summary: five times you remember seeing nancy wheeler with a gun; one of them, she was pointing it at you.
pairing: nancy wheeler x fem!reader
warnings: st5 minor spoilers, pwp, slow burn. slow., angst, gun kink, fear play, dry humping, dom!nancy
lily's note: well hi. this is awkward. and also my first fic ever in english. and my first post on this account. anyway,. not to be cliche, but english isn’t my first language. this is my first time trying to write smth like this bc im really just having a stranger things brainrot. also it has been SO LONG since ive watched the earlier seasons (like literally 9 years omfg) that some of the things here might be … wrong. i’ve made some research, but idk man. well anyways i hope u enjoy it <3 xx
word count: 12.402
The first time you saw Nancy Wheeler holding a gun, you were scared.
Not of her — not really. Not in that moment, not in that house. You were scared because everything inside (and outside) Mrs. Byers’ house seemed to be falling apart. The lights flickered violently; the walls trembled. It felt as though the world was splitting open right beneath your feet. Your hands were sweaty, gripping a baseball bat hard enough to make your knuckles white, waiting to swing at the head of some Upside Down creature.
You were already part of the group by then. It had started with Steve Harrington. Before everything went to hell — the monsters, the gate, fucking Upside Down —, he was an asshole. Not that he got that much better. You thought that he was being tolerable. Hell, he was even being nice to the weird kids. It felt like a fever dream.
But he stuck around. Befriended them. And somehow, without questioning it too much, you just… went with the flow.
Steve actually doesn’t quite understand — or even think about — how the two of you became friends. He’d tried to tear you down like he and his friends did with everyone else, but honestly, you hadn’t given a fuck. You were just a pretty thing in that weird town who wanted to live a normal life. Suddenly, the random party invites started, and you had nothing to lose. Then came the flirting, slurred compliments, the wandering hands that never actually crossed a line. You didn’t care to discuss it, and neither did he. Steve never brought it up afterward.
Maybe it was the night you drove him home, completely wasted. He was rambling about stupid things about his friends, his life, his family. Then, he started talking about you – how he wanted you.
At the time, he had a girlfriend. Not Nancy, but you knew the girl. Amy, or Becky? You couldn’t remember. You just knew she was pretty. Popular. Such a pretty girl.
When you parked in the front of his house, he leaned against you. He had those stupid brown eyes, glassy and unfocused. Your right hand moved before you could even think about stopping it. Sharp, fast. Blood bloomed against his left cheek; your palm went slick with the heat of the impact. You frowned at him.
“Get it together, bitch.”
Since then, you were secretly inseparable. He didn’t walk with you in the halls – hell, no – but outside school, you’d meet to talk about random stuff. You actually listened to what he had to say.
When Steve Harrington said he was dating Nancy Wheeler, you didn’t think much about it at first. It made sense. He was, after all, a handsome guy, and he did have nice hair. If you were the type of girl who only cared about appearances, you would’ve thrown yourself at him. But, honestly, Nancy Wheeler? You thought that she was too smart for him.
“That won’t last. Enjoy it while you can,” you told him one evening.
“Did I even ask you something, prick?”
“No,” you smirked, enjoying how easy it was to mess with him. “I’m just saying that she’s too much for you. All I can do is wish you luck.”
You remembered how pissed you were when you found out what he’d done at the movie theater. You ignored all of his calls, didn’t open the door until he showed up anyways, standing like a kicked dog. Hateful words spilled out of you like poison. If he could do this to his girlfriend, there was no telling what he’d do to a friend.
Nancy forgave him. Eventually, you did, too. After spending some time alone for yourself and making him kneel in front of you and beg for it.
It took a while for the three of you to have an actual conversation.
Steve had never properly introduced you to anyone, really. So, when he walked toward you in the hallway with Nancy at his side, confusion was written all over your face.
“Hi,” he started, awkwardly.
You glanced between them. Steve was looking almost desperate; you found it quite pathetic. Nancy, on the other hand, stood there looking amused, a small smile playing on her lips. “I just– I wanted to introduce you properly to Nance.”
“Oh.” The word came out flatter than you intended. Regret hit you almost immediately.
It wasn’t like you didn’t know Nancy Wheeler, of course you did. Steve wouldn’t shut up about her. You’d been in the same grade since middle school for God’s sake. You just never had an actual conversation. “Hi, Nancy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And I’ve heard of you,” she replied smoothly. “It’s nice to finally talk.”
You didn’t know why, but that made you blush. So, she knew who you were.
You got along surprisingly well. You shared interests and opinions. She was so much more than just a pretty face. Nancy was smart, thoughtful, assertive and sharp. The more you talked, the more drawn to her you became. She told you about playing D&D with Mike and his friends. She talked to you about everything and, just as you did with Steve, you listened. You’d heard about her relationship with Jonathan Byers, their friendship, how they’ve spent some time together. After Barb and… everything, you figured that the best thing you could do was stay close. Nancy needed a friend. She was letting you in, too.
And somehow, you ended up there: surrounded by demons from the other side. Regret crawled up your spine as you wondered why you’d ever let Steve weave his way into your life. At that point, you knew everyone that was in there, being closer to some of them more than others. Steve, Nancy, Jonathan.
The world around you was filled up with noises, voices overlapping, shouting, unknown sounds. Panic emerged. “Get away from the window!”
“Do you know how to use this?” Hopper yelled at Jonathan, thrusting a shotgun toward him.
“What?” Jonathan hesitated, eyes wide.
“Can you use this?!”
“I can.” Nancy’s voice cut through everything.
You watched as Hopper tossed her the gun. The way she caught it, adjusted her grip, checked the chamber by pure instinct was mesmerizing. As you wondered how she could remain so poised in a nightmare, you realized your fear had shifted into something else entirely.
God, what the hell, sure.
—
The second time you saw Nancy Wheeler with a gun, you were quite curious.
You were supposed to be getting ready to go shopping. Her relationship with Steve was dead, but you remained friends with both of them. Steve was working at the mall, and Nancy had landed an internship at The Hawkins Post. You were happy and proud of her, more than she seemed to be of herself.
The Wheeler’s house was amazing. Yours was nice, sure, but it couldn’t compare. They had space. Some quiet, undisturbed corners. Rooms where you could disappear, vanish for hours, and no one would notice. It was more than a house; it was a blessing.
Nancy’s room was exactly what you’d imagine if her personality were a physical space. The pink walls, her posters displayed on them. Her floral bed set with lace strips, everything perfectly organized.
“Nance,” you whined, rolling over on her bed. She glanced at you through the vanity mirror. “Forget shopping. Will you teach me how to shoot? I’d ask Jonathan or Steve, but they fucking suck at it.”
Nancy hummed thoughtfully, still fixing her makeup. “Well– I can, of course,” she replied. “Any particular reason?”
“I mean…” you shrugged, staring at her ceiling. “Other than the fact that we’ve been haunted by weird-ass creatures for the past few years? I figured it might come in handy.” You paused, adding, “Maybe I could use it to kill Billy. I hate him.”
Nancy stopped, turning around to look at you properly. Her cherry lips twitched, clearly trying to contain a smile. Her blue eyes were bright, and her lashes were delicate. She looked like a doll. “Let’s stick to the first reason. But I do want ice cream afterward.”
“My treat, then.”
“You know Steve’s just going to give it to us for free, right?”
“Come on, I’m really trying here. Pretty please?”
She sighed. “Fine.”
“Do you keep your weapon here?” you asked, looking around her room while sitting straight on the bed.
“Yeah. Can’t leave it in the basement and risk any of the kids finding it.” Nancy replied as she finished applying her mascara.
“Right, of course” you mouthed and sat up, as you watched her grab a jacket and her pistol from her drawer.
You followed her out, the wooden stairs creaking under your feet. You headed out the back door and piled into her car.
“Who taught you?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt.
“Jonathan gave me some tips. He gave me his father’s gun, actually.” Nancy answered as she started the car.
“Your parents never talked about it? Weapons and, you know, security stuff?”
“Well, yes, they have. Especially my mom. But I don’t think they ever wanted me near a real weapon. How about yours?”
“I never consider it to be that serious,” you admitted. “Until it was."
Nancy drove about half an hour. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. For the last twenty minutes, she’d been recounting the morning’s editorial meeting, the way they’d laughed at her lead, calling her “sweetheart” while asking for more coffee.
“It’s– I feel pathetic,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly before she hardened it. “I know I am not, but they make me feel that way. Like everything that I’ve been through, how hard I’ve worked to get there… it doesn’t matter. All because I’m a woman.”
She let out a sharp breath, finally loosening her grip on the wheel. “They see a girl in a floral dress and they think they’ve figured me out.”
“Those men are idiots,” you said, the words coming out with a sharp edge of anger. You saw her eyes roll in disdain. “I know they’re your bosses and the whole situation is garbage, but they’re stuck in the past. They’re scared of a future where women stand up for themselves and do the job better than they ever could.”
“It’s not like I have a career yet,” Nancy murmured, staring at the road ahead. “There’s nothing for them to worry about.”
“Not yet. But there’s plenty of time for that, right?” You turned in your seat, watching the way the light from the window hit the sharp line of her jaw. “And some pretty strange stuff happens around here, Nance. Eventually, you’re going to be a threat to them.”
She huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I definitely don’t feel like a threat.”
“Well, you should,” you countered, your tone steady. “Actually, I think they should be terrified of you.”
Nancy didn’t reply. She faced you, her gaze holding yours for a long beat. She seemed to be searching for something – confirmation, maybe. You saw her chest rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath. Some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to shift. You meant every word. The rest of the trip was quiet, the sound of the tires humming against the asphalt as the dense forest swallowed the horizon.
Nancy pulled the car over beside a dense stretch of forest, onto the soft dirt at the edge, and murmured: “It’s here. Come on.”
You climbed out of the car, and she locked up behind her, joining you. The ground was carpeted in brown leaves and fallen twigs that crunched loudly under your shoes. The sky was a flat and heavy grey, filled with clouds. Nancy led the way toward a clearing – a place where, according to her, there were things meant to be broken.
“I brought some of the targets, Jonathan brought others. I mostly come here alone. To keep the aim sharp.” Nancy replied, keeping her pace slow enough for you to walk right beside her.
She looked nice. She wasn’t happy, you knew her well enough to notice that, but she looked different. More grown-up. Her hair was curlier, her clothes more mature. It matched her new life phase.
“You’re staring.” Nancy pointed out. She didn’t even look at you, but a small smirk emerged on her lips.
You quickly glanced away, feeling heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry. I just think your… hair. It looks nice, curled like that.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “We’re here.”
In front of you was a makeshift shooting range, with old glass bottles, rusted cans, and a few wooden pallets propped up against the trunks of rotting trees. She gestured toward a pile of debris and ordered you to grab some and organize them in a line.
“Okay, so, I’ll go first. You watch, then it’s your turn,” Nancy said, her voice shifting into a serious tone as she drew her pistol. “Come closer.”
You did. She stood before the first target, her feet shoulder-width apart. “When you shoot standing up, your only support is your muscle strength. That is why it’s so hard to hit a target in this position with a rifle; the weight alone can throw you off. The recoil on a pistol is much lower, but you still have to know how to stand, or you’ll lose your aim the second you pull the trigger.”
She raised her weapon to the height of her shoulders, her arms steady and locked. Her eyes were hard, fixed on a rusted Coca-Cola can perched on a rotting log.
“Watch the shoulders. Keep them relaxed, and your knees slightly bent,” she instructed, her voice raspy and low. “If you’re too stiff, the recoil will just push you back.”
Before you could even nod, even though she wasn’t even looking at you, the silence of the woods was shattered. Bang. The can flew backward, pierced through the center. Nancy didn’t flinch. She adjusted her aim with a microscopic shift of her shoulder to another target and fired again. Bang.
“Your turn,” she said, holding the pistol out to you.
You stepped forward, taking the weapon. It was heavier than it looked, the metal still holding the warmth of her hands. As you tried to mimic her stance, Nancy moved behind you.
“Your shoulders are too high,” she murmured. You felt her hands move to your back, her palms firm as she pressed down on them, forcing the tension out. “Keep them like this. If you hunch up, you’re fighting the gun. You’re in charge of it, not the other way around.”
She stayed close, near enough for you to catch her perfume. A musky floral scent that cut through the sharp tang of gunpowder hanging in the air. Her proximity was distracting, a sudden heat against your back that made it hard to focus on the cans in the distance.
“Deep breath. It’s okay.”
You did as she said.
You inhaled slowly, deeper this time, feeling your ribs expand beneath her hands. Nancy didn't move away and, if anything, she adjusted you again, one palm flattening between your shoulder blades, the other sliding down your arm until her fingers curled lightly around your wrist.
“There. That 's better.” Her voice was low, calm. Something about it made it easier to trust her than yourself. You let your shoulders sink, the tension easing. “Good. Hold that.”
You could feel her warmth through your jacket, the steady rise and fall of her breath against your back.
“Now,” she continued. “your grip. It has to be firm, but not tight.”
Nancy nudged your fingers slightly, adjusting the angle of your grip with precision. Her touch was firm, precise, of course. She’s been doing it for quite some time.
“Don’t rush the trigger. Pull it slowly. If you force it, you’ll throw your aim off.” Her fingers lingered over yours for a second longer than necessary, as if making sure you’d really understood. Nancy took a step back. “Line up the sight. Front sight centered, and ignore everything else.”
The woods felt colder without her behind you, the breeze hitting your back. You squinted, trying to keep your hands from shaking. You lined up the gun, centering on the rusted red of the Coca-Cola can until the rest of the world blurred into a haze of gray and green.
You exhaled, held it, and squeezed. Bang.
The following silence was thick, filled only with the ringing in your ears and the sound of your heart hammering against your ribs. You took a step back, just to be sure you wouldn’t fall. The smell of burnt powder hung heavy in the air. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you felt her hand land gently on your shoulder.
“Look,” she whispered. The can lay a few feet behind the log now, half-crushed. A thin hole marked where the bullet had gone in. It wasn’t centered, but it was close enough for a first shot. “Nice job.”
“Holy shit.” you muttered.
“The adrenaline,” she mumbled, noticing the tremor in your hands. Nancy smiled. “It feels nice, doesn’t it? Knowing that you’re the one that decides what breaks and what stays whole.”
You looked back at her, your eyes shining and your lips curling up. “Can I do it again?”
—
The third time you saw Nancy Wheeler with a gun, it wasn't quiet or instructional, wrapped in the stillness of the woods. It was pure chaos.
The front doors of Starcourt Mall burst open as you, Lucas, Will, Nancy, and Jonathan ran out into the night, lungs burning, shoes slapping against the pavement and echoing. Neon lights flickered overhead, bathing your vision with blues and reds.
“Go, go, go, go!” Jonathan shouted.
The Wheeler Wagon loomed ahead like a lifeline. Lucas and Will scrambled into the backseat right after you, tripping all over each other due to their rush. You barely had time to register the slam of the doors before Jonathan and Nancy were already under the hood, his hands moving fast, desperate, working the starter cables.
Billy’s Camaro engine revved in the distance, a sound that sent a chill straight through your spine. You turned just enough to see the headlights flare, the car sitting there like a crocodile, waiting for its food to jump into the water. Billy stared straight ahead, unblinking, hands tight on the wheel. The engine screamed as he pressed the pedal, again and again, like he was daring someone to stand in his way.
“Get it started!” Nancy yelled.
Jonathan ducked into the driver’s seat and twisted the key. The engine sputtered, coughed.
