benefits, but it also took a huge toll on you and your personal life. Your girlfriend of 3 years finally had enough and left you almost 2 months ago. The high demand, stress, and constant travel were too much for her, and she no longer wanted to support you. You understood, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt or cause you to reevaluate working for the man.
By the time you left the office, it was already 6:30 pm. All you really want to do is take a shower and slip into bed, but you stop yourself and opt for the shower and putting on a fresh outfit. As you look into the mirror, you can’t help but feel a little silly. The clothes you put on felt looser and heavier than before.
“I guess I need to hit the gym again…” you sigh. The realization that the breakup was affecting more than just your mental health.
As you pull up to the high rise, Bucky, Sam, and Steve are all standing outside the doors. They all give you an enthusiastic wave.
“Alright champ, let’s go,” Steve says while handing you a flask.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like what Thor brought to the Christmas party last year. Just a little whisky is all,” Sam laughs. A smile creeps onto your face as your brain pieces together the memories of the Christmas party. No one truly knows what happened other than Pepper ended up pregnant, Steve and Bucky found themselves naked in the lobby fountain, Sam had photocopied his ass and put them up all over the office, and you and Thor somehow ended up on the roof with a cat that he ended up taking home.
You throw your head back, downing the amber liquid in hopes that it will give you strength and courage for whatever is about to come next.
After a 10-minute walk, the men all stop in front of a club called “The Witches Road” and pull out a blue card. The woman at the door nods and lets them in, but stops you with her cane.
“Oh, they’re with us, Monica,” Thor smiles. Monica’s bright blue eyes pierce you as she looks you up and down with a curious look. Her all-leather body suit accentuated her figure in the most delicious way.
“They still need to be vetted God of Thunder,” Monica says as she pushes the end of the cane into your chest. You back up against the wall and put your hands up. Monica pats you down for any weapons and takes your wallet out of your pocket. She looks over your ID and laughs.
“You sure you’re ready for this cowboy?” Monica smirks.
“I-I think so,”
“What’s your name?”
“Oh um-”
“Not the one on the ID, I can read. I mean, you have to have a name when you go down there. Your boys already have God of Thunder, White Wolf, Falcon and Captain.” You look at each of the men as she calls out their nicknames. You can’t help but laugh a little as you hear them. They all fit so well.
“Badger,” you say confidently. The group looks at each other and then back at you.
“I think it fits,” Sam says.
“Badger it is,” Monica says as she gives you the same card with your new name on it.
“Have fun kids,” Monica teases and lets you all through the doors.
As you step over the threshold, you are transported into a whole new world. If Bucky’s hand wasn’t on your shoulder, you would have put money on this being a hallucination.
“Where are we, Narnia?” you mumble.
“Kind of feels like that for sure,” Sam laughs. Your eyes lock onto the bioluminescent leaves on the ground that seem to have a heartbeat of their own. They flash between blue, orange, and light purple. Fog and smoke hung in the air, covering the dark and twisted trees that held the roof above their heads. The only light that came from above was a giant orb that replicated the full moon and a few twinkling lights as stars. The music playing ties it all together.
Bucky guides you through a maze of people over to the bar. As you approach, a woman with bright blue hair with a purple stripe down the middle and a maroon tech-like lingerie set meets you at the counter with 5 drinks.
“You always take such good care of us Suger,” Bucky flirts. The woman just gives him a wink and then looks over at you.
“Who’s this fresh face White Wolf?” she says as she licks her lips.
“Badger, they work with us too,”
“Oh, you must be the one they’ve been talking about. It’s nice to finally put a face to all the stories,” she says as she offers her hand out.
“It’s nice to meet you too, though I can’t say they have said anything about knowing someone as beautiful as you,” You bow your head and kiss her hand.
“The ladies are going to love them,” the woman giggles. “The name is Nebula. My sister Gamora works here too.” She nods in the direction of a woman with dark hair and a matching lingerie set, except hers is green.
“We would like to order the Darkhold!” Thor says as he slams his empty glass on the table.
