⛧ NAT ⛧

22 | she/her | satanist af a star-crossed wasteland

[scarletcomalies]

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

I write content related to: Elizabeth Olsen and Scarlett Johansson. Or random characters I crush on.

I will write: Fluff, angst, legal age-gap relationships, dark-themed stories, stepcest, smut — mommy/daddy kink, blood kink, dubcon, somnophilia, ice play, wax play, slight pet play.

I won’t write: Underage character/reader, male character/reader, piss/scat kink, very extreme pet play, incest, rape.

Elizabeth Olsen

Hexed Hearts

Broken Reflection

Love's Fiery Trials +18

When The Storm Subsides +18

Distant Star

Soul Bounds — Disentwined, Entwined +18, Intertwined +18

The Outside World Has Failed You +18

My Ritual Playground (Coming soon)

➳ drabbles

Guidance +18

Tattoo Shop Visit +18

Scarlett Johansson

Treacherous

When The Storm Subsides +18

Bundle Of Luck

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

All Of You, All Of Me +18

The Things That — Haunt, Remain

Storia Di Una Marionetta (Coming soon)

➳ drabbles

Personal Trainer +18

Tattoo Shop Visit +18

Random :)

Right Where You Left Me (Joyce Byers)

Once Upon A Dream (Sarah Sanderson)

Flowers And Pain (Vanessa Shelly)

Rise Of Devotion (Sister Mary Eunice)

[scarletcomalies]

hey are we friends

hmm, absolutely not…

… we are the bestest friends of best friends ever <3

[scarletcomalies]

Hi for Christmas im getting you toilet paper and also an in this moment shirt also wanda socks

tyyy especially for the toilet paper in this economy

getting you a carton of eggs, a mitski vinyl and wanda plushie

[scarletcomalies]

the things that remain

Zora Bennett x Reader

Part I

Word count: 3,778

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst! Certain topics such as mentions of death threats, scams, betrayal are addressed. Also a little bit of grief.

A/N: Hehe hey! I'll add some more details and proofread asap, mostly the ending. It's almost 7AM and I haven't slept a wink and I ran out of creativity.

What would it take for you to finally forgive Zora? Not much, apparently, just hearing about the misfortunes that preceded her wrongdoings, which led her to search for you desperately.

Your therapist sent you a quote about making the unconscious conscious, asking you what you thought about it, to discuss it in your next session. And when that session came around, you were speechless and promised you would respond eventually, because you didn't understand why she had sent you that quote in the first place.

But you understood that night, when after leaving Zora adrift as you had been doing, she didn't hold back with that saintly patience she had been displaying lately.

This time she followed you.

Consciously, you put all those security measures in place to keep her out, insulted her in every way possible, and drove away before hearing her voice any longer than you had to before you could break down. You really forced yourself to believe through these actions that you didn't want her back in your life, fighting with the unconsciousness you refused to confront.

And it was the fact that you had been waiting for this moment all along.

You understood that phrase when you saw her familiar car looming close behind you in your rearview mirror, and all you felt was fulfillment, not annoyance as you tried so hard to display.

You didn't get over her, you just got better at lying to yourself. Otherwise, why did the first reencounter cause nothing but agony for you? If you swore you had already begun to feel indifference…

Why were you always disappointed that she didn't try to convince you a little more, or beg you more persistently? If you swore you had already begun to feel indifference…

Why did your therapist send you that quote? If you swore you had already begun to feel indifference…

All this train of thought and you kept driving on autopilot, until you arrived at your apartment building without realizing it. Because yes, that was where you wanted Zora to be, close to you. Coming to terms with this, it brought you an inexplicable peace of mind.

However, you didn't get out immediately.

You let the engine emit its cooling sigh while you looked at yourself (her) in the rearview mirror. The dark circles under your eyes could have contained all the pain in the world if it had kindly asked.  

Once you got out, her silhouette was leaning back against her car, arms crossed, eyes on the ground, her entire body language indicating that she was giving you space, as if she already knew you weren't going to run away from her anymore.

Your pride couldn't have felt more wounded at that.

“I was almost sure you'd go to a police station,” she began, once she heard your car’s door closing. Of course, it wasn't enough for her to give you the benefit of the doubt, she had to taunt you. “I hope that if a car follows you, you take that measure. I'm happy to be the exception, though.”

Then, the mistake happened. The first flash of vulnerability you had shown in twelve months, as a reflex, not by choice.

“I can't run away from you anymore.”

Her smile faded.

She expected anger, a painful comeback.

She wasn't made to survive kindness, you were living proof of it.

“Good to know,” she replied, and it was your turn to be surprised, because you were expecting at least a cry of victory, which would break into tears of happiness, and then she would rush towards you and promise you that she would work hard to earn your trust, something!

You didn't respond, and before she could humiliate you further with her mere presence, you started walking toward the front door of your building. You gave her a chance to speak to you and that’s how she responded. Unbelievable.

She realized her mistake in a matter of seconds, and therefore she also took a few more steps toward you, carefully, reverently, as if you were a relic she had never earned the right to touch.

“If you don't listen to me, I'm lost,” she exclaimed without further ado. At last, she stopped playing games and finally showed some of that humanity you thought she never had. That was enough to get your undivided attention. “Some samples I have will end up with someone else. Someone who won't hesitate to put a price on every heart that fails.” She paused. “And... if you don't help me, my life will be over.”

You managed an indignant scoff.

“Ah, so that's the pitch?” You replied, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and your entire demeanor screamed ‘unreceptive’. “Somewhat familiar, that story, about working very hard for a good cause, and then a greedy, fucking...”

“No,” she interrupted you, her voice breaking, not from theatricality, but from an honesty so raw you could smell the iron in it. “I mean, they'll kill me. Literally. They want the blood samples. They know I have those. They know I won't sell them to them.”

Something in her face stopped you.

Compassion, love, nostalgia, all those feelings you had thrown into the deepest precipice behind your mind bounced back tenfold to crush you, much stronger and more powerful. Worst of all? You gladly let it happen.

Zora swallowed hard at your silence, because you both knew her life depended on the decision you made.

“You don't have to forgive me,” she insisted, bordering on desperation. “You don't have to talk to me again when we're done. You can keep the samples. Test them. Publish them. I don't care. Just... don't let them win.”

You stared at her, at the woman who once made you lose track of your life, now placing hers and the lives of millions of people in your hands and your knowledge.

If she trusted you to that extent, maybe, just maybe, what she said felt for you wasn't a complete lie. And you rejoiced at the fact that it was regarding your work, over anything else.

“Let's go inside so you can tell me everything about those blood samples, because I don't understand anything you're saying,” you concluded.

Zora didn't like coffee at all. She used to say that she needed to regulate her highly alert system, and that coffee would only make it worse by keeping her awake. So, you offered her a cup of tea and added a drizzle of honey instead of sugar.

It was almost instinctive to prepare it the way you knew she liked it, just like closing your eyes when you sneeze or putting your hands out when you trip over a rock while walking. You hated it because she was so ingrained in your brain.

You hated more that you hadn't even noticed, until she said it was as perfect as she remembered.

Of course it was, you had learned those little quirks of hers.

And she thought about how much it meant to have that familiarity after so much chaos, although she would never admit it.

Or so she thought.

But as she recounted missing her mother's funeral and that life-risking-almost-suicidal feat on Île Saint-Hubert, her defenses crumbled like a construction wall facing the heavy blow of a wrecking ball.

And she remarked that all this was only the beginning of the hellhole she got herself into, because right now, sleeping three hours straight was an achievement considering that the heads of corrupt corporations were after her now that they knew the value of what she had in that suitcase.

“And... oh, God! This tea is delightful,” she broke down crying, and all restraint of invading your personal space was overpowered by the grueling need to feel that she could let herself be weak in front of someone, along with the reassurance that she would be held with open arms or at the very least with a cup of tea.

And so, you allowed her to cling to you for as long as she wanted. To cry for the fear she suffered when facing ruthless, savage, hungry creatures... and dinosaurs, of course.

You understood that what she did to you was never personal, no matter how much it broke you. She was desperately trying to survive, as you tried to rationalize.

However, a slightly narcissistic part of you wondered if, among those reasons for her crying, you were there and the remorse you always wanted her to feel.

Although the question answered itself with her very presence. She had come to you for help, having given up a comfortable life so that others could have the chance of even a life. That spoke louder than any apology.

And so, you let her weight crush you when she fell asleep on top of you, and you settled in so that both of you could fit on that cloud sofa that couldn't have come handier than tonight. The lights were on, a warm blanket covered both of you, and despite your body protesting, your soul rejoiced.

Time hadn't passed, you could have sworn it.

It was as if it had all been a nightmare that ended in the blink of an eye, and in reality, things were just as you had left them before you went to sleep the night before Zora left you.

Like any other morning, you woke up to the sound of your alarm. Fortunately, you had left your phone in your pocket, so you were able to turn it off before the adorable blonde on top of you stirred. She was sleeping like a big baby, after all.

And she continued that way after you showered, made breakfast, and got your things ready for the workday. The care with which you moved around hadn't faded, nor had the affection with which you prepared her breakfast and stored it in the covered pan.

Every time you tried to rationalize these small acts of love with phrases like, “Everyone needs a plate of food,” or “I'm just being a good host, nothing more,” you ended up laughing out loud.

You loved that woman, and your whole system remembered it. Who were you trying to fool?

One thing was certain, and that was that she had to earn that second chance, despite your heart screaming that she had already earned it just by coming back, and you had stopped being so stubborn about it.

“It's weird to be escorted to your lab by the same guard who once threatened me with her taser,” Zora's voice interrupted your thoughts as you worked in the lab.

You had left Zora a note, asking her to come to your workplace with the samples, after she got up and had breakfast. You didn't imagine that time would be three in the afternoon, nevertheless, you were glad to see that she looked well rested and calmer.

“Believe me, they must be happy that they'll finally have to stop fighting you,” you chuckled, a smile from ear to ear plastered on your face. Faced with this, you cleared your throat. “May I?” You pointed at the suitcase in her hand.

“Please,” she replied in a faux-fancy tone, placing it on the table.

When you opened the suitcase, there they were. Straight out from real encounters with dinosaurs. Zora survived the impossible, and the bravest gesture of all was giving it up for free. Heroic, even.

Three test tubes in front of you, looking so inoffensive, but people had risked and lost their lives to obtain that blood, and that wouldn't stop unless you could decode them before someone else got their hands on them. That was your responsibility from now on.  

“All I could think about was you,” she whispered.

You didn’t soften. You didn’t look away. No, no way you'd give her the satisfaction.

“Don’t start with your blackmail or sentimentality,” you mumbled coldly. “Keep it professional.”

Her face faltered, but her voice, when it returned, was raw.

“It wasn’t blackmail. It stopped being so, because I loved you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

All this time, hearing that she loved you would’ve been the only thing it would take to undo all the damage. The justifications, the pain, the indignation, would come later. Because she loved you, after all. You longed to hear it.

Or well, hearing it was one thing, believing it? That was another story.

As much as you wanted to shout from the rooftops that you loved her too, what assurance did you have that this wasn't just another trick to hook you and then leave you once she had what she wanted from you?

Giving second chances meant willingly becoming Schrödinger’s cat.

And not trusting freely hurt more than the betrayal itself sometimes.

Were you willing to take that risk? That was yet to be known.

“Okay, love is not enough, how about misery? Wanna hear the shit I went through?” She continued, seemingly taken aback despite you having all the reasons not to fall for her puppyish green eyes. “When I delivered your files to them, they didn’t negotiate. They raised a gun at my forehead. Told me to get out, gave me nothing. No payment, no thanks. Just… erasure. I went bankrupt. I took every demeaning job I could find. I missed my mother’s funeral because I was trying to survive.”

And once again, something you needed to hear didn't necessarily make you feel the way you expected.

At some point, between your tears, you wished with all your heart that wherever Zora was, she would get back triple the damage she had done.

Knowing that this wish had come true left a bitter taste in your mouth, and with it, an unparalleled epiphany.

Perhaps you did heal during this year, you healed a version of yourself that wished ill on someone, because right now you couldn't bear to see the woman you loved suffer for the consequences of her actions, and that was a sign that you had regained your essence from before she broke it.

Even stronger than before, because you knew how to draw boundaries between work and personal life, between loving someone and protecting your heart.

There was progress, and her return, far from destroying it as you believed, made it visible.

“I risked my life, but I gave up on the money I was offered, because I learned that my mother, and people like her, died because treatment was a commodity,” she continued. “I don’t want a private drug for rich people. I want a cure that belongs to everyone. Help me undo what I almost ruined.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You simply looked at the blood again. Ancient blood with potential to heal human hearts.

“For you, for your mother, and for the people,” you concluded.

From that day on, you worked alone, and she gave you the space she had promised.

No shared access, no updates, no midnight calls, no “us.”

You placed the vials in cryostabilization, performed genomic sequencing, and isolated viable proteomes from the Jurassic cardiovascular matrix.

To say you had a hard time wss an understatement. This responsibility went beyond what you had studied or even experienced in your field. It was dinosaur blood, for crying out loud! It was a once-in-a-lifetime possibility for a regular scientist.

And if it worked, it would be the most important work of your career. It would become your 'Starry Night' or your 'Fur Elise'.

Sometimes, you preferred to sleep on the lab floor on an air mattress because you wanted to work as long as possible. The inspiration was overwhelming and you couldn't afford to be at home without your instruments at hand.

Other times, you didn't even want to think about the word “lab.”

You cried with happiness, screamed in frustration, celebrated with fast food, and considered telling Zora to find someone else.

You were doing the work of an entire team on your own, and the effort it was taking made you question whether it was worth it.

And with all this included, beyond the good, the bad, and the ugly, the anomalies became possibilities, through hypertrophic reversal, myocardial regrowth, and cellular complacency stronger than any line of mammalian tissue.

You created a therapeutic protocol. Not just some invasive medicine, but a living correction. A treatment capable of repairing a failing heart from within.

You sent Zora a simple text that said, “Done,” and you don't even remember how you got yourself onto the air mattress before passing out.

Five months later, you unlocked the lab at dawn and found an envelope taped neatly to your workstation, and there it was, a card containing that handwriting you knew too well.

Duncan Kincaid

Henry Loomis

Zora Bennett

And yourself, my love

You didn't cry, at least not at first.

You just sat there, and that was enough to feel, to internalize what you had done.

Your research was complete, and nothing could stop what was coming, not the fight from regulators, not the pharmaceutical companies offering millions in patents.

Just a treatment that belonged to the world. It was here.

When the global press conference arrived, not even in your most terrifying dreams could you prepare yourself for the bright lights, the cameras, the applause you never asked for, as you stood at the podium with clinical calm and a heartbeat that was not so clinical.