“No, no, no– come on!”
She didn’t wait. Nancy went straight to the front of the wagon, feet planted firmly on the ground. She pulled back the slide of the 9mm Beretta, launching a round into the chamber. The motion was concise, practiced.
She stood exactly how she’d taught you; shoulders down, knees slightly bent, arms locked, but not rigid. Just like in the woods.
Billy slammed the Camaro into gear, and the car lunged forward, tires screaming as it tore across the parking lot straight toward her, toward you.
“Go!” Will screamed by your side.
“We gotta go!” Lucas insisted.
Jonathan cranked the key again. The engine whined in protest.
“Fuck!” you groaned, as your peripheral vision saw the car approaching. Nancy raised the gun.
Bang. The first shot cracked through the night. Bang. Bang.
Bullets punched through the Camaro’s windshield, creating spiderweb patterns across the glass, shards flowing everywhere. However, Billy did not slow or flinch. That bitch. He kept driving, eyes wide as an owl.
Nancy fired again. Then two more rounds. Then another more.
Click. Click. Empty.
Billy was right there, too close. Time seemed to stall as Nancy froze for a fraction of a second, just long enough for your heart to stop. You were about to scream, but then…
She jumped. Steve’s Todfthr came out of nowhere, slamming right into the Camaro with bone-shattering force. Metal screamed, and the impact sent Billy’s car spinning, sparks spraying before it burst into flames.
You opened the door so fast and with a strength that you didn’t know you had, until that moment, that you almost pulled it out. You’ve heard Jonathan’s door open right behind you, too. He closed it right after he saw you.
“Nance, oh my God, are– are you okay?” you leaned against her, holding her shoulders, just to be sure she was there. Alive and breathing, afraid that she might disappear.
She nodded, breathless. “Yeah– yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you okay?” Steve asked Robin, a shocked and worried expression painting his face.
Robin laughed, breathless. “Ask me tomorrow?”
A snarl low and massive came from above Starcourt, the roof split in two as an enormous thing pulled itself free from it. The Mind Flayer emerged, silhouetted against the sky.
“Oh, shit,” Robin mouthed.
The Wheeler Wagon roared to life as Jonathan slammed the gas. She swung back into the passenger seat, and shouted, “Get in!” to Steve and Robin.
The five of you were squished out in the back of the car. You looked back at Nancy, and you saw how her hands were still trembling as she kept a harsh expression on her face.
You wanted to say something, but as soon as you opened your mouth, nothing came out.
—
The fourth time you saw Nancy Wheeler with a gun, you found it amusing.
Your group was crammed inside Max’s trailer, the air thick with dust and fear. You listened as Nancy spoke, her voice steady despite everything that Vecna showed her: Hawkins torn apart, the sky split open, monsters flooding the streets like a biblical punishment ripped straight from hell. Her family dead. Every last one of them.
You heard the words, but what you really noticed was the way her jaw tightened, sensed the pain tingling in her voice. You didn’t know how to explain, but you wanted her closer. If there was a way to pass her pain to you, you swear, you would do it.
She talked about the four gates. How one of them was already open, in Eddie’s trailer. How it opened the moment Chrissy died.
“Four,” Max murmured, sitting straight. “It’s always four. The clock, it chimes four times. Four murderers, four gates. He’s been telling us his plan the whole time.”
Dustin went pale, as he said, almost like a condensation. “He’s one kill away.”
Silence involved the trailer, enervating the air. Your eyes flicked back to Nancy. She hadn’t moved, her shoulders were tense and her hands, sitting in her lap. Still, you wondered how she could look so composed while standing at the edge of the end of the world.
“Whatever this is,” Nancy continued, lifting her head. “It's not just happening here. It’s connected to California. To Eleven.”
Steve scoffed nervously, looking at her like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth. “So what? You… want us to go back into the Upside Down?”
“Yes.”
Robin stopped pacing and turned to her. “Nance, he almost killed you.”
“And he didn’t,” Nancy replied, as if it was nothing to really worry about. Your face frowned at her and she looked at you, as if saying ‘what?’.
Dustin pointed out that Vecna’s a number, an experiment, just like Eleven is, meaning that he has his weaknesses. When he’s inside someone's mind, his body is vulnerable. Your stomach twisted.
Max exhaled. “I can bait him.”
“No,” you’ve heard Lucas protest, immediately.
She explained her plan, about hiding in a good memory while the rest of you fight and kill him. Nancy’s eyes met yours for half a second and you sensed it all; the fear, the danger, the hope.
Some time after, Eddie speaks about a weapon store, the War Zone, that had all the battle gear possible to fight Vecna. As the group noticed that it’d be impossible to get there by bike, he managed to get a RV. You’ve felt that some day, the government would be after you and your family due to these people.
As the city blurred past the windows and you went to the store, Steve started talking. About California, about sunshine. About some weird dream where he had six little nuggets and drove them across the country in a RV just like this one. He was doing what he always did to you: talked bullshit.
Nancy listened quietly. Not smiling, not interrupting – just letting him talk, exactly how you’ve always done.
You went closer to her, almost asking permission to not invade her personal space. She let you in, with a curious look on her face, and you whispered, “Still thinking about taking him back?”
“Six kids?” She glazed at you, almost as if you were joking. “I can barely manage the two I have at home.”
“Fair enough.”
A small silence settled between you. Not awkward, just heavy due the context. Your eyes kept drifting from Steve to her and back again, like your thoughts were circling something you didn’t quite dare name. You didn’t know why you wanted to hear it so badly. That whatever they had was really over. For good.
You knew Steve was your friend, first of all. And Nancy… She was yours, too. And you were a girl.
The thought was ridiculous, right? You didn’t know if she even… if she could–
“Are you okay?” Nancy asked, with kindness and some hesitation in her intonation.
You snapped your attention back to her “Yeah, no, of course. I’m fine. I just… drifted.”
She analyzed you for a moment, brows knitting together as she spoke: “You disappeared there for a second.”
“I’m fine,” you babbled. “I’m just thinking more than I should. I’m worried about you, about all of this.”
“We’re going to be fine,” she said, like she truly believed it. Even if it was a lie, she was a good actress. Her hand found yours, warm and grounding, fingers curling around your own. “We’ll have gear, a plan. And you… You had an amazing shooter instructor.”
You scoffed weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”
“So you won’t die from lack of skill, at least.”
A struggled breath left your lungs. You let go of her hand. “I really don’t wanna lose you, Nance.”
Before she could answer, the RV came to a rough stop. Steve wasn’t light on the brakes. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at her, so you jumped out of the vehicle and fell into step beside Steve, who looked like he’d been waiting for you.
“It’s been some time since we actually talked, right?” Steve teases, as he holds the door open for you. “Your life must be miserable right now.”
“Never been better, Steve. Never been better.”
He laughed, and the two of you drifted through the aisles, surrounded by rows of weapons and survival gear.
“So,” he started. “You and Nance have been closer than ever.”
“Yeah. She didn’t throw me away for someone new,” you muttered, jerking your head at Robin.
“Don’t be jealous,” he said. “You look cute, but you’re too grown up for this.”
“Just joking. She’s… a really good friend.”
Steve snorted, stopping in front of a rack of machetes. He picked one up, tested its weight in his hand, then glanced back at you. Your face frowned.
“Uh-huh. A really good friend.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for a box of shotgun shells, and dropping it into the cart a little harder than necessary. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything,” he replied easily. “Just… noticing things. Kinda my thing now. Babysitting, noticing, almost dying.”
You laughed. “Congratulations. Emotional growth looks good on you.”
“Yeah, well," he shrugged, placing the machete back and grabbing a spiked bat instead. Classic, you thought. ”almost getting killed by these stupid creatures really forces some self-reflection.”
The cart rattled as you pushed it forward. For a second, neither of you spoke. Quieter, he said:
“You care about her.”
It wasn’t a question. You slowed, fingers tightening around the handle.
“Well, everyone cares about Nancy.”
Steve shot you a look. For the first time, he made you feel pathetic. Usually, you were the one that gave him that look. “Not like that.”
You swallowed. The store felt too bright, too open. How did… when did… “She’s going through hell, Steve. I’m not… this isn’t about me. Of course I’m worried about her.”
You didn’t know what else to say, so you stayed quiet.
Down the next aisle, you caught sight of Nancy at the gun counter. Jaw set, posture straight, shotgun laid out in pieces like it was an extension of her own body. There was something almost reverent in the way she handled it.
Steve followed your gaze. “She’s scary like that,” he muttered. “Kinda hot, too, but–”
“Steve.”
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
He grinned, then nudged the cart forward again. “You know. This thing between me and Nancy… I think this chapter’s been closed for quite some time.”
You searched his face for bitterness, but found none. Just tired acceptance.
“Really?”
“I mean, if she wants me, then hell yeah,” he said, smirking firmly in place. “I’m not blind.”
Your smile dropped.
“But,” Steve continued, the smirk softening into something more honest, “that’s not what this is. Not anymore. She’s… different now. And so am I.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You’re being… weirdly mature about this.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. He slowed the cart again, just enough to make you look at him. “Look, I’m not saying you should do anything. Or that now is the time. God knows we’re about to go fight a psychic murderer wizard.”
“Very technical term,” you muttered.
“But,” he went on, ignoring you, “if something does happen? I’m not gonna be the problem. Okay?”
The words hit harder than you expected. Not because he just gave you permission, or due the fact that he was aware this entire time that you were attracted to his ex-girlfriend-now-your-best-girlfriend. He didn’t care about your sexuality.
“Steve–”
He waved it off, already pushing the cart forward again like he hadn’t just cracked something wide open in your chest. “Don’t make it a thing”, he said lightly. “I’m serious, but I’m not that serious. Emotional monologues aren’t my brand.”
You followed him, feeling like a lost puppy. “You’re– okay? With… all of this? I mean…”
“Relax. You’re not the only one that likes girls. I like them, too. Especially...”
“Dude, I’m going to end your life.”
If Steve had a penny for every time he had been into a situation like this, he’d have two. Which it wasn’t much, but it’s strange that’s happened more than once.
Your group left the store fully loaded and drove until the roads thinned into nothing but open land, a field far away enough to turn into a makeshift armory.
The field was quiet in that eerie, end-of-the-world way. Crickets too afraid to chirp, the sky still blue and sunny somehow. The RV sat a little ways off, doors thrown open, headlights cutting pale streaks through the grass. Everyone had split off into their own corners, prepping, sharpening, taping, loading.
You stayed with Nancy and Max.
Nancy settled onto an old piece of scrap metal, baking the shotgun against a bent slab of rusted trash. Max crouched beside her, hands steady as she lined up the saw.
You hovered close, watching the blade bite into metal.
Max hesitated. “Is this… legal?”
Nancy didn’t even look up. “Actually, I think it’s a felony.”
Max blinked. “Right.”
“But it guarantees one thing,” Nancy said, voice steady as ever. “I won’t miss.”
You’ve watched her hands, firm and precise as she worked through the resistance of the metal. The effort showed in the way her veins stood out, tendons tightening with each controlled movement. The air was filled with the scent of hot iron, dust-fine metal particles flying over.
She hit it and metal screamed as the barrel gave way, the shortened piece dropping into the grass. Nancy lifted the shotgun, testing its weight, sighting down it once.
The girls were so focused on Nancy’s weapon that they didn’t realize the look you gave to her. Pupils blown wide, mouth slightly open, breath slowing without you meaning it to. The realization hit you all at once, your body reaction before your brain could catch up.
You swallowed hard, tore your gaze away and busied yourself helping the others before anyone could notice how shaken you were.
—
The thing no one warned you about was the silence. Not the peaceful kind, the relief, but the one that comes out after a catastrophic event. Hawkins didn’t end, Vecna didn’t win, but the world didn’t heal, either. It was paused, stuck in a fucking moment.
You could feel him, a low-frequency hum at the base of your skull, a phantom itch of a venom snake crawling beneath your skin. Nancy felt it too; you could tell by the way she never truly relaxed her shoulders, as if she were waiting for the ground to split open beneath her boots again.
She hadn’t said much since the Creel house; the attic, the vines, Vecna. She hadn’t talked about what he showed her, not beyond bare facts, not about the way he now knew her. You knew better than to ask directly.
Still, you’d seen her hands shake when she reloaded. You saw her jaw lock, the muscle tensioning up as someone back at the cabin mentioned Max’s or Eddie’s name.
“You should rest,” you spoke softly. You kept each movement slow. You stepped into her peripheral vision, stopping just short of her personal space.
Nancy didn’t look at you. The click of the gun didn’t stop. “I’m fine.”
The words were like a wall, one she had built brick by brick over the last forty-eight hours. You didn’t argue. You never did with her, not anymore. Instead, you just stood there, close enough to feel the tension radiating off her. The air between you felt thick, charged with the kind of dangerous intimacy that only comes after looking death straight in the air.
"Nance," you tried again, your voice a little firmer, a little more demanding of her attention. "The gun is clean. The safety is on. You’ve checked it six times."
She finally stopped, her fingers freezing still against the cold steel. She still wouldn’t meet your eyes, but her head tilted slightly toward you. Nancy exhaled through her nose, controlled. Her voice came out low. “Seven."
You blinked. “What?"
“I checked it seven times.” She finally turned her head enough for you to see her profile. Her expression was defensive, but there was something you couldn’t quite describe underneath it. “You always round down when you’re nervous.”
Ouch.
“Still,” she continued. “That’s not why I’m checking.” She lifted the shotgun slightly, testing its weight, the motion smooth from muscle memory alone.
“Why is it?”
“Because if I stop, I start thinking.”
“None of this is your fault.” you insisted, almost begging for her to trust you. “None of us could’ve done anything differently.”
The grey atmosphere from the horizon didn't flicker; it loomed, brutal and suffocating, casting Nancy’s shadow long and jagged across the floorboards of the cabin. The air was dense with the scent of ozone and rotting wood, but the most stifling thing in the room was the sound of the shotgun slide.
Clack-clack.
It was a rhythmic, aggressive punctuation to a conversation she was refusing to have.
“Please, Nance. None of this is your fault,” you insisted, stepping deeper into the room. You were pushing more than you should, and you knew it. You could see the way her shoulder blades hitched under her jacket. “None of us could’ve done anything differently, Nancy.”
“Being prepared changes things,” she snapped, her voice sharp like a wire pulled too tight. She didn’t look up from the weapon. She was sitting on the edge of a moth-eaten armchair, her movements surgical, obsessive. “Seconds change things.”
“You’re talking like a manual,” you said, your own frustration bubbling up, sharp and hot. You moved until you were standing directly in front of her, forcing her to see you, even if she wouldn't look at you. “You’re not a machine, Nance. You’re a person who just watched the world split open. You can’t just clean a gun until the trauma goes away.”
She finally stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the clicking of the metal. She gripped the barrel so hard you could see her veins popping up. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were rimmed with grey, her pupils blown wide, reflecting the hellscape outside. There was no warmth in them—only a cold, vibrating panic.
“I am not doing this,” she whispered. It was a warning.
“Doing what? Acknowledging that you have problems?” You reached out, your hand hovering near her shoulder, desperate to ground her. “Nancy, talk to me. Just for a second, you don’t have to take the lead. Just be—"
“Be what?” she erupted, standing so suddenly that the chair screeched against the floor. She shoved the shotgun into the crook of her arm, her entire body trembling with a suppressed rage that made her look twice her size. “Be vulnerable? Be soft? So Vecna has a direct line into my head? So he can show me your body twisted into pieces next? Is that what you want?”