“Coming up yall,” Darcy pulls out 5 red and black little booklets and hands them to each of you. You down the drink as you look it over. The others have their names etched into the leather cover. Flipping through the pages, you notice the first few pages are full of rules, accommodations, a map, and the rest look similar to journal entries.
“Give that to Lady Death and she’ll put your name on it. When you’re done, you just come back and give these to me,” Nebula smiles. You nod and put it into your back pocket.
“Do they even know what they’re getting into boys?” Gamora asks as she peeks her head out from behind Nebula.
“What’s the fun in that love?” Sam teases. The women both laugh and shake their heads.
“Good luck Badger,” Nebula smiles at you before starting to help other customers at the bar. You follow your coworkers to a hidden door where a passcode lock is hidden behind a painting of a Jackalope in Victorian garb.
“You do the honors Badge,” Thor says and points to his book. You grab the booklet out of your pocket and start to read the first page.
“Welcome to the Darkhold. All users agree to all the terms and rules laid out in this booklet. Should any rules be broken, you will be under review and your membership may be suspended or terminated. Should you be found negligent or a danger to others, your membership will be terminated, and lawful actions will be taken. Everything goes, but everyone has their limits, and those must be respected. Please review the rules below.
RESPECT AND CONSENT are everything. If you don’t have that you don’t have anything. Be respectful and discuss your safeword and what you are looking for beforehand. If you or your partner aren’t respectful actions will be taken.
Know the color system. Green = good/continue/go. Yellow = caution/ask questions. Red = immediately stop.
What happens in the Darkhold stays in the Darkhold. Secrets keep you safe.
Code names only. Do not under any circumstances give out any personal information.
Do not seek anyone outside of these doors unless you know them beforehand or an arrangement has been made.
No judgment or shaming of others.
Most importantly- have fun.
Passcode: 1750
You enter the passcode on the number pad and the door sinks into the floor, startling you. Thor just laughs and pushes you through while the rest follow. The room is only illuminated by a small red light that hangs above you all.
“Take off your coat,” Sam says. The rest of them put their coats in the arms of a skeleton hanging from the wall. As you take your coat off, you see a figure take shape before you. The men all bow their heads toward it.
A woman with a skull mask covering the bottom half of her face, wearing a floral lingerie set, stands behind a podium.
“Lady Death, this is Badger, our newest member,” Bucky says as he bows. The woman looks you over with scrutinous eyes.
“Hand over your booklet,” Lady Death demands. You quickly pull it out of your pocket and hand it to her. She grabs your wrist and takes out a knife.
“Woah!” Before you can react, the rest of the men are holding you still. Thor lifts the sleeve of your shirt, exposing your skin to the cold tip of her blade.
“Do you, Badger, promise to uphold all the standards and conduct yourself in a respectful manner? Promise to never disobey the laws set forth in this booklet? Promise to treat the men and women that you meet here with dignity and honor?”
“Yes! Yes!” The knife carves a crescent moon into your deltoid.
“You are now one of us- you show this mark to no one. If you break any rules or bring dishonor to your name or our establishment, you will face severe consequences.” Lady Death blows a cool substance on your fresh wound, closing it immediately. “And we will take this mark back.” The tip of the knife is now right under your chin.
“I understand ma’am,” you say confidently.
“Good, already has manners,” Lady Death teases.
“So what are you into?” Lady Death asks.
“Umm.. like kinks or like..?” you stutter. No one had ever been this forward with you about sex.
“Well do you like dick, pussy, ass, boobs, both, all of the above? Older or younger? Saved or not? Curvy, thick, skinny, muscular?”
“He can try all those out later, he’s coming with us Miss Death,” Bucky says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. The woman follows you all down the hall and to the red door. Bucky opens it up and you all shuffle in.
“Welcome to the Red Room Badger- whatever you can dream up, these beautiful people can create. The world is yours,” Lady Death says.
The room is a deep crimson red with black accents, all the furniture you can think of is here in this front room, placed strategically- chaises, couches, bean bags, and there is even a conversation pit covered with pillows and blankets. To your surprise, the room isn’t super busy. There are three couples spread out around the place, and a few men on their own jerking off to the view.
