Hi! I’m Len| 24| Avid ff reader, sometimes writer| Just here to thirst over mommy Wanda| replies will probably come from my main blog| 18+ only| Requests: open
Cliché babysitter au with mommy Wanda. (Cheating, smut, fluff, severe mommy issues present).
L’Amour Looks Something Like You 🍓 (complete) 18+
You need an apartment and Wanda needs a roommate. Simple right? (Smutty smut and angst)
Ease My Mind 🪐💭 (WIP) 18+
Doctor Maximoff eases your worries whilst simultaneously pushing your pining to its limits.
One shots:
As If By Magic 🪄 ❤️🔥 (one-shot) 18+
Wanda wants what Kate has, and she’s more than willing to take it. (Smut, dark themes).
Pietro Understands 🧸💖 (oneshot)
A date with Pietro is cute but his sister is cuter.
Don’t Be So Cocky 🏡 (oneshot) 18+
Teasing Wanda the night before a neighbourhood barbecue was not in your best interests. Wanda has no shame. (Smut, cheating)
Time Out 🤰🏼 (oneshot) 18+
You and Wanda are going through a divorce, but that doesn’t make it any less tempting to rip each others clothes off. (Smut, mommy kink)
That Doesn’t Seem Fair ❤️ (oneshot) 18+
Teasing Wanda when she’s at work does not come without consequences. (Smut, mommy kink)
Unexpected 🥛🍼 (oneshot) 18+
Request for some undiluted mommy Wanda. (Smut, mommy kink, lactation kink)
Wandanat
Postman Nat 💌📦 (oneshot) 18+
Natasha has been delivering Wanda’s mail, Wanda has been repaying her with iced tea.
summary: after a choice and a mistake, you and Wanda start to wonder about what drove you both apart in the first place.
warnings: mentions of smut, smoking, mentions of drinking, a little more cursing than usual, so much angst.
pairing: Wanda x fem!reader
word count: 10k
A/N: more character study because that's the literal backbone of this fic. but relax kids, things will settle down soon
enjoy!
|series masterlist|
|part one| |part two| |part three|
《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》
A trickle of dawn light enters the room through a crack between the heavy curtains, and a round silence orbits the bed with an air thick with slumber and a sordid feeling of helplessness as the sun rises over the horizon.
It glows and heats in a beam of skin from Wanda's pale forehead, and she blinks her glistening eyes away from the crisscrossing stream of light that glides over her appealing pale face.
It's just too clear for someone who just wants to drown in the hazy depths of obscurity and vanish into the confines of herself. This isn't the way her therapist taught her to handle strenuous situations, but it's not like she can care about it right now.
The sheets covering the mattress are rumpled and scuffed with droplets of sweat and cum; a wrinkled nightgown and rolled-up red lacy panties are strewn across the floor like stray dogs, as a sign of what happened between those four walls less than ten hours ago, when a touch and a whimper guided the ends of that brief meeting of two vulnerable spirits, both souls just looking to feel more and more of that taste between their teeth – their flesh and their honey.
But there is only one body prostrate in that room, in a bed that was the witness of an act and a tragedy. Only the pillowcase of a single pillow exhales the aroma of the person who is no longer with her head resting there.
There is a brief sob that seeps through the air and collapses in agony and disgrace.
Wanda has been awake since long before the first rays of sunlight that shine on this warm morning of a post-rain day, entering her room through the glass of the window framed on the wall opposite the bed.
She feels just… completely alone.
Her pale emerald eyes have been wide-open since Y/N left her bed without saying a word about what she was doing and, like a ghost escorted by the taciturnity of the night spectrum, put on her garments with her breath caught and then departed away, creeping out of the bedroom and into the gloomy darkness that awaited her empty soul far from that room where Wanda had given her a purpose in life again.
Wanda heard the hurried footsteps down the hall, down the stairs, stepping away like a memory that slowly fades from retention, until you can no longer remember clearly the facts portrayed by it.
The front door opening and then closing downstairs, with a creak that decreed what would become of her and Y/N from that night spent together, cuddling each other.
And she heard the disturbed thoughts haunting Y/N's unsteady mind, omens echoing curses to her core, like the elongated fingers of spectral hands keeping a grasp on her throat from the inside out — anxiety whispering demonic words to her, sighs of fear in the dead of night, preventing her from gasping for air to properly fill her injured lungs.
Go.
Go away.
Go away and don't come back.
And she did so. Without hesitating for a single second.
Walking out of the room with her head down like a character who finishes their speech and then, with a smile and a wave, leaves the scene. Clapperboard. Cut the scene. Curtains close. Clapperboard. Curtains open. And the character is no longer there. The purpose has been fulfilled. There's nothing else to do there.
The only certainty Wanda had in the silhouette of Y/N's opaque figure, standing restlessly in the middle of her room like a puppet without it strings, was the certainty that she would walk off again.
That she would leave her once more to wake up alone, without a pair of strong arms holding her by the waist and a needy nose-tip devotedly tucked between the brown strands of her long brunet hair, searching for more of the fresh strawberry scent she so claimed to be fond of.
And she did so without even addressing one last furtive glance over her shoulder at her ex-wife, without even once considering going back into her embrace and pretending they've always been waking up like this for the past few years.
Wanda was curled up in the thin sheets, just begging in her mind, holding back the thick tears accumulating within the waterline of her lugubrious gloomy eyes, hoping she'd go back to bed when she realized it was just a silly misunderstand, a daydream of her anxiety getting the best of her again.
But Y/N just put on her pants and left.