You spoke of methodology, accessibility, ethical reconstruction, while your hands shook as you held the flashcards you were reading from. You stuttered, used filler words, and every time your eyes fell on the audience, you used the technique of looking only at heads or looking only at one person in the audience in order not to lose it.

Somewhere in the back, Zora was standing with her hair down, her glasses on and wearing a black suit. Just watching proudly, looking stunning and restored in some way that didn't include possession. You knew that feeling, you were living it firsthand.

And when your eyes landed on her, you said it: “This was possible because three people chose humanity over economic gain. Duncan Kincaid, Henry Loomis, and Zora Bennett. They risked their lives so that others wouldn't have to lose theirs.”

You heard another round of applause flooding the room.

She gave you just one nod of acknowledgement, as she applauded along with the others.

You gave the world a cure.

And in return, you gave Zora the one thing she never asked for, and never thought she would receive, which was recognition for doing one thing right in her life.

The lobby was lit with warm lighting, much better than the usual white light bulbs in the lab that forced you to stay awake.

It felt cozy even though it was crowded, with live jazz music playing and the heather on, but more because your heart was warm and grateful, and you could feel the same in all the people who came up to congratulate you or ask you questions about your work with interest.

Zora didn't come over. She didn't even dare to hold your glance for more than three seconds. She just watched you from afar.

And when you approached her, you didn't say anything either.

You just walked out through the glass doors and she followed you, at a respectful distance of three steps. She had learned how much space your ribs needed to not collapse, back when she sneaked in your lab begging you to give her another chance.

The city was noisy, bright, and restless. She was none of those things anymore. She was just there. And that, strangely so, was what broke you.

You stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face her.

She stopped too, her hands visible, her shoulders straight, and her breathing controlled, like someone preparing for a verdict they already know will hurt, but still hopes won't.

“Why didn't you talk to me today?” You asked her. The closest you both had ever come to communicating this whole was your text and her letter that preceded. You hoped she'd break the silence today, but all you got were a nod, applause, and exchanged glances.

“Because every time I've tried to talk, I've taken something away from you. Today, you gave to the world. Today was yours. I didn't want to... contaminate it.”

When she uttered those words, suddenly you felt angry, not at her, but at the tenderness she had no right to display and yet did.

“You don't get to dictate what contaminates my days,” you whispered, moving closer to her until you could feel the warmth of her body, and your own reacted to it, especially because she was wearing that breathtaking suit.

“I know. God, I know."

There was a silence, of the fragile kind, suspended between two people who have finally stopped lying to themselves.

“Today was your day too, let's celebrate,” you whispered.

Zora didn't smile.

She broke silently, beautifully, resting her hand on your cheek and, without further thought, pressed her lips to yours.

You melted into her pink lips so pathetically that your arms found their place around her neck, otherwise you would fall to the ground.

And she, with her advantageous nature that never completely faded, held your waist with a firmness that bordered on claiming you. And yes, you were completely and indisputably hers.

“All right,” she murmured against your lips, her breath shaking in awe. “Drinks on me. And... nothing heavy. No past. Just... the present. If you'll let me.”

“Lead the way,” you responded with a soft smile.

This time, she moved beside you, at the distance of two people who crawled out of an abyss separately and are learning how to exist in the same air again.

“I love you,” she confessed, after three straight minutes of quiet strolling. “But I didn't know how to love without also destroying things.”

“So the lab,” you recalled, curiously. “The equipment, the microscope, that was love too? Or part of the heist?”

She chuckled in a different tone you could decipher right on the spot. Shame, not defense.

“I paid for everything with three credit cards,” she finally admitted. “Maxed them all. And when they froze those, I opened new ones. I paid balances with other balances. Debt on top of debt. Nothing was clean, nothing was smart. But it was worth that smile.”

Your heartbeat faltered.

For once, she hasn’t been trying to look noble.

“And that's what made what I did unforgivable. I didn't betray you because I didn't care. I betrayed you while caring more than I ever had for anyone.”

“You can be present in my life again. If you can do it without burning us both.”

Her eyes filled with something akin to humble relief.

“I can,” she whispered. “I will.”

[scarletcomalies]

smelly smelly smelly idiot idiot

yucky you

[scarletcomalies]

AGHHHH, this "Do you have an anti-stress ball" trend with tattoo artists, made me think about Wanda accompanying Natasha to get a new tattoo. She has a full sleeve, at this point her arm has more areas covered in ink than without ink, but that doesn't take away from the fact that she's always a baby about it.

Word count: 1,890

Warnings: Bossy Wanda, sub Reader and Natasha. 18+ content, Natasha has a penis, handjob, blowjob, edging, mentions of unprotected sex, a little voyeourism? And well getting sucked off through the pain idk how to denominate that.

The couple was a frequent visitor to your studio.

Natasha was the one who 99% of the time requested your services. You did all her ear piercings, and her full sleeve was your work alone. You rejoiced just remembering that she proudly wore several of your sketches on her skin.

The other 1% was when Wanda went for her nipple piercings, and Natasha couldn't have looked happier at the prospect of taking full advantage of her post-recovery sensitivity. You wished you could take part on that as well.

And there you realized, it was both girls who you had a big crush on.

This time, you scheduled Natasha's new tattoo appointment for 7 p.m. After 5 p.m. was the time when both of them were free after work, and you could have scheduled her for that time, however you pretended you didn't have any openings until 7 p.m.

Because at 7:30 p.m. your colleagues with whom you shared the studio had already finished their day, and you would have at least two hours after said time alone with them.

At first, you didn't know why you wanted alone time with them. They were a couple! They seemed too in love with each other to notice you. Nothing would happen.

But you soon realized that it was enough for you to simply watch.

To watch how Wanda held Natasha's hand and gave her sweet soothing words every time a trace you did hurt more than usual, or how Natasha sought her warmth, her comfort. You wanted to be part of it so badly.

Little did you know, that they noticed everything. Every longing glance directed their way, everytime your cheeks turned into a pink mess whenever they mentioned the slightest detail about their sex life, and even the way you purposefully scheduled them later at night to catch them alone. But they went with it for a reason, and it was that they liked you too.

At first, they sought to provoke you by flirting or getting touchy with each other in front of you, hoping that you would break down eventually and beg them to take you right there.

However, a better opportunity took place when you shifted in your chair after an hour in the same position. You swore it was accidental, and it truly was, you didn't mean for your breast to get perfectly positioned in Natasha's palm, which was facing upwards while you worked on her forearm.

Immediately, you pulled away, hoping with all your might that her girlfriend hadn't seen that. You had noticed firsthand how incredibly jealous and possessive she was of what was hers, because it had happened that some clients glanced at Natasha as they passed by her, and the look she gave them caused them to flee quickly, terrified, with their eyes fixed on the floor. You didn't want to imagine what would happen to you if she saw this.

And (un)fortunately, she did. And what happened to you, well...

"No, no, don't move," Wanda urged. "It will help her to have something to squeeze."

And you laughed, to hide your nervousness at the fact that maybe she was challenging you, see if you dared to be that reckless again.

"I'm sorry, Wanda, I didn't notice..." you began to falter.

"I know, sweetheart, but I'm asking you to help your very loyal client feel less stressed," she clarified.

"Please," Natasha added, her tone more pleading than Wanda's intimidating and imposing. That gave you the green light to go ahead and turn off all the warnings in your brain.

Then you shifted your position so that your breast was over her palm again.

You were a fucking good artist, otherwise you would have ruined Natasha's tattoo as soon as she squeezed it. But you did let out an almost involuntary moan.

You looked at Wanda, to somehow check if she was okay with it. Perfect timing, because looking into her eyes, you groaned again at another squeeze from Natasha.

Her eyes darkened and her gaze became more predatory, if that was possible.

"That's it, baby," Wanda stroked the back of Natasha's neck, but didn't take her eyes off you. "Squeeze all you want, that's a nice pair of tits, isn't it? Hmm, yes it is."

A whimper came out of your mouth, and before you lost any more control, you let go of the tattoo machine and turned it away from Natasha.

"Oh, well, if Natty's not in pain, there's no point in her continuing," Wanda commented. And what a cruel woman! She wanted to torture you, making you go through with your work if you wanted her girlfriend to touch you.

Even though you wanted to beg her, somehow you didn't put up much resistance and resumed the tattoo machine not even five seconds after. It was as if both you and Natasha knew better than to question what she said innately, and that all there was left to do was obey.

In your entire career, you had done from small doodles to the most disgustingly detailed designs. You had mastered every kind of technique and complexity, neo-traditional, watercolor, tribal, fine line, realism. You'd gone through clients who squirmed before the needle even touched their body, and others who fell asleep in the process.

But they all shared one thing in common, and that was that they left incredibly satisfied with your work. And Wanda and Natasha were not, and would never be, the exception. It didn't matter if it meant trying to maintain your trademark precision while being groped and stared at by the two most beautiful women who had ever set foot in your tattoo shop.

"Oh, what do we got here?" Wanda spoke after all that had been heard was the buzzing of the tattoo machine, Natasha's groans and your small moans.

You then watched out of the corner of your eye as Wanda's hand travelled over Natasha's jeans, between her legs where a huge bulge was already evident.

Oh, no... you couldn't take any more, but you didn't dare stop either. This was killing you. You longed for nothing more than for Wanda to let you focus solely on them and the sensations they were so eagerly bringing to every fiber of your being.

"All this from touching the tattoo artist?" she tsked with her tongue, a smile oh so sinister. How could she take pity on you if it brought her so much thrill to see you suffer?

And you broke down. You couldn't bear this any longer when Wanda pulled down Natasha's pants and boxers altogether and her cock sprung free, all thick, veiny and painfully hard. It was begging for attention.

"Fuck, Wanda, please!" You exclaimed, instinctively reaching out your free hand towards Natasha's length.

But she smacked your hand away, pointing at Natasha's almost finished yet unfinished forearm tattoo. That made both you and the redhead complain.

"If you finish and do a good job, I might let her fuck you," she stated.

"Oh, you'll let me do that?" Natasha asked, her little eyes turning puppyish and hopeful. Oh, you could already visualize that yearning face when she pounds into you.

Damn it!

"Of course, baby," her tone immediately regained its characteristic warmth. And ugh, if you couldn't get any more needy. "In the meantime, let's motivate you a little bit," Wanda turned to you, and started stroking Natasha's dick with slow movements, making her clench her eyes tight and moan, and in consequence, squeeze your breast out of pure excitement.

Wanda's movements remained constant, up and down, slowly, steadily.

It didn't matter if her poor girlfriend's eyes had started to water, and a prominent vein on her forehead was about to burst, she didn't speed up her movements. She kept her on edge.

Pre-cum stained Wanda's hand, giving a tantalizing sheen to Natasha's entire cock every time she went down to the base. You craved nothing more than to taste her, to feel her salty liquid invade your taste buds as your mouth was stuffed full of her hot massive cock.

And as if watching that sight wasn't enough to taunt you, Natasha's grip on you was beginning to border on painful, for Wanda simply wouldn't let her cum.

Not until you were done.

With superhuman speed, you wiped the already finished tattoo with a paper towel and applied the membrane. Wanda continued her movements, but turned her attention to your work.

"As always, so talented," she smiled approvingly, and that brought you a wave of relief and bliss, but you were hoping for something more. "Okay, you earned it."

And with that, she stopped with her hand at the base of Natasha's length, gesturing for you to join her.

You needed no more. Immediately you lowered your mouth onto her with an unmatched fervor.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull after savoring that glory. It was more perfect than you imagined.

Despite all the hell Wanda put you through, it was worth thanking, for her abused cock welcomed you so gratefully and warmly, celebrating with splashes of pre-cum painting your throat white.

"Fuck yes," Natasha gasped, the hand that had previously made your breast go numb, now entangled in your hair, not to guide you, but to encourage you. She already trusted you like that. "Mmm, you're both so hungry for dick, ain't that right?"

You moaned in response, your mouth too busy sucking her off to even bother reply.

Wanda, who coordinatedly continued stroking her, did respond, "Right, baby. I hope you have enough for both of us tonight."

"Of course I do," Natasha grunted, her breath hitching as finally, Wanda sped up her movements, and your head, as a whole, bobbed up and down more quickly to match her. It felt akin to one consciousness, different bodies, all thirsty to please and get pleased. "Fuck! That's right! I'm going to stuff both your pussies full until you leak! Shit..."

And without warning, Natasha let go all of her delicious semen in your mouth, causing your once-hollowed cheeks to get puffy in an instant. At that moment you knew, that this would be your favourite flavor ever, along with Wanda's surely addictive juices as well. You couldn't wait for what this night promised.

You tried to hold on as long as you could, while you rode down her high. Nevertheless, by the time you made sure you got every last drop out of her cock, some of it had already run down your chin.

After sitting back, you tilted your head up, letting them see the movement of your throat as you swallowed everything Natasha gave you.

"Good job," Wanda praised you, leaning closer to you until you felt the hot exhale of her labored breath. She then proceeded to gather with her tongue the cum that had fallen on your chin.

Natasha watched the scene with renewed greed. Seeing the two of you share the taste of her release you both worked so hard to achieve was enough to make her softening cock start to get hard again.

It only remains to say that, your tattoo chair bed had to be replaced, for it mysteriously broke. Because as promised, Natasha made sure that both of you were well-stuffed and unable to walk for at least three days.

[scarletcomalies]

the things that haunt

Zora Bennett x Reader

Part II

Word count: 2,885

Warnings: Very angsty! Toxic-ish dynamics, persistent ex, unresolved trauma mentions of grief, and emotional manipulation, harsh language/insults.

A/N: Fourth year psychology student who procrastinates (me) is so grateful for your patience with this one. Also, old Shakira songs hit a little too hard while writing this hahaha.

Late nights in the lab are supposed to be your escape, but Zora Bennett has a way of showing up where she's not wanted.

The lights in the laboratory began to flicker more frequently late at night, as if, after so many hours on, they were conspiring together to take the rest you denied them. It was a hint of rebellion in response to your demands.

You had thought about calling an electrician to fix them, but you ended up finding meaning in their imperfection. If the lights started to flicker, it meant it was late and time to go home. After all, no one works well under a storm of flashes, right?

With a sigh that emptied you inside, you took off your gloves and threw them into the metal trash can without looking to see if they fell inside. You clumsily folded your gown and left it on the stool, as if abandoning a body that ceased to belong to you once you decided so.

You treated yourself no better than you treated those exhausted poor lights. There was still a lot of inner healing to be done, but even so, when you decided that was enough for the day, work stayed at work. Neither the gown nor your worries followed you through the door. You became skilled at drawing that line. Someone forced you to.

You just needed to get to the car and do your brief five-minute meditation where a woman's voice guided you to tense and release your muscles in turns with binaural waves in the background. It had been a particularly rough day, and all you wanted was to lie back and sink your head into the new memory foam pillow that was delivered to your house today.