She took a step toward you, her chest heaving. The distance you had tried to bridge was now a battlefield.
“He’s in here,” she said, tapping the side of her temple with a frantic, shaking finger. “He’s waiting for me to stop. He’s waiting for me to feel anything other than this, because the moment I do, I’m weak. And if I’m weak, everyone dies. My mother dies. Mike dies. You die.”
“I’m already at risk, Nancy! We all are!” you shouted back, your voice cracking. “But pushing me away doesn't protect me. It just leaves me out there alone while you rot in here. You’re scared of how much it hurts to care about someone while the world is ending.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Nancy’s expression shifted from rage to something cold, flat, and utterly terrifying. It was the look she gave a target before she pulled the trigger. The intimacy you had felt moments ago was gone, replaced by a wall so thick it felt impenetrable.
“You’re being a distraction,” she said, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet level. “You’re a liability I can’t afford right now.”
“I’m being someone who cares about you! I'm being someone who loves you!” you yelled, the words out before you could stop them.
You felt your mouth dry as soon as the words escaped from it. It stayed slightly open, air suddenly missing from your blood. Your hands were cold, you could feel your body almost collapse.
Nancy flinched as if you’d struck her. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to you, filled with a sudden, wild desperation. She looked like she wanted to strangle you, but instead…
“Get out.”
“Nancy–”
“Get out!” she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, raw and jagged. She turned away from you, her back a rigid line of defiance, her hands already reaching for a box of shells on the table. “Go find Steve. Go find Robin. Go find someone who has the time to hold your hand while the sky falls. I have work to do.”
You stood there for a heartbeat, the rejection stinging worse than any vine or shadow. You wanted to stay, to fight, to shake her until she remembered how to breathe. But the way she was clutching that shotgun — not as a weapon, but as a life raft — told you everything. She wasn't ready to be saved.
You turned and walked toward the door, the heavy silence of the cabin swallowing the sound of your footsteps.
You went outside, then. The field smells wrong. Burnt metal, ozone. Something rotten underneath, as if the Upside Down is already bleeding through the soil. No one dares to say it out loud, but it’s the same thought inside their heads – everyone’s terrified by the fact that they’re right. We didn’t win.
—
The fifth time you saw Nancy Wheeler with a gun, you were scared. This time, it was of her.
The Upside Down atmosphere had a way of making you feel like you were constantly on the verge of dying. Every breath felt borrowed. By that time, you were still questioning your life choices – because, technically, the only reason you were there was to help your friends. Friends who happened to be hunted by the government and locked in a never-ending war with monsters from another dimension. Minor details.
The Demogorgon snarled, the sound ripping through the trees like metal tearing apart.
“Yeah! We got him! We got him!” Dustin was screaming. Then, the transmitter began to beep faster, sharper. “It flipped! It’s headed back towards us!”
Your stomach dropped. “Steve, what are you doing?” you yelled over the engine. “We gotta turn around!”
Steve didn’t even look at you. “Wait… Gates are like Peanut Butter Boppers, right?”
Jonathan blinked, confused. “What?!”
“Crunchy on the outside,” Steve said, gripping the wheel tighter, “but you bite down, and there’s a soft, gooey center.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” you snapped, looking incredulous towards him.
“If I drive fast enough,” Steve continued, the pedal sinking lower, “the Beamer punches through the gate. We follow the Demo straight into the Upside Down. Track it home.”
“We’re losing the signal!” Dustin screamed, tensing you up.
“We won’t follow anything if we crash!” you shouted, heart hammering as the trees blurred past the windshield.
“We won’t crash if it’s a Bopper!”
“It’s almost gone!” Dustin kept yelling.
Your anxiety was at its maximum level. You could taste bile rising in your throat, so you stayed quiet, your eyes wide open. Your fingers curled into the seat, knuckles aching. Then, Nancy’s voice cut through the panic, sharp and steady.
“Do it.”
Her voice was strangely steady. Certain. So certain that, for half a second, you almost believed it was a good idea. Almost. You turned to look at her, disbelief burning in your chest, but she didn’t look back. Either she didn’t care, or she just ignored you. You couldn’t tell which was worse.
“Oh my God,” Jonathan breathed, looking as tense as you did. “Oh my God– Jesus.”
The gate loomed ahead, crackling and unstable, blue and red lightning snapping across its surface.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Dustin screamed.
“I got it!” Steve yelled. “I got it!”
“No, no– this isn’t gonna work!” Dustin said.
“We’re not gonna make it!” you shouted as the car rattled violently.
“It’s not a Bopper!” Dustin yelled. “Stop!”
“Slow down!” Jonathan screamed. “Jesus Christ!”
“Shit!” Dustin cried. “Oh my God!”
“Hang on!” Steve yelled.
The world exploded into noise as the car tore through the gate. Then, there was the purest silence, followed by Dustin’s laughter. Hysterical. Unbelieving.
“We did it!” he whooped. “Woo!”
Everyone was talking at once, laughing, gasping, swearing. Nancy leaned forward. “Signal?”
“Strong,” Dustin said, eyes glued to the receiver.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, staring out at the twisted, broken landscape beyond the windshield.
Dustin grinned, feral and triumphant. “We got you, son of a bitch. We got you.”
Thunder cracked overhead. Somewhere in the dark, the Demogorgon roared. God, you hated them sometimes. And still, you couldn’t think about being anywhere else. Not when helping them meant helping Nance get Holly back.
She kept being evasive with you. It has been like this for quite some time since… the incident. Anyway, then, it got Holly. And everything was hell again. Every time you thought about it, your heart sank.
The radio crackled in Dustin’s hands, the static sharp, raspy enough to make you flinch. It sounded like teeth grinding together.
“Hopper, do you copy?” Dustin tried, his voice tight but hopeful.
Nancy leaned forward instantly. “Dustin!”
He swallowed, thumb pressing harder against the button. “Over. This is Dustin. Hopper, do you copy? This is Dustin.”
For a beat, nothing but the strange, wet pulse of the world around you. You kept looking at the device with expectation, as if it could improve the signal or some shit. Then: “Hey, hey, it’s Hop. I copy.”
Relief detonated through the group all at once. Dustin laughed once again, breathless, as he started talking again. “Holy shit! Okay. They’re alive!”
Nancy didn’t smile. She didn’t breathe. “El,” she pointed, urgently. “Ask about El.”
“El,” Dustin said quickly. “Is El with you? Over.”
“Yes,” Eleven’s voice came through, distorted but unmistakable. “I’m here. Over.”
Dustin’s shoulders sagged. “Okay. Yay. Terrific.” He rubbed his forehead, pacing now. “I don’t know if you’re caught up in something important, but–”
“Dustin,” Nancy cut in. “Come on. Meet us.”
He nodded. “Meet us at Roane Cemetery church, please.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Roane Cemetery?” Hopper said. “How the hell are you contacting us from there?”
You looked at him. Dustin looked back with a sarcastic, confused expression. “Right. You don’t know. We’re in the Upside Down.”
“What?!”
“Long story short,” Dustin rushed on, “we’re here to track a Demogorgon using our telemetry tracker, only to then hit a wall. Literally. Steve’s Beamer is stuck, so we need El to come pry it loose using her powers so we can resume the search for said Demogorgon, which will, in theory, lead us to Holly. Does any of this make sense? Questions? Concerns? Over.”
You glanced at Nancy. Her jaw was clenched so hard it looked painful.
“You hit a wall?” Hopper repeated. “What kind of wall, exactly?”
Dustin hesitated. “Uh… it’s a bit… hard to describe. Sort of—”
“Huge?” You suggested.
“Disgusting,” Jonathan added.
“Smells like Henderson’s armpit,” Steve said.
You almost laughed. Almost.
“We hit the same thing,” Hopper said grimly. “But not at the Roane Cemetery. We hit it a quarter mile southeast of the old Hagen Bridge.”
Nancy stiffened. “That’s the opposite side of town.”
“Fascinating,” Dustin muttered.
“We don’t know what it is,” Hopper continued, “but we think Holly’s behind it. Don’t bother trying to break through. You can’t. We’re working on a solution.”
“Solution?” Nancy snapped into the radio. “What kind of solution?” The low thrum of helicopter blades bled into the channel, distant but unmistakable. They’re right next to a military area, you thought. “Wait,” she tried once again, with a noticeable tremor in her voice. “What kind of solution? Hopper!”
Static swallowed the reply. She lowered the radio, hands shaking now. “Working on a solution?” she said, anger bleeding through the fear. “I mean, If Hopper has a solution to get through this and to get to Holly, he should share it with us!”
Steve scoffed. “I just say we ignore the old man. We keep moving. Look for a door or something.”
“A door,” Jonathan repeated dryly. “And just curious… this door of yours. Is it soft? Like a Peanut Butter Bopper?”
Steve bristled. “You got something to say, Byers, why don’t you say it?”
“I’m just saying,” Jonathan shot back, “maybe you shouldn’t be making the calls from now on.”
Nancy stepped between them before it could escalate. “It wasn’t just his call,” she said. “It was mine. Because it’s my sister.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “And… I agree with Steve. Okay, we can’t just sit here. I don’t know about a door, but this wall can’t go on forever. There has to be a way around it.”
“There isn’t,” Dustin murmured. Everyone turned to him. “This wall is a circle,” he continued. “A circle completely surrounding the Upside Down.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve questioned, with a sarcastic tone. “How do you figure that?”
Thunder rolled overhead, deep and close enough to rattle your ribs.
“My telemetry tracker picked up a weird frequency coming from the wall,” Dustin went on. “Took me a while to place it, but we’ve heard it before. Remember Irwin Road? When we were looking for Hop?”
“You said it was interference,” Jonathan remembered.
“It was,” Dustin nodded. “But this interference, it wasn’t coming from a military broadcast or an EMI. It was coming from this wall, which is important, because that gives us three known locations. So, I connected the dots, measured the midpoints, drew the perpendicular bisectors…”
“All right!” Steve cut in. “We’re not your teachers. We don’t nee to see your work. We get it. You think it’s all a big circle.”
“I don’t think,” Dustin punctuated firmly. “I know. I triple-checked, and my calculations are correct.”
Steve blew out a breath. “Jesus… whatever. I still don’t see how this gets us closer to finding Holly.”
Dustin’s eyes lifted, sharp and certain. “Because it’s not about the circle.It’s about the center.”
Jonathan’s face went pale. “The DOE. The Department of Energy.”
Nancy inhaled sharply. “That’s–”
“Hawkins Lab,” Dustin said. “What are the chances the center of this wall happens to be in the place where all of this started, where the Upside Down was created?”
“So, the lab created the wall?” Jonathan asked.
“No idea,” Dustin said. “But I think we should find out. Don’t you?”
Silence settled over the group, heavy and unavoidable. You looked at Nancy again. Her expression stayed hard, closed off. It softened when she spoke to anyone else, just not you.
You walked behind the others, listening but not speaking. The lobby of Hawkins Lab was dead. Too dead. Your black leather boots echoed faintly against the tiled floor as thunder rumbled somewhere far above, the sound muffled by concrete and rot and whatever else Vecna had twisted this place into. The air felt thick, charged, like it was holding its breath. You were almost too scared to breathe.
“Well,” Steve muttered, peering around with forced optimism, “this looks really promising.”
“We’re in the lobby,” Dustin announced, like that alone was supposed to mean something.
Nancy scanned the dark corridors branching off in every direction. “And… where exactly are we going?”
“Right,” Jonathan added, squinting down a hallway swallowed by shadows. “Like, what is it we’re even looking for?”
Dustin’s eyes lit up. “You’ve all seen Return of the Jedi?”
“The one with the teddy bears?” Steve asked.
“Ewoks,” Dustin corrected.
“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “It’s the best one.”
“Is it?” Nancy shot back.
“No,” Dustin admitted, “but every child loves it, so tracks. In the movie, if you recall, the rebels need to destroy a second Death Star, but it’s surrounded by a protective energy field, which is created by a shield generator.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah, cool. Thanks for the summary of a movie we’ve all seen.”
“It’s an oddly relevant movie, Steve,” Dustin insisted. “Look, I think this circular flesh wall…” he gestured vaguely at the fleshy, pulsing walls around you “is Vecna’s version of an energy shield. Except it’s not sci-fi. It’s supernatural, created by Vecna’s dark magic. And this dark magic shield is what’s preventing us from reaching him and saving Holly. But if my math is correct, the generator for the shield has to be in this lab.”
“So,” you said slowly, “we find this dark magic shield generator…”
“And we destroy the wall,” Dustin finished.
“Find Vecna,” Nancy said. “Save Holly.”
“Medals for all,” Dustin grinned.
“And it looks like what?” Steve prompted.
Dustin frowned. “How would I know that?”
Thunder rolled again, closer this time. Nancy sniffed the air, uneasy. You cleared your throat.
“Up or down?” Dustin asked.
“I say both,” Nancy decided quickly. “Search in teams of two and three. Cover more ground.”
“Yeah, that’s cool with me,” Steve said, immediately. “But can we just switch the teams up? Nance, you and me to go up?”
Nancy hesitated. Just for a second. Your jaw tightened and you could feel that your face was already expressing your disgust. Would she really prefer to go to Steve than with you?
“Oh, I mean…” she started.
“Are you serious?” Jonathan cut in.
“Me and Henderson need space,” Steve said.
“Please,” Dustin begged.
“Please,” Steve echoed.
“Fine. How about you and me?” Jonathan questioned, a suspicious intonation.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I think we need some space, too.”
“So everyone but Nancy. That’s just… It’s convenient.”
Steve was about to interrogate Jonathan once again, but Nancy interrupted them. “Hey, we don’t have time for this. Let’s keep it simple, stick to the usual teams.”
That means you and her. Jonathan, Dustin and Steve.
“Nance, come on, I can’t…” Steve tried, just to be quickly dismissed by Nancy’s sharp ‘end of discussion’. “Awesome. Just awesome.”
You sighed as you saw your friends head downstairs as Nancy took the leadership. The metal groaned under your boots, each sound too loud for the lab. The stairwell was narrow, the walls slick with dark growth that pulsed curiously, almost similar to someone breathing in their sleep. She kept moving ahead of you without looking back, shotgun held tight against her shoulder.
She didn’t say anything. That hurt more than if she’d snapped at you.
After a beat, you exhaled. “I’m starting to think Dustin might be wrong this time. This place is… dead. The whole thing feels unlikely.”
“Well, we’re here now,” Nancy replied. You could sense in her voice; she was already getting upset. “Might as well look.”
“God, Nance, come on. When are you going to stop treating me like this? Like I’m not your fucking friend anymore?”
Nancy stopped so abruptly you almost ran into her. She didn’t turn around immediately; she just stood there, her back at you and her frame so rigid and slight against the flickering industrial fainted lights. The silence that followed was heavy.
“We have a mission. My sister’s life is at risk. She’s scared, trapped around here somewhere, and you’re upset about me not wanting to talk to you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” you almost barked at her at the way she distorted your words. “I know her life is at risk, and this is exactly why we’re here, to help her! But I’m scared as fuck, even though we’re supposed to be the adults in here. And the fact that you won’t even talk to me is upsetting me. We used to be a team."
“We are still a team. We are all in this, trying to solve things together, aren’t we?” Nancy murmured, biting her lip hard enough to draw some blood from it. The metallic taste flowed over her mouth.
“Team people communicate with each other, you know.” you insisted with remorse.
“So, what? You wanna solve all of our relationship issues here? In Hawkins Lab? In the Upside Down?” Nancy spoke again, bitter.