As if they were just a one-night stand, an impulsive mistake that should never be repeated. A secret forever kept and forgotten in the confines of the dense night. As if their bodies didn't fit together utterly, like the surest of puzzles.
Like a fugitive, a thief who ran off and took with her, compelled between the grasp of her strong fingers, the last pieces that persisted of the shattered heart that burns within the chest of her ex-wife.
A heavy silence, interspersed with long sharp gulps of air from Y/N. And then Wanda was all alone, being watched through the ominous walls of her lonely large room.
She was empty. Used and dumped on the bed as if Y/N had paid her for a night of pleasure.
Wanda wanted to get up and grab her by the hem of the shirt and beg her not to do this to her again (how could she?). Saying she doesn't know if she could handle yet another abandonment in her life.
That she can't take it anymore when Y/N is the reason for her breathed sobs when she's unaccompanied and desolate out of sight of her kids late at night, or just letting her tears run down the drain next to the shower water, cleansing her spirit from the impurities of nostalgia and longing.
But she just stood there like a damn mannequin, stagnant on her back on the mattress, listening to the erratic breathing of her ex-wife who had once again left in the dead of night, silent as a mouse.
Feeling her presence fade little by little, until the last vestige of Y/N's presence in the room was nothing more than the tenderly bittersweet flavor sliding smoothly into Wanda's tongue, to the depths of her stomach walls.
She knows Y/N assumed she was sleeping serenely in the blandness of the bed when she left her there, naked and alone, still with the memory of her pleasure flowing hot between her inner thighs, her flesh scarred with crimson fingerprints peppered all over her pale, creamy skin.
It was the same as the first time it happened, so many years before. The night Wanda never forgot—her victory and her defeat, her climax and her failure. When her orgasm was contemplated by Y/N's soul shouting in tears (and she could hear it, she could always hear her soul crying for help).
The last time, they'd alleged against each other’s lips, because the next day they'd take the pens on their way to the divorce sheet. Something was broken and they didn't know how to fix it.
She hated being so familiar with the rotten feeling of neglection. To be held hostage by an outpouring of hot copious tears cascading down her haggard face (over and over again).
It didn't seem right to Wanda that the reminiscences of Y/N that she kept in mind all alluded to an insipid and tired being, with an exhausted look at the misfortunes she had to face over the years, with her dense and overloaded shoulders, looking nothing like the gracious young woman she'd once known – a smart girl with an easy smirk and so much love to offer even behind her raw words and hard temper, who always had a sour comeback to everything and everyone on the tip of her tongue.
She was an amiable ray of sunshine turned into a turbulent storm, and which then dissipated into the emptiness of the void.
Y/N is hollow.
Her girlfriend, before her wife. Her best friend, before the mother of her children. A young girl exhausted by the weight of the unbearable agony of blameworthiness.
Hollow.
It’s like Wanda can’t even feel her anymore.
The Y/N of the post-blip world was a perennial den of wear and sorrow, having to deal with the burdens that her position as wife, mother and Avenger placed upon her, making it impossible to distinguish the three labels from each other when it came to the outcome of hers and Wanda's actions on the theater of war, actions that followed their next blunders – having to deal with the anguishes that they themselves inferred in the world in when they didn’t accomplish their assignment to prevent Thanos from taking possession of the Mind Stone fifteen years ago (both of them sweaty and bleeding in the midst of the scalding savannah of Wakanda’s ground).
Getting such a sublime and intangible creature back into her life, like the brightest of sunbeams, was for Wanda like a daydream turned into veracity, an intangible fantasy, crafted in flesh, bone, vein, and muscle.
A foolish delusion, which had been transmuted into an unthinkable momentary reality that, by all indications, goes against Y/N's real wishes. Not when her actions belie her words, no.
Their relationship was a mere remote memory, piling up cobwebs in a small, sealed, despised box holed up in her head.
As she had wanted so much, Y/N was there for her for a brief period of time, just as the moon and the sun were for the night and the day, never being able to really get in touch with each other per se. But then Y/N was gone just like that, far worse than the way she herself had left in the seconds afterwards the snap, between tears, blood and dust.
Wanda always knew that Y/N was her sadness and hope. But mostly, her love.
And that's why it aches for her that morning, her naked body sheltered by the caresses of a sheet that feels silky against her epidermis scarred by the ghost of Y/N's tongue. It hurts so much that it seems to eat away at her insides, her veins, her bones, her flesh, her pulsing crimson core. It seems to chew her up until there is nothing left of herself but desolation and solitude.
And Wanda brings the pale kneecaps of her bare knees to her chest, a knot of flesh and gall obstructing the path of oxygen to her lungs through her pharynx, wanting only to curl up into a ball and disappear, like a child who doesn't know how to deal with her enormous frustration anymore.
Her lungs etch as do her eyeballs. Her bottom lip quivers, and there's a mere second of hesitation before the first tear makes its way from her high cheekbone to the pillowcase.
And then she sobs. And it hurts again, a twinge feeling inside her chest – the oxygen inside her bronchi becomes ice cubes.
It hurts because love isn't supposed to hurt at all.
And she remembers when love was gentle and didn't harm her. She remembers loving and being loved, how sweet it felt at the time, so easy to chew and swallow. But mostly Wanda remembers being abandoned. And every time it hurts a little more than the last one.
She no longer bothers to try to stop her tears from falling; she knows that soon the twins will wake up in their beds, and it won't be long before the boys miss their other mother figure being around and then ask for her with big question marks taking shape in their immaculate, childish gaze.