“Come on, we’re going to the glory holes,” Bucky says as he pulls you away from the scene. You follow your colleagues down a hallway and into another room. This room has the same theming, except instead of couches or other furniture, there is a wall with half-circle cutouts with the lower half of women’s bodies evenly spread out. The women are lying down on some sort of massage table, their butts at the end of it and legs hanging down.
Your boys' pants are around their ankles before you even undo your button. You slowly push down your briefs and jeans to your thighs so your junk is free, but mostly everything else is covered. You’re nervous, shy even. The others walk up to a body and immediately start. You walk up to the glory hole wall where the most gorgeous body is laid out for you. Unfortunately you can only see from their belly button down. Even in the dim light of the neon glow, she’s still stunning.
You walk up to her and introduce yourself. A small giggle can be heard from behind the half-wall.
“Hi, I’m the Scarlet Witch,”
“Can I touch you?” The giggle this time is a bit louder.
“My job would be very difficult if you couldn't touch me,”
“Well you know… consent and all,”
“I think it’s sweet. Yes, you can touch me,”
The woman behind the wall was expecting you to touch her ass or pussy but your hands found her thighs first. Then they wander up her sides and onto her stomach. Her porcelain skin is the best thing your fingers have ever had the pleasure of feeling.
“You’re even softer than I imagined.” The words come out almost like a moan.
The giggle now was almost a laugh.
“Sorry I didn't mean to say that out loud,”
“S’okay honey bee,”
Your head whips around as you hear a woman scream out. Bucky is fucking the girl next to you so rough that the half wall that they all share is starting to shake.
“Don’t mind him darlin. He does this every other week,” Now it was your turn to laugh.
“What’s so funny? We don’t shame here,”
“Oh no, no please. That’s my buddy. He brought me here,”
“Oh” the Scarlet Witch laughs too. “He’s a regular here. He’s known as the White Wolf or Winter Soldier, depending on what mood he’s in,”
You watch him manhandle the woman he’s using. His long, deep strokes coupled with the pace he’s going is impressive. “Has he ever…?” Most of you didn’t want the answer because you were afraid but the part of you who asked wanted to be prepared to be disappointed in yourself that you could never give her what he had.
“No honey. The woman he’s with is his favorite. Her name is Black Widow. He has a type and I don’t fit it. That’s okay though, because there’s someone here for everyone,” You let out a sigh of relief. You turn your attention back to the woman in front of you. You wish you could see her top half, you would have bet your whole life that it was even more beautiful.
“Can I eat you out?” you ask as you rub your hand over her pussy.
“Umm..” she hesitates
“Sorry can I not do that?”
“No no you can- it’s just- I have never had anyone ask to do that before?”
“Like ask permission or do it to you?”
“Do it to me. Most people just put their dicks in and go at it..” a small humorless laugh.
“Oh, well, they are missing out. I really want to taste you if that’s okay,”
“Be my guest Honey Bee,”
“Safe word?” you ask as you fall to your knees and slowly start kissing your stomach and pelvic area.
“Magic, what’s yours?”
“Uh- Chaos,”
Your lips graze across over to her thighs, nipping at the soft and supple skin. The hips before you buck up making you chuckle.
“Someone’s impatient,” you tease.
“Shut up and keep going,”
You nod and get back to work. You start to suck on the inside of her thigh but get quickly shot down.
“No marks.”
“Sorry…”
You redeem yourself by kissing her clit- beginning the start of your new addiction. As you inhale her scent, you can feel the snap of the world finally falling into place. Time stops for just a second as a new found clarity lifts the heavy fog that had been plaguing you since the breakup. Waves of pleasure and need flood your system as the synapses in your brain start rapid firing.
You then lick her clit and wrap your lips around her bud. Her taste is somewhere between heaven and sin- you want to bask in the feeling forever.
“Oh fuck,” Scarlet Witch moans loudly.
You hum against her clit and start devouring her. Exploring every nook and cranny, leaving nothing untouched. Her lips are so smooth… You want it all, everything and anything she was willing to give you would take. An all-consuming need takes over.