“You know what? Just… forget it,” you mouthed. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Will we?”
You didn’t answer. You turned and kept walking, boots echoing through the warped hallways as you forced yourself to focus on missing details: something that escaped from your view that was hiding in the walls, ceiling, corners.
Then, you stopped in front of a door, metal bowed like it had been softened by heat. The knob was half-melted, drooping useless. You grabbed it anyway, only for it to disintegrate in your hand.
“Shit,” you muttered, staring at the slag dripping between your fingers.
There was nothing else around – nothing that claimed your attention as this door. There was also nothing useful for you to use to break it open. Then, you started to kick it, once, twice. The metal drummed and groaned under protest against your attacks.
“What are you doing?!” You heard Nancy’s voice snap, firm steps getting louder toward your direction.
You didn’t reply, once again. You kicked it again, harder this time, ignoring the sting up in your leg, the way the sound rang too loud. If you had to be discreet, you’d be dead in a second. One more kick and the door burst inward.
Beyond it was a white stairwell, frozen mid-collapse. The steps sagged inward like wax caught halfway through melting, the railing twisted and fused into the wall as if something unimaginably hot had passed through.
“There’s no spores.” you started, as she once again took the leadership.
You didn’t trust your footing. You had this feeling in your gut that everything could simply fall apart beneath your feet. This thing that was enveloping everything around did not seem safe enough for you to walk carelessly.
“Careful,” you said automatically, reaching out and pressing a hand against her arm. Nancy paused for a second, long enough to acknowledge you. She nodded, and kept moving.
You followed closer than before. Close enough to catch the faint trace of her perfume, the floral smell from the woods. It was tangled with the smells of oil, metal, and the air clinging to her jacket.
“Shit,” she gasped, her flashlight snapping to the right. A body was fused into the wall, half-submerged in hardening goo. It was at a weird angle, almost like it tried to crawl out and got stuck midway. The face was completely gone – melted, like everything around. Further ahead, there were more. Not many, just enough to disconcert you.
At the top of the building, there was an open place, with nothing visible. You groaned. “There’s nothing here.”
“Wait,” Nancy replied, lifting the flashlight again. The beam caught on something – or rather, didn’t. It refracted.
Your breath hitched. In the middle of the air, suspended and perfect, was a massive distortion. A sphere, not solid, not liquid, just… there. Like a gigantic air bubble frozen mid-rise.
Nancy looked at you, her face with a clear purpose. She was going to shoot it, destroy it, tear down the wall and find Holly. That way, everything was going to be okay. She started to prepare her shotgun.
You grabbed the walkie, “Hey, Dustin, Steve, Jonathan, you guys copy? We found the shield generator. Do you copy?”
You heard Dustin speak your name in a weird way. His device was clearly unstable.
“I can’t hear you,” you said. “Can you hear me? We found the shield generator.”
“Just listen to me, okay?” Dustin kept trying, his voice now even more robotic. “Don’t do anything! Don’t touch it—!”
Static swallowed Dustin’s voice again, the walkie hissing useless in your hand. You shook it once, like that might somehow coax meaning back into the noise. You looked at Nancy. She clearly wasn’t paying attention to you and your conversation.
“They’re out of range,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.
Nancy didn’t answer. She was already moving closer to the sphere, the distortion warping her outline as she passed through its edge. The hum deepened, vibrating through your whole body.
“Nance,” you said, sharper now. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Dustin sounded scared.”
She racked the shotgun. Clack.
“Maybe it’s best if we wait for the others,” you put your hand onto her arm, and she looked at you almost as if you burned her. “I’m serious. He was trying to say something important. We should wait.”
Nancy shook your hand off her arm. Not violently, but hard enough that it felt deliberate. Like touching you was something that she couldn’t afford right now.
“We have literally no time to wait,” she groaned. “Every time we stand here, Holly’s there. Waiting for us.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, but we don’t even know if she’s on the other side of the wall. Just like everything we’ve been following, it’s a theory!”
Nancy glanced at you, almost as if her eyes could shoot bullets through your skull. “It’s our best shot!”
“You don’t know that!” you screamed back at her. “Waiting for one more minute isn’t going to change anything! Isn’t going to save Holly! You have no idea what destroying this thing could do!”
She kept adjusting her shotgun anyway. The moment she lifted the barrel, your eyes widened. Adrenaline flooded your veins, and you didn’t think – couldn’t think – about the consequences. Nancy was so close to shooting it. If you had, you probably wouldn’t have done it.
You jumped at her. It was stupid, reckless. For Christ’s sake, she had a shotgun. She could end your life in a blink. Nancy clearly hadn't expected it, because the force knocked her balance off. The gun slipped from her hands, clattering against the floor, some feet away from her. It fired as it hit, the blast tearing into the wall beside the stairwell you’d just come from. Concrete exploded, the sound blasting in your ears.
“Nancy, stop!” you gasped, grappling for her wrists as you pinned her down against the floor. She was a whirlwind of fury beneath you, a knee slamming into your ribs, an elbow catching you in the shoulder.
“What the fuck!” she screamed, her voice raw.
“I’m trying to save us! Stop!”
She didn’t stop. Instead, with a burst of strength, she bucked upward, her boot on your chest, sending you sprawling to her side. You landed hard, as your eyes looked out for the gun. It was so close, she almost had it…
But then, the floor began to crackle. It wasn’t a clean break. It was slow, but quick enough for you not to have time to react. Like hardened wax splitting under too much heat. You barely had time to look at her before the ground gave up.
You hit the floor below with a sickening thud, the impact punching the air right out of your lungs. Your vision was disturbed, white spots dancing in the darkness. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling – and the now made hole – where that gross, pale residue dripped, slow like honey.
“Nancy–” you wheezed, as your eyes kept searching for her around the unknown room.
A groan came from the shadows to your left. You tried to shift toward it, but your limbs felt like metal, heavy, uncooperative. You let your head fall back against the cold floor, gasping for air.
But Nancy was already moving; before you could even find your footing, she was hovering over you, a dark silhouette against the dripping white walls. She didn’t shout, or even look mad. That was the most terrifying part. She was focused. With a smooth, practiced grace, she brought the shotgun up.
“What–” you murmured quietly.
She didn’t lower it.
“What were you thinking?” she shouted at you, her expression completely furious. “We were right there! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“S-shooting it would’ve done no good! You were just ignoring what Dustin said!”
Her finger tightened; not on the trigger, but close enough that your stomach dropped anyway. Your pulse thundered in your ears, like lousy drums. Every instinct screamed at you to step back, to push her.
You didn’t move.
Something unspooled in your chest. The terror of the gun hadn’t faded, but it was being eclipsed by something feral, animalistic. Nancy saw the shift, you could sense in her eyes, the way her pupils dilated, how her breath hitched. This wasn’t about anger anymore.
The pressure of the barrel against you was like a total paradox. The metal was frigid, searing a path of cold through your blouse, yet it sent a heat straight to your core.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered again. The words were the same, but the question had evolved into something darker, a demand for a truth you weren’t ready to explain.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry as ash. “A lot of things,” you managed, the words barely audible.
She watched your throat move as you swallowed. Her gaze drifted to your lips, lingering there just enough to make you ache, before snapping back to your eyes. The shotgun didn’t waver, her hold stronger than ever. You could see how firm she was holding due to her fingers. The tension in her arm seemed to change, from rigid lock of anger to something different. Almost predatory.
Nancy was furious at you for interfering, that was undeniable, but she was funneling that rage into a different kind of control. She pressed the muzzle harder against your chest, slowly dragging it downward, from your sternum to your stomach. A small, choked sound escaped from you.
She seemed to savor that sound. Her lips parted slightly as she leaned closer, the barrel of the shotgun digging into your abdomen with enough force to promise a bruise by morning. The thought of it made your head spin.
“You’re scared,” she observed, a mix of feelings in her eyes. The anger was there – pulsing beneath the surface. Manifesting its way differently, like an obsession. The gun wasn’t shaking; she wasn’t shaking. You, on the other hand, could feel that your hands were unsteady. “And somehow... you are enjoying this.”
She wasn’t just holding a gun to you anymore, she was pinning you down with it. “This is what you’ve wanted since the beginning, isn’t it? Maybe we should’ve skipped the talk and tried something with the pistol in my bedroom that day.”
You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but nothing came out.
“Tell me.” Her free hand came up, her thumb hooking under your jaw and tilting your head back. The angle was sharp, forcing you to look directly at her eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
The denial died in your throat. She saw the hesitation, the way your pupils were dilated, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. Nancy kept watching every ragged, shallow breath you took, like she was counting them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
It started as a slow, agonizing slide. She dragged the barrel lower, over the curve of your abdomen, until the cold steel pressed into the heat between your thighs. You gasped, a sharp intake of air that felt like a sob. Your legs instinctively clamped shut against the intrusion.
She slapped your thigh with her palm, a loud sound crashing the silence of the room. Nancy groaned. “Keep them open.”
“Nance–” you breathed out, your voice breaking. You couldn’t obey; every time the metal shifted, your hips involuntarily rose to meet it.
Seeing your lack of control, she reached down and gripped your thigh with her free hand, her nails digging into the denim of your jeans. The sharp sting of her grip combined with the pressure of the gun was almost too much to bear.
“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice low, becoming a rasp that vibrated in the small space between your faces
You forced your eyes to meet hers. She looked breathtaking. Not in the way she did that day at the gun store, or in the woods, but in a raw way. With a streak of blood on her nose, her hair dirty with white dust, she truly looked like an angel.
“You had so much to say when we were walking,” she whispered, leaning down until her lips were grazing your ear. “You were so concerned with communication. With being a team. With the fact that you weren’t getting my attention.”
The mockery in her voice was a contrast to the clinical precision of her movements. She shifted her weight upon you, and the barrel of the shotgun moved with her.
“Is this attention enough for you? Is that why you had to be such a brat, hm?” Nancy teased once more, as now her hands were sliding up to your ass, holding it firmly. You could smell her now – better than before. She was so close. The smell of ashes, gunpowder, lavender, and musk, hidden behind the indistinguishable smell of Upside Down.
“Please,” you begged. The word felt hollow, stripped of its meaning. You didn’t know what you were asking for. Did you want her to fuck you properly, or did you just wanted to continue to feel the barrel of her gun on your cunt?
Your mind was blunt, already. Nancy could see how stupid you became in a second. She kept humping her gun on you, fast enough to see you almost lose complete control. Your hands, which had been hanging uselessly at your sides, moved without your permission to grasp at her, pushing her closer to you, almost as if you were scared that she might vanish.
Nancy saw your eyes rolling back, your trembling hands. She leaned in even further. “Look at you, completely gone.”
The mechanical rhythm of the shotgun was relentless, an unyielding friction that drove every coherent thought from your brain. With your back arched, you were completely open to her.
She didn’t hesitate as she buried her face in the crock of your neck, lips trailing a path of bites against your skin. Her teeth were grazing your throat with a hungry eagerness.
“Nance, fuck,” you gasped, holding her free arm. “I-I need to cum… please.”
“Yeah?”, she breathed out, speeding up with her gun. “Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”
You nodded as you kept holding on to her, with closed eyes and a slightly open mouth. “Y-yes, Nance– please…”
“It’s okay. Come for me– I got you. Just like this.”
A broken cry was ripped from your throat as the orgasm hit your body. Your vision whited out, every nerve ending in your body screaming in a rhythmic release that felt like you were going to pass out. Nancy gripped your thighs, holding you steady as her own breath was coming in ragged hitches.
You slumped back against the floor, gasping for air. Nancy didn’t move. She stayed hovering over you, slowly taking out the shotgun from your – now wet – jeans. Before she could take a step back, you grabbed her arm, once again.
“Wanna make you feel good, too,” you pleaded, looking at her.
Nancy smiled as your hands traveled from her back to her hips, pushing her down against you. You captured her lips, finally, with a sloppy kiss. It was desperate, and tasted like salt, dust and metal. It was way too far from being cinematographic – the way you were fighting to maintain composure, the way she kept pushing her tongue against your mouth.
As you drove your hips upward, her eyebrows furrowed, a frown spreading over her face. She pulled back from the kiss as she let out a broken sound – between a gasp and a sob, and her head fell forward as her forehead stayed against your shoulder.
She leaned down, her hair falling just like a curly curtain around your face, isolating you from that dirty, terrific room. You pushed her again, a sharp and precise movement of her pelvis that hit the spot.
The silence of the room made every sound feel amplified. The wet slide of denim on denim, your desperate gasps, her moans, the way her teeth clicked occasionally against yours in those desperate kisses.
“Fuck–” she whimpered right next to your ear, holding you close more than ever. “Fuck, fuck…”
“Baby, cum for me,” you pleaded, your hands still guiding her movements. “Please– I need you to cum with me.”
The wet sounds of your bodies colliding took over the place. Nancy arched her back, and a long cry was torn from her throat, lost in the crook of your neck as the orgasm hit her with the force of a physical blow.
For a long minute, neither of you moved. You lay there on the cold floor, the only sound now wavering was the sobbing gasps for air from both of you. Nancy collapsed against you, her forehead on your collarbone. You could feel the sticky wetness of your jeans against your skin.
"So," you broke the silence, your fingertips tracing slow circles on her back. "Does that mean that we are still a team?"
"Definitely." Nancy laughed as she sat on your hips, looking down at you. "I'm still mad at you, though."
"You were going to get us killed."
"No, I wasn't," she declared, than paused, really looking at you. "You don't know that for sure."
She stood up, and you watched the wet stains on both of your jeans. You couldn't containt the embarrassed smile that crept onto your face.
"What the hell happened?!" Steve's voice echoed from above, incredulous. A flashlight beam snapped on, blinding you as you raised a hand to shield your eyes. "Are you okay?"
"We're fine, Steve," Nancy called back, dusting off her jeans before offering you a hand. "The floor gave out. We didn't have time to react"
"Well, at least you didn't destroy this... thing. Dustin said it was going to create a black hole."
You glanced at Nance with an expression that said 'I told you so'.
Steve leaned farther over the edge, the flashlight wobbling as he tried to take in the scene below. "Okay, great, everyone's alive. Can we please make that the standard outcome?"
Nancy squeezed your hand once more before letting go, reaching down to grab the shotgun and her things from the floor. "We will if you stop yelling and help us find a way up."
"We're heading to your floor," Steve called back. "We'll try to break the door from our side."
"Sounds good," you replied, your voice echoing faintly as their silhouettes dissapeared from the edge above.
"Hey," Nancy called you, a gentle look on her face. "Look, I'm sorry for earlier. I had to many things in my head, and this whole situation is making me lose it. Holly, mom, Mike..."
"I know," you said, just as quietly, almost like sharing a secret. "It's okay. We'll have time to fix it." Your voice was steady, reassuring.
Silence settled between you as the two of you moved through the room, checking the walls, searching for a door that still felt more theoretical than real.
After a while, Nancy stopped. You turned to face her, and she was smiling.
"So... you wanna do it again?" she asked, her voice sweet, almost shy. "Another time?"
Mazzy Star · So Tonight That I Might See · Song · 1993
do you have any jealous! mommy wanda ideas? feel like she'd be awfully possessive over her little girl, whether reader is unknowingly riling her up or on purpose!
hm yes yes i do, but for now i’ll give u this one that i may hate a lil…🙈
warnings (18+) - jealous mommy duh, bratty reader, dom/sub dynamics, smut, fingering, lil overstim, praise and degradation bc you’re a slut tysm!