They look up to Y/N, after all – bright, pristine eyes of puerile children gleaming with hopefulness and jubilation towards that enigmatic figure that she is.
She is their mother. Blood of their blood (as much as Wanda herself also is). The detachment makes her a new type of person to them every time they see her, and it's like bumping into a charming new individual all over again.
There are so many stories to tell and hear from a personality as dangerously captivating as hers, even though she is as reserved as she is.
Wanda is well acquainted with Y/N's enchants, so she knows what it's like – seeing her from afar and itching after her, but never being able to get close enough without corroding in the barrier of hostile blazes that edges her inner self. It's like trying to catch a butterfly in midair, but never succeeding.
And Wanda needs to be strong for them, for her children, even with thunder flashing in her heart. Even though now she doesn't want to be a responsible adult anymore.
So, she cries soundlessly, sobs suffocated by the gentleness of a pillow (so her children don't hear their mother crying because of their other mother), and Wanda breaks down in tears like a weeping tiny child, like the times when the world was too loud, and she was too young.
The compression constrained into her core is such that it feels as if it will boil, overflow and burst in a nebulous wave of scarlet melancholy any second now, swallowing the structures of that town into itself, turning that entire longitudinal radius that encompasses the Westview framework into a bodily edification of her crackling grief.
She just wished that damn finger snap had never happened. That it had never wrecked her wife in a way that seems to be irretrievable. That it had never ripped the happiness out of her and metamorphosed it to dust.
She just desired to be able to swap places with Y/N. To feel what she feels. Because she doesn't feel shit, and right now, Wanda doesn't want to feel shit either.
ᗢ
The thick, dark coffee in a china cup is cold and undrinkable, and only half a finger down the rim has been consumed so far – the liquid forgotten there, uninteresting and frugal. The receptacle is placed on a small low table of pale wood, next to a hard glass ashtray piled high with the crumpled butts of dozens of cigarettes already smoked, like a bunch of spaced-out pins spiked into a small pillow.
Some coffee would sure cure the slithering ailments of the recurring debilitation of a good hangover, but it turns out that for a hangover to settle into your bodily fatigue you must first stop drinking – which you haven't done in a while.
So, the coffee sits there and in due course, cools down.
A massive, compact haze of cigarette smoke hangs high above the light bulbs hanging from the bright ceiling. It's not necessary for you to barely touch your drink anymore, after brewing it so grudgingly, for you to realize that you have commitment issues.
A narrow slice of light from a half-open window frames a stack of cheap aluminum beer cans and the cracked glass cellphone screen that's been at least two weeks without a full charge from its charger – because you know that, after turning your back and running, the next step in your vicious cycle is to hide in whatever hole that shelters you from the judgmental gazes of the outside eyes and mourn until there are no more tears to cry.
And it so happens that the bitterness of alcohol makes the misfortunes arising from your actions (the consequences thereof) less painful to bear; or at least it makes you feel a little less guilty for doing something that you know would have left you feeling like a piece of shit in the first place.
But you know that even the most inebriating booze won't make you forget Wanda's warm skin against the digits of your clever fingers. Not when you can still feel the warmth of her flesh, her blood, aching like a ghost in crimson forever branded in your eternal affect. Not when she still moans the way she used to, responding so passionately to your own touches and needs.
Not when she still tastes like the addictive red color that glides across the face of your tongue, as if you could never fully satisfy yourself until you ate her alive – even when she was younger, Wanda was always pretty vocal in bed, after all.
And that awakened something very primal within you every single time you made her scream your name at the top of her lungs.
You fell face down on a pillow soaked in tears and cheap liquor, with an ancient stain of grape juice marking one of the four corners of the soft object; you rolled onto your side, into the shadow of your copious dark leather sofa set in the corner of the tiny room that smells of gloominess, burnt cigarettes and simply self-harm.
The apartment window is a square of dim, insignificant light.
Through the window raised by the singular narrow rectangular frame that covers the wall of the room (a cloudy and milky glass, with a finish in hints of dryness, a dewy and opaque appearance due to the mild climate that spreads, like a silent disease stuck by the system, in West of Midtown), the faint golden sparks flutter from a shy spring sun, almost dying in its flavescent dull glow, as solemnly imbibed through the thick clouds in the midst of the gray sky outside.
Outside, among the parallel streets saturated by an immoderate frenzy of people, by the sonatas of the morning birds and also by the sounds of cars skidding along the asphalt with their screeching engines.
It is possible to hear the sounds of the city; the sound of life happening right in front of your apartment. Life blossoming and life withering away, all together and at once. And you there, as a viewer, just watch and never interact. There is no life for you to live.
Not when your family is nowhere to be found in this goddamn city.
There are people out there, all varieties of them, carrying suitcases, in suits and ties, with children and pets, alone or in packs.
And conversations as they speak, snaking through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options – from the season's fashion apparel to the finishing touches of an assiduous sport match to the bewildering events of the latest chapter from a popular television show.
Or maybe even the political scandals involving some sloppy rookie vigilante, a ridiculously self-proclaimed superhero active in the city (one of those who came before them and the handful of others who will also come after them) and who you just don't give a damn about.
This is New York City. You want to sleep and never wake up again.
But a muffled rustling comes from outside your window, dangerously too close to come from the sidewalk below. Your brain goes into automatic mode. The smart knuckles of your fingers bend in combat mode.
There's the oscillating sound of metal compacted with something heavy on the fire escape, followed by what feels like a rhythmic thud against the glass. Your instinct speaks louder when you sit on the couch in readiness, stretching your spine, prepared to hit or run. The familiar shiver skitters along the entire contour of your body, and you hold your breath into your lungs for half a second.