But your hope dissolved completely when you saw her.

Zora Bennett, again, in the parking lot, waiting for you who knows how long.

You didn't really care, she could spend the rest of her life there, and time would punish her, and you wouldn't care.

Unfortunately, waiting wasn't the only thing she knew how to be persistent about. She had to follow you, she had to talk.

“Don't you ever get tired?” You growled, your teeth touching.

You installed alarms, hired 24-hour security, warned every guard on duty that if Zora tried to approach, they should escort her—and drag her if necessary—away from you. Yet there she was, with her scolded puppy face, asking for another chance.

“You know I won't,” she replied, and the way it sounded, like a reassurance you didn’t need, twisted your stomach with rage.

A year has passed.

With two weekly sessions of humanistic and cognitive-behavioral therapy, you were finally making progress. And just when you felt like you were climbing out of a bottomless pit toward the light, two weeks ago, Zora reappeared and dragged you back down, and everything you had climbed came crashing down. One tiny misstep and your work fell apart.

It was the second time she had done that to you.

The “you know I won't” seemed like a mockery of all this. But it also gave you a strange sense of pride, because you went from crying in front of her and trying to run her over with your car, to cry after you left, to not crying at all.

“You should. You're wasting valuable time that you could be investing in...” You paused dramatically. “...destroying honest people's careers, returning good for evil, being a selfish, greedy bitch who will die alone and rot in hell.”

Zora didn’t budge. She even fought back with a smile at the fact that your insults were beginning to lose their edge. In her mind, it was just a matter of patience until you ran out of ideas and had to listen to her.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, but listen...” she began, and you cut her off as usual.

“Not another word!” You exclaimed, opening the car door with animal speed. You left without looking back.

Zora had been patient.

She could find your address and show up at your house. She could pick the locks on your car. She had already overcome your barriers at work, and in two weeks, she only showed up six times, scheduling three times a week, when she could easily have been there several times a day.

In her mind, she was giving you space, believing you would appreciate it. Her goal was simple and monstrously difficult: your forgiveness. She wanted it more than air.

She had exposed herself to creatures for whom her life was considered a mere snack that would be over in five seconds, and all she could think about was not dying under your hatred.

She knew what she did was wrong. And she wanted to redeem herself before you. But also, before the world. Her greed had caused damage that even her mother ended up paying for.

And life, merciful even to those who don't deserve it, gave her a second chance.

Because you were the only one capable of deciphering the DNA from the dinosaur blood samples she brought back from Saint-Hubert Island. The only one competent and trustworthy enough to design the formula for a treatment for heart disease that would save millions.

A year ago, she didn't appreciate it. Now it has become her only beacon of hope.

At that time, you had been working for nine months at the only laboratory that had opened its doors to you when other companies only offered “experience” as payment. Being a recent biotechnology graduate was like pushing a car without wheels.

Not at the Vitalis Institute. Thanks to them, you got a job as a Junior Research Assistant at a pharmaceutical company that developed innovative open-source treatments for chronic diseases and genetic disorders. Free patents, no locks.

Your work was basic, consisting of tests, recording results, spreadsheets. But your curiosity never knew how to stay still.

At lunch, you refused to go to the cafeteria. It was too noisy, too crowded tables, too many indiscreet questions about your personal life that would only serve to create gossip. Once was enough for you not to return.

You preferred to eat in a corner of the lab, sitting on the floor, away from any fragile instruments, with music being the only noise you could tolerate.

One night, with your eyes barely open from exhaustion, you plugged in your charger incorrectly. Your phone died, your alarm didn't go off, and you were half an hour late to work. At lunchtime, while you let it revive after plugging it into one of the outlets, you took the liberty of browsing through the records of paused projects and found one that had been stalled for months. It was a formula to reactivate cell regeneration in damaged tissue. It showed great promise, but the compound was unstable, dangerous, unpredictable. Useless, in short.

Out of stubbornness and boredom, you stayed until late. You ran a parallel experiment, playing around with proportions. Against all odds, you stabilized it. The formula worked!

Your actions earned you the attention of your boss and the board, and six months later, a promotion. You were finally part of the project.

And you had only been a Junior Geneticist for three months when you met her.

Zora Bennett.

It was a day at the bookstore, near your apartment. Your body was exhausted, but your mind was crackling with formulas and theories like bare wires in water. You forced yourself to interrupt your ramblings with affirmations like “tomorrow is another day” or “not now.”

For now, you wanted to shut out the world, so you curled up on a cushion and lost yourself in To Kill a Mockingbird.

“It's my favorite,” said a husky voice.

You looked up. A blonde woman, a book under her arm, wonderful green eyes, full lips, tanned skin. You doubted your eyes, perhaps your exhausted mind was inventing fantastic beings, you thought.

She pointed to the book in your hands.

“Atticus Finch is the only man I would let win an argument,” she added, to get a few words out of you and not just that incredulous look which, as flattering as it was, did little to start an interaction.

And she succeeded.

The conversation drifted from the book to everything else, and time melted away. The employees had to warn you that they were closing, otherwise you wouldn't have noticed the arrival of nighttime.

It was the first time you had truly disconnected from work.

Since then, thinking about Zora and concentrating became incompatible. The first thing you did after just a moment of free time was check your phone, and you were never disappointed, because there was always a message from her. It became a sweet habit.

A week later, at lunchtime, you read, “See you in the parking lot.”

She picked you up to go grab something to eat. She took you to a huge garden, a secret hidden in the middle of the hateful city that colonized every glimpse of nature. She remembered when you told her about your childhood home with a garden, how much you missed it. You didn't even remember telling her that.

“This is too much,” you whispered, overwhelmed. A visit to a café five minutes from your work would have meant the world, especially considering that nowadays there are plenty of excuses not to make an effort.

“It's just lunch,” she said, as if it weren't the most tender gesture anyone had ever made toward you.

As she walked, she brushed your hand.

You didn't pull away.

She intertwined her fingers with yours.

The weeks passed, gently and inevitably.

She had already gained enough confidence to hug you from behind in lines, her chin resting on your shoulder.

Notes began appearing on the refrigerator:

“Drink water.”

“I left a decent breakfast inside.”

“Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you're Cu-Te.”

“I have my ion you.”

In her car, she let you play your music, even when it wasn't her favorite. It was enough for her to see you enjoy yourself. She even added some songs to her playlist so she could have you close through sound even when you were apart physically, and you got her to admit that your favorite singer was actually good.

She kissed you for the first time one day on her living room floor, with your back against the sofa, just as you were talking fervently about neurotransmitters and the impact that kind words had on them.

She started by touching your cheek, and your voice faltered until you fell silent, which made her laugh. Until she closed the distance between you.

“How do your neurotransmitters feel now?” she whispered against your lips, completely weakened by the moment, unable to speak at all firmly.

Longing doesn't boast. It was beautiful.

Your first anniversary at Vitalis Institute arrived. Zora showed up at your apartment with a box wrapped in paper covered with scribbles of laboratory instruments. You opened it and screamed without caring about the neighbors. It was a microscope. A damn microscope.

“Zora...” your voice broke.

“It's not fair,” she began. “You're so brilliant that you could conduct this research with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back, and yet... you don't have your own microscope.”

You kissed her passionately. She laughed into your mouth.

On your birthday, the spare room in your apartment (your makeshift science corner) was transformed. The microscope rested on a new and, at last, suitable table. There was brand new glassware, trays, scales, tubes, tools you never had time or money to buy. A whiteboard with equations copied from your notebooks, ready to follow your ideas at any time.

“It's no big deal,” she said, biting her lip, her eyes shifty with nerves and excitement. “But I thought, if you ever want to play at being a geneticist at home, this would be your space. All yours, with me.”

It was the first time you said, “I love you.” She said it back. And you believed her.

While you were falling in love and believing in open-source cures, Zora was recruited by a rival corporation to the one you worked for. Their goals were different: to privatize the regenerative formula, restrict it to the military, billionaires, and elites. Sell “miraculous recovery” as a luxury.

That night of your birthday was the last step that would bring her hundreds of millions. The home lab wasn't love, it was a clever trap to get you to take your work home without raising suspicion.

One day, you sat down to work in your new lab, went to sleep when the sky cleared... and when you woke up, all your files disappeared.

And so did she.

The news and media dragged your name through the mud. The same hands that applauded you became static, praying for your downfall.

You were clear of charges thanks to a public defender who, like you, amid her overload, wanted to do the right thing. She proved that you had no connection with the rival corporation, that you had been tricked. The court accepted that you were not an accomplice, and your freedom was the only thing left unscathed.

They fired you. Not because you were guilty, but because you were naive. “You should have known who you were getting involved with,” they repeated in response to every plea you could think of.

And it's true, you should have known better.

Five minutes on Google was enough to find the history of the woman you loved. Mercenaryism, data theft, corporate betrayals. All for money.

You hated yourself for believing. For looking at her for so many nights without mistrusting a little. You hated yourself because even on your worst days, with betrayal burning like exposed nerves on acid, you tried to understand her perspective. No theory made sense. Not even the need for money explained using abundant, devoted, wholehearted love as a weapon against you.

Maybe if you had had a shred of her coldness, you would have been less naive.

One looks at others through the prism of what one has inside, and you only had love. How foolish.

Science and doing things, even against the odds, gave you refuge. You started developing therapies and genetic tools in your home lab, at first as a distraction. Editing protocols, protein expression models, CRISPR-based diagnostics, projects you could sell as consulting services to medium-sized pharmaceutical companies and startups. Enough to survive. To stay in the game.

You found solutions, overlooked alternatives, possible therapies for rare diseases, and you never found the cure for a broken heart.

And that's why your own lab made you sick. You knew full well who had set it up, so you bought an old mechanic's workshop in a quiet corner and turned it into your space.

It was cheap and dilapidated, with oil-stained walls, a roof that leaked when it rained, windows that rattled at night. You spent weeks demolishing, painting walls white, reinforcing floors for the weight of equipment, rewiring everything with your own hands. You didn't consider yourself handy, but learning was a distraction and a band-aid for your bullet holes.

Some days you were a machine, nothing could stop you, not back pain or minor injuries from awkward posture with tools. Other days, you would drop everything and break down crying while sitting on the floor, and that's what you did all day instead.

When the place was finally up and running, you hired security. Cameras, reinforced locks, firewalls, triple backup, guards always patrolling. It was an investment that would take you a lifetime to recover from, since you had six-digit debts from bank loans. You didn't care. If you were going to bleed again, it wouldn't be because of a robbery.

This time, what you built was yours. Everything.

And now she showed up as if nothing had happened? As if the sweat of your labor, the sleepless nights, the tears you paid to rebuild yourself belonged to her.

What you didn't know was that Zora had already found her punishment.

It was your resistance that revealed something to her. You weren't just brilliant, you were hard to break, unlike her, who succumbed to the mention of a few zeros. That perseverance was just what her new mission needed.

She wanted to work with you, not against you, but you wouldn't listen.

Zora was patient. God knows she tried, but she got tired. She didn't survive that island, she didn't dodge death at every turn, she didn't smuggle those impossible samples across a sea that wanted to swallow her whole, just for you to ignore her.

She hated herself for coming on so strongly, for seeming desperate. Who was she kidding? She was.

She tried some corporations, former partners. They all wanted to privatize the treatment, put a price tag to salvation. She left those offices disgusted, mostly because they all reminded her that a year ago, she was one of them.

Not you. Never you. With your heart and that integrity, you wouldn't let that happen.

That's why you became a stubborn last resort, who found it hard to forgive, but who would never sell the cure.

A living proof where science was still an act of faith.

[scarletcomalies]

Where’s your Zora Bennett fic😭😭😭

ehh it didn't convince me fully. Gonna enlongate it and correct some thingies. I'm almost done! I promise 💓

[scarletcomalies]

Hi feet so stinky

how do u know how my feet smell, do you sneak into my house and smell them?

[scarletcomalies]

the outside world has failed you

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Word count: 6,253

Warnings: 18+ content, mention of cockroaches and bedbugs, mention of contract-killing, Natasha x Reader, I criticize the church a lot, blasphemy, caning as a punishment, manipulation, masochism, oral sex, edging, dacryphilia, strap-on usage, hair-pulling, slamming, degrading, angst, fluff.

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for disappearing, but in so few months, so much has happened. It has taken a toll on me, and I was in no mood for anything, in many ways. I am recovering, though! I love it here and I'm glad I was able to write a little something hehe. Watching AHS Asylum for the fourth time does things to you. 😮‍💨

Sister Wanda Maximoff didn't make your plan to take advantage of the church as easy as you thought it would be.

You were not going to endure another god-awful day in that abyss you called life. You simply could not. Nothing particularly happened, you simply collapsed.

Your job in this economy did not allow you to support rent, food, services, all that went with being independent. So many exhausting hours for so little pay. Just so when you finally returned home, the first thing you saw were multiple eviction notices on your door, reminding you that you were on the verge of being homeless.

So, when you opened your door with push, the inside was not very welcoming either, as the holes in your furniture and under your broken sink were the perfect place for cockroaches to breed in droves, causing you to find a few over here and there. At least they lived rent free, you thought.

You ate microwavable or precooked food, the cheapest you could find, and proceeded to go to sleep, hoping the bedbugs wouldn't cause you any more health problems than you already had from the quality of sleep and food you provided your body with.

And then, you slept four hours, you got up to work, you came back home, you repeated.

Well, the sole exception was your upstairs neighbor, Natasha Romanoff. A Russian immigrant on the run from the authorities for her involvement as an accomplice to Clint Barton, a notorious contract killer. Barton, lacking the courage to face imprisonment with dignity, betrayed his loyal partner, declaring, "If I go down, you go down with me".

Now a fugitive, Natasha cut and dyed her hair blonde and resorted to phone scams to survive. “Fucking cyber education”, you could hear her yell from downstairs, usually followed by the sound of her cell phone hitting the ground (your ceiling). You deduced it was because fewer and fewer people were falling for the bullshit of a $500,000 prize.

The sex with her was good, too good to be true. You weren't happy about her misfortune, but you were grateful to whoever was smart enough not to fall for that classic scam, because you knew that after that, she would get to take out her frustration on you as soon as you got home from work. That was the only means by which you could secrete a little dopamine, a little... happiness.

“I hate this life,” you once commented, clinging to her as she rode out the ground-breaking orgasm she gave you.

“Hmmm, bullshit,” she growled. ”I can't go out and buy fucking cigarretes without the fear of some asshole recognizing me from the wanted signs and ratting me out,” you could feel her back muscles tensing again. “I can't engage in anything too scandalous, legal or illegal, because any false move will take me back to Russia. And don't make me detail what prison is like in Russia,” she added, quickening her movements and panting slightly. Your eyes rolled, and against your will, the need began to simmer inside you once again. “Don't come and tell me your life is difficult. Figure it out! God... damn it!”