I don’t think Wanda would be dramatic about her jealousy.
Not at first anyways.
But her jealousy might sometimes be a little…misdirected.
It always started small, like the way her eyes narrowed for half a second when someone else made you laugh a little too hard, or the way she suddenly found a reason to stand closer to you, a secure arm around your waist, whenever someone new joined a conversation.
Most people never noticed it, but of course, you always did.
And today was one of those days.
You and your friend Kate were sitting in the living room of your shared apartment, textbooks spread out, half-studying and half just talking about life, and nothing all at once. The typical stuff the average student got up to on a Friday afternoon. And Wanda padded thorough the hallway quietly, auburn hair held in a claw clip, sleeves pushed up as she wiped her hands on a dish towel.
She tried not to eavesdrop. But she was absolutely eavesdropping.
“…and then he said he’d help me figure out the contract language.” Kate said. “Honestly, he’s so good with me. Super patient.”
“That’s nice.” You replied, flipping a page in your notes, not entirely listening to her ramble about this random guy in your same lecture.
Wanda didn’t interrupt. She didn’t want to, but she could tell her silence was becoming louder than the kettle boiling on the stove. It didn’t help your friend kept glancing behind you like she saw a ghost every five seconds.
“Hey, Wands.” You turned slightly, tilting your head at the awkward woman in the doorway. “You okay?”
“Course, honey.” She practically sung … just slightly too high. “Just didn’t want to interrupt you guys.”
“You’re not. Come join.” You assured, patting the cushion beside you. And she walked over, carefully neutral, and sat close. Not subtly close, either. Close enough that Kate said “oh!” and scooted her notebook back to avoid bumping knees.
“So…”Wanda said lightly, folding her hands. “Who’s patient?”
Kate blinked. “Uh?”
“You said someone was helping with a contract?” Wanda asked, tone perfectly pleasant. Maybe too pleasant. “That was for her class, right?” She asked as she pointed at you, like she was so sure of what she was asking.
“Oh!” Kate laughed nervously. “Oh no, sorry, he’s my partner on this recent assignment Professor Clark gave us. Y/N doesn’t really like him, but he’s actually really good at this stuff.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault we’re constantly dead set on competing for the best grades in the class. It’s natural I don’t like him and don’t want to be in his stupid group!”You defended, brows furrowing as you continue, “Besides, he’s an asshole! Did you hear what he did to Lexie?”
Wanda hummed, nodding with the kind of smile that hid about a thousand questions. She didn’t interrogate as you and Kate spiralled on about this Lexie girl. But she’s glad to hear you don’t like this guy that managed to set off all alarms in her, and have her jealousy almost visible if you look close enough. But still, she casually slipped her hand across the couch until her fingers brushed yours.
Just reminding.
Mine.
You squeezed her fingers in return because you knew exactly what that meant.
Kate thankfully dropped the conversation for a while and continued rambling about assignments, blissfully unaware. Wanda listened, polite as ever, but every time your friend mentioned this helpful partner, her thumb traced small circles over your knuckles, fighting the urge to cling on.
Later, when she packed up to leave, claiming she was going to be late for dinner at her boyfriend’s, Wanda stood with you at the door. The moment it shut, she exhaled, finally letting the mask slide.
“What?” You asked, evidently amused.
“Nothing.” She said immediately.
“Wanda.”
She glanced away, tugging her sleeves down like she was embarrassed to admit anything. “Fine. I may or may not have misheard you guys and thought you were talking about how great this guy was.”
“Well, fortunately for you, you were wrong.”
She hummed, and you cocked an eyebrow at her.
“And that is why we don’t…?”
Her shoulders loosened, just a little before she answered, “Eavesdrop.”
“Good girl.” You praised, though teasingly, which the older woman picked up on as she lightly pushed you away.
But you stepped closer anyways. “You know, I kind of like you jealous.”
She blinked, caught halfway between indignation and amusement. “Oh, do you?” She asked, crossing her arms seriously, but she couldn’t hide the way the corner of her mouth lifted.
“Mhm.” You reached out and tugged gently at her fingers to uncross them, to bare herself to you. “It’s cute.”
“Cute? I don’t know if that’s the description I’d choose.”
You tilted your head. “What would you choose?”
She pretended to think. “Well, I would say sexy…” She stepped closer, forcing you to move further back into the space. “Hot, maybe…”
“Oh just maybe?” You bit, playing into her game. By the time, you came up with another retort, she had you pressed against the wall in the hallway just before you reach the kitchen.
“How about…” You dragged your palms up her stomach over her chest to wrap around her neck. “I tell you how incredibly sexy you look when you’re jealous…possessive even… of what’s yours. And how much I want you to take me to bed, and show me just how much I belong to you, hm?”
“Fuck” You heard her whisper under her breath. And suddenly, you felt her own hands slide up under your shirt, over your bra and gently squeeze. You took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly with a soft whimper. Pleased with the response, she began to knead them kindly alternating between light and firm pressure. "Oh. You like that?" She cooed then nibbles on the side of your ear, descending your neck ruthlessly, leaving marks in place.
Your spine arched slightly, pressing yourself deeper into her grasp, as your brattiness faded ever so quickly with each moan.
"Such a needy thing. " Her thumbs swiped over your hidden nipples. “All I'm doing is playing with your tits, sweetheart."
She doesn't bother wasting time anymore. She ran along the waistband of your shorts before going under, ghosting over soaked underwear, travelling low enough to feel the wetness practically seep from your entrance, and she groaned lowly.
"Does me being jealous really get you this wet, baby. You’re such a little slut.”
You don’t bother fighting the urge to thrust your hips upwards. The woman had you wrapped around her finger as soon as she started pushing herself against you possessively. Her assured touches always felt like heaven, and she could work you up with even the simplest of ways.
“Come on, darling. Relax those thighs for me, hm? Let Mommy play with her little princess.”
And funnily enough, you fell deep into obedience at the mention of her title, and your legs spread apart limply for her to grope you in every direction. You smelt subtle vanilla as your head rested against a firm shoulder, hips chased pressure as you feel your pleasure build increasingly close. At last, her hand flipped, finally under your soaked panties, her thumb residing flush against your nerves, as she buried two fingers inside of you. Your thighs shook at the sudden stimulation, fighting to clamp shut once more around her but never doing so in fear she would stop. A muffled cry fell from your lips, and you heard her chuckle above you.
“Already? You gonna come, sweetheart?” She panted, exertion evident in her voice and the wet, slapping sounds coming from below.
You nod reverently, unable to form a solid thought, let alone a solid answer. But that wasn’t good enough for her.
"Baby.” She reeled your mind back to focus on her. "Use your words. Are you ready to come all over my fingers like a good girl?”
You managed to whimper a small yes! but not before her fingers sped up even more so, drawing you dangerously close. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” She whispered against your ear, revelling in how unguarded your moans have become. It’s a heady feeling to have you so dependent on her, to have you clawing against her to escape the mind numbing pleasure she’s given you, arching against her, and don’t get me wrong, she’d want to make the most of it, draw it out for ages; but from the way you were shaking, she could tell it wouldn’t be long now.
When her thumb started pushing deep circles into your clit, you almost scream, but she silenced you with your first kiss of the night. A choked note of dismay burst forward as Wanda forced your mouth open, shoving her tongue inside. The older woman dominated the clashing of tongues, as you fight - barely- for your breath.
As the witch thrusted into you at a steady pace, she pulled from your mouth. You gulped in air so loud, you almost missed her question.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You.” Panted through gritted teeth, eyebrows knitted together. “Yours, I’m- fuck, I’m yours, Mommy, fuck, only yours.”
Wanda’s free hand reached for your neck and pulled you in for another kiss, this time all soft and sweet. The gentle brush of her tongue with the rough force of her fingers, sent sparks straight to your clit. “Oh, please, I need to, can - please, Mommy! -”
“Come for me, baby. Come for Mommy.”
It only took you a few seconds before your moans grew almost silent, body shaking uncontrollably, spine arching before collapsing into her chest. You felt the warmth swarm all the way from your head to your heels like running water, as you fell forward into her, your thighs unable to hold your weight.
“Good girl.” She whispered against your temple, all the while keeping up slow circles on your clit as she worked you through the end of your orgasm. That didn’t last long as overstimulation settled in quick, and you tried to squirm out of her hold.
“You’re okay. That’s my good girl. Come back to me. “Come back to Mommy, sweetheart.”
And she’d lift your exhausted body into her arms instead, deciding that was enough for tonight, as she crossed the apartment to the bedroom. Not long after, she’d settle you in bed, still tucked within her warm embrace, and she’d press a gentle kiss against your cheek, as she watched your eyelashes flutter shut one last time.
4430 words
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You hate her.
You hate the way she walks into a room like she owns it. The way her voice always drops to a murmur around you, like she’s daring you to lean closer. The way she always has to challenge you in training, on missions, even during goddamn movie nights.
You hate the way she looks at you.
Like she knows. Like she’s already seen the way your knees go weak when her fingers brush yours, the way you clench your thighs when she talks with that slow Sokovian drawl, low and amused.
You hate her.
But now, you’re sharing a bed.
Because of course the safehouse has seven bedrooms and eight Avengers. And of course, Sam and Bucky paired up instantly with some smug bromantic excuse, and Nat practically claimed an entire room just by walking into it.
Which left you and Wanda. The two people in the house most likely to incinerate each other with a look.
"You’re kidding," you said, arms crossed, standing in the hallway.
She leaned against the doorframe of the last room, arms folded, red lips curled in a smirk. "Unless you want to sleep on the couch, detka."
She always says detka like a sin. Like it’s something she’d whisper against your throat.
You grit your teeth. “Fine.”
Now it’s midnight.
The house is quiet. Shadows from the moonlight crawl across the hardwood floor. The mattress is stiff. The room smells like cedarwood and clean sheets and her.
Wanda is on the left side of the bed. You’re on the right. There’s a chasm of pillows between you, a makeshift Berlin Wall of fabric and denial.
She hasn’t said a word since you both climbed in. Just laid there with her back to you, the soft rise and fall of her breath aggravatingly calm. You can feel the heat radiating off her body.
It’s making you restless.
You flip over.
She shifts too.
"Can’t sleep, detka?" she murmurs, voice syrupy and smug.
"Maybe if someone didn’t breathe so loud."
She laughs. Low. Dangerous. "You’ve been tossing for twenty minutes. Want me to help tire you out?"
You bolt upright. “What the hell does that mean?”
She turns to face you, propped up on an elbow, red eyes gleaming in the dark. There’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
"You’re smart. Figure it out."
You stare at her.
This is the game you two play. The insults, the tension, the almost-touching. But tonight, something’s different. Her voice is softer. Her eyes are darker. And you're... warm. Flushed. You feel it creeping up your neck.
"You're such a bitch," you say, breathless.
She hums. "You say that like you want to see what else I can be."
Your heart punches your ribs.
It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But you lean in anyway.
The kiss is molten.
Her lips taste like heat and fury and relief. Her hand cups your jaw, pulling you closer, her fingers slipping into your hair. She kisses like she’s angry about it. Like she’s punishing you for waiting so long.
You straddle her hips before you realize you’re moving. Her legs part under you and she moans softly into your mouth, nails dragging down your spine.
She’s warm. All of her. And you want to drown in it.
“Still hate me?” she breathes against your lips.
“Yes,” you whisper. “But you can fuck it out of me.”
Her eyes flicker scarlet. Her breath catches.
You watch her pupils blow wide, swallowing green until there’s only a dark ring left, her lashes fluttering like she’s trying not to lose control. Her auburn hair tumbles wildly around her face and over her bare shoulders, a halo of red and sin, strands sticking to the sweat at her temples.
She looks wrecked — and you haven’t even started.
“Look at you,” she whispers. “So fucking eager.”
You roll your hips -- slow and heavy, grinding your soaked core along the line of her thigh. The pressure hits just right and your lips part on instinct with a soft gasp.
Wanda groans. The sound is low, raw, a sound ripped from somewhere deep in her chest. Her fingers tighten on your hips, bruising, dragging you down harder.
“Right there,” she breathes. “Just like that, baby. Rub that pretty pussy all over me. Fuck--look at how wet you are.”
Your panties are soaked -- clinging, transparent with how much you’re dripping -- and her thigh is slick with your arousal. You rock harder, grinding your clit against the thick muscle. Her hands guide the pace, rolling your hips in slow circles.
“You’ve wanted this,” she says, voice like melted honey. “You’ve been thinking about riding me like this every time you walked away from a fight with me, haven’t you?”
You nod, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”
Her lips curl. She leans up, teeth catching your earlobe. “You fantasized about this in your room. Touching yourself to the thought of me pinning you down.”
Your moan is involuntary -- high and needy. “Yes. I fucking did.”
She laughs, dark and delighted. “What a filthy girl.”
She bites down on your neck, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to mark you. Her thigh flexes, and the friction sends a jolt up your spine. You grind harder, chasing that edge with wild, desperate rhythm.
The sounds -- they’re obscene.
The slick drag of your pussy against her skin. Your moans. Her breathless curses.
“You’re so loud,” Wanda murmurs, brushing her lips over yours. “The walls are paper-thin, detka. Are you going to let them all hear how desperate you are to come on my thigh?”
You whimper. “I can’t stop--Wanda, I’m gonna--”
“Do it,” she growls. “Come all over me. Right now.”
Her hand snakes up, covers your mouth, and the second she does
You break.
Your orgasm hits fast and brutal, rolling through you like a wave. You scream into her hand, hips jerking, thighs clenching around her as your body locks. Your pussy pulses over and over, wetness spreading across her leg.
“Fuck,” she groans. “You’re dripping. You just soaked me.”
You collapse into her chest, shuddering, twitching, lips parting against her collarbone.
But she’s not done.
Wanda flips you, swift and smooth. Her hair falls into your face as she crawls on top of you.
“My turn,” she purrs.
She strips off her shirt with no shame -- just confidence. Heat. Command.
Your eyes rake down her body like it’s the first time. Full, perfect breasts, hard nipples. The soft curve of her stomach, the elegant lines of her waist. Her thighs are slick, trembling. Her pussy glistens in the dark, lips swollen, wet, dripping onto your stomach as she straddles your waist.
“You like what you see?” she teases.
“More than like,” you whisper. “I want to taste you for hours.”
She smirks, crawls up your body. Her bare pussy hovers over your lips -- inches away. The heat coming off her is intense, dizzying.
“Then open up, pretty girl.”
She lowers herself slowly -- watching you the whole time, her green eyes locked on your flushed, parted lips. The second your tongue touches her, her head snaps back with a gasp.
“Oh fuck--yes, baby--right there.”
You flatten your tongue, licking her from base to clit in one long stroke. She whimpers. Her thighs clamp around your head.
“You eat pussy like you’re starving.”
You moan into her.
The taste of her is everything -- sweet, salty, hot. You lap her up like it’s your last meal. Wanda cries out, hips grinding down against your mouth.
“Yes--just like that--your tongue--fuck, keep going--”
The sounds she makes are unreal. Moans. Gasps. Her voice dissolves into Sokovian curses. Her hands claw the headboard as she rides your tongue shamelessly.
You suck on her clit, and her entire body shakes.
“Ohmygod--baby--fuck, I’m close--I’m so close--”
You grip her thighs, keeping her in place. Wanda’s thighs tremble. Her pussy throbs against your mouth.
Then, she slaps her hand over her mouth, half laughing, half breathless.
“Shut the fuck up,” she pants. “You’re making me scream.”
But she doesn't stop. She rides your face harder, faster. You can feel the twitch in her thighs, the tension building.