Someone is trying to sneak in.
The sofa is leaning in the right corner to the side of the window, and being on its side, you don't see who is the figure that shades the fire escape.
You stand, and move silently with your knees moderately bent, just as Steve once taught you to do. The window glass lifts up in a horrible, crackling squeak. You feel a rush of adrenaline derail a corroding craving inside your veins.
Thick saliva dries up inside your mouth and you gasp for air, but your lungs lock in unease, a fist ready to sink into the intruder's skull.
A leg clad in stylishly worn jeans slips through the windowsill, and a foot clad in a battered combat boot steps into the walls of your apartment. You know how many punches it takes to shatter a jawbone.
And then strands of golden hair (a half-dirty, beer-colored blonde) stealthily guides itself when the head that holds these hairs makes analytical movements, scrutinizing with an attentive eye, like a radar or a security camera, over the entire square meter that comprises your tiny living room and then hovering over you, stunned, standing there by the window.
You're faced with a long flannel coat with plaid stripes in yellow, white and black, and irises in a sober half-amber piercing green that stands out even more when flanked by dark smudges of smoky black eyeshadow.
A half-confused, half-surprised yelp leaves the inside of your throat as you raise your eyebrows in a perplexed act at the intruder standing right in front of you.
“What the fuck, Yelena?!”
Of course it's Yelena Belova. Natasha's younger sister who is older than you.
She doesn't seem the least bit amused by your skittish reaction to her sudden presence, because she looks around, at every stain and every tiniest crack cracked in the dye of the morose walls, in an act filled with lethargy and sloppiness, then finally shrugs her shoulders casually inside her thick plaid coat, glancing amiably in your direction.
“Well, good morning to you too,” Yelena mutters casually in a heavy, hard, insistent Russian accent, opening the commission of her mouth too wide to pronounce the words in English, “It’s good to see you’re not dead yet”
And then you blink a confused once at the dirty blonde, relaxing the muscles in your back as you do.
"Dead…? Why the hell would I be dead?!”
“Because I sent like, ten messages letting you know that I'd be in town this week and you didn't reply, and then I thought that since you're… well, you, I should come to make sure you didn't hang yourself by the neck in the shower. Or that someone else hadn't done it for you. You know, because I'm actually a good friend"
“Huh” you then croak awkwardly, slumping down on the leather couch again, resting both your elbows on the kneecaps covered by the material of your battered jeans.
Your left hand reaches for the crumpled pack of cigarettes lying on the table, and you fit one of them to the commission of your lips, rolling your thumb across the flint of the lighter so that a spark ignites there, lighting the tip of the white paper cylinder.
And then you puff on the tobacco, smoke in and smoke out of your lungs, and you lean arbitrarily against the back of the couch, eyes darting toward the figure of Yelena still standing in front of the window.
“Right, sorry” and a lame sigh leaves your throat, “My phone died”
“Better the phone than you, I guess”
You glance at Yelena, devoting a little more attention to your actions as you do; her round face with a strong jaw and the tip of her nose slightly upturned (a characteristic that makes her carry an air of joviality and smartness), her thick and well-cut dark eyebrows, her blond hair tousled, looking like a wild lion's mane.
She looks younger than you, but maybe that's because you haven't been taking good care of your health in a while (and also because, since she was blipped and you were not, you aged five more years than she ever did).
“Still, you can't break into other people's houses whenever you want, Yelena. Fuck, I could have killed you!”
"What, you? Kill me?"
Yelena says mockingly, before uttering a long laugh that shakes both of her shoulders, squeezing her eyelids in two good-natured lines, which causes her nose to scrunch like a little pink bud.
You roll your eyes in their sockets, expressing a kind of sullen scowl.
“This one is good, very good. You were always a funny type, Y/N Y/L/N. Very funny”
Something in her posture always reminded you of the distinct figure of Natasha back in the compound, when you were just a bit older than your own children are right now; you realized this as soon as your paths crossed a few years ago, when you realized that this was the young little sister you had heard so much about in your life from Natasha.
Putting a face to the name, it didn't take any biological bonds to realize that Yelena couldn't be anyone's sister other than the original Black Widow herself. They have always been, for you, like the different sides of the same coin.
“But why do you still live in this dump, huh? No offense, of course,” she says, pacing a few examining steps around the room.
“None taken” you mumble badly.
“Tony Stark left a huge amount of money to every remaining Avenger, didn't he? I know it's been a while, but seriously, you could be living on Wall Street right now. Or any other expensive place around here, I don't know, I don't really understand how this neighborhood status thing works for Americans. But I watched American Psycho once. Crazy movie”
Yelena shrugs casually, strands of blonde hair slipping against the stylish chains fashionably wrapped around the contour of her neck.
You drag on more of the cigarette and let the smoke escape wistfully through your nostrils, looking at the floor between your bare feet, feeling a knot wrapping in your esophagus.
You don't really want to talk about Tony.
“Yeah, he did,” you mutter somberly, still not looking back at Yelena.
“But I never wanted to touch that money, no. I’ll leave everything to my kids, for their future. To college, I don't know. I mean, I know Wanda has her share too, but… it's… it’s the least I can do for them, after being such a shitty mom their whole lives. They deserve it much more than me”
Yelena lets out a rueful sigh. You exhale another cloud of cigarette smoke. She looks at you like she might just kick you in the face.
“Okay, okay, you know what? You are depressing me right now. Uhum, yeah. Big vibe killer”
And then she goes to a reserved circular table in the other corner of the room, and from there she pulls out a wooden chair, bringing it to her heels so that she can sit opposite to you, in front of the sofa by the low, rectangular table that is where you sit – right after the cup of cold coffee and the full up ashtray.