“What do you propose I do?” You asked her, once the overstimulation of two orgasms in a row had subsided enough to allow you to formulate something more than whimpers and moans.

“Go to the nuns congregation,” she shrugged, as she buttoned her pants. They were somewhat tight, which made visible the bulge formed by the strap-on she used on you.

“Fuck you!” You exclaimed.

“I'm serious. They love to feel like they're saving souls,” she justified. “Tell them you want to let God into your life, and just like that you get three meals a day and a warm bed. You deserve a chance in life."

Okay, maybe you could have gone on to apply for other jobs and in one of them you might've been lucky to get hired, but your day-to-day life had mentally drained you so much that you didn't think you were capable of making one more effort to survive.

It wasn't fair. The people working in the church enjoyed every comfort simply by feeding people's beliefs in something greater. They stood before crowds reading teachings they often didn't apply to their own lives, but that didn't matter. All they needed to do was make people feel good about themselves for sacrificing one hour of their Sunday to listen. People gave money to the church for this. They granted the church privileges for this, like tax exemption. Meanwhile, you did pay your taxes.

Natasha was right. If a simple practice of a religion was going to give you all that, more than your skills or abilities would, you might as well take it. After all, it was divine justice to privilege yourself from the church that privileged itself from the people.

Everything went smoothly, for you were a master in words and conviction. If only you had the opportunity to go to college, you would be using those skills to build a career of your liking, maybe laws or literature. But there you were, reorienting the reason for the misfortunes in your life to a motive to strengthen your faith. You even talked about a dream where you received a message where God commanded you to serve Him, and you dropped a couple of tears to make it believable. They loved it!

From then on, your days were consumed by correspondence lessons, spiritual readings that stirred nothing within you, and the hollow act of pretending to pray mentally. It was excruciatingly monotonous, devoting yourself to something that doesn’t align with the core of who you were. However, the only solace came from the feeling of a full stomach, the embrace of a bed where you could finally surrender to real rest, and the relief of having left behind the life that once tormented you.

If that weren’t enough, Natasha remained present in your life. There was no love, perhaps not even affection, but there was familiarity. You were each other's person to look forward to after an exhausting, unsuccesful day.

Therefore, every night, she would appear at your window, her wide smile showing beneath the shadow of her hood.

She would fuck you hard, keeping in mind the exciting fact that, despite covering your mouth with her firm hand, a moan could probably be heard if she dared to let go or if you didn't control yourself.

The danger of someone discovering an Aspirant being thrusted deep by another woman whose reward for finding her exceeded a million dollars gave you the most delicious orgasms you had ever had in your life.

All your needs were taken care of, and all you had to do was pretend that this was your calling.

Until Sister Wanda Maximoff noticed your lack of interest. The other Aspirants glowed with marvel, their eyes burning with the will to learn during every lesson. They bombarded her with so many questions that each class stretched at least an extra half hour. But overall, they worshiped her as the living embodiment of what they could only dream to become.

But you remained sitting quietly, your gaze steady but lacking the usual awe radiating from your classmates. It wasn't shyness, for Sister Wanda had taught many shy Aspirants before, it was as if you existed on a separate plane of existence, observing from a distance instead of immersing yourself.

So she deliberately picked on you, persistently directing her questions at you regardless of your ‘fellow’ Aspirants' raised, insisting hands.

What exasperated her the most was your response to her gentle reprimands when you answered incorrectly; your attitude matched, perhaps even surpassed, the apathy you showed toward her lessons. The sole thing you were eager about was to demonstrate how little she mattered to you.

How wrong she was to believe private lessons would change anything. She assumed whatever shit show you were trying to pull would crumble when it was just the two of you, face to face. She thought you showed defiance only because you were among other Aspirants, who would devastate at the sight of their sweet, dear Sister being —justifiably— hard on someone. But no, you were insolent and that was all there was to it.

Unfortunately for you, Sister Wanda didn't have her group of adoring students around to see her now, leaving her free to do whatever she pleased with you.

"Damn you!" She slammed her Bible shut, after she made one last attempt to kindly ask you to make an effort to pay attention. You barely had time to register her words before she was standing—no, looming in front of you. "Listen," she hissed, her breath sharp against your face. The smell of cigarretes was evident. "I don't care why you're here. I only care that you are here. And as long as you are here, you're going to listen to my lesson. You're going to care. And one way or another, you're going to love me for it.”

That was the heart of it, wasn't it? You hadn't knelt, hadn't lapped at her heels like the others, and that was enough to wound her. Enough to make her angry. You could see it in her eyes, controlled fury, a slow-burning arrogance that refused to be challenged.

"Bend over," she ordered, signalling towards her desk with her emerald-green eyes.

You met her eyes, and in that moment, you knew she saw your rage, your disgust, your perplexity barely restrained beneath your clenched jaw.

"Excuse me?" Your voice was trembling of pure impotence, as the room itself seemed to contract around you.

"Bend over," she repeated. “Or… don't. You can always go back to that job—”

And before she could even complete her sentence, you were bent over her desk.

"Normally, I’d let you choose," she mused, her voice thick with condescension. "But you’ve been so bad, you don’t even deserve that.”

The closet doors creaked open behind you. Wooden. Heavy. Old.

The sound pierced the silence, a whistle of something cutting through the air, followed by a firm whip exploding across your flesh.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

It stuck in your throat, strangled by disbelief, both from the action and the inimaginable pain.

Your body jerked forward against the desk, as a high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.

The wooden cane struck again, and again, and again.

Sister Wanda was known for being methodical, and her punishments weren't the exception, for she let each strike sink in before delivering the next.

Your fingers clawed at the barnished wood of her desk, intending to stay still, to deny her the satisfaction of seeing you squirm and suffer.

But it was impossible. The burning sensation radiating from your ass across your whole body, had you sobbing openly, with your pride as bruised as your skin.

"Please," you whimpered, choked with pathetic attempts to inhale some air. "I‐I'm sorry, please...”

She hummed with indifference. The same indifference you once gave her during her lessons. Divine justice.

Her cane tapped thoughtfully against your tender flesh, making you flinch. You couldn't take another single one.

"What did Christ say to Peter after the resurrection?” Just another cynical test. You should've seen it coming.

The answer was somewhere within the depths of your distressed mind. But the sting of open skin, made your thoughts slow.

"Well?" she pressed, and the cane lifted from your ass.

"Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Through your sobs, you heard the creak of the cabinet opening again, the soft sound of the cane being returned to its place. Your flesh throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and you knew you wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days.

With gentle hands that moments ago had wielded the cane, she carefully smoothed down your tunic, her touch now impossibly tender.

"There now, sweet girl," she murmured, her voice honey-like and soothing. Her fingers traced the tear tracks on your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of the evidence of your sorrow. "You took your punishment so well.”

Every alert in your rational mind that would dcream at you to stay away was turned off. You knew it when you found yourself melting into her touch, craving the comfort she offered. And she looked down at you with adoration when she found nothing but submission in your eyes, as she cradled your face between her palms.

"Such a good girl for me now, isn't that right?" he whispered, and the praise… the praise had your earlier fear dissolving under her careful ministrations. "This is all I wanted from you, darling, just to see you truly present, truly here with me."

She drew you closer, letting you rest your forehead against her shoulder as her fingers threaded through your hair. The scent of chapel incense and that hint of cigarettes enveloped you, and you found yourself breathing it in deeply, letting it ground you.

“This is what happens when you let yourself be guided, when you submit to proper instruction," her lips brushed your earshell as she spoke. "Will you be good for me from now on?"

You nodded against her shoulder, unable and unwilling to resist the tempting implication she made. If you behaved, you would have more of these precious moments.

And this alone gave you more purpose than anything else since you arrived to the monastery.

You became aware of it in the same way a candle becomes aware of fire, at first, just a taste of heat, then a flame that tangles in the wax until it consumes it all.

You became an active participant in her lessons, a constant presence who made sure to be seen, to be noticed. You knew Sister Wanda liked your enthusiasm, but it wasn't just her approval you sought. You wanted her recognition.

And so, when you weren't taking her lessons, you were reading, studying, making sure your application made you stand out among the other Aspirants. All so that you would be her favorite girl.

She usually saw you reading under one of the garden's trees. You had chosen the one that was the closest to the hall, she noticed. She couldn't miss it if she was walking out of her office. It was adorable.

If she had time, she would stop by your side, looking at the book in your hands. She would take the tome gently, making sure that her slender fingers brushed yours, even if for a second, and her arm subsequently found its around you in an almost unconscious, protective manner.

"Do you have any questions?" She would inquire. And even though you didn't —unsurprisingly so—, you pretended to need clarification, any excuse to let her closeness linger a few seconds longer, not ready to be apart from her yet.

It had taken hold of you. The need of her touch.

Before, reading and prayer were mere obligations, mechanical routines that you did just because you had to. Now, they had become rituals charged with intention, directed towards something greater; her.

If you prayed fervently, if you participated enthusiastically, if you were everything she expected of you, rest assured she would seek you out every time, just to remind you that you did not go unnoticed by her.

"It was so good," she purred, her hand sliding over your lower back.

And, of course, she noticed your every gesture. Every held breath, every tiny tilt of your body in her direction.

She had conditioned other students to obey her in the same way, but they did not respond to her touch as you did that day after she bent you over the desk. Not only did you not flinch, you melted.

They obeyed for fear of being punished again. But, it seemed you had even forgotten all about it.

You didn't look at her with terror. You looked at her with longing.

Sure, it was normal to look for approval. That's all it was. A conditioned reflex, a survival instinct. To make sure you didn't get any more punishment.

But you... you weren't just looking for her approval.

You were looking for her.

And she didn't know which was worse, the reverse effect it had inadvertently caused in you, or the one it was causing in her.

She should have stopped when she had the chance, when she noticed that her threatening attempts to impose fear, meaning by grabbing your face, squeezing your shoulder or resting her hand on your back, for you were, in reality, caresses. Caresses that you evidently lacked throughout your life.

"One way or another, you're going to love me for it," she had established, but the another way was not the one she usually applied, the one she used to know so well.

The admiration of others fed her ego, and gave her that sense of power and control to which she had long ago become addicted. But you had made that seem insignificant compared to what you provided her.

She was fully aware that you didn't want to be like her. Hell, she knew exactly why you joined the congregation.

It was something far more significant than the admiration she had initially tried to kindle within you.

It was submission.

And therefore every slightest caress became a bottomless pit for her, for both of you. And both, without fear, fell.

It was everything you were looking for.

So much so that, when Natasha touched your window, you felt nothing. And you had reached the point of believing that there was no point in continuing to do something that no longer had any meaning for you.

So, as she was about to climb in, you stopped her.

"I'm reading," you said without looking up from the book in your hands, signaling to her that you weren't going to move from there.

Natasha paused for a second, just long enough for doubt to seep into her expression before pulling herself together.

"I can see that. Good for you.”

And still, she walked in. She did so as confidently as she always did, expecting no more permission than she believed belonged to her.

"I can't do this anymore," you stated, firm this time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, somewhere between mockery and skepticism. She swept her gaze over you, that quick, almost bored assessment. Then, she chuckled.

"What?" She asked in mock disbelief. "Are you going to tell me that you received a calling from the Lord to give yourself to him? Is this what it is? Are you going to practice chastity?”

You denied quickly.

"No, don't be ridiculous.”

It wasn't faith, not in the way she implied. It was devotion, but to someone who was there, who did respond. There was something greater than mindless pleasure, something more real than the filling of your needy hole. You had found someone to exist for, someone who saw beyond the fleeting instant and looked at you, not just what she could take from you.

She tilted her head, with the same expression of one who already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway.

"You met someone else," she asserted.

"No..." it was an instinctive reflex that, upon reaching your tongue, lost its form, dissolving into something uncertain. "Maybe. I don't know."

Had you, really? Wanda hadn't touched you in that way, the way Natasha did, urgently, hungrily. And yet what she did to you had been more than anything you'd ever felt. Her fingers glided over your skin with a lightness that didn't demand, that didn't take. There was something in the way she looked at you, not with possession, but with recognition. As if you were someone, not something.

You didn't know if it was equal, but it was better. Much better.

There was a second of silence. Then Natasha let out a dry laugh.

"Well, I'd be damned," she muttered with a half-smile, not taking her eyes off you. "Just... think about her if you want. I had a long day.”

And you agreed. It was the only way to know if this bordered on a level of attraction that was new to you.

When Natasha fucked you, you closed your eyes, and you imagined those pink lips, those big emerald green eyes, that unseen body hiding under that habit.

No. Not like this.

If you were doing this with Wanda, she'd be stroking your hair. She'd kiss your cheeks. She'd make sure you felt how much she appreciated having your presence beneath her, pleasing her. Overall, she'd make sure you were enjoying yourself too.

Because you were somebody.

You opened your eyes, and you pulled Natasha's hand away from your mouth, with a movement that was not abrupt, but definite.

"Caress me," you commanded.

Natasha frowned.

"You're insane," she panted between thrusts. You didn't blame her for saying it. Maybe you were.

"Do it," you insisted, with the certainty of one who has made a decision with no turning back. "Or this will be the last time.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently. But she agreed. Without love, without affection, with a mechanical manner that barely mimicked what you had asked.

"No, this isn't working," you growled, nudging her gently. You didn't want to make her feel like this was her fault, it really wasn't. You simply began to crave for something she was no longer capable of giving you.

"I agree, let me do my thing," she replied, slamming deeper inside you to reassert her dominance. You knew she knew what you were referring to, the fact that her flings during the night were no longer working for you. But she wasn't going to admit it, because she wanted to keep using you, seeing you.

And no, you had a say in this.

"Natasha, I don't want you anymore!" You exclaimed, perhaps louder than you should have in the middle of the night when everyone was supposed to be asleep.

She pulled back, just enough to glance in your direction, as if to silently confirm the truth of your words. Within the depths of your eyes, she found the answer. Therefore she stepped back with deliberate nonchalance and adjusted her pants, maintaining her composure in the shifting tide of the moment.

You thought she was going to refute, as it seemed very important to her to leave her house, to risk being found just to 'take out her frustrations on you'. She could have looked for anyone, but she wanted you. And perhaps the reason would remain a mystery.

"Call me when that cheesiness wears off," she stated matter-of-factly, and retreated from your room through the window.

And with that, you thought you were off the hook.

You thought.

You were under your tree, your now shelter, when you saw Wanda come out of her office. Her footsteps echoed on the floor, quick and heavy, so different from her usual gait. She was furious, you knew.

You didn't alert yourself, you thought it wasn't about you, that if you were doing what she expected from you, without fail, why would she be angry?