“Please,” her voice almost a whimper.
You look up at her for a second. Her back is arching off the table she’s lying on, causing her stomach to be fully pressed against the wall that exposes her and hides her all at the same time. You reach under and grip her ass and pull so her pussy is right against your face. You probe your tongue inside her as you tease the rim of her entrance. The loud moan that follows tells you all you need to know.
After coating her in your saliva and her own juices, your tongue disconnects from her hole. A loud whimper escapes her lips, but just as quickly as your tongue left your fingers replace it.
“You’re so wet love, so soft and warm. I would live here if I could,”
All your tongues attention focuses on her clit. You swipe up and down, long and pressured licks from the bottom to the very top. As a surprise you wrap your lips around her clit and suck at random times, sometimes even nip to get her to let out louder noises. Despite all the fucking around you, all you can hear is her. It’s as if all your senses were tuned into her radio station.
“I-I’m close,” she says as your tongue swirls around her clit. You smirk and dive deeper into her ocean. You didn’t even realize you were stroking yourself until you felt that tight coil in your stomach. You look down for a brief second to see your cock rock hard, tip red and oozing precum.
“Hey don’t stop!”
“Sorry love,” you mumble before getting back to the task at hand. Her sweet moans egg you on as you try to get her back to where she was. Whatever you’re doing seems to be working, as the woman is a moaning mess. She may even be louder than the the woman Bucky is fucking. Her movements are iratic as she chases her high, trying to fuck herself on your mouth and on your fingers, not knowing which to commit to.
“I’m going to cum, please.. Oh fuck,” Scarlet Witch moans out as her orgasm washes over her. Her hole clenches around your fingers, giving you a sweet little preview as to what’s to come next. Your fingers and tongue work her through her high.
You are nervous to look down, half expecting your cum to be all over the wall. Instead, your tip is cherry red, shaft harder than rock, and balls bluer than
You slowly stand up and push your pants down, letting them fall to your ankles.
“Are you ready for me?”
“So ready,”
You lift her legs up so they are leaning against your chest and shoulders. You line yourself up with her entrance and drag the tip along her strip teasingly before tapping the head of of your cock aginst her pussy.
“Please darlin,” Scarlet Witch whimpers.
“You sound so pretty when you beg,” you say as you start to enter her.
“Holy shit,” both of your moans sync as you connect as one. You start to move, eager to chase your high, when you feel her walls clench tightly around you, not allowing you to move further.
“Wait just a second there cowboy.. I need to adjust,” Scarlet Witch says nervously.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but that isn’t even half of it…”
“Then I really don’t think you would have fit if you hadn’t just eaten me out. To be honest, I think you’re the biggest I’ve ever had.” You feel your cheeks warm up and your chest puff out as her praise sings in your ears.
“Keep talking like that and you might not be able to walk after I’m through with you,” you say with a new found confidence.
“Promise or threat,”
“Both.”
“Don’t start something you can’t finish Badge,”
“I promise we’ll both be finishing multiple times,” you tease. You rock your hips slowly, working her through the new stretch. You can’t see it, but you can hear her nails scraping across the table as you push yourself further into her.
“You’re doing so well baby. You’re almost there, just a little bit more,”
You can feel her muscles start to relax a little more, allowing you to be fully sheathed inside her.
“F-fuck, I swear this is the best pussy I’ve ever felt.” Scarlet Witch lets out a small giggle.
“It’s fucking true,” you say as you start to move inside her. Her core is as warm as a summer’s day and softer than freshly dried flannel sheets. You fit perfectly inside her, like you were molded just to please her and she to please you. Soft little moans escape her mouth, matching the rhythm you set. Your hips snap against hers as you slide in and out of her over and over again, sometimes almost pulling all the way out just to slam back into her. The table shakes as your pace starts to quicken and your thrusts become harder. Damn, you bet her boobs look absolutely incredible bouncing as you fuck her.
“Don’t stop…” her voice somewhere between a whisper and a whimper. You bite your lip to muffle the little groans and moans that are desperately trying to escape. Despite being lost in the most delicious pussy you’ve ever had, the small piece of you remembers that your coworkers are all around you. Her moans pull you back into the haze.