The amber color that surrounds her irises glows at you with shades of anticipation.
“Come on, come on, vent. Speak, you can talk to me. You look like you really need to talk to someone”
Yelena does as you do, and rests her elbows with interest on her knees. You remember the first time she did it.
The first time she just sat there and listened to you babble meaningless for hours and hours into the night, in the company of her favorite Russian brand vodka, back in the day that was supposed to be your wedding anniversary celebration with Wanda, and you were as drunk as a damn sailor as you did.
Ever since you met her, Yelena has always been a good friend to keep around.
(That is, except for that one time she tried to full-rage murder you on Christmas Eve, of course)
ᗢ
It had been some time since that long, cold, dry December night a few years ago had ebbed, and yesterday's snow still carpeted the ground beneath your feet, glistening in the red-and-green ruddiness of the Christmas ornaments.
The lights and decorations adorned the entire component miles of the longitudinal extent that made up the elongated streets that flowed through Midtown Manhattan, and everything was festive and comfortable.
You assumed with yourself that Billy and Tommy would enjoy it there, even if they were, at the time, just two tiny babies, and could barely comprehend what was going on around them with all their meager cognition at the height of their (little more than) one year of age, when talking about terms of biological age.
In the middle of the Rockefeller Center, the snow had been partially furrowed by hundreds of feet dressed in winter shoes, forming a dark, muddy mass, but on the curbs on either side of the long colorful streets and at the corners of the sidewalks, a thin sheet of profuse ice was heaped in flakes of shimmering whiteness.
The gray sidewalk had been cleaned and shaved, but it was still treacherously slippery for the sizable portion of lonely souls who had ventured out of the comfort of their homes in the middle of night in the closing stages of the Christmas Eve.
You, in all your shame and humiliation, had just signed the divorce papers, and was at last a solitary woman with a blank look coated on your somber face while you walked by the other people so aimlessly; so, there was no company for you in that festive period which allegedly brings people (family) together, other than the very torments inside your own head and the harmful smoke from your lit cigarette.
And, of course, the blonde woman in the tactical suit who had dug her heel in an act of proficiency right into the gap between your thick dark jacket-adorned right ribs, flinging you out of the crook of her knee with your back open on the frigid foggy floor, tumbling with a hollow thud, squeezing a painful grunt out of your lungs from between your clenched teeth.
She just stood there, panting for so long that her feet pressed against the snow leaved marks. She was a dark silhouette against the golden glimmering of the enormous Christmas tree set behind her. The shadow of a predator in a night pierced by snow white despondency.
“Before I kill you, Y/N Y/L/N, I need to ask you one question”
Her voice was harsh, thick with some compact Russian intonation within the enunciation of her own words, echoing inside your disordered ears as she stomped spitefully toward you, crunching snow with the tractor soles of her combat boots as she did it.
“I need to know what happened. I need to know how you had the nerve to kill her. How did you have the courage to kill Natasha”
From your lying place on the ground as you were, you lifted your eyes gleaming in watery misunderstanding towards the black-clad woman who surrounded you like a venomous hunter – even though there was, in those stern, cold amber irises of her, an murderous spark filled with rage smoldering in the flame of her soul, with vengeance shots being the fuel for such a fire, the passion that burned even more was the passion of desolation, of a broken heart partially melted by a sharp feeling of sorrow.
She was someone still grieving the loss, a bitter feeling that was already so familiar inside your cramped chest.
Then it was that something clicked in the back of your mind, as if a glow had put in the picture to your cognition, and you recognized someone you had never seen before.
Yelena Belova, a Black Widow assassin, the younger sister herself. You wish you had met her in a different situation than the one you found yourself in at that moment.
“I need to know what happened”
“You want to know what happened, huh?” you mussed in a bitter tone of voice, firmly pressing the palm of your right hand across your rib cage, against your aching rib.
You noticed when she swallowed hard.
“She sacrificed herself, Yelena” the assassin locked her knees at the mention of her own name, her steady, rueful gaze burning towards your eyes as she stood just a few feet away from you.
“She sacrificed herself to save the world and I couldn't stop her because I'm weak, that's what happened"
"You are lying"
“She sacrificed herself, she took the chance from me. It was… it was my choice” you panted feebly, blinking your eyes once, “And she took it from me”
“Shut up. Shut up! You are lying! Stop lying!”
“Denying reality won't make things any different, Yelena!”
"Stop fucking lying!" Yelena yelled in your direction, thick layers of tears suppressed within her waterline, making her eyes stormy and harried, "And even if it's true, she died because you left her! It's still your fault, Y/N!"
"Yes, she died because I wasn't strong enough to stop her!" on your knees, you yelled towards her, “Because I’m a fucking coward!”
You screamed until your vocal cords burned, until your lungs collapsed, and your throat clanged to the bottom of your neck. You just craved to scream, an instinct as visceral as a wounded and cornered animal.
“Do you think I don't know that the one who should be here in front of you is her and not me?! That I don't deserve to continue my life instead of her, instead of all of them?! But how the fuck am I supposed to move on with everyone else knowing she's the one who should be here and not me?!”
She blinked with foggy amber eyes towards you. You felt your jawbone twitch.
“I know I'm not the one who should be here! I know I should have jumped that fucking abyss instead of her, I know I should have stopped that purple bastard from ripping a hole in Vision's head, I know I could have saved my family, I know all of this! I know, okay?! I fucking know! I've known this for five fucking years, and still there isn't a damn day that I don't think about it!”