“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Don’t you fucking stop—don’t—”
She shatters.
Her orgasm rips through her like fire. She cries out, the sound muffled by her own hand, her entire body jerking as her pussy gushes over your mouth.
You keep going. Keep licking. Keep sucking. You don’t stop until she slumps forward, collapsing onto you with a whimper.
“Holy fuck,” she whispers. “You just made me see stars.”
She kisses your face, your lips, her taste still thick between your mouths.
The room is quiet again.
Your bodies are tangled, sticky and flushed, your breath slowing into something steady. Her hair is a mess -- auburn strands clinging to her cheek, her lips still swollen from kissing, her thighs twitching with aftershocks. You trace your fingers lightly down her spine, and she shivers.
But neither of you speaks.
Because the tension hasn’t left. Not fully. If anything, it’s worse now -- thick and heavy and humming beneath your skin like electricity.
You feel her shift against you.
Wanda lifts her head, her eyes glowing faint red.
She looks toward the far wall -- the mirrored closet door.
You follow her gaze.
“You ever watch yourself come?” she murmurs.
Your mouth goes dry.
She leans in, lips brushing yours. "I want you to see what I see. What I feel."
She sits up and pulls you with her, both of you still naked, slick with sweat and come. She grabs your hand and pulls you toward the foot of the bed, guiding you until you’re both kneeling in front of the mirror.
The sight alone makes you gasp.
Her behind you -- flushed, wrecked, hair tousled, her arms wrapped around your waist, breasts pressed against your back. Your thighs are spread, cunt glistening, your chest still rising with leftover tremors.
Wanda meets your eyes in the mirror.
"You’re going to come again, detka," she whispers, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples. "But this time, you’re going to watch yourself do it."
You nod, completely dazed.
She shifts one hand down -- slow, so deliberate -- her fingers grazing your stomach, then lower, parting your thighs again.
You gasp.
Her fingers slide through your folds, wet and warm and practiced. Her lips stay at your ear.
“Look at you,” she breathes. “So wet. You want it again, don’t you?”
You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”
She whispers your name like a warning. Like a promise. Her voice is wrecked -- low, ruined, tinged with something just a little unhinged.
“Don’t move,” she murmurs.
A pulse of red dances along your skin -- warm, tingling, soft like silk. It wraps around your wrists, binding them behind your back with invisible force. Your breath catches.
“Wanda…”
She presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You said you wanted more, baby.”
You nod, feverishly.
Then a flicker.
Red light glows in front of you.
You watch in the mirror as Wanda lifts her palm.
Faint tendrils of chaos magic curl around her fingers, liquid and molten, snaking upward as her eyes glow brighter. Her brow furrows -- intense, focused -- and you feel it in your bones: she’s making something.
The strands twist, pulse, thicken. They mold together midair, rotating slowly, lengthening into something unmistakably obscene.
It forms before your eyes -- inch by inch -- as if her desire itself is shaping it.
A long, curved double-ended toy -- thick, sleek, glowing a deep, sensual red. Ridged and smooth in all the right places, the shape custom, designed to destroy.
You gape.
Her voice is dark silk in your ear. “Made it just for us.”
The toy pulses in her hand -- alive with magic.
skin.
“I want you to feel everything I do,” she says. “Every stroke, every clench, every fucking twitch.”
She smiles -- wild, dangerous, hungry.
Then she presses the toy to your entrance.
“you’ll take it.”
Your body jerks. It slides in too easily -- you’re soaked, still pulsing, still ruined from the first round. The stretch is perfect. Too perfect.
Your knees wobble.
But she’s not done.
She tilts her hips forward and guides the other end into herself, gasping as the toy slides deep inside her.
In the mirror, you see her. You see you.
Then she moves. And the moment she moves You both moan.
The first thrust makes your vision blur. It’s slow, deep, intimate.
Her hips roll with precision -- controlled and powerful -- dragging the toy through your walls as it presses inside her at the exact same rhythm.
“F-fuck--” you gasp.
You feel everything. Her tightness. Her slick. Her heartbeat in your core.
Wanda groans behind you, the sound guttural and raw. “That’s it. Let me feel it.”
Her thrusts deepen.
She grabs your hair and yanks your head back. “Eyes forward.”
You lock onto your reflection. Your mouth is open, your body jerking with every thrust. Her tits are swaying, bouncing wildly against your back as her hips snap forward, hard and wet.
The slapping sound is obscene.
“So pretty when you moan,” she whispers. “Such a good little slut when you fall apart.”
You sob her name, unable to stop the sounds pouring from your lips. And that’s when it happens.
You feel her.
Inside.
Not just physically -- mentally.
Her magic pierces through your skull like a velvet thread, winding through every locked door in your mind and tearing them open.
You gasp.
“Wanda--what--”
“Shhh,” she whispers. “Let me see.”
The images flash....
You, on your knees, begging her to use you.
Her, pinning you to the Quinjet wall with magic, legs spread, magic inside you.
You wanting her to fuck you in front of the team just so they know you belong to her.
Wanda groans, and you feel her magic tighten around your wrists, around the toy inside you, and your breath leaves you in a shattered moan.
“You think about me all the time,” she pants. “Touching yourself to the idea of me using you. Filling you.”
“I do--fuck--I do, Wanda--”
She bites your shoulder.
“I’ve thought about you too,” she growls.
“Tell me,” you beg. “Please--tell me.”
Her voice drops to a filthy purr.
“I’ve imagined fucking you with my fingers until you cry. Sitting on your face until you forget how to breathe. Wrapping you in my magic, stretching you open until you sobbed and begged for my cock.”
You whimper. “Please--please do it--”
“I thought about tying you down,” she continues, voice shaking, “and making you watch while I touched myself in front of you. Just out of reach. I wanted you to beg to be allowed to taste me.”
You’re moaning uncontrollably now, voice high and desperate.
“Please let me come--please--Wanda--”
She snarls.
“Not yet.”
The toy moves harder now, Wanda’s hips snapping against yours. Every thrust pushes you forward into the mirror -- your tits slapping the glass, your breath fogging the surface.
Her grunts are feral, guttural, low and sharp in your ear.
“You’re mine,” she pants. “Say it.”
“I’m yours--Wanda--please--I’m fucking yours--”
Her magic pulses inside you, crackling, glowing, alive.
“You want to come?” she hisses.
“Yes, yes--”
“Then you come with me.”
She fucks you through it, and when she snaps her hips again, you both scream.
Your orgasm detonates.
It punches through your body, rips through your limbs, drowns you in white heat. Your thighs shake violently, your vision whites out, and Wanda screams behind you, grinding her hips forward, her body jerking as she comes too -- magic sparking like fire through the room.
You collapse together. Breathing hard. Faces soaked with sweat. Her tits still pressed to your back. Her fingers still tangled in your hair.
You can feel her heart pounding against your spine.
Her voice is hoarse.
“I’m not done with you.”
You smile into the mattress.
“Good.”
Because she owns you now.
The next morning
You don’t mean to make eye contact with Sam. It just happens.
You’re tiptoeing into the kitchen, hoodie pulled tight around your body, hair up in a rushed bun, bruises hidden under layers, and your thighs still sore enough to make every step feel like a confession.
Sam looks up from his cereal and blinks.
"Morning," he says -- like the word doesn’t carry all the weight of a dozen paper-thin walls and hours of echoed moaning.
You nod. "Morning."
There’s a long beat. A very long, very knowing beat.
Bucky’s leaning against the fridge with a coffee mug, eyebrows raised.
"Sleep okay?" he asks, too innocently.
Your face is already heating. You go for the coffee like it’s a lifeline.
“Totally,” you mutter, pouring too much. “Great sleep. Best ever.”
"Mmm," Bucky hums.
Sam takes a bite of cereal and chews slowly. “You sounded... rested."
From behind you, a mug clinks onto the counter.
"She was rested."
You freeze.
You don’t have to turn around to know it’s Wanda. Her voice is too calm. Too smug.
You turn. She’s in a tight black tee, no bra, red sweatpants that hang deliciously low on her hips. Her hair’s still tousled. Her lips still pink. She doesn’t look like she just spent eight hours wrecking you
No, she looks like she’s ready to do it again.
Wanda smirks. "Did you eat already?"
You almost choke on your coffee.
Sam coughs. Loudly.
Bucky whistles and walks out. "I’m not touching that one."
Nat walks in right as you’re trying to bury yourself in your mug. She stops. Looks between the two of you. Her eyes narrow.
She smirks. "Oh. Oh."
Wanda sips her tea like a fucking queen.
“Would you like to sit, detka?” she purrs.
You shoot her a look, but your legs are already moving.
Nat grabs an apple from the counter and shakes her head. "Thin walls, girls."
You groan.
Wanda? Just smiles wider.
After breakfast
You barely make it past the kitchen doorway when Wanda grabs your wrist.
Her grip is firm. Hot. Intentional.
You glance back -- the rest of the team is still in the kitchen, pretending not to listen. Wanda’s eyes flick toward the hallway.
"Come with me."
Your heart leaps. Your legs move before your brain does.
She pushes you against the wall two steps down the corridor. The second the kitchen is out of view, her lips are on your neck, her thigh between your legs, grinding with intent.
“You think I didn’t notice how you were squirming through breakfast?” she hisses. “The way you kept pressing your thighs together?”
You gasp. “Someone could see--”
“Let them.”
She shoves her leg higher between yours. You whimper.
“If you wanted to behave, you wouldn’t have worn these shorts.”
“They’re pajama--”
“They’re an invitation.”
She grinds her thigh up, hard, and your hips jerk.
“You’re soaked already,” she whispers, voice low and delighted. “Dripping. Are you really going to come for me in the hallway like a good little whore?”
You bite your lip. Nod.
She kisses you -- hot and quick -- and her hand is in your waistband.
Fast. Brutal. Two fingers slide inside.
You gasp, eyes fluttering, back hitting the wall.
The sound of voices drifts faintly down the hallway -- Steve laughing, Nat murmuring.
Wanda curls her fingers.
“Don’t make a sound,” she murmurs. “Unless you want them to know.”
You nod frantically, hips grinding into her hand.
She fucks you fast, deep, ruthless. Her thumb finds your clit and presses down.
You shudder, legs trembling.
“Wanda--”
“I can feel how close you are,” she whispers. “Come now. Be quick. Be quiet.”
You come like lightning -- fast, hot, clenching around her fingers as your vision whites out.
You slap your hand over your mouth, biting back a cry.
Wanda watches you come apart like it’s art.
When you slump, she pulls her hand out slow, licking her fingers clean.
She leans in.
“Try to walk straight back into the kitchen now.”
Then she’s gone.
And you’re left shaking.
Afternoon
It’s after lunch. Most of the team is out back. Wanda’s sitting on the worn couch in the den, flipping through some file Clint left behind. Barefoot. Relaxed. Smug.
You’re still pissed about how she left you in the hallway.
Not because you didn’t enjoy it -- god, you did. But because she always gets to be the one to leave you ruined and shaking, walking off with your taste on her tongue like it’s nothing.
So this time, you decide -- no.
You slip into the den quietly. She doesn’t look up.
Yet.
You straddle her lap.
That gets her attention.
She raises a brow, lips curling. “Missed me already?”
“Shut up.”
You grab her face and kiss her. Deep. Filthy. Your tongue pushes past her lips, and you swallow the noise she makes when you grind down, slow and heavy.
You pull back, your voice low. "You think you can finger me in a hallway this morning and walk away like a queen?"
Wanda blinks, breath catching. “I am a queen.”
“Not right now.”
You slide your hand down her body and into her waistband, finding her soaked. Soaked for you.
She gasps. Her head tips back.
You lean in, lips grazing her ear.
“You’re not walking away this time.”
Your fingers slide inside -- and she is the one gasping now. The file drops to the floor.
“You’re dripping,” you whisper. “What, did fingering me in public get you this wet?”
She moans.
You fuck her harder.
Her thighs twitch, body jerking under you as you grind your palm into her clit.
“Gonna come already, Wanda?” you taunt. “Just from my fingers? Don’t even need the magic?”
“Fuck you,” she breathes.
You smirk. “No, I’m fucking you.”
The couch creaks. Her hips are bucking up into your hand.
You kiss her hard, biting her lip. “You wanted to make me lose control in the hallway? Let’s see how quiet you can be, baby.”
Wanda’s eyes roll back.
You curl your fingers.
She comes with a stifled cry, her nails clawing into your shoulders, body shaking as she gasps against your throat.
You hold her through it, lips pressed to her jaw.
Then you whisper, smug “Now try you walking straight.”
That Night
You’re already nervous when you enter the bedroom. She’s waiting--calm, collected, legs crossed on the edge of the bed like she didn’t come apart in your hands just hours ago.
“You had fun earlier,” she says, voice soft.
You nod cautiously. “You did too.”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mmm. But I don’t like being surprised.”
You open your mouth, but she raises her hand.
Chaos magic coils from her fingers like smoke and snaps around your wrists before you can blink. You’re yanked forward, stumbling, until you're kneeling at her feet.
“Wanda--”
“Shh,” she says, wickedly calm. “You want to play?”
You nod.
She leans forward, hand in your hair, gripping tight. “Then let’s play, dorogaya.”
She stands and pulls you up like you're weightless. Her magic flicks again -- this time snapping your clothes off in shimmers of scarlet. You’re naked before you even gasp.
She pushes you down onto the bed, face-up, arms above your head -- bound to the headboard by glowing threads that pulse with her heartbeat.
“You like taking control?” she murmurs, climbing onto the bed. "You think I’m just going to let you fingerfuck me in the den and walk away like nothing happened?"
She straddles you -- fully clothed -- and grinds down, slow and mocking, until you gasp beneath her.
“You used to get under my skin,” she whispers, dragging a fingertip down your chest. “Everything about you pissed me off. Your mouth. Your arrogance. The way you never listened."
Her fingers stroke lower.
"I hated it. I hated you.”
She leans down, lips ghosting over yours.
“And now?”
She kisses you -- hard, bruising -- before pulling away.
“Now I dream about what your mouth sounds like when you beg. And I’m going to make you beg.”
She flicks her fingers.
You feel it instantly -- a pulse of magic between your thighs. Not touching -- hovering. Teasing. Electric.
It strokes your clit with no mercy.
You jolt. “Wanda--oh my god--”
“I’m not touching you,” she whispers. “I’m thinking about it. That’s all it takes now.”
She sits back on her heels, watches you squirm.
“You pretended to hate me so long,” she says, voice low. “And now look at you. Spread open, tied to my bed, about to come without even being touched.”
You writhe. The magic pulses harder.
“I can feel your thoughts,” she adds, and her eyes glow brighter. “Every filthy little image. Every time you imagined me pinning you down, slapping your pussy until you cried. You wanted to be broken.”
“I need it,” you choke.
“Oh, I know.”
She waves her hand -- and a thick, glowing red strap manifests between her thighs.
“You want this?” she asks.
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
“Then beg for it. In Sokovian.”
You pause. Her smile sharpens.
“You know the words. I’ve heard you practice them in your sleep.”
You shudder. You do. You’ve whispered them to yourself in the dark.
“Molim te, Wanda. Jebi me.”
Please, Wanda. Fuck me.
She moans -- deep, primal.
“That’s more like it.”
The magic restraints tighten just slightly.
And then she’s inside you.
The strap glows as it moves -- connected to her magic, feeding from it -- and every thrust sends a ripple of red light down her arms.
She fucks you hard. Deep. Relentless.