But then, instead of taking the path to the hallway, as she always did, she walkes you. Her eyes showed no gentleness. There was no tenderness in her face. But what had happened? Everything seemed to be in order. Why... this?

In one sudden movement, she bent down and, with a violence that made you lose your breath, she lifted you up suddenly, pulling your hair towards her, forcing you to stumble, to stagger, all the way to her office. She didn't care about your whines, and, your desperate pleas to explain what was happening.

And once inside, the door closed with a clang that chilled your blood, and proceeded to bend you over the desk by slamming the side of your face against it. There were no orders. There were no requests. There was no room for choice.

No explanation, not a single word spoken, like you didn't deserve any of that. It couldn't be real. Not again. Not like this. She was treating you... badly. And you didn't know why, or what you had done wrong.

"I took you for so many things," she began, and the sound of the closet doors where she kept her canes chilled your skin just like the last time. "Insolent, disdainful, opportunist... and I thought I'd fixed you."

You choked, your throat closed up with unshed tears. You didn't understand. You couldn't understand.

The prospect of getting caned didn't even occupy your mind at that moment. It was the torture of knowing that you let her down, that everything you had done, all your effort, had been in vain, that consumed you to the core.

"Y-you did!" you cried, trying to cling to some hope, some justification, looking for some way to explain what you didn’t even know you did. "I've done everything you asked, and more! I don't understand!"

The way she dismissed your words with a curt hum, and proceeded to lift your tunic, was a silent communication that everything you did for her wasn't enough to forgive nor forget what she was about to punish you for.

"Yes," she said, caressing your bare cheeks, which still held the memories of your first punishment. "Except for the fact that you're a filthy slut, fucking a criminal every night in your room."

Your skin bristled at her accusation. She felt it under her fingertips, and that made her more relentless.There was no point in applying those impecable lying techniques that had brought you to this point, if ultimately, your body was at her mercy, and it did not lie.

"Who told you?" you could barely articulate. How could anyone ever dare to touch something so sacred to you?

"No one!" She exclaimed.

It had been one of your fellow Aspirants. She was heading to the bathroom that night, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when she heard the hushed moans and accelerated breaths through your door.

And when she heard your apparent fling was about to slip out of your window, she followed.

She didn’t go far, just enough to reach Natasha out, grip her shoulder, and turn her around to reveal her identity. That cost her a broken nose. However, it was worth it. So worth it.

Because she hated you, everyone hated you. Why were you Wanda's favorite? You hated her lessons, you were rude to her, and when you started doing what everyone did, you got praised for it?

She was supposed to belong to all of them! Equally. So if she had to sabotage your relationship to take back what was theirs, then so be it.

First thing in the morning, she told Wanda everything.

"I don't understand you, (Y/N)!" She continued, whipping you three times in a row, the contact coursing through your entire body. You could have sworn you felt an electric current run from your head to your feet. And worse than the first time. Much worse. Oh, compared to what you felt now, those moments seemed like paradise. "Here, you have it all!"

Wanda's jealousy, the shadows of her anger, made her apply way more force than she intended to. And from your end, the realization that you had failed the one person who had ever made you feel you were worth anything, who had made you believe you weren't invisible, made you the perfect recipient for her fury.

You were vulnerable, not resistant, for you defeatedly accepted this as just a little bit of the hell you deserved for having disappointed Wanda. Your Wanda.

"You got everything you wanted," she continued. "Everything you wanted in exchange for being my good girl. And isn't that enough? You had to look outside for what you could have here, with me?"

Before you could apologize, or beg for mercy, you felt the touch of her face against the fabric of your panties, where she inhaled deeply.

"I should have known my baby girl wanted to be fucked, hm?" She commented, more softly than before. The scent of your involuntary arousal soothed her unlike any other. "My bad.”

“I… I'm so… I'm so stupid,” you whimpered, your words laced with embarrasment. Your tears had already formed a small, glistening puddle on the surface of her desk, reflecting the dim candlelight.

"Shhh, nothing to be ashamed of," she whispered in your ear. Her body pressed against your back with almost reverent care, as though she wanted to hold you rather than crush you. After all, you were someone fragile, someone precious that deserved protection from the claws of the outside world. "Oh, my darling," she cooed, with a gentleness so sincere that it made you forget, if only for an instant, the trust that had been broken. "No more tears," she commanded softly.

She stuck out her tongue and slid it tenderly over your cheek, gathering the salty trace of your regret.

She extended her tongue, moving it with deliberate tenderness across your tear-stained cheek, collecting each salty droplet that marked your sorrow.

The warm, wet sensation of her tongue against your skin, the taste of your regret, provoked her to elicit a deep, satisfied moan that resonated through her whole body and into yours.

It shouldn't have felt like salvation, but it did. And naturally, you yearned for more, as you did with form of contact that she could offer you.

And, with the same quiet desperation of a sinner seeking absolution, you turned your head, parted your lips, and let the tip of your tongue meet hers. She stilled for a moment, just a moment, before answering you kindly. A gentle meeting of tongues, tentative at first, but then so natural and carefree. Like you had done this a thousand times before. In a previous lifetime, perhaps.

The kiss deepened, her tongue exploring yours with the same careful attention she gave to every aspect of your being. Her mouth moved against yours with a rhythm that spoke of ownership, of belonging, each sweep of her tongue claiming territory that had always been rightfully hers. Not anyone else’s.

The taste of her, sharp and sweet like consecrated wine, filled your senses until there was nothing else. No past mistakes, no future uncertainties, just the perfect present of her mouth commanding yours.

Your heart thundered against her desk, no longer from fear but from the raw intensity of being truly seen, truly possessed. Each sigh you drew was heavy with the innate air of submission you emanated, sweeter than any prayer you'd ever offered. And she inhaled it blissfully.

"Out there, they only know how to take from you," she whispered against your lips. "But here, my precious girl, I'll make sure you get everything you need. No need to look outside ever again."

“Yes,” was the only thing you needed to say, and it was the only thing she needed to hear.

She left a kiss on your cheek, both as a thankful gesture and as a silent assurance before she knelt to the level of her desk where you were still bent over, now in front of her.

You felt her warm breath clash against the sensitive skin between your legs as she pushed your underwear to the side.

She trailed her tongue against your folds, making you gasp at the sudden foreign intrusion. No one has ever tasted you before. Natasha thought it was too intimate.

But screw Natasha. There you had everything you’d ever needed.

Her eyes widened in awe. She had just discovered a flavor so intoxicating, so essential, that she couldn’t imagine life before tasting it. And the last ounce of self-control vanished as she lunged forward, devouring your pussy with the desperation of a starved creature finally set free.

She wanted you to interiorize with every fiber of your being that this was where you belonged, under her ministrations, receiving the divine attention only she could provide.

It was overwhelming, not just physically, but emotionally. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes shut tight and your head struggled to process the intensity of it all.

"Oh, Wanda!" You whimpered, your voice thick with need for more. Always needed more of her, didn't you? The words barely made it past your lips before dissolving into desperate gasps.

It was all too much. The cool surface of the desk against your heated skin, the warmth of her mouth claiming you so intimately, the sting from your punishment mixing with rising pleasure until you couldn't distinguish between the two.

"Tell me where do you belong," she demanded, pulling back just so she could speak. The sudden absence of her tongue made you whine pathetically. You felt hollow inside.

"With you, only with you!" You vowed, proudly. "I've always been yours."

Your admission seemed to ignite something animalistic in her. She growled against your flesh, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

Your hands fisted helplessly against the polished wood, seeking grounding as your body threatened to collapse under the assault of her mouth.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only her mouth working you with devastating precision, only the building pressure deep in your core that threatened to tear you apart. Your consciousness narrowed to a singular point of pure feeling.

"Give it to me, my sweet girl," she murmured, her words muffled against your flesh.

Your body responded to her command before your mind could process it. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, manifesting itself through your release, and she swallowed every drop of it. She wasn't going to stop until she made sure to dry you out.

Your vision blurred, spots of light dancing behind your closed eyelids as you succumbed completely to her dominance, that didn't seem to cease despite your surrender.

"Oh, p-please..." you gasped, though you weren't sure what you were begging for, to stop or to continue.

Regardless, she didn't stop, didn't even slow down. If anything, your pleas spurred her on, her tongue moving with renewed vigor as she worked you through your release. Your legs shook violently, and if not for her firm grip on your hips, you would have fell down like a ragdoll.

"Mine," she established, finally pulling back to admire her work. Your swollen, pink pussy throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

A rustle of fabric caught your attention, followed by the cool touch of silicone against your worn out hole. She leaned over you, pressing soft kisses along your spine as she aligned herself.

"My precious girl," she whispered, intertwining her fingers with yours on the desk. You turned your head to meet her gaze, overwhelmed by the tenderness in her eyes.

She pressed forward slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. Her other hand caressed your cheek lovingly, wiping away the remnants of your tears. You leaned into her touch, turning to kiss her palm.

"Please, I want you," you breathed, squeezing her hand. "Only you, always you."

She began to move with gentle, measured thrusts, each one accompanied by sweet words of praise and affection.

She leaned down to press her lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The new angle made you gasp into her mouth as she hit a particularly sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

"There, my love," she encouraged, maintaining the steady rhythm that was slowly building you towards another peak. "You're doing so good. Always making me so proud."

Her thrusts became more purposeful, but never lost their tenderness. One hand remained firmly clasped with yours while the other wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she fucked you thoroughly.

Your breath hitched as she increased her pace, each thrust now hitting deeper inside you. Her lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as she drove you closer to the edge. The feeling of fullness, of being completely possessed by her, was overwhelming.

Wanda's embrace tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against her body as she continued her relentless rhythm. She delivered sloppy pecks on your lips, gentle brushes against your cheeks, tender touches along your jawline. Despite her agitated breathing, not for a second did she halt her worshipping.

"Let go for me," she whispered against your ear, her accent slipping out.

Her order, combined with the perfect angle of her thrusts, sent you spiraling into another intense orgasm. Your walls clenched around her as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. She held you through it all, her arms secure around your waist, her lips pressing sweet kisses to your temple.

"Good job," she cooed, slowly bringing you down from your high. "You're perfect, absolutely perfect."

As your breathing steadied, she carefully withdrew, turning you in her arms to face her. Her eyes were full of adoration as she cupped your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. She pressed her forehead against yours, sharing the same breath, the same space, the same devotion.

"No more fucking that girl, understood?" she asked. It was clear you were never going to let Natasha lay a hand on you again, not after this. Nevertheless, she wanted to hear you say it.

"No, never again," you assured her. "I know now, I shouldn't look outside what only you can provide for me.”

"Hmm, that's how a good girl talks," she commented, pulling away from you, intending to see your reaction when she told you the following. "Well. It's not like she's going to show up again anyway. While I was fucking you, she was probably heading on a plane back to Russia.”

[scarletcomalies]

Hey! Do you also take requests for Sarah Paulson characters? If yes would you write Wilhemina Venable x Reader with Mommy Kink

I don't write for her anymore 🥹 I'll always love Lady Paulson but the hiperfixation with her is kinda over now hahaha.

I have a fanfic on Wattpad tho if you're interested 🫶🏼 it's from three years ago and I cringe a lot at the way I used to write back then BUUUT it precisely has some mommy kink. Here you go.

[scarletcomalies]

may i request something??. nat having f!r in all fours, taking her w her strap. all soft, vulnerable. please? need her domestic possessive side (you can create a plot if you're up to, but that's pretty much it!!)

all of you, all of me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 1,608

Warnings: 18+ content, strap-on usage (R. Receiving), fluff.

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Hope you enjoy <3

After a dangerous yet successful mission, Natasha Romanoff returned home to you, her loving partner.

Your thumbs gently ran over the once smooth skin of your beloved, now stained by a few scrapes and bruises to which she gave very little importance.

The woman before you was immune to any stimuli, except your caresses, or you as a whole, for that matter. It was obvious from the way she sighed and closed her eyes as soon as you had placed your hands on her cheeks.

After each life-risking mission, the only thing she needed was to feel your touch, and she wouldn't let some silly superficial wounds to deprive her of this delight.

"Oh, baby," you cooed, tracing a path with your hands from her cheeks to her ears, ending at her red hair. It was tangled, and you could even feel the powdery texture of dirt within. "Would you like me to run you a hot bath? Or would you prefer me to bring the first aid kit? Or would you rather rest?"

"Don't 'baby' me," Natasha grumbled, pulling you closer and wrapping her hands around your waist. "I'm not fragile, I don't need to rest," her tone indicating irritation, as if it was an insult that you simply offered to give her the care she deserved after such hard work. “I just want you, okay?” She added lowly.

You hummed disapprovingly, scratching her scalp in circles to soothe her usual high-defense demeanor. She rolled her eyes slightly, and threw her head back so your hands could continue to run through her scarlet locks.

"You're like a kitten," you commented with a chuckle. "A kitten that needs a bath, a massage, and a good night's sleep."

"I don't need any of that, you know I've had worse," she protested, stubbornness shining through. And it's true, Natasha's been through worse. Much, much worse. "What I need is to get you out of these clothes in the next five minutes...—" she stated, her lips moving to kiss your neck as her hands gripped your hips, pushing you tighter against her.

"Whatever makes my love feel better," you agreed, and it was your turn to tilt your head back to give her more access to that area, to let her slowly give in to the intoxicating need for more of you.

Natasha had given you a fair share of small heart attacks whenever she returned unexpectedly from missions at the most ungodly, unpredictable hours known to human kind. The first time, you had given her a bruise on her torso when you felt an extra weight on your shared bed, thinking someone had broken in.

It took some time for you to become accustomed to the fact that an additional weight no longer signified danger, but it rather indicated the return of your partner from another successful mission.

"I want to touch you," she pleaded, mewled against your ear.

"Well, nothing's stopping you," you whispered, your voice full of desire.

"Damn right!"

One of the things that characterized your relationship with the redhead was her ability to elicit a strong physical response from you, regardless of whether you had been sleeping, or had experienced a rough day, she just had to say the word, and that was sufficient to prompt a readiness on your part to comply.

Natasha's hands exerted pressure on your shoulders, guiding your back against the matress. She observed your body from an arm's distance, her eyes tracing the outline of your skin.

"You have no fucking idea how badly I've longed for this," she murmured.

Her lips captured yours for the first time in three weeks, her tongue exploring your mouth passionately. Said kiss was deep and hungry, chanelling all the longing that had built up during her absence. Her hands desperately traced the contours of your skin beneath your shirt, roaming up and down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

As the kiss intensified, Natasha nibbled at your bottom lip, pulling it gently between her teeth before releasing it with a soft pop, proceeding to begin a journey southward, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She paused at your pulse point, sucking the sensitive spot, and in consequence, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Her hands, meanwhile, had found their way to the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it upwards. As more of your skin was exposed, the redhead's kisses followed, intending to cover every inch of your upper body with her touch.