You started to slobber, and saliva and tears coalesced into one material as they poured down your chin, dripping hot into the snow below your bent knees, and you felt like you could throw up at any giving moment. But you couldn't care less about your weeping figure. Not when Yelena also collapsed right in front of you, her quivering knees supported by snow and ice in the middle of the Rockefeller Center.
“But I'm sorry, Yelena” you breathed out in a pitying voice, your throat scraping like you've swallowed a whole cactus.
“I'm really sorry, but you won't be able to kill me. Not with knives or guns or grenades, no. Not with this fucking body”
And then you let out a pathetic laugh packed with acidic sourness, which dripped from your mouth and leaked along with the tears that melted the snow around you.
“You know, that's what Nat said that day. That I shouldn't jump anyways because I'd probably just fall to the ground down there, get up and walk away. That's what she said, can you believe it? Fuck, that’s what… what she… she- fuck-”
The rest of the sentence died in your throat, but the grunt derived from you, coming into the world as cry for help, was in the form of a choking, contrite sob. And then some bell ding-donged in the distance, announcing the first seconds of midnight. Yelena looked at you and you looked at her through the wintry night air, two teary gazes colliding in midair, just seeking for some kind of support within each other.
You just missed her, Natasha, so much that it ached. And so did Yelena.
“I loved her” she muttered, more to herself than to you, “I loved her so much”
“Me too”
At the beginnings of Christmas that year, your newfound best friend wept with you in memory of the loved older sister you both lost back in Vormir.
ᗢ
A clipped draft of silence ensues after you clarify in detail to Yelena about what happened between you and Wanda during the last time you saw each other back in that remote day a few weeks ago. The only thing you can hear inside the crackling walls of your disdainful apartment is the sound of smoke drifting through a gap parted between your lips.
A car then passes on the street below. The bell of a bicycle echoes in three consecutive chimes that reverberate through the thin walls of the apartment complex where you live.
You search for sips of your third cigarette of the morning, swallowing gulps of the smoke so that it suffocates your unresolved feelings within you until they asphyxiate and rot inside your impenetrable body.
And Yelena raises both her thick brows in an act soaked in awe, crossing her forearms across her chest held by a brown wool vest beneath her thick plaid coat, leaning back with her spine spilling toward the back of the wooden chair.
“Wow” she whistles after a meditative time drowned in muteness, blinking her glaring eyes in your direction in an almost even dazed glow, “You fucked up”
“I know,” you hum back to her, moving your elbow and then your right wrist to bring the white filter cigarette to your mouth.
“No, but like, you really fucked up this time”
"Yeah, I know"
“You had everything in your hands and then you went there and threw it out the window”
“Yes, that's what I said”
“I mean, you were having contact with your kids after so much time. With her. And now you aren't anymore because you don't know how to keep it in your pants, you horny animal. And on top of that, you ran off in the middle of the night like a fucking asshole. Your relationship with those boys? Gone. Your relationship with your magical-ancient-goddess-of-chaos-ex-wife? That's gone also. Everything is gone. All is lost"
"You're not really helping anyone here right now, Yelena"
You grumble uncouthly in a whine, and the Black Widow rests both her elbows on the kneecaps of her pale jeans, taking a gulp of air, then exhaling lamentably in your direction.
“You need to go and apologize to her”
"Yeah, no shit" you mutter with your lips half-closed in a thin line, still sitting on the dark couch.
“Like, you really need to do this, it's really important” her compact accent makes the sentence sound more charged than it actually is.
You put out the end of the cigarette by pressing it against the dirty glass bottom of the ashtray. And then you sigh deeply, gazing toward the other woman with your eyes heavy with some torrential glance of regret and guilt, an emotion too smothering to be channeled through conversations, no matter how hard you try to do it.
“And what do you want me to say, huh? ‘Hey Wanda, I'm sorry I left after sleeping with you because I had a fucking panic attack and I thought the best thing would be to just leave without waking you up. Oh, and by the way, I'm also sorry for neglecting you and our newborn children when you came back after five years of being dead, it's just that in that time I've kind of discovered that really the only thing I know how to do right is bottle up my feelings and drink a whole six-pack alone without feeling sick. Hope you can still let me stay around our ten-year-olds after that!’”
“Yeah, I don't know if that would be a good thing to say after you dumped her to wake up alone in bed, no” Yelena shrugs, shaking her golden-haired head, not taking offense at your shot of acid cynicism towards her, “Maybe without the six-pack part, she doesn’t need to know that”
"Fuck!" you grunt like the abrupt barking of a pissed off dog, pouring your open palms down the length of your nauseatingly pale face, "God, I'm such a fucking idiot!"
“Yes, you sure are,” she replies to your daydream aloud, “Now the question is whether you're going to choose to remain an idiot, or if you're going to get your ass off the couch and go do something right for a change. Your family needs you, Y/N. And you need them too”
And silence erupts in the room. She looks serious as you look towards her, sitting in the chair set across the table like an impassable barricade. You then shrug in desistance, half embarrassed, half tired, breaking a smirk at the corner of your awkward mouth.
“And when did you get so smart about love relationships, huh, 'Lena?”
And Yelena smiles, lifting the corner of her full rosy lips toward you too.
“When did you get so dumb, Y/N/N?”
ᗢ
A fine tea set is placed on the vast dark rectangular table of beveled wood, right next to a copy of a thick olden book which, in its time-marked yellowish pages, deals with various amounts of (poorly) handwritten spells and invocations that Wanda already had read and reread so much before this day, studying it meticulously with a unique devotion worthy of a true witch's apprentice at the time.
