sweet like the thunder on my tongue - w.maximoff
director!wanda maximoff x fem!actor!reader
・❥・summary: You thought Wanda was out to get you, but maybe she just wants to get you off…
・❥・warnings: smut ‼️ minors, look away; implied power imbalance, sexual tension, public sex/private room, fingering (r receiving), top!wanda, clothed sex, technically? [aka underwear stays on], lap riding, r having mild anxiety
・❥・a/n: my first wanda fic! idk yet if this is gonna become the norm—me writing for wanda, but this was definitely a fun start, and i hope you enjoy! <3
You knew that acting could be quite strenuous sometimes. Long hours, many takes, and in some cases, bending to the will of a power-tripping director. And while you’ve had some pretty proud directors in control of you during the expanse of your acting career that’s now spanned a decade, you’ve never had a director quite like Wanda Maximoff.
Obviously best case scenario is for directors to build a rapport with their actors, but sometimes, they don’t always hit it off, and that’s okay. But there’s simply not clicking and then there’s a director with a clear vendetta—and the latter is where Wanda is concerned. At least from your point of view.
You knew about Wanda’s no-nonsense attitude when it came to her directorial prowess. It was highlighted to you before you’d even signed onto her movie, yes. But what wasn’t pointed out (and what you think your agent deliberately forgot to mention) was the way that Wanda would just choose someone to pick on for the day, and that person had no choice but to be her whipping boy. And for the past few weeks, that scapegoat had been you.
You weren’t sure what you’d done to earn her spite. For the most part, you kept your head down and did what you were told. But her director’s notes were becoming more and more petty and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.
It finally comes to a head one day when Wanda makes you change your line delivery for the eighth time, saying what she always says—that she just doesn’t believe the chemistry.
This time, you’re not able to hold your tongue, despite what your agent keeps telling you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re saying, “Yeah, or maybe it’s just me you don’t believe in,”
“Or maybe it’s just that I expect more from you,” Wanda counters. “You’ve got potential, y/n, but it takes more than that to create believable chemistry. What I think is that you don’t believe in yourself,”
You scoff. “I believed it seven takes ago,”
Wanda tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at you. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m the director and you’re not,” she fires back.
Your jaw sets as you glare at Wanda, but she only smirks back, clearly undeterred by your defiance. No one says a word as the two of you face off. Normally, you weren’t the type to dig your heels in this intensely. Especially not when you’d been given specific instructions to not defy, but Wanda was infuriating. And she had to know it.
It’s finally the co-director Sammie, ever the mediator, who pulls you aside to talk to you in private. She succeeds in helping you tamp down your nerves, and encourages you to do another take. All the while, you studiously avoid Wanda’s smug smirk, and the conflicting feelings it stirs inside you.
You give the next series of scene run-throughs your all, as if you hadn’t already been doing so all day. And the whole time, Wanda sits in her little director’s chair and watches you. You pretend not to notice her scrutinizing gaze, but it sends an unsolicited tingle down your spine, the heat brewing in your lower belly. You tell yourself it’s just you getting into character, since the current scene required a lot of intimacy coordination between you and your costar. But you don’t think that’s all it was.
You’re relieved when the cast and crew breaks for lunch, and you don’t waste any time escaping back to the confines of your trailer. There, you sit down at your vanity table, your eyes on your tired reflection. You would need another session with the makeup artist since the concealer applied earlier was starting to wear away from your under eyes. But that was the least of your worries right now.
You sigh, dropping your head between your hands. You needed a day off. Or a stiff drink. Or both.
A knock on your trailer door pulls you away from your thoughts and you groan. Lunch time meant getting to be alone, right? So who in the world was bothering you. Figuring it’s your co-star, whom you’ve really hit it off with, and whom you could probably use a gossip session with right about now, you call out, “It’s open,”
You look up, expecting to see the bright eyes and pretty freckled face of your co-star, but your heart drops to your stomach when your ginger-haired director walks through the door instead, shutting it behind her.
“Can I help you?” You sigh, not bothering to turn around to face her.
“Yes,” Wanda answers curtly. “I wanna talk about the whispers I’ve been hearing around set,”
“What whispers?” You reply.