She paused for a moment, looking up at you with a brief vulnerability.

"I've missed this," she whispered, her voice raspy with need. "And I've missed you."

With a gentle but quick maneuver, Natasha gently turned you onto your stomach, her hands caressing your back as she did so. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs.

When the fabric pooled at your ankles, her hands returned to your hips. She leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along your exposed skin, from the small of your back up to your shoulder blades.

"You're beautiful," she murmured against your skin, her breath warm and even comforting in comparison to the already present winter. "So perfect,” she added, as she lifted your hips to position you on all fours.

Natasha sat back on her heels, her eyes never daring to leave your ready body as she slowly began to undress. She started with her sweatshirt, pulling it off to reveal her toned abdomen and the simple black bra underneath. Her fingers then moved to the clasp behind, unhooking it with ease as the garment fell down.

Subsequently, she stood up, taking out of her pants, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them. Her underwear followed, sliding down her toned legs to join the rest of her discarded clothing on the floor.

Now fully naked, Natasha stood before you, her soft skin adorned with a few bruises and scratches. Perhaps it was wrong to admire the marks of such physical exertions such as her soul-draining missions, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way she wore those bruises with pride.

She allowed you a moment to appreciate the sight of her, a small smirk playing on her lips at the obvious hunger you displayed shamelessly.

She then reached for a strap-on dildo from the bedside drawer, and fastened it around her hips, your all-time favorite black silicone perking up and adding to her already alluring form. And so, like a lioness eyeing her prey, she positioned herself behind you.

She started slowly, easing the toy into your hole with gentle, shallow thrusts. Your body welcomed the intrusion, already primed and prepared due to her earlier teasing.

Her hands then gripped your hips firmly as she began to thrust with more force, each movement driving the toy deeper. The room filled with the sound of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Mine, mine, mine," she remarked accompanied by each thrust, making you cry out in response.

They became deeper, more forceful, each movement causing waves of pleasure to drown you more and more, threatening to leave you breathless and defeated. The only sound present in the room was that rhythmic, familiar one of skin meeting skin.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" You cried out, followed by high-pitched gasps.

Your eyes were shut tight, your hands gripping the bedsheets with such force your knuckles turned white, anchoring you to reality.

Your back arched involuntarily, pushing you further onto Natasha, seeking more, always more. The clenching on your walls, and the tension on your core built to an almost unbearable level, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Hers, hers, hers. Utterly and completely hers. With each thrust, each caress, each burning kiss, she once again branded you as her own.

“Nat! M’ gonna…” You weren't able to finish the sentence, for your body went rigid, as the pleasure of release overcame you.

Nevertheless, her hips continued to move, albeit slower and gentler as she helped you ride out your orgasm.

Her lips found the sensitive skin of your back, trailing soft kisses along your spine. This moment, this connection with you, was what she had craved during every lonely night on during her mission.

The feeling of your skin against hers, tte sound of your voice, your addictive scent that was uniquely you, it all reminded her of why she fought so hard to come back home in the first place.

As the aftershocks subsided, you collapsed onto your back, and Natasha took the opportunity to snuggle against you, the last bit of energy gone.

She had the presence of mind to be slightly embarrassed by how quickly and intensely you'd managed to affect her, excessively so, if she was being honest. But she was too drained, too satisfied to care much about it.

"Feeling better, baby?" You asked, your voice soft and filled with affection. Your fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, soothing and filled with tenderness.

Instead of a verbal response, Natasha managed a weak nod against your skin.

Her hands moved languidly, cupping your breasts in a delicate manner that contrasted with her earlier fervor. She let out a contented sigh as she settled her face more firmly between them, nuzzling against your soft skin. She could perfectly fall asleep right there and then, all spent and completely at peace.

Natasha pressed a soft kiss to your chest, right above your beating heart. It was a wordless expression of gratitude, of love, of coming home. No matter where her missions took her, no matter what dangers she faced, you would always be her sanctuary, her safe haven in a world of disaster.

[scarletcomalies]

Wanda has been your best friend for almost ten years now, meaning you could trust her to chat about anything, without restricting yourself by prudeness or filters. But that trust went too far one day.

Word count: 1,119

Warnings: 18+ content, guided masturbation through phone call, kind of innocent and inexperienced reader.

It was a big step, considering that you failed to enjoy every time you explored yourself with your fingers alone. As much as you tried to play music, lie down, and imagine exciting scenes, you ended up frustrated because it wasn't enough. So you opted to buy a little help. Maybe this way you would be able to explore your tastes and to please yourself properly.

Your best friend, Wanda, had recommended an online site. It had all kinds of artefacts, many of which you didn't know existed, or considered too potent a level for a newbie like you. So you went with the safest option; a simple ten centimeter vibrator, with three levels of intensity.

And nothing...

You felt the tingle of the vibration inside you, but nothing built up. It was just a pleasurable sensation that led to nothing.

You had sent a message to Wanda, telling her that you had already received it, and just when you turned off the toy and put it aside, your phone notified a message from the redhead, where she asked you to tell her about your experience.

"It's useless, Wanda!" You answered, such a simple message but all your frustration could be transmitted in this one.

"What do you mean it's useless?" She replied.

"Maybe I'm anorgasmic or something, because I can't finish. I didn't feel it helped me."

You were perplexed when your phone screen displayed her name, indicating that you were receiving a call. This was unusual of her, but you didn't hesitate to answer.

"Honey," she let out a giggle, as soon as you picked up. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Well, when I feel needy, no matter how much I stimulate myself, I don't orgasm. Not even with the toy. It's horrible," you answered honestly.

These kind of talks were frequent between you, and that was something you loved about your friendship. No judgments, no prejudice, much less in the face of topics that, at the end of the day, were completely normal.

"Yeah, but what did you do with the vibrator?" She inquired.

"Well, I put it inside, the usual," you replied matter-of-factly. You didn't understand why other girls did get to feel something when they had something in there, and you didn't. Why you were more complex about everything?

"Just like that?" She exclaimed, and at your confirmation, she let out another laugh. "No, darling, you have to tease yourself, make yourself desperate for your own touch."

"And how do I even do that?" you asked curiously, but also with a hint of relief. She seemed to have the solution to your problem.

"It's complicated, do you want to try it now? I'll guide you through every step," she proposed.

The thought of hearing her voice guiding you, that she would be listening to you as you pleasured yourself, made the anticipation take over, again initiating that feeling that was begging to be satisfied.

When you thought of Wanda, or when you spent many hours together with her, that feeling came no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. It was no surprise when you realized that this was not something usual and that you definitely felt attraction towards her.

But you didn't want to ruin the friendship you treasured so much.

"No, that would be weird," you replied, feigning aversion to such a thing, when really, that was all you needed.

"Oh, come on!" Wanda exclaimed. "It wouldn't. I'd be helping you get to know yourself, please yourself. I won't even see you."

You sighed softly in resignation. She was right, maybe a lot of friends have given each other advice like that.

"Okay, fine," you agreed. "What do I do?"

Wanda was glad you couldn't see her smile of victory when you agreed, or else, she would've also given herself away.

"First, spread your legs, and place the tip of the vibrator on your clit," she instructed you.

You did as she asked, and no sooner had you pressed, when you felt an electric current run through your body in a matter of a fraction of a second.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed, withdrawing it as if by reflex.

"What do you feel?" She inquired curiously. She was aware such a cute little thing like you wouldn't be able to take it first time. But that was what she was there for.

"Weird, like a swift current!"

"Exactly! Please try to place it again, and little by little, apply pressure," she replied. "At your pace, there is no rush, darling," she purred, making your core throb in desperation at her raspy voice calling you that pet name.

Again, you did as she asked.

The intense vibration made all the nerve endings in that area react deliciously to the stimulus, and again, it sent that current through your body.

You let out a little murmur of pleasure, feeling yourself lose control over your body. Your back arched, your eyes closed, and your free hand fisted your sheets in an attempt to keep you grounded and resistant.

"Good girl, apply more pressure for me," Wanda added, noting from your murmurs that you were becoming familiar with the sensation.

Applying a little more pressure caused you to emanate your first moan since forever. That snapped you out of your trance briefly, and you realized you moaned with your friend on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, beginning to feel your cheeks heat up.

"None of that," she countered. "Don't hold back, let me hear you."

In a matter of minutes, you alone learned to listen to your body. You explored different areas and found your most sensitive spots. You were so focused on not leaving a single inch untouched, that you even forgot that Wanda was listening to the mess of moans, whimpers, and murmurs of her name that you were letting out.

"Mmm, Wanda!" They became more audible tones, signaling that you were close. There was too much to process, but Wanda decided to quiet her thoughts and allow herself to be delighted by the wonderful sounds you were making.

Hearing you cum for the first time was the most beautiful of all, by far.

A scream of pleasure too desperate, even animalistic, for your own good. Your so innocent set could not withstand that longing finally reaching its highest exponent, after so much stagnation. She was even surprised your little lungs allowed you to scream like that.

Wanda provoked all that in you, without having touched you... yet. But she made up her mind that it would change.

"Start over, but don't you dare cum," she commanded you. "I'm coming over in ten," she established, before hanging out.

[scarletcomalies]

Natasha, your mom's friend, who accepted the task of teaching you self-defense classes. However, in just a few sessions, she was also able to tame your arrogant attitude.

Word count: 1,488

Warnings: Theft, mention of knives and guns, brat reader. 18+ content, degrading, restraint, slight bit of dub-con, Nat has a penis, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding.

A/N: Not sure how drabbles work, but I was bored at a birthday party, and I felt like writing a little something hehe.

It all started when a thief had taken your handpurse from you and ran away quickly.

You barely felt it being snatched from you, and as you turned around, you realized that the thief was already at a considerable distance, so you opted to simply mutter a curse under your breath and continue on your way.

The thief was going to be disappointed when he sees its contents anyway, and you weren't going to run in heels for lipstick, a crumpled five dollar bill and your student ID.

Although it wasn't a particularly shocking event, your mother, with her tendency toward overprotectiveness, was convinced that this event had irreversibly scarred you. As a result, she decided to ask her best friend, Natasha Romanoff, to teach you self-defense classes.

From the beginning, you made clear your disinterest in attending. You arrived intentionally late for every session, and at the redhead's scoldings, you would simply roll your eyes and dismiss her words with disdain. During training, you often interrupted her instructions with snide remarks, and refused to follow her directions, preferring to improvise moves that lacked technique. There was something magnetic in her determination and in the way her green eyes flashed with frustration that made you purposefully act even more insufferable than usual. You loved to see it.

During lessons, there were times when she would restrain you from behind so that you would repeat the technique she had taught you, and you could feel a bulge in her pants rubbing against your ass. It was such a yearning feeling, that you would pretend to do it all wrong, so that she would make you repeat it, and in that way, prolong the contact.

"Your mom just wants to protect you, you know?" Natasha remarked, once another not-so-successful session was over.

You were so exhausted, you preferred to sit on the floor with your legs crossed rather than even get up to help Natasha put the equipment away.

"Come on," you scoffed from your spot. "The thief barely touched me. He just took my handpurse and left."

"Fortunately," Natasha replied. "Imagine if he'd had a knife, or worse, a gun. Imagine if you had been alone, at night."

She took your silence as if you didn't really care to understand your mother's point of view, but in reality, you were reflecting. She just wanted you to know how to take care of yourself, in case something worse than that happened. And Natasha had been so nice and patient to you.

But before you could respond, she spoke up, "What am I bothering to convince you for? You probably are so selfish, that you'd let someone stab you just to worry your poor mother."

You weren't sure if her words had hurt or offended you, as perhaps you had taken your attitude to such an extreme that you had actually caused her to have a twisted perception of you. It was true that you possessed certain difficult qualities, but you were not evil. Sometimes you simply felt that your mother's overprotection was excessive, and that made you more irritable than usual.

What you said next was the result of not having slept at all the night before, for you had been studying intensely for an exam. Despite all the sleeplessness, you didn't manage to answer it as you expected, leaving many questions blank. All that you had accumulated, added to her hurtful words, led you to say the following...

"And you probably have a tiny dick," you snapped. "And maybe that's why you're bitter and miserable, because no one wants you."

Natasha was silent for a moment, too peacefully that it was scary, but her intense, darkened eyes were the only thing that allowed you to realize that she was indeed impacted by your words.

"Dare to say that again?" She challenged you, the tension in the atmosphere becoming more palpable every second.

"No one wants a woman with a small dick," you crossed your arms over your chest, arching your eyebrow in that defiant manner she was already more than sick of.

Natasha began to laugh, but it wasn't the sarcastic kind of laugh, no, it was one that was beginning to terrify you and hindering your ability to maintain your composure.

Natasha approached you with firm steps, her commanding presence filling the space between you both. She was so close that you could watch her green orbes, deep and piercing, burning with such intensity that you felt that at any moment, she was going to set the whole room on fire.

She simply pulled down her pants and boxers at the same time, at the level of her thighs, and seeing the massive size of her member, made you swallow your words.

"Is this a small dick for you?" She asked, seemingly satisfied at your shocked expression.

And as if the situation wasn't humiliating enough, Natasha used a quick and precise maneuver, where she grabbed your shoulders and, in an instant, had you face down on the floor, making you groan in discomfort. She proceeded to restrain your wrists against the small of your back, and by straddling the back of your legs, she prevented any movement from them as well.

"Come on, defend yourself like I taught you," she groaned, pressing you harder against the cold floor.

You tried to free yourself from her grip, but every move you made only brought you more pain, because Natasha, with her keen perception, detected every attempt to escape and prevented it with ease, adjusting her grip to make you feel even more trapped.

The whimpers you emanated were so delightful to her ears, making her cock grow more erect. She didn't know who was suffering the most, whether she for not filling your bratty hole right there, or you, who were being physically and verbally degraded.

"That's what I thought," she chuckled, grabbing the shaft of her cock and smacking it softly against your covered ass.

With one hand, albeit clumsily, she managed to pull down your pants and panties just like she did a few moments ago, and released your wrists so that, with her two hands, she held your waist and positioned you on all fours so firmly that you felt as if you had no control over your own body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you pretend to be dumber than you are, just to feel my cock against you," she remarked. Obviously, she was able to understand the workings of incredibly complex, criminal and dangerous minds, how could she not detect yours? A clueless, spoiled, college student. "You probably said that just so you could see it, hm? So desperate for Daddy's cock."

But it was very double standards on her part, calling you desperate when she always ended up in the training facility bathrooms after you left, grunting your name between longing gasps as she pleasured herself.

She ran the tip over your awaiting hole, but as she noticed how it contracted in anticipation, almost imploring to be filled, the last ounce of reason left her body, letting her full length inside you. And better than she had imagined, your warm, wet pussy welcomed her deliciously.