It's been a good few years now since Wanda comprehended herself as the current bearer of the entitlement of the distinguished Scarlet Witch, the paramount of all the enchantresses of her generation, forged from an primordial spark of legacy-bearer magic that awakened a unstoppable fire of chaos energy when in contact with the enchanted waves of the Mind Stone (and not just being the fortunate fruit of a lab project, as she had long believed she had been).
It's just a fluke that she prefers to use such magical gifts to serve breakfast to dinner.
A silver tray, white porcelain vases, and stunning tulips adorn the corner of the table, and the peach-colored light of a warm spring morning in New Jersey streams through the thin windowpanes. A complete tea tray is readily placed on the face of the dark table, and food and drinks can be spotted speckled along the entire length of the canopy furniture.
There is a clink of cups and saucers and the low hiss of a still-warm porcelain kettle, fresh from the stove.
Through the clear glass of the window raised in front of the sink, Billy and Tommy are accompanied by the caution worthy of a prudent maternal gaze instigated by Wanda, the woman who follows the two boys with zealous eyes, irrigated with carefulness, as the pair of young brothers plays football back and forth on the green grass in her backyard outside.
She lets out a sweet little sigh at the sight of her children smiling and laughing, prim in the childhood perks they deserve; that she fought so hard, with the simple will that only a true mother would have, so that they could enjoy it to the fullest during their youthful days.
Just take seeing them, the two twin boys exuding a glow of innocent delight, for a soft, placid smile to draw across the commission of her lips, relaxing the tense muscles of her back.
On the other side of the table, however, opposite Wanda, sits the impassive figure that is Agatha Harkness dressed in a pin-on purple sweater with an oval brooch on the high collar, an item that once belonged to the unfathomable figure of her late mother; she is the witch of no coven, leaning back in her wooden chair, enjoying a cornstarch cookie with such care that it's actually funny to look at, from a certain point of view.
And her piercing blue gaze engenders a similarly clear one when she looks at Wanda sitting there in front of her, even though the table set for afternoon tea and all the bits and pieces arranged for it are what space them there, into Wanda's cozy bright kitchen, bathed in the banter of a warm three o'clock sunbeam.
“I beg your pardon, hon?”
Agatha half-questions, inferring high doses of puzzlement in her half-joking voice, almost even laughing, just before she can sip from her pale tea set into the distinct white cup standing just in front of her sharp face.
On Wanda's part, there is a long, silent sip of the warm liquid poured into the vessel she holds in her right hand.
“I...” she then mutters, as if trying to catalog the topics inside her head, “I slept with Y/N. She left afterwards”
Wanda still remembers well when she met Agatha a few years ago, yes.
She had just moved with the boys to Westview, looking for fresh air that felt like a new beginning, as she was still getting used to the binding trials of a life as a newly divorced single mother of twins, and that was why there was sought an environment more conducive to raising a family of three.
Somewhere as far away from whatever complications as possible, so that the backwaters of a quiet life could become her new standard of living, where she could just devote herself to raising her two boys, maybe getting in some gardening too, or even perhaps reading some of the austere books that she so desperately wanted to catch up on with. Just an ordinary, quiet life in an equally ordinary, quiet town.
The happy ending she craved so much to have.
Y/N had suggested New Jersey once, so that's where Wanda went looking to establish her new roots (even if the only thing missing from the picture was the very person who had told them to go in the first place).
But Agatha felt the chaos magic awaken, like the spark that burns in the firstfruits of a treacherous ignition.
The more experienced witch, however, had presented herself as a form of menace in the first instance and, in all cases, had also threatened to steal Wanda’s magical vitality for herself (because that's kind of her thing).
But all it took was assiduous combat waged amid the skies of the ordinary little town of Westview, showered in rays and twirls of a shimmering amalgamation of dull purple and crackling scarlet, for a overpowered Agatha in the town square to realize with herself the fact that, even with all of her knowledge accumulated thorough centuries of learning and studying magic, she would never be able to subdue Wanda's magical gifts by herself – who had all that instinctive and spontaneous power pulsing like a form of inheritance engraved deep in her bones, magical energy bristling within her veins like an endless supply of such scarlet-colored vigor.
Wanda exuded magic her whole life without even trying, after all. Without even being aware that she was doing it.
The friendship soon blossomed very rapidly between them when an arrangement was formalized at the end of their impasse, and Agatha became the tutor responsible for conducting Wanda's magical studies, not accepting less than that or even that another person less able to exercise the charge would do – see, for example, the Sorcerer Supreme or the other faithful coreligionists of his, the warlock battalion inhabiting Kamar-Taj, that ancient temple located in some remote location among the rocky mountains of Tibet.
Agatha had pompously stated that she had a duty to Wanda (to the Scarlet Witch herself) for the sake of the sisterhood of the witch community, and she would be the one to guide the legendary Harbinger of Chaos’s footsteps towards the meritorious attributes of such a formidable creature, to all the power and glory that Wanda was born to secure and maintain.
The years went by, and it didn't take long for Wanda to master the limping spells that inhabit the receptacle of magic that is her body by herself; however, Agatha's presence in her life as her confidant and adviser remained even after her emancipation as a full-fledged enchantress, and even if the other woman came to deny it, Wanda just knew she was also captivated by the young witch's uniquely charismatic personality.
And that's why Agatha was chosen to be there, at that moment, sitting right on the other side of the spacious dining table, listening to Wanda babble about sleeping with her ex-wife who ended up running away in the dead of night.