“This nonsense about me being out to get you,” Wanda says with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. You had never used those words specifically. And you had really only talked about it with Mindy the makeup artist, but you were on a huge movie set and people talk. So you weren’t surprised that it had gotten back to Wanda. But you also weren’t going to apologize for it either.
“You act like I’ve got nothing better to do than target some mediocre actress for no reason,” Wanda goes on.
A flicker of hurt crosses your face at the dig, but you quickly school your features. You weren’t about to give this haughty woman the satisfaction of bullying you. “If I’m such a mediocre actress, then why did you sign off on me being cast into your precious movie?”
Wanda’s jaw clenches at your retort. It was a valid point, one she couldn’t exactly refute, but of course she was too proud to admit it. “The producers insisted on you,” she admits grudgingly. “Oscar-nominated actress was a phrase that I’ve heard in association with your name so many times, that I wanted to rip my hair out. And yes, your audition tape had promise, so this isn’t about a personal vendetta. But your performance out there was giving elementary school play,”
You scoff, rising to your feet to meet Wanda’s gaze. “I’ve done eight flawless takes for you. Nine, actually,” you argue. “So if this is how you treat someone you’ve got no personal vendetta against, than I’d hate to see what you do when you actually like someone,”
Wanda chuckles drily. “Flawless? Hardly. I’ve seen far better performances from novice actors. But you’re so full of yourself that you can’t even consider the possibility that that you might be the problem here. And let me make one thing clear: I don’t have to like you to work with you,”
“I could say the same thing when it comes to you,” you respond, arms folded across your chest.
Wanda observes your defiance with a cold glare, her green eyes squinting for a fraction of a second. “If only you’d put as much effort into your performance as you do into being difficult,” she mutters, her tone edged with disdain.
“If only you’d pull the stick out of your ass before coming to set. I’m sure people would find you a lot more appealing,” you fire back. You’re fully aware of the line you’re toeing right now. But you’re in too deep to quit, and the look on Wanda’s face when you say it is worth being burned at the stake for standing up to one of the most successful directors in the States.
You watch Wanda bristle at the insult, her hands balling into fists. “I’m not here to be appealing, I’m here to make a movie. If you can’t handle a little constructive criticism, then maybe you’re in the wrong business,” she says.
Anyone else would be smart enough to cower in fear right now, bend to the will of this self-righteous woman, but that’s your very motivation to keep pushing. You take a step closer, crowding her space, your gaze level with hers. “Or maybe I’m under the wrong director,” you challenge.
Wanda’s expression darkens just the way you assumed it would. But what you weren’t expecting was for her to close the space between you. She’s so close now that her nose almost brushes yours, her breath fanning over your face. Her green eyes sear and burn your own, and your heart kicks up in your chest from fear or adrenaline or both. You’re way past the point of saving face now, having successfully poked the bear.
“I’ve made countless movies with rave reviews and box office success,” Wanda says. “And you’re talking a lot for an easily replaceable actress with a forgettable face,”
Your jaw tenses and you stand there silently fuming as Wanda continues. Wanda’s gaze, hard and calculating, roams over your features. “You wanna believe that you have what it takes, and that you’re a one-take-and-go kind of girl,” she says, her tone mocking. “But you can’t even get through one scene without me having to call for retakes. It’s pathetic. Kind of makes me think they replaced you with a deep-fake in all your supposed “hit” movies,”
“Screw you,” you respond icily.
Wanda tilts her head. “Sorry?”
You don’t back down. “I said screw you,”
She smirks, one perfectly sculpted brow arching. “You seem pretty confident that you wont be blackballed for this,”
“I thought I was mediocre?” you say, searching Wanda’s eyes.
You wait for Wanda to scrutinize some more, but are startled to feel soft lips crash against your own.
Wanda presses you back against the nearest wall, her arms encircling your waist with surprising gentleness. She deepens the kiss with a heady mix of frustration and desire, fingers thread into your hair as she dominates, and you can’t resist whimpering against her. She nips at your lower lip in turn, a possessive growl rising from her throat. And then her hands are everywhere, blazing a trail of fire up and down your curves.
You gain your voice back, if only barely as Wanda breaks away to trail fiery kisses down your neck. “Wanda—“ you try.