In unison, you let out a prolongued moan of pleasure, both of you mitigating that unspoken desire that had become so unbearable.

Her movements began slow and safe, intending to feel for as long as possible how tight you felt around her, and to hear those low moans you vocalized every time she entered and exited you, complemented by the sloshing sound your hole made in consequence.

But that same action was what provoked her breath to quicken, and along with it, her rythm. Her hips were working overtime to match her cock's desperate needs, but it was impossible when said needs increased every passing second with the way you were whimpering, now high pitched and more frequent.

"Can a small dick fill your hole this good, hm?" She groaned, tilting her head back as she felt her climax approaching.

"No! No!" You cried out, and just like her, you could feel it coming. Your head was growing fuzzy for the pleasure altering every fiber of your being, like the most powerful drug ever made. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I lied! I love your big, fat cock! Please!"

She swore to herself that she was going to be strong and proud enough to stop when you admitted it, having already achieved her goal, but your words made her cum involuntarily erupt inside of you.

That sensation of being completely filled with her seed made your orgasm follow hers a little later, yours and her release leaving her cock shiny and dripping with your mixed juices.

Natasha was aware that even the most intense masturbation would not match how wonderfully your pussy embraced her cock, and how mesmerizing was the sight of your ass bouncing whenever your bodies clashed together.

Imagination was not going to overcome reality, in this case.

So she preferred, just this once, not to be frustrated by her loss of control.

[scarletcomalies]

Is the Nat on your name for Natasha Romanoff or is it your name too??? I'm curious to know

Yess, I use Nat for short because my name is Natalia :)

I love sharing her real name 💗

[scarletcomalies]

soul bounds intertwined

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Part I, Part II

Word count: 5,864

Warnings: Ghosting, public confrontation and fighting, Billy being an idiot. 18+ content, degrading, pet names, magic strap that Wanda can feel as if it's real, blowjob (W. receiving), oral (R. Receiving), strap-on usage (R. receiving), taking Polaroid pictures while doing it, slapping, overstimulation, fingering, squirting aftercare.

Taglist: @alexawynters @ageofolsen @imjustvibingsworld @huggingkoalas @unadulteratedballoonduck @megsheather @kimiisims-blog @morganismspam23 @reginassweetheart @vyvvycg @cindyangelicss @newyork1432 @imaginaryblogger01 @sleepless-cloudy @starryskiesandboys

A/N: This is it. I cannot begin to express how unbelievably happy it makes me to see all the love you gave to this trilogy 🥹 I also had a good laugh as I read the frustrated reblogs on part II MWAHAHA!!! Hope you like this last one part. Thank you 3000 once again. 💓

Following the incidents at the Maximoff residence, you thought that Wanda had completely cut you out of her life. However, a few months later, she reached out to you, pulling you into a situation that would lead to unforeseen twists and turns.

You couldn't recall the last time you ran as if your life depended on it.

Your best guess was when you accidentally set the treadmill to 24 kilometers per hour, and while you were figuring out where the button to slow down was, you had to keep that pace so as not to fall.

However, the adrenaline that coursed through your veins the instant Wanda laid her hands and lips on you for the first time, followed by her command for you to leave, was so inmense that it was no wonder your body mistook it for danger, screaming for you to escape immediately.

And you obeyed, running to your car as if Wanda was chasing you with a knife, determined to snatch your destiny and your future in a matter of seconds, when in reality, she remained static. She didn't move an inch from where she left you, but her gaze haunted you all the way home.

You could still feel it piercing right at the back of your mind, causing this sensation to send unconscious impulses to your body, such as occasionally checking the backseat through the rearview mirror, when you knew there was no one but you in the car.

You scarcely noticed when you arrived at your apartment or when you collapsed onto your bed. Your mind was too tangled in a whirlwind of confusion and shock to be mindful of your own actions.

What did this mean for you and Wanda? Was there any way to turn back from this? Questions raced through your mind, but one fact stood amongst all of those uncertainties: things would never be the same again.

Three long months where your mind pirouetted through endless what-ifs.

What if you had turned down Billy's advances from the start? What if you had been more discreet about taking those photographs? What if you had never blurted out the confession Wanda had forced from you? What if you had stayed, on your knees, begging for her forgiveness, instead of running away as though your feelings were a crime?

Despite your mind's endless wanderings, your thoughts unavoidably drifted back to the same place; her lips on yours, like a forbidden fruit that was worth all of your sinning.

Oh, how intoxicatingly wet they felt, how expertly her tongue and hands managed to cast a spell of desire that tormented your very existense, driving you to a fervor that dangerously danced on the edge of madness.

And so you made Herculean efforts with words, devoting at least two hours each week to finding new ways to let Wanda know that you never intended for this situation to escalate like it did, yet none succeeded reaching to her distant heart.

It was painfully clear that just one response from her could end this torment, yet she played a cruel game of a calculated and well-deserved revenge.

She didn't block you. That would have been a closure, a clear statement she wanted nothing more to do with you. Instead, she left you on read immediately, ensuring there was no doubt she was ignoring you. She left you hanging on a thread of false hope, teasing you with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it'll be different next time.

Her behavior was akin to that of a prepotent God, relishing in the power to decide whether to answer the prayers of her humble believers or subject them to the agony of her indifference.

It took you long enough to realize you wouldn't have any of it anymore. You dared to test the predictability of her cruel game, refusing to give her power over you any longer.

Fortunately for you, in the third month since you last saw her —from which a month and a half you spent without writing to her— you received a call from her.

You let it go to voicemail twice, so as not to seem too eager to hear from her, and finally called her back the next day.

"Oh, so fast you were answering my calls before, and now you want to play hard?" Was the first thing she said to you.

You rolled your eyes.

How dare she protest for it when she had you drifting and yearning for so long?

"What do you need?" You asked in as neutral a tone as possible. You weren't going to answer in annoyance, or it would mean you were still affected by this whole situation.

"You're going to show up at the meeting Tony Stark organized, at the Avengers Compound, remember it was a pending thing?" It wasn't a request, it was an order. "This time, I'm bringing the boys, and you're going to tell Billy everything. Everything, (Y/N)."

You scoffed, both indignant and surprised. The latter due to the fact that Wanda might not have told Billy about what had happened.

"You never told him yourself?" You inquired, curiosity getting the better of you.

"I don't have the heart to tell him," she replied. "But I suppose you do, since you had the heart to do what you did."

You were going to justify yourself immediately, but stopped midtracks. You weren't going to sound like a broken record, repeating the same old story to her again.

"And if I refuse?" You challenged her.

"I can ruin things for you beyond repair," Wanda responded confidently. "Your career, your reputation, you name it. Don't underestimate what I'm capable of when pushed."

Her words cut through any defiance you might have felt, leaving you defeated and humiliated, just like that night.

Maybe it was abuse of power, but you brought this upon yourself, and she just wanted to make sure you paid for hurting someone she loved. You would have done the same, and you adored her even more for that.

At your silence, she added, "And bring all the photographs you took of me. I don't want to give you the pleasure of having a single trace of me after this."

And that's how you ended up at the Avengers Compound, Upstate New York.

If your nerves weren't consuming your stomach like a potent acid burner, you would have appreciated much more the fresh air outside the building, and how silence finally prevailed in your surroundings, the hectic sounds of the crowded city now long gone.

"Ready?" Kate asked, looking at you with a sheepish, concerned look once she pulled the handbrake.

"Yeah," you replied amidst a deep breath that you didn’t even know for how long you’ve been holding.

While you both stepped out of Kate’s car, the weight of your hand purse almost pulled you back into the seat, knowing that two things in there held the delicate fate of your relationship with Wanda and of your career.

It contained your lipstick, your phone, and all the photographs, along with a letter that would be a last attempt to clear things up.

At the front door, a female voice through a screen asked for your name and Kate's, and once it was given, she replied: "You're on the list. Welcome, (Y/N) and Kate."

You held your hand purse tightly, as you walked to the elevator and Kate pressed the floor's button. The only audible sound on the way upstairs was the click of your heel anxiously tapping against the floor, and your heavy breathing.

"Easy, you find Billy, tell him, 'Hey, I liked your mom all this time, you just were delusional,' give the pictures and letter to Wanda, take my car, and get out," Kate tried to cheer you up, making it sound as simple as she was telling it, when to you, it was a life-or-death feat.

You laughed more out of commitment than anything else.

There was no point in contradicting her words if the elevator opened within two seconds of her finishing her sentence.

You spotted Wanda almost immediately.

She was standing near the entrance, her posture rigid, and her eyes immediately fixed on you with an intensity that could burn a hole right through you and all the walls of the building together. The way she looked at you so quickly revealed that she was watching the elevator every time it opened, waiting for you.

Kate patted you on the back, and headed off to where Yelena would be.

Lucky her, she would spend the night with her girlfriend, while you were anticipating to drown in your own tears before falling asleep, knowing that you had ruined any chance with the first person who had set a warming fire in your heart, now a conflagration of despair and yearning.

With every step you took her way, your legs felt like they might give out beneath you, but you forced yourself to keep moving, closing the distance between you and Wanda.

"Wanda", you greeted her and nodded in acknowledgement of the person she was talking to. You recognized him immediately from the old pictures rummaging online of Wanda and her ex-partner. Despite his imposing figure, he was just a blurry silhouette that you didn't bother to focus on until you had him in front of you. "Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N).”

"Ah, (Y/N)," he exclaimed with a smile. "I'm Vision, Tommy and Billy's father. I'm pleased you could make it. The boys are over there at the middle table."

"That's a good idea," Wanda said. "Why don't you go with Billy? I'm sure you have a lot to discuss."

You tried to resist rolling your eyes at her sarcastic statement.

"I would prefer to speak with you first," you replied, failing to maintain eye contact with her, still appearing like a nervous lamb.

"I will consider it, after you do what I asked," she replied, turning her attention back to Vision as a way to cut conversation. The latter appeared perplexed, but perhaps Wanda would prefer to avoid the situation or lie about it, which you thanked.

Your steps towards Billy's table felt lighter, which indicated that you were far more concerned about exchanging a simple greeting with Wanda than you were about confessing to Billy that your feelings were for his mother and not him. Once again, it was evident that you cared about her more than you ever did for Billy.

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Billy greeted you with a smile, moving quickly to embrace you. "Oh, I missed you so much. What happened? My mom said you and her had an argument, but never specified why, and always gets pissed off when I ask her."

You reciprocated the embrace, unconsciously offering an apology in advance for what were going to be your next words.

"Hi," you replied, giving him a light touch on the back. “Uhm, that’s true, actually, that’s why I’m—"

"Hi, you," Tommy approached you before you could reply, and offered you a less invasive hug than his brother’s. "You know? I recently saw the infamous Kate Bishop,” he chuckled.

You joined him in laughter, appreciating his presence as a source of comfort. This brief conversation felt like a stop to the train of thought that was threatening to run over you.

"If you would like, I can arrange an introduction," you offered him, shrugging briefly. "Not with that intention, of course, but you would gain a friend. A great one."

"I'm game for new friends, always," he agreed, taking a sip of his beverage. You proceeded to walk with Tommy following you, and you noticed that Billy was completely ignored by both of you, being left behind sitting at the table by himself.

What if, during the lively twenty-minute conversation between you, Tommy, Kate, and Yelena, you had taken just half a minute to ask him to join? Everything would have been different.

"Excuse me," your smile faded and your voice trembled when your gaze fell on Billy. He had the letter in his hands and all the photographs scattered all over the table.

You had left your hand purse on there, and it was inevitable that Billy would be so curious to look through it.

A lump formed in your throat as you watched helplessly as he examined the contents of the letter with increasing astonishment.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest when you realized that he had discovered your deepest secret, and you no longer had a chance to find a way to reveal it in the less hurtful way that could ever occur to you. That possibility slipped like sand through your fingers.

You rushed towards the table. Every step you took felt like torture. As if you were running a ten-kilometer marathon instead of crossing a few metres.

“Billy…” you breathed, a whisper so barely audible that you hoped it would vanish in the air before the inevitable storm swept through.

His fingers trembled on the vertical edges of the piece of paper, now mostly crumbled by the force with which he held it.

Billy Maximoff had always lived in the shadow of his mother’s fame and his twin brother's effortless charm. In that dim corner, he was often overlooked.

Therefore, when he saw your letter, where you expressed regret for using Billy to reach his mother, but admitted you felt no remorse for how her lips had kissed yours with such fervor that night after the bonfire, it struck him like a frigid, merciless wave crashing over him, leaving him breathless and reeling.

A guttural, angry growl erupted from his throat, resonating with such intensity that it caught the attention of everyone present, including Wanda.

Subsequently, he threw the photographs all over the floor, scattering them like autumn leaves blown by a tempest.

His eyes, once filled with affection, now burned with betrayal as they landed on you. However, what caused an icy tendril of fear to coil around your stomach was those sacred photographs, completely exposed for others to see.

You took a step to retrieve the photographs, but a firm hand clasped around your arm, making you gasp in protest, but overall, disbelief. His grip was a desperate, silent warning for you to confront the shattered trust before you, instead of safeguarding your own dignity.

"How could you do this to me?" He questioned. He breathed heavily, each choppy exhale escaping through trembling lips. His brows furrowed in anguish, adorned the torment in his glassy eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. All you could do was stand there, frozen, as now Billy's eyes were just one of the many pairs that fixated on you.

"Answer me!" Billy’s voice echoed through the room.

"I'm so sorry, Billy," you whispered, but the words felt shallow and inadequate.

Wanda's eyes bore into you from across the room, her expression unreadable, yet you knew she was waiting for the fallout.

Billy shook his head, as he laughed sarcastically.

“’Sorry’? Really?” His voice climbed in pitch, raw with fury. “You used me. You lied to me. And for what? To get close to my mom? MY MOM! HOW FUCKING SICK IS THAT?”

You turned around, your gaze sweeping over the room, and the collective shock on everyone’s faces nearly made you crumble right there.

But before you could fully grasp the gravity of their reactions, Billy grabbed your face with a tight grip, and pulled you closer, forcing you to look back at him, demanding your full attention.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with pain. “This is about the pain you caused me, not them.”

Kate, who had been watching every moment with a readiness to intervene and protect you if necessary, rushed to you both in alarm as soon as Billy’s hands gripped your face so violently.

With a sudden, forceful motion, she wrenched Billy’s hands away from you.

“You're fucking done, you hear me, asshole?” Kate hissed, towering over him as she created a protective barrier between you and Billy.

The latter whimpered in pain, a sound that spurred Wanda into action, her own distress evident as she rushed forward.

“That's enough!” Wanda exclaimed, a red wisp of magic surrounding Kate's hand and Billy's wrist in order to prevent her to cause him more pain. In consequence, Kate clenched her jaw in defeat, for she knew better than to defy someone as powerful as Wanda Maximoff.