“You hated me,” she growls. “Tell me.”
“I--I hated you--”
“And now?”
“I need you--”
She grabs your chin, making you look at her.
“Say it.”
“I need you, Wanda. I’m yours.”
She thrusts harder. The bed shakes. Magic floods you.
“Good girl,” she snarls. “Then take it.”
You come so hard you black out for a second -- screaming, clenching, writhing -- held down by glowing red chains, trembling as her magic keeps moving through you.
When your vision returns, she’s on top of you -- forehead pressed to yours, whispering something soft in Sokovian you can’t even understand.
She kisses you like she’ll die without it.
And finally murmurs:
“You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
She kisses you again. And this time, it’s not hate.
It’s surrender.
You don’t know where the hate ends and the need begins -- and maybe you never did.
too much? ( requested ) ♱ wanda tests her new “little magic trick” on you. she sure knows how to get under ur skin (literally) . . . [ fem!reader . smut . lanugage . est. relationship ]
“you can sit normally, you know,” she laughs gently, tapping your knee.
you roll your eyes but scoot closer anyway, sitting with your legs folded in.
she smiles like she was hoping you would. “better.”
she rambles on and on about different types of magic. you’re only somewhat listening, mostly just watching her hands move while she talks. she noticed you’re a little confused.
“you don’t have to lie,” wanda says suddenly. “your face always gives you away.”
“no no i’m trying! it’s really cool but there’s just… a lot,” you say, sheepish.
she chuckles at that. “then let me show you. it’s easier when you feel it instead of trying to understand it.”
you move, trying not to overthink the fact that you’re inches away from her face. her voice drops a little quieter.
“i promise it won’t hurt. it’s just… different. but i’ll go slow. ready?” she asks.
you swallow. “yeah, show me.”
“don’t worry,” she chuckles, smiling, “it’s just a sensory enhancement spell. you’ll feel… more aware. that’s all.”
you look at her. “more aware of what?”
wanda just tilts her head, smiling playfully. “everything.”
she moves closer, way closer, and rests two fingers on your neck. her magic starts immediately, pooling under her fingertips, this hot little circle of red light that sinks into your skin like she’s pressing heat straight into your bloodstream. you gasp before you can stop yourself as the warmth ripples out. you had to admit, it felt insanely good.
“see? your body’s already responding.”
you could feel everything around you. the air brushing your arms, the fabric of your shirt, the shift of the mattress under your legs when either of you moves. it’s insane, this type of spell, but you don’t hate it.
she lifts her hand, moving her fingers close to your shoulder and a wave of energy skims across your skin like she traced a line there. you’re trying to sit still because you don’t even know what she’s doing, but your body apparently does.
“wanda—”
“hm?” she hums, moving her hand again, this time near your thigh. you feel the magic there too, like she’s touching you even though she’s not. “is it too much?”
you shook your head embarrassingly fast. you wanted her to keep going. she just smiles slowly.
“good. then i can show you more.”
she shifts besides you now, slightly propped up on her knees, watching every tiny reaction you have as her magic runs through your skin.
“you’re handling it better than most people would,” she says quietly.
your fingers curl in the blanket to ground yourself. wanda notices that too, of course she does.
“do you wanna stop?” she asks, still gently, but you can hear the small amount of hope under her tone.
you shake your head again, slower this time.
wanda lets out a breath, almost pleased. “okay,” she murmurs, “now come here.”
she guides you a little closer with just the faintest pull of magic, just enough to show you the direction she wants you. you follow without resisting.
her hand hovers near your arm and the energy follows, tracing a light path down to your wrist. it's almost ticklish, sending a shiver up your spine. she lets the magic wander back up across your collarbone, testing how you respond.
your breath catches when it dips a little lower, brushing the top of your chest through your shirt. it causes you to squirm a bit, and you’re trying to stay still, but it's hard. the sensitivity is building, turning innocent touches into something more. you hope she doesn't catch it, but her eyes drift down your body for just a second.
"wanda it's—it's intense," you whisper, shifting on the bed as your thighs press together instinctively.
“mmm, i can see that,” she says, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. you look up at her then, a little desperate with wide eyes. it's like your body's begging before your words can. she holds your gaze, knowing exactly what you need.
her magic ghosts over your stomach, teasing the edge of your waistband without crossing it. then, a light and sudden press against your panties through your clothes — but with the spell, you feel it 10 times more. you gasp as the sensation shoots through you.
"it’s—oh my god," you whimper, arching a little without meaning to.
"relax," she whispers, leaning in closer. her breath is warm on your neck. "does it feel good baby?"
"so good, but i—i need... more," you admit.
"more? use your words sweet girl. tell me what you want."
"please," you beg, eyes fluttering shut as the magic teases you. she doesn't rush it. god she's so patient, propping herself up on one elbow, watching you like you're the most fascinating thing.
the magic focuses there, rubbing in slow circles, firm enough to build the ache but not to rush it. it's all for her, the way you react, the little sounds you make. her eyes never leave your face as she toys around.
“shit, wanda—right there," you groan, hips bucking up.
"so good for me," she says into your ear. "look at you, so responsive."
her powers press deeper, teasing your cunt before pushing in slow as if it were her own fingers, thrusting gently while another pulse works your clit. it doesn’t help that everything's heightened.
you moan needily, head thrown back against the pillow, legs falling open wider. your hands are fisting the sheets turning your knuckles white. she keeps the pace slow, watching you as she teases.
"that’s right, take it for me," she coos, her hand stroking your hair now.
“fuck i’m—” it pushes you over fast, your body tensing as you cum under her, but she doesn't stop right away. the magic slows, but she keeps drawing it out until you’re whimpering from the sensitivity.
finally, she slips it out, but keeps spell on you, every nerve still heightened. her fingers replace it, sliding into your pants with ease, two dipping into how soaked you are.
“oh, so wet for me hm?” she smiles. they're curling just right, it makes you dizzy.
"wanda, wait—it's too much—" you whine.
"shh, you can take it," she whispers, pumping her fingers in deep, the spell turning each slide into pure ecstasy. "one more, okay?"
she picks up the pace and you can feel it again, only stronger this time. it isn’t until she kisses you when you cum a second time, spent and moaning into her lips. she works you through it, slowing only when you're whimpering nonstop.
she pulls her fingers free, licking them clean with a soft hum. she waves her hand, and the red fades, senses settling back to normal. still, you're left almost boneless.
wanda gathers you up right away, pulling you into her lap. she rocks you gently, kissing your forehead, your cheeks. "my perfect girl," she whispers, tucking the blanket around you. "you were amazing."
she strokes your back until your breath evens out, safe and warm in her arms.
no one saw when i accidentally posted this earlier okay
summary: your wife likes to play with her food before she devours it whole
warnings: HUGE mommy kink, dark!wanda maximoff, dry humping, dacryphilia, dumbification, praise kink, degradation kink, bloodplay, blood drinking, slapping (once), pussy slapping (once), cunnilingus, fingering, edging, allusions to clicker training, mentions of blood, violence and death, overstimulation, wanda maximoff is a freak and also has claws 18+ MINORS DNI
a/n: i've had this in my drafts since oct '23, i never felt like it was good enough to be here. its still not perfect. but you all deserve some mean mommy wanda after ive abandoned you for so long. i am also aware its not the first week of october but idc
wordcount - 4.7k
time was ticking very slowly for you. but for your coven, it couldn't have gone faster enough. wanda never liked the bishop coven, she had stated that time and time again but when business needed to be settled, they were best friends. wanda liked how hard-headed kate bishop was, and how much she enjoyed getting her hands bloody. and you knew kate liked how much influence wanda had.
the hunters were getting closer, and the people's reactions to the growing number of vampires weren't getting any better. and you also knew how much wanda loathed them, the crowds of blood bags as she called them, but when they almost caught the newly turned vamp carol had a soft spot for, wanda knew she needed to do something once and for all.
coven meetings were useless for you, after all, you weren't a vampire. so after sitting through almost three boring hours of your wife and kate talking, you quietly excused yourself out of the dining hall, and towards the kitchen area right in front of the hall. of course, you felt eyes on you, you always do. the only human in a mansion full of vampires, it was bound to end up like this, but you were used to it by now.
the mansion was always cold, of course, the other vampires never really felt it but the chill in the air always made goosebumps arise on your skin. you were just done pouring your glass of wine when not even a second later, your wife was probing with your head.
"i’ll be out in no time, wait for me, little doll?"
you chuckled to yourself, shaking your head slightly as warmth spreads through your veins at her words. you take your time as you lean your back against the kitchen island, facing the door you came out of just minutes ago, "of course, baby. always.”
you didn't get a response for a moment and you pouted to yourself, finishing your wine as you started to walk upstairs. you understood your wife was busy, after all, she was doing all of this for the protection of the coven she made from ground up. but you missed her.
she was so preoccupied with this entire… strategy? plan? mission? whatever this was, for days and you missed her. you knew you were being needy, but you didn't really care.
you were walking upstairs, still lost in your thoughts right before ice-cold hands were wrapped around your waist and you were pulled backwards in a strong yet plush chest. it didnt even take you a second to relax completely before you're closing your eyes.
wanda pressed a few kisses against the back of your neck and you really can't help the mewl that slipped out when you feel her fangs prick your skin, goosebumps arising on your skin.
you can feel the heat rising from your neck up your cheeks, your wife's hands probing and groping around the dress you wore, it was burgundy-colored, sheer around the arms, deep neckline and you were beginning to regret your decision as she started to suck harshly on your pulse point.
you knew what she was doing, she was going to leave a harsh, purple bruise and then hide away all your turtle necks, making the entire coven stare down at you like you were a piece of meat. but to be honest, that only dampened the already wet spot in your panties.
“done finally?” you don’t recognise your own voice, that shaky, crackly, fragile thing but your hand still leans back towards wanda to stroke the back of her head. her hair soft against your touch and you feel a soft sigh against your neck.
“i killed them all” she hummed against your skin, her lips ghosting your neck. your eyes flew wide open, and your core throbbed instantly. “what?” came out meekly.
“i saw their eyes and i heard their thoughts. i wasn’t going to let them have a look at you and think they could get you. you’re mine.” she mumbled, voice normal, calm. conversational, like she was telling you about her day.
your hand fell back to your side again, fingers trembling as you closed them in a fist. you werent scared per say, you found it attractive. and knew that because she pulled you even closer, now again, openly fondling with the hem of your dress.
your head was already empty, leaning back even more into your wife as you only barely managed to pull out a “even kate bishop?”
“no-“ she sing-songed mildly. “not her. i spared her because i need her. but i think she got the hint. next time she won’t bring a pack of blood-starved bastards.” she licked a stripe up your neck, nipped on your neck playfully and then picked you up bridal style.
you yelped at her brashness but then you finally managed to get a good look at her. her red eyes, her slightly tussled hair from where you were playing with it and the blood splatters against her pale skin.
your mouth dried and you wrapped your arms around her neck, letting her carry you up the stairs. you squirmed slightly, enough to press your legs together and you ignored the huff of laughter she let out.
you didn't need to know where she was taking you, her silent steps didn't bother you anymore and you were content with just laying in her arms, your ears pressed against her chest to hear for the heartbeat you know wasn't there.
the door to your shared room opened quietly and then you were placed softly on the bed. she was gentle, she always was before she got started.
she pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead when you sat up and rested your weight back against the palms of your hands. she trailed her kisses down from your forehead to your cheek, featherlight, her lips soft and then finally locked her lips against yours.
you moaned against her mouth, a hand reaching to cup her face to pull her closer towards you but she snapped her fingers. your hand fell once again behind your back.
the kiss was gentle but then she was sloppily licking into your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip, mouth hungry, possessive and desperate at the same time. she moved up to straddle your lap, a hand cupping your cheek firmly so you didn’t pull away, and you’d be insane to. and another tangled up in your hair to pull you closer.
your own hands stayed right behind your back, still keeping you up. you still didn’t know if you had permission to touch her, but you weren’t going to take any more chances.
she smiled against your lips before pulling away, chest heaving. she snapped her fingers, before a hand ran through your hair as the other caressed down your body to your waist. “such a good girl for me, keeping your hands to yourself. what a good girl i have.”
and that's what made your head empty, a whine leaving your throat as you rut up against her, already soaked through your panties. turned out, she didn’t like that. she looked down at you, eyes hard and red and she clicked her tongue. the click echoed loud in your ears.
a sharp slap burned your cheek, your head moving to the side at the sheer force but that was enough to silence you and your lips pressed together tightly.
you held back the tears in your eyes and the whimper that threatened to rise from your throat but you held on, afraid that she would change her mind even with a single sound. “and i had just called you my good girl.”
her tone was laced with disappointment, her eyes still staring you down. you could feel her glare even with your head to the side, and you swallowed thickly.
“don’t act like a bitch in heat, mommy taught you better than that.” her voice was rough, mean but you stayed silent, and nodded your head twice. just how she liked it, hoping that she would ease up somewhat.
and that seemed good enough for her at that moment because her hand came back to your head to pet your hair after a few long minutes, tone softening up a little “you need to be a good girl. you need to learn how to wait, puppy.”
“m’sorry, mommy- didn’t mean to.” you mumbled out and wanda cooed softly at your teary eyes as you looked up at her. her hand on your head moved towards your cheek, the one she had slapped. where she ended up caressing you with her knuckles, her touch featherlight. “i know, my darling. it's not your fault, you just can't help it around mommy, yeah?”
when you nod, somewhat ashamed, she nodded back, mockingly. the grin on her face told you she was enjoying this. she stared down at you, crimson eyes half-lidded and fangs peeking out. head tilted in a way that made you freeze up.
when she spoke again, her voice was so low, you shivered “there’s nothing in that mutt brain of yours, and it’s okay, baby. let mommy do all the hard work.”
and when she nodded again, coaxing you while cupping your face so you maintained eye-contact. you easily nodded along with her, your hands now gripping her wrists, “okay, mommy.”
she rewarded you with her grin widening, and your eyes zeroed on her fangs, fully out and bare and you couldn’t help but squirm beneath wanda. and of course she noticed, she noticed how your pupils dilated and heard how your heartbeat increased, smelt how your slick stuck to your thighs and if possible, her grin brightened even more.
she gently fisted the hair on the back of your neck, claws sharp as they prickled your skin and you shivered again, back almost bowing forward. “you still with me, sweetheart?” she checked in.
“yes!” your answer is immediate, and she, again, rewarded you with a sweet kiss on your lips. too sweet for the way her fingers danced over your dress, touching and kneading until one of her claws cut right through the material.
she hummed against your lips as soon as her hands touched your bare chest, all while you whined out, slightly sad about the dress but focused on the way her fingers teased your pebbled nipples.
“hush, puppy.” was all she said when she pulled away, lips tracing down your jaw and back towards your neck. you bared your neck to her, head leaning back as you got dizzy with want.
your body was shaking from restraint, your hands gripping her biceps as she moved her kisses down to your collarbone, licking as she left behind bright marks. and you finally let out a moan when she pushed you down on the bed.
your back was finally against the mattress, one of her hands right next to your head to support her weight as she pressed you down, hips plush against yours. wanda wasted no time, her tongue circled one of your nipples as she closed her lips around it, giving it a slow suckle.
“fuck! please-” you gasped out when she gave the nipple in her mouth a teasing bite, while her other hand caressed the underside of your other breast. she hummed again, in lieu of acknowledgment when your back arched.
wanda was still perched on your lap, but her hips had started to move down into yours. while you were only in your panties, the older vampire on top of you was still in the suit she wore for the meeting. the fabric of her slacks was providing some friction for you to grow needier and raise your hips to meet hers.
she took pity on you and shifted just enough to press her thigh in between yours. and the first contact of her thigh with your panties covered cunt had you whimpering out, your nails digging deep in her biceps.