“What, y/n?” Her voice is a husky whisper against your neck.
“What…what made you….why are…” your mind scrambles as you struggle to string a sentence together, too wrapped up in the way Wanda feels against you to speak in plain English.
You feel Wanda smile against your skin as her hands continue to glide along your body. “Sounds like I’ve finally silenced that clever tongue of yours,” she replies. And then her lips reach the base of your throat for her to suck hickeys into your skin, leaving you shuddering against her.
Her hands are greedy as they reach for the button of your jeans. She glances back up at you for the briefest of moments, a silent ask for permission, which you grant with a nod of your head, your voice still nowhere to be found. And Wanda beams before flicking open the button and sliding the zipper all the way to the bottom. Your jeans come off next, and you feel them pool around your ankles. And then, Wanda’s long fingers expertly locate your button through the fabric of your underwear.
You jolt against her, but she gently holds you steady with one hand on your waist. “Are you new to this?” She murmurs against your shoulder before kissing it.
“No,” you breathe. “But…it has been awhile,”
“Glad to get your engine revving after the hiatus, then,” Wanda quips.
You would’ve responded by telling her to shut up, but then her fingers press harder against your clit through the fabric, and all words of logic fly right out of your head again. Wanda watches your face as she touches you, working tight little circles and you struggle to keep your moans at bay.
“You don’t have to be quiet,” she says. “No one can really hear us. But I do really wanna hear you,”
You can’t imagine ever defying this mystifying woman, so you let yourself moan for her as she touches you. And when she eases your underwear to the side to slot her fingers into your warmth directly, you cry out before you can stop yourself.
“That’s it,” she says as her fingers curl inside you, deeper than you’ve ever even touched yourself. “Speak to me, baby. Let me know you like it,”
“Wanda…oh god…” you moan, your eyes rolling and then closing as you rock against her fingers. “Oh yes…”
She works you higher and higher, up and up before letting you crash over that edge. You grip her shoulders for purchase, moaning loud and long as your climax hits. But it’s very apparent that Wanda’s not done with you.
You’ve barely reset from your first orgasm before she’s taking you into her arms, leading you toward the couch that’s tucked into the wall in the far corner. And she sits down, pulling you into her lap. You straddle Wanda’s lap, your thighs framing the older woman’s hips. You’re so close now that you can see the little flecks of gold in her eyes, feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and note the way her lips part in anticipation.
“Let’s get this off of you,” she says as she reaches for the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms and let her slide it over your head, and then do the same to her, your heart beating against your ribcage as you pull her shirt over her head.
Your breath hitches as you take in the way she looks in just her bra. Gorgeous. And she seems swept away with you too, the way her hands slide up from your hips to your shoulders, sliding one of your bra straps down before snapping it back into place.
She lifts her hips for you, letting you slide her jeans down her legs and discard them onto the floor. When you take your position on her lap again, your hands find the waistband of your panties on instinct, but she stills your hands.
You look up at her, a question in your eyes, but she merely smirks at you and whispers, “Leave them on,”
You nod, your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as you let yourself be ogled. There’s something wickedly exciting about being nearly naked and in Wanda’s possession, with only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from exposure.
Wanda’s hands trace your skin, kindling a fire in your bones all over again, and when she pulls your body flush against her own, you gasp. She brushes a kiss against the side of your neck before whispering in your ear, “Ride me,”
Your breath hitches at the frank command. And with the help of Wanda’s hands, you sink down. Her hands remain on your hips, steadying you as you find your balance. “That’s it,” she says, her voice ragged. “Just like that, darling,”
The friction has you biting your lip. And though it’s fabric on fabric, you don’t even care. The job is still getting done. Sufficiently, you might add.
When she doesn’t think you still need her guidance, her hands slide away from your hips, letting you rock on your own. And her own hips join in as she reaches up to cup your face, pulling you in for one heated kiss after another. “You like it like this, don’t you?” She whispers against your lips, and though it was standard pillow talk, it sounds like pure filth the way she says it. And you love that. “Like the way I slide against you like this?”
“God, yeah,” you moan. “Yes, oh god!”