You didn’t even notice when Natasha Romanoff appeared at your side, wrapping her arm around you with a firm, yet gentle hold.

“You’ve explained yourself,” the redhead said softly, her voice felt like the calm amidst the storm. “Let him handle the truth on his own. Let’s go…”

You were about to comply, the pull of Natasha's presence giving you the courage to leave everything behind for good.

But Billy’s last, scathing remark stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh, great! So now Mommy’s going to fix everything for me?” He snapped. “Isn’t that just perfect? Always stepping in to save the day while I get to deal with the mess you made!”

Her eyes widened in a heart-shattering mixture of confusion and sorrow. Her features altogether conformed what could be best described as the ultimate portrait of devastation.

No wonder. The sole purpose of forcing you to confess your mistakes to Billy was so you could face the consequences, and leavr you with a heavy conscience, never once imagining that she would be cast as a villain in her own son’s eyes.

And even though Wanda blatantly defended her son against your best friend —who was, in turn, protecting you from Billy’s wrath—, you couldn’t fight against the sympathy at such a heartache.

"Billy, I consider you a very dear friend, and I never meant to hurt you," you spoke up, stepping next to Wanda, implicitly offering her your inconditional support. “But my feelings for Wanda... they were never meant to deceive or harm you. I understand if you can't forgive me, but please know that it’s not her fault.”

"I think it's best if we all take a moment to breathe," Vision interjected calmly, stepping forward. "Emotions are high right now, and we need clarity to understand each other." His calm voice stood out against the atmosphere around you.

You knew that he and Wanda had drifted apart due to the demands of their lives; his Avenger missions and her career had led them in different directions. Their breakup was friendly, a mutual recognition that their paths no longer matched. Still, it was impressive how Vision maintained his composure, given the situation's nature.

Wanda nodded in agreement.

"Billy, let's talk privately. This isn't something we should handle in front of everyone."

“Oh, yes, that’s because you don’t want your superhero friends to know how you kissed (Y/N) right after I went to sleep that night, isn't that right?” He scoffed.

Although you didn't turn to check everyone's reaction, you could perfectly picture the shock once more evident on their faces, now at the possibility that maybe Wanda felt the same.

But unlike last time, where everyone decided to remain silent and play dumb, Tony spoke up from the table, “So what, kid? Good for them, now move the fuck on,” he groaned, his voice dripping with irritation that his friendly reunion had turned into a whole drama show.

“I did it to force her to confess,” Wanda justified. “And to punish her for hurting you.”

Billy’s gaze was skeptical, as he raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t feel anything when you did that.”

Wanda’s resolve fell apart at that very question. Her eyes flickered away from his intense stare, enough to confirm what Billy had feared all along.

You were overpowered by a bliss so intense it seemed to permeate every fiber of your being, immediately making you forget the pain and despair that took place these last months.

“See?” Billy’s voice rose. “I wanted a chance to be happy, to be seen for once, and you took that away from me," he choked out, his voice breaking.

“Oh, Billy, I can’t take away what you didn’t have in the first place,” she scoffed. Her sadness was now replaced by a fierce anger.

She always felt exasperated at how her son had consistently drowned himself in self-pity, ever since he made the decision to age-skip. This wasn't the first time he manipulated every situation to fit his narrative. And this was the last straw for her.

“Ohhh, you think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you?” He spat, stepping close to her. “DON'T YOU?” And in a sudden outburst, Billy shoved Wanda with a force that sent her crashing to the floor.

The room gasped collectively at his gesture, and that was when everyone decided to take action instead of just being mere expectants.

You dropped to your knees, feeling both worried and enraged. The intensity of your indignation seemed to be making the ground beneath you tremble.

How could Billy not recognize the suffering he was causing to his own mother? Why was his need for validation bigger than his capacity to rationalize?

Tommy Maximoff: Yelena and I watched everything escalate so quickly, and we agreed not to get involved if we didn't have to. My father, Natasha and Kate were alert, and my mother has dealt with a thousand times worse than some whiny college boy (pauses) but seeing how that idiot pushed my mother, and wanted to degrade her like that?! All of a sudden, my fist collided with his face.

Tony Stark: Looking back, maybe this whole scene could have made a good dramatic painting (chuckles). I mean... Yelena, Kate, Natasha and this photographer girl giving moral support to Wanda at a table in the corner, while she allowed her son to get his comeuppance for being such a brat. Meanwhile, Tommy hitting Billy so hard it took Vision, Clint and I to separate them.

Tommy Maximoff: Even I'm shocked at the fact that it took my father, Hawkeye, and Iron Man to separate me from him. I guess I had a lot of pent up anger, and that moment was my breaking point.

Wanda Maximoff: Why did I allow it? The answer is simple; I gave up and even made the person I loved suffer in order to give my son his place. And what did he do? He made showed me in every way possible that I was a disgrace to him for the simple fact of having given birth to him. Well, if that's the case, good riddance.

Pepper Potts: Oh, what I'm missing by accompanying Peter (Parker) to a debate in Germany (laughs).

Vision: After the incident, Billy has not contacted us again. He thinks he's an outlaw, and we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I'll just say that at least he is managing to make a name out of himself like he so badly wanted.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N): I hope he's going to therapy!

Wanda Maximoff: What did (Y/N) and I do after it all ended? We went to my room, at the Compound, and… I’ll keep the rest to myself.

"Please, I'll be a good girl," you whimpered, looking up at her with trembling lips and pleading eyes.

She had you kneeling between her legs as she sat on the edge of her bed. You couldn't handle all the torturing teasing she was putting you through, as she smacked her faux cock against your lips, and every time you tried to welcome it into your mouth, she pulled it back, only to repeat the process again.

"Oh, you already are," Wanda breathed, leaning very close to your lips that you could feel the lingering smell of wine on her breath. "But Mommy wants more than just a good girl. She wants a naughty little slut who does anything to please her.”

Before you could moan in response at the nickname she gave herself, she attacked your mouth in an aggressive kiss. At this point, your jaw was sore from so much movement and your lips were swollen, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You had found home on her lips once and you were finally back.

"I’ll make you feel good, I promise, just let me," you pleaded, your mouth watering due all the panting from the anticipation. 

She gave in to the sight of those puppy eyes, swollen lips, and that upper body covered in hickies. Soon enough, she gently guided your head towards her strap, her hands resting on either side of your head. 

“Suck on me. Show me what you're made of.”

Her breathing quickened as your mouth worked its way down her cock. Her hips began to rock, seeking more contact. It was evident that with very little stimulation, she let her guard down, no longer caring to hide how weak she truly was for you.

You gagged at the intrusion but took it as best as you could, even though your eyes were beginning to water.

Just like the merciless woman she has demonstrated you she was, far from going easy on you, she gripped the back of your head, holding you in place.

Perhaps it was because it had been an incredibly long time since she had allowed herself to attend to her carnal needs, or perhaps it was because she found herself utterly and irresistibly attracted to you, or maybe it was a combination of both. 

Whatever the reason, the coil forming on her stomach overwhelmed her, and before she could even notice, the intense wave of pleasure caused her to spurt her hot cum into your mouth, leaving her breathless and trembling.

"Oh fuck," she groaned, riding herself out of her orgasm, giving you little to no participation. Simply using you as a face to get off to. 

You did your best to swallow every single drop she gave you, however a few drops trailed on your chin, and a little bit down on your neck.

Wanda grinned in satisfaction as she looked down at you.

None of your partners or hookups have ever taken the time to simply gaze down at you with anything more than burning desire. They always seemed to be in a rush, their eyes filled with nothing but lust and impatience. 

Wanda was different nevertheless. She seemed genuinely proud, filled with a warmth and admiration that made you feel truly seen and appreciated for the very first time.

"Good girl," she said, reaching out to wipe her cum off with her thumb. She then stuck it into your mouth, and watched you suck it clean. “And you know what good girls deserve after such a delicious treat?"

"What, Mommy?" You asked excitedly. 

"Their reward," Wanda purred, leaning down to kiss you passionately while her fingers trailed down your neck, and gripped it gently. "My little cum-slut deserves some good fucking.”

Wanda gave a quick beckon, motioning for you to get on your feet. You had barely stood up completely, when she gripped your hips tightly with her strong hands and forced you under her. Her superhuman force made you so featherlight in comparison to her, allowing her to have complete control over your movements, leaving no doubt about who was in charge in that moment.

The tip of her cock gently brushed against your entrance making you both shiver at the mere thought of what was about to happen.

She slowly thrust her hips forward, slowly penetrating you with her strap. 

You shut your eyes tight in response, gasping at how exquisite but painful it was to have your tiny hole stuffed by her massive cock. 

"There, you're doing well, baby,'" she said, caressing your cheek as a display of encouragement. “Do you need to stop?” She asked attentively. 

You shook your head in refusal, choosing instead to grasp her shoulders firmly, seeking something to anchor yourself to. The harshness of your touch brought a smile to her face, lighting up her eyes with a spark of joy at your silent approval. 

She slowly picked up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into you. 

The slapping of your bodies, the headboard clashing against the wall, and your mutual panting and moaning were the only sounds echoing through Wanda’s spacious room at the compound. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, a chaotic blend of screams and moans escaping your lips as you dangerously hung on the edge of tears. 

She looked down at you, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, her eyes shimmering with delight as you writhed beneath her. 

"That's it," her hips slammed against yours with a fierce intensity. In response, she could feel your nails digging into her back, leaving angry red marks that would soon blossom into bleeding scratches. 

"Fuck... FUCK! I'm gonna cum! I need to cum," you screamed, not fighting against the tears any longer. 

"Cum for me, darling," she accentuated each worth with a single thrust. One of her hands reached between your legs, roughly massaging your clit with her thumb, determined to tear you apart through every single nerve ending that could occur to her.  

You screamed loudly, your walls squeezing her cock as you came hard. She could feel your juices flowing down her bedsheets, coating them in a warm sheen. Her seed didn't take much longer to fill you up, pushing against you as it spilled into every crevice of your pussy.

As her orgasm subsided, Wanda slowly pulled out of you, her dick slipping wetly from your hole. 

"Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Just then, an idea sparked in her mind. "Stay right there," she commanded, climbing off you.

You watched, breathless, as she stood up, her strap glistening and even dripping with both of your releases.  

She opened a drawer and retrieved a Polaroid camera. 

"What? You're not the only one who owns one,” she stated, a playful smirk on her lips as she gauged at your surprised expression. 

She lay on her stomach, the camera positioned between your pussy and her face. With a playful grin, she snapped a picture, capturing the sight of your hole still dripping with your shared juices. The blinding flash it possessed would illuminate every detail and highlight the intensity of what you both had just experienced. 

She slid a single finger inside you, provoking your walls to swallow her without hesitation once more, making you arch your back in response to the pleasure coursing through you.

She couldn't resist taking another picture, the mesmerizing sight too beautiful to pass up.

She growled in desperate need, setting the camera aside as she flipped you on all fours, her eyes glinting with desire as she admired the view you presented. She as well switched her position, this time beneath you, guiding you to lower yourself onto her face.

As you settled in, she slipped two fingers inside you, curling them in a come-hither motion that provoked you to grip her hair desperately, the headboard being too far away for you to hold onto it.

However, she continued her ministrations, seemingly unbothered and even excited by your aggressive treatment.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you weren't even able to make a single sound as your breath cut down in your throat. You felt a tightness in your chest, and each second seemed to stretch into an eternity. All you could focus on was the intense feeling restricting your ability to breathe.

"S-s-stop! STOP!" She knew from your irregular breath and whimpering what was about to happen.

She would happily embrace whatever reaction you would have. However she wanted to teach you that you didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, not through reassuring words but through desperation. 

Therefore, she slowed down her fingers, upom hearing your warning. She took her fingers out of you, pulling her hand out and slapping your ass. 

“Are you sure, baby?” She asked. 

"Fuck... no," you exclaimed, the feeling of your walls clenching at the lack of her fingers was too unbearable to handle. 

She chuckled and moved back to your entrance, finger fucking you senseless with a slow but hard pace. 

To her dislike, she eventually noticed that you were holding back again, and her irritation increased. She wanted you to let go, to embrace the experience fully, and she was ready to do whatever it took to guide you there.

"Baby, if you don't cum right now, I'm going to spank you so hard you won't be able to walk for a month," Wanda threatened. She reached around and pinched your clit, making you gasp as she continued fucking you.

“Mmm, here it comes,” you warned her, a whimper escaping from your lips as you prepared to unleash the inevitable. 

With a dramatic flourish, you tilted your head back, watching as your squirt arced out of your cunt like a shimmering comet, a cascade of droplets splashing across Wanda's face, not leaving an inch unsoaked.

You took a few deep breaths, defeatedly laying on your back next to her, leaving your tits and stomach on her sight, as well as your well-fucked pussy. 

And as if you were made of the most fragile crystal, she pulled the bedsheets from under you, enveloping both of you under the warmth of her bedsheets. 

The sudden shift of treatment caught you off guard, and before you knew it, she had you pulled back against her chest, the sweat of her body mixing with yours.

You could hear her rapid heartbeat. It was both comforting and electrifying, grounding your once racing heart into finding its rhythm again.

"I've got you, little one," she whispered softly in your ear. “I'm not letting you go, ever again,” she vowed, leaving open mouthed kisses on your forehead. 

And she held onto that promise. Forever.

The next day, the soft rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, emanating a warm glow in the room. 

You stirred awake to the gentle sensation of little kisses peppering your face. The older woman beside you, with her playful affection, made you wrinkle your nose in that adorable way that never failed to make her smile.

"How are you feeling, love?" She asked softly, her concern for you palpable both in her tone and expression.

"Wonderful," you replied, stretching your limbs with a lazy grace. You leaned in and pressed your lips against hers. "And you? Did you sleep well?"

"As I’ve ever slept in my life," she confirmed, her eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and something deeper. "I want to shout to the rooftops how much I love you, how profoundly you mean to me."

Wanda loved you. Truly, deeply loved you. 

What had transpired the night before was not merely a release of carnal desires; it was an intimate, powerful affirmation of connection, a way of claiming you as hers. 

"I love you more," you replied, your heart threatening to come out of your chest, as it was not yet used to this level of bliss. 

You pressed another kiss to her lips, pouring every ounce of your feelings into that simple peck.

"I have faith in us, in all of this," she said, her voice determined yet filled with vulnerability. "After everything that happened, would you give me a chance?" You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the longing for a future together. 

"Absolutely, my darling," you reached out, taking her hand in yours reassuringly. Two souls intertwining like an ivy growing over a sturdy stone. 

[scarletcomalies]

NAT WITH DICKKKK PLSSSSSSS

i wanna be democratic here, but fuuuckkk, it would be so hot 🤌🏼