You watch as your cock gets engulfed by her, taking every inch of you. The noises your fluids make mixed could be sold as some sort of porn ASMR. You think you’re in love. You place your hand on the bulge on her stomach.
“Feel that little witch? That’s me. Fucking and filling you so well,”
“I’m close, please,” she begs.
“Where do you want me? I don’t think I’m going to last much longer after you cum.” You press your head against the only thing dividing you from everything you’ve ever dreamed of. You wish it was her; her stomach, her forehead, her chest, anything other than this damn wall.
“Cum inside me,”
Now you know you’re in love.
You grab her hips to keep her in place as you thrust into her, harder and harder. You were going to give Bucky a run for his money for who makes the wall shake more.
The light illuminates the glossy shine from the sweat that covers both of your bodies. You’ve never fucked a girl like this before and you don’t think you could ever replicate this with anyone else. Everything about her makes you feel like you’re going insane.
“Fuck, little witch I’m going to cum,” you groan. Your movement becomes more erratic than your breathing as you feel the all-too-familiar feeling.
“Please, I need it. I need you to fill me up. Mark me. Claim me.”
Those words break all resolve and release you from the shackles holding you back. With one final thrust, you bury yourself completely inside her as you paint her walls white with your release. Without warning you feel her walls consulse around your cock, causing you to cum even more. Both of you let out throaty moans. Her walls clench around you, locking you in place as the waves of her orgasm wash over her. Every movement and sound she makes can be felt by you. You could see the stars and every galaxy that ever was.
You don’t think you have any cum left inside you by the time she’s done. Like a dog, you’re panting, sweat dripping off your face onto her soft stomach.
“That was…”
“The best I’ve ever had,” she whispers. The smile on your face is large enough to be seen from outer space.
As you stand back up, you feel yourself slipping out of her. Your eyes hypnotised by the sight of cum dripping out of her. You feel yourself twitch again at the sight. You pull yourself fully from her and scoop up whatever cum you can onto your tip and push it back into her. Another moan escapes from both of you.
“Easy there, tiger,” her laugh breathy and tired.
“How can I keep you the whole night?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like… I want to be with you all night or however long your shift is,”
“I work 4 hours tonight, and your buddy over there only paid for an hour… so you’d have to pay for 3 more,”
“Done,”
“I don’t think you understand-”
“I don’t care. I got the money if that’s what’s holding you back. I know it isn’t the sex,”
“Then I’m all yours tonight.” The smile quickly turned into a smirk. Round 2 of as many as you could fit into the remaining hours was about to start.
One by one, your friends leave, giving you a salute as they bid you farewell. You barely register their gestures and just wave them off. Thor and Steve say something, but again, you don’t care. Nothing in this world is worth your attention when you have the Scarlet Witch wrapped around your cock.
By the end of your time, she had come at least 10 times and you close to 6. You had tried as many positions as the wall would allow and switched between eating her out, fucking her, and fingering her. Nothing was enough for your insatiable appetite. She is more potent than heroin, leaving you bound to spend forever chasing an impossible high.
Before leaving the Darkhold, you set up another appointment with her 2 weeks from now. The first note page in your little booklet is dedicated to her. In between orgasms, you got to know her better, learning that she worked a full-time job and Black Widow was the one who suggested she make some extra cash working here. You were able to coax out her birth month and favorite color color too. If it weren’t for the rules, you would’ve spent the rest of the night learning everything you could.
Now, as you walked back to the office building, the outside world felt dark and cruel compared to the warmth and comfort of the last 4 hours. The cool temperatures did nothing to dampen the fire engulfing you. This experience is the closest thing you could compare to what people describe when speaking about nirvana. If she truly is a witch, you'd happily stay under her spell for the rest of your life.
Helloooooooo…. so I stepped out of my comfort zone a little and wrote in second person while in present tense. I am not very good at that so if there are any tense switches I apologize. We may go back in and change it all to past. Okiiie byeee
Have a great night/day whenever you're reading this! xoxo