“Did I hear it right? Did you actually sleep with your ex-wife? And she just left right after you closed your legs? What a bitch”
“Please don't say that out loud” Wanda, a little ashamed to say it audibly and confirm to herself that she had indeed committed such a foolishness, sighs behind her cup of tea.
“I don't want the boys to ask me more questions that I don't know how to answer. It's enough to have had to explain to them why mommy left so early without even saying goodbye. Or why she just disappeared the last few days... they really do love her, Agatha. It's even harder when they really do love her”
Wanda voice is tiny as she makes a slight movement of her head in disenchantment. Suddenly, the chamomile tea that slips between her teeth taste too bitter to her fondness.
She wants to say that Y/N loves her kids a lot too, but in all honesty, she can't quite put those words inside her ex-wife's mouth by herself.
"Well, she's their mother after all. And turns out that some of us really like our mothers," mutters the old woman, a wisp of full brown hair streaming in front of her bustling face, chuckling slightly with a somewhat evil giggle, “Not that I would know, of course”
“Yes, she is their mother. That's why no matter how much she hurts me, she can't hurt them too. No, not them"
Something about Wanda sounds a little dismayed as she utters the words for her former educator to hear. Before Y/N's ex-wife, she will always be Billy and Tommy's mother.
“Well, that's just disappointing if you ask me” Agatha lets out a somewhat jaded exclamation, lowering her own cup towards the face of the table.
“Honestly, sweets, you always talked so much about this young heartbreaker that I even thought that someday you would end up reliving your old love days, that’s true, but… I just didn't count on her being the smash and dash kind of type. Damn, I was rooting for her”
She half undertones the last words to herself, but Wanda is able to hear her anyway, and an incredulous arc forms in both of her dark brows as she does.
“Really, Agatha?!”
“I mean,” Agatha chuckles, “I know that stallion is an eye candy, I'll give you that, but even so... I think I've heard enough about her to know that her little head is kind of cuckoo for cocoa puffs, if you know what I mean”
A long, exhausted sigh is expressed on the part of the other woman. She really just wants to disappear.
“I'm so, so stupid” Wanda whimpers, leaning both of her elbows on the face of the table, her palms pressing against the length of her sharp face, “I don't know where I was with my head”
“Oh honey, I think we both know all too well where your head was” Agatha says in response, exhaling a half morbid laugh as she does.
Through her fingers, Wanda looks at her former lecturer rather uncomfortably (the woman with a square, firm jaw and a wide white smile that always sets all her teeth up like a porcelain slab). A silence comes and goes like a passing intrusive thought.
Agatha kind of engage in recreation with her silver spoon slipping in a swirl of chamomile inside her cup of tea, turning the small cutlery from side to side in circular wrist movements.
“Was it good at least?”
Wanda raises her head in a lame movement, and then blinks one diffident time in a performance of pure confusion.
"What...?"
“The sex, love bird” Agatha rests her chin on her open palm supported by her elbow placed on the table, “Was it like the good old days?”
Wanda hesitates for a half-second-long lapse. “Yes”, she wanted to reply almost instinctively, the words slipping from the tip of her tongue, her lungs hankering to do it so, “yes, it was like the old days”. But deep within herself, Wanda knows well it wasn't like it used to be.
It was better.
It was an act that reconnected them, bringing together two fragments of a shattered totality that, when put together again, made a complete whole one more time. By consuming the human carnal and instinctive act, they united the spiritual and the physical – merging the two women with a momentary, vulgar and sweet perfection, a remnant of a lewd nature during countless lapses of physical and psychological pleasure.
It wasn't enough for Wanda to bodily possess her, no; she wanted Y/N as an entirety, body and soul, glowing red in her prism of feelings. There she found nothing but devotion and pleasure, all aimed at Y/N in a unique way that would never be seen by anyone but she herself.
So many years ago, still in their early adult life, an Infinity Stone and a snap of a fingers was what separated them; yet there, in her bed, they were together and were one – red and white curling up in the dead of night as the consolidation of a longstanding, forbidden desire.
The truth is that as much as Y/N suffered from the lack of affection, Wanda also wanted to be loved by someone in particular. And she knew she was being prized when, wrapping her arms around the back of her sweaty neck, pulling her close without saying anything, her ex-wife pulled her into a long, affectionate kiss that had almost made her feel burst into wails and start crying right there.
Her upper teeth chew the contour of her lower lip, as Wanda absently squeezes the fingertips of one hand through the fingers of the other placed on the table, yearning to speak, but not even knowing how to do it at all.
“It was… good,” she irrevocably acknowledges more to herself than to Agatha, staring at the pale porcelain cup placed between her crossed wrists.
A sudden petulant urge itches to say more about her comes over Wanda almost automatically. She wants to put it out, speak for the seven winds to hear, cry out to the world that, in that night, Y/N loved her again, like no one else has before or since.
“It was so good, Agatha. And it was special, you know? For me it was, and I know it was for her too, even if she doesn't want to admit it. It's been a while since I've seen her so… light. Self-confident, even. Y/N didn't used to be like this before, you know? So closed off and… distant. She was cheerful. Smiling. She was… she was everything to me"
The smile then quoted by Wanda ends up mirroring her rosy lips.
“Once, when we had just started dating, she told me that all she had to do was make me smile to feel happy, and I know that was true. There was a time when this was true. I thought that without Pietro I would never be able to feel whole again, but… she made me feel this way, so I know it was real. I know it was because that's how I felt too. But now..."
That's how the smile fades, like a ray of sunlight supplanted