The layers of fabric between you does little to dull the friction, the sensation as your bodies grind together. Sparks ignite everywhere underneath your skin as you cling to Wanda tighter than you’ve ever clung to anything in your life.
You’ve lost count of how many times Wanda’s kissed you, her tongue grazing the seam of your lips before sliding into your mouth. She savors the taste of you, even as her lungs burn for air. Her hands leave a blazing trail wherever they touch. And when her fingers find your hips again, guiding you to rock faster, you respond well to that guidance, writhing with increased intensity.
You can feel the pleasure creeping in on you, threatening to take over and spin you into oblivion. You let one hand tangle into Wanda’s hair while the other grips her shoulder tight. Your nails bite into her flesh, but she doesn’t seem to care. Not about anything that doesn’t involve bringing you closer and closer to climax.
“Fuck…fuck…fuck,” you moan against her shoulder, your mouth closing around the peak to muffle the sound.
Wanda feels the edge of her own pleasure nearing too, but she holds it off, focusing on you. “That’s it,” she repeats. “Get there, baby, get there,” she shifts the angle, just slightly to better meet you, and draw you closer to the edge.
You’re breathless at this point, your grip on Wanda tight enough to bruise. The residual heat in your lower abdomen has graduated to a full on forest fire. And Wanda’s breath in your ear, and on your skin only makes it worse. You’re teetering, waiting for one last push, one last command to push you over, your gaze meeting Wanda’s and waiting for further instruction. She was the director after all.
“Do it,” she says. “Come for me,”
That’s all it takes to finally send you over the edge. The climax hits like a freight train, drowning you in a sea of sensations. Your orgasm triggers her own and she moans against you as she comes as well.
And she doesn’t let you go, holding you as you ride out your high against her. And even as you’ve stopped moving, going slack and boneless against her, she still holds you, her head buried in your neck.
You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that, just holding each other. But part of you is glad for it, not quite ready to return to the real world just yet.
Wanda eventually lifts her head to look you in the eyes, tucking a strand of hair away from your face. “I didn’t know I needed that so badly,” she remarks with a smile.
You let out a breathless chuckle. “You and me both,”
Wanda chuckles too, brushing a kiss against the crown of your head and pulling you closer. You’re only allotted a few more minutes of snuggling just like this before you get a knock at your trailer door that makes you jump. But it’s only a PA, informing you that it’s almost time to return to set.
You’re suddenly incredibly shy as you pull yourself from Wanda’s embrace and begin to dress back into your clothes. For a moment, she watches you silently. Then, she stands and dresses as well.
Once you’re dressed and you still haven’t looked at her, however, she speaks up. “Hey, stop for a second, beautiful,” she stills your hand as you try to brush your hair. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” you say, your hand shaking as you drop the brush to your vanity table. She takes your trembling hand in her grasp.
“Look at me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Wanda asks.
You meet her eyes and try to breathe, but your breath gets trapped somewhere around your ribs. “I just don’t…I don’t know what this means,” you say.
“What what means?” Wanda asks, smoothing your hair down.
“This—“ you gesture from yourself and then to Wanda. “What this means. What we just did. Does everything go back to normal now? Are you going to keep singling me out? Am I going to have to keep snapping and wind up in danger of being kicked off this movie for like…insubordination or something?”
Wanda replies with an easy smile. “It means I like you,” she says simply. “And you like me,” her hand slides down to cup your cheek and she pulls you closer. You let your hands rest on her waist. “And it means I don’t give a damn if people talk about it,”
With that, she kisses you tenderly, catching your lower lip first, and then your upper one after. When she pulls away, she’s delighted to see you smile. “And it means I want you,” she adds at last.
“But we still have a long way to go before the movie is done,” you say. “A lot of time we have to spend together. A lot of time that can be spent fighting off a bunch of gossip,”
“And I’m saying that I’m all the way in, for all of it,” Wanda squeezes your hand. “You’re worth the risk,”
A small smile plays on your lips, but it quickly transforms into a toothy grin. “So am I,” you reply. “But I need to know something,”
“Do you really think I’m a mediocre actress with a forgettable face?” You ask.
“Oh no, absolutely not,” Wanda chuckles, pulling you into her arms again. “That was very much the sexual tension talking,”
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