“i know, baby. i know- shh.” she mumbled with a mouth full of your tit, having switched sides as she now peppered the other breast with the same attention. and you wasted no time rutting up into her thigh, needing to have her closer, needing to feel her closer. and you moaned instantly at the relief, your clit getting just the perfect amount of stimulation.
wanda’s other hand, now free, grabbed a hold of your hips as she set the pace for you, slow and steady, her thighs bracketing one of yours. and when your movements grew sloppier, needing more, your slick making a mess of her pants, she grazed her fangs against your breast. “you close, already, pup?”
you clenched around nothing at her degrading tone, a breathless moan leaving your lips. her grip tightened even more on your hips as she helped you rut against her thigh, pressing her forehead against your collarbone. “gosh, you're such a needy little thing. i havent even touched you properly.”
you couldn't help it, you wanted to say. but all that left your mouth was a high-pitched whimper when she started grinding down onto you. she flexed her thigh as she moved closer, her hips relentless and you manoeuvred to press your knee in between her legs.
she went soft at the contact, your knee providing her the perfect relief as the seam of her slacks pressed deliciously into her. and she hissed out, lifting her face up to press another wet, messy kiss to your lips, “oh, arent you smart, puppy? good fucking girl.”
and the praise made you lightheaded, your hips bucking from beneath her. youd soaked through your panties and wanda’s pants by now, but you're too desperate to care. “m-mommy-”
wanda let out a hum again, her eyes closed, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed as she jolted against your knee. and you let out another whimper when you realise that for the first time in a while, she's also so worked up that she’s getting herself off at the same time.
you don't know which one of you hit a particularly good spot, which resulted in you gasping out and clawing at her suit jacket, mumbling a “close-”
“yeah?” wanda replied back, her pace still steady as she opened her eyes to stare you down, “just from humping mommy’s thigh, baby? gods, you're pathetic.” her voice had no bite in it though, it sounded just as broken as you felt.
you couldn't help it, your hands reached to grab wanda’s ass, just to squeeze it and pull her closer. she let out a quiet moan in response, letting out a huff of laughter at your bold move. she let you have your fun, leaning down to lick your lips and around your mouth.
you hummed out at the feeling, your mouth slick with her spit and you lick your lips just to taste her. your legs trembled from the strain of moving against her and she chuckled against your lips once more.
“fucking hell, not yet. you cant cum yet, puppy,” her words make you whimper out, your hips trying so hard to chase hers with newfound vigour but it was of no use. because she pulled away, sitting up on her knees as she used both of her hands to push you back down on the mattress.
she was panting as she pulled away, eyes red as she stared down at you and you whimpered out again. you were so close.
“mommy-” your voice is quiet, your hips almost bucking but the firm grip she had on you made you think twice
“beg for it, in that pretty voice of yours.” is her reply, and you catch her licking her lips, her eyes changing into an even darker hue of scarlet.
“please!” your vision got blurry from your tears and wanda’s claws dug deep in your skin, small droplets of blood already oozing out from the punctures.
“please what, gorgeous girl?” wanda’s voice was sultry, soft as silk before her fingers pressed against her lips. She licked her claws clean and your panties soaked even more.
she then leaned down to lick the blood from the puncture holes, making you moan out, your hips twitching. letting out a quiet hum as she sucked on the plush skin of your hip, she pressed a gentle kiss over the small marks. a gesture you knew was full of possession and reverence, and your clit throbbed.
“please make me cum. p’ease let me cum! im a good girl, yknow i am!” you groaned out, suddenly your mind working enough to form words and wanda hummed again, finally taking pity on you.
her fingers caressed your thigh, drawing mindless patterns before they reached up at the waistband of your panties, where she brushed her fingers against the fabric tantalisingly.
“cute.” is all she said, almost to herself as her eyes zeroed on the dampness of your panties, almost sodden through. your legs widened at her comment, in anticipation and you saw her lick her lips.
she didn't tease you too long after that. she rested between your legs, both of her hands against your thighs as she spread them wider. she didn't tease, didn't wait, just licked a broad swipe of your slick folds over the last piece of barrier.
your hips jumped again, just at the feel of her and tears leaked out of your eyes. finally.
your fingers found her hair when she continued her exploring, tongue now replaced with her lips as she sucked languidly over your clit. she let out a quiet huff of laughter when you gushed even more against her face.
wanda hummed out, pulling away slowly to rest her cheek against your thigh. she didn't say anything, she didn't have to. you were already crying desperate tears and she was just staring at you, pupils blown.
you didn't even notice when her claw came out again but you noticed the lack of your panties after the vampire sliced them away. “mommy, please- hurts.”
“hush, baby. almost there.” her fingers teased over your folds, gentle, playful almost as she collected your slick. and you whined out again, which she silenced by pinching your engorged clit.
your eyes opened again, hoping to beg for mercy again which you know she liked. but when your eyes settle on wanda again, she had her eyes closed, the gusset of your panties in her mouth. she sucking your arousal off your fucking panties.
you moaned out loud, your thighs shaking underneath wanda’s head as she continued teasing you. she had resorted to almost jacking off your clit between her thumb and index finger, eyes still closed but the panties now thrown somewhere behind her.
you gasped out as she teased a finger over your entrance, hips jolting again. she didnt say anything, just nosed along your inner thigh before placing a gentle kiss on the flesh. and your fingers tangled in her hair.
“you taste so sweet, angel. but now, i wanna taste something even sweeter, so will you let me do whatever i want, yeah?” she phrased her statement as if it was a question, her throat sounded raw. but her fangs were already prickling your skin, so you knew it wasn't.
you barely nodded before her fangs had sank in your skin as the same time two of her fingers entered inside you with a sharp curl. and both of you moaned out in unison.
wanda barely held back, drinking your blood like a woman dying of thirst, suckling harshly while her fingers curled even deeper inside you.
she drank until your vision blurred and when you tugged on her hair, only then did she pull away with a gasp. and immediately, she scissored her fingers inside, making you groan, before she pulled them out completely. “fuck, baby- you make me crazy.”
she doesn't stray too far though, she licked up the blood that dribbled from the small punctures and pressed a fleeting kiss there, before diving in between your legs. she licked a broad swipe up your slick folds and your grip tightened in her hair. and she let out a raspy growl, from your taste or your fingers in her hair, you weren't sure.
her tongue was ravenous, greedy as she gripped both of your thighs with her hands and spread them wide. and when you cried as she suckled on your clit, cheeks hollowing, she looked up to you, only her dark eyes visible as the rest was hidden by you.
wanda was messy and you could not breathe, you would pant when she'd tease her tongue against your entrance and cry out in frustration when she'd pull away again. and then she'd go back to sucking your arousal off your dripping folds.
after you had whined out for the nth time would she pull away, panting against your cunt as her warm breath made you clench around nothing, the ache unbearable. the edging torturous.
“y’think you can be a good girl for mommy and play with your tits while i tongue-fuck you?”
at your very enthusiastic nod, she clicked her tongue again and gave your pussy a firm slap. your back arched as she mumbled a soft “i apologize, lovey. i didnt catch that.”
“yes! i can play with myself too jus.. please, mommy-” your voice came out broken, a fragile little thing and wanda let out a soft coo.
“there there, little one. no need to be all sad now, mommy always takes care of you, does she not?” her voice was soft as she started her ascent back on top of you, her body pressing yours even further into the mattress as she supported herself with one arm.
her other hand still in between your legs, rubbing small circles on your clit, you finally have the chance to look at her face again. and you gush even more slick against her hand, the lower half of her face is messy, with your arousal and your blood. and if you didnt know any better, it wouldve looked like she just came back from a hunt.
“yes mommy.” you panted out, and wanda lowered her head to place a kiss against your jugular.
“yes mommy, what?” her fangs pressed against the skin there and you bared your neck to her, tilting your head back.
“mommy always takes care of me.” you were delirious but you felt the ‘good girl’ wanda whispered against your throat before her fangs were in you again at the same time two of her fingers nestled inside you.
your arms wrapped tight around her neck, a hand cradling the back of her head. you weren't sure if it was to pull her closer or too push her away, but regardless, her fangs sank even deeper as she gulped down your blood, all while her fingers curled up inside you against the spongey spot that made you see stars.
you were close again, wanda could probably sense that by the way your walls were grasping her fingers, but she didn't seem to mind. she pulled away from your neck, and licked all the blood she might have missed in her indulgence.
and then her face was hovering above yours, the blacks of her eyes almost having consumed all the red as she fixed you with a sly grin.
“you gonna cum just from this? really, lovey?” wanda licked her lips thoughtfully, her head tilted to her side. and as you opened your mouth to respond, she plunged her fingers even deeper into you, making you choke on a whimper.
“not yet.” wanda mumbled and thats all she said as she leaned downwards to press a kiss to your lips. you could taste the metallic ting of your blood mixed with the remaining hints of your slick on her tongue, and it was addictive.
you genuinely had no choice but to moan against her lips, head tilting to kiss her more deeply and wanda grinned against your lips. as soon as your hips buckled against her fingers, wanda parted her lips slightly to brush her tongue against the roof of your mouth teasingly. before she’d pull away again.
she pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your forehead, the spot behind your ear and at the puncture wounds as she worked you open with her fingers. and when she started her descent to press chaste kisses to both of your nipples, only then did she take her fingers out to add three back.
you gave out a half-moan, half-whimper at the intrusion and she rewarded you by leaving bloody kiss-stains on your breasts, littering your body with her possessive marks. the fire inside you burned brighter the more her palm rubbed against your clit at every thrust.
your legs felt like jelly, and your thighs caged her hand to make sure she didn't pull away again. wanda chuckled against your naval at your actions, “ahh, you really are so cute, puppy? you wanna cum?”
and at your fervent “yes!”, she pressed her lips against your hips and whispered a “let go, angel.”
you came with a growl, animalistic, hips jolting and rising from the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets. you were vaguely aware of your desperate state, but judging by the way her expression brightened, she only seemed more captivated by you. “good puppy, what a good pup i have.”
you thought your orgasm would satisfy her. that maybe that's all she wanted to do today. it does not. wanda did not falter or slow, not even to breathe, as you shake feebly and moan pathetically. your body still felt like it’s burning from the inside out, a sheen of sweat shining on your forehead and chest.
and wanda? your gorgeous wanda, greed incarnated wanda, she just pushed your leg with her hand, folding it against your chest as she settled in between your legs again. “another, pup.”
wanda’s mouth settled against your cunt again as you whimpered quietly, and her tongue was lazy as she cleaned you up. it almost felt nice until her claws came to dig in your flesh again and her tongue gained speed.
and then she was merciless, licking up all of your arousal as if she had nothing better to do than stay in between your legs.
you were fully crying by now, totally over-stimulated as you tangled her fingers in her hair, almost wanting to push her away and wanting to pull her in at the same time. but when her lips wrapped around your clit again to suckle on it gently when it throbbed, you let out a quiet sob. “mommy- i-i cant…”
“shh, yes you can, baby. i know you can.”
wanda would alternate between sucking on your clit and licking your cunt. and when you had grown frustrated at her teasing, fingers fisting her hair to push her face even more in your sex.
she hummed against your cunt, as if annoyed by being disturbed. which only made you gasp in pleasure, making you gush even more slick against her mouth.
she took pity on you, when your hips had almost resorted to grinding against her face in desperation. she easily plunged her tongue inside you, going as far as she could and then curling it up. and when you let out a mewl, walls clenching around her tongue, only then did her thumb come to press against your clit.
you groaned out a small ‘fucking hell’ and wanda took that as a challange because she ended up pushing her index and middle fingers along with her tongue inside your warm walls.
you didn't even have time to process the dual sensations, her tongue and fingers merciless and when she started moving her thumb against your clit slowly, you came with a squeal, hips jerking.
she took her time, drinking up everything she had to offer and when your moans had weakened and exhaustion had started to take over, she pulled her fingers out with a slick pop.
your legs had barely stopped shaking before you heard her lick her fingers clean, loud and sloppy. and when you looked down at her still in between your legs, fingers in her mouth, face messy with a mixture of your blood and cum, and eyes maroon. you almost feel your heart drop in your stomach.
i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy i love my mommy
Mommy!Wanda who would lean in close when she talks to you, her breath brushing against your ear as she calls you sweet girl in that low, careful tone — the one that sounds more like a promise than a pet name. You’d pretend to focus on her words, but she’d notice the way your lips part just slightly, the way your pulse jumps under her gaze. She always does.
Mommy!Wanda who would drag her thumb slowly across your lower lip when you get quiet, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to look at her. “You get shy when I look at you like this,” she’d murmur, amused, tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “Why’s that, hm?” She already knows why. She just likes hearing your voice when you try to explain.
Mommy!Wanda who would pull you into her lap after a long day, her fingers ghosting over your waist as if she’s testing how close she can get before you melt. The air would hum faintly with red light — not magic, not really — just the kind of energy that happens when she wants something but won’t say it yet. She’d press a slow kiss to your shoulder, her lips soft, deliberate. “You always smell so good,” she’d whisper against your skin, and it’d make your whole body tense in the best way.
Mommy!Wanda who would watch you from across the room with that small, knowing smirk — eyes half-lidded, head tilted like she’s already imagining what she’s going to do once you’re alone. You’d feel her magic before you see her move — the faint tingle that makes your breath catch. “Don’t make me come get you,” she’d tease, voice calm, playful, dangerous.
Mommy!Wanda who would guide your hand when you’re nervous, fingers intertwining with yours as she whispers, “Slow down, detka,” like it’s both an order and a kindness. Every word she says is measured — soft, patient, but laced with that undertone that leaves you dizzy. She’d make even silence feel electric.
Mommy!Wanda who would press you gently against the wall just to see your reaction — never rough, never rushed, just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from her. Her magic would flicker in the air like candlelight as she studies your face. “Tell me if this is too much,” she’d say, though the way her hand settles on your hip tells you she already knows the answer.
Mommy!Wanda who would always slow things down when you start to reach your peak — brushing her fingers through your hair, whispering praises in Sokovian that you don’t fully understand but can feel. She’d look at you like you’re something sacred, something she’s careful not to break, even though she keeps it up filling you up with her strap. “You’re doing so well, sweet girl,” she’d murmur, and it’d sound more like devotion than desire.
Mommy!Wanda who would end every night the same way — with a soft kiss against your forehead and her voice barely audible in the dark. “Mine,” she’d whisper, not possessive, but reverent. A reminder. A confession. A spell you never want to break.
Mommy!Wanda who would use her magic in ways that make you gasp: a soft pull at your wrist, a faint spark tracing down your spine, invisible warmth curling around you until you forget where she ends and you begin.
Mommy!Wanda who would speak in that voice that’s barely above a whisper, low enough that you feel it more than you hear it. Each word sinks under your skin, coaxing rather than commanding, guiding you without a single demand.
Mommy!Wanda who would …hold your face in her hands as if she’s memorizing you, her thumbs brushing along your jaw while her eyes study every flicker of emotion that crosses your features. You’d feel her smile against your cheek before you see it.
Mommy!Wanda who would whisper things in Sokovian that you can’t quite translate but understand completely; words that sound like affection wrapped around power, leaving your heart pounding and your mind hazy.
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever.
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janainaart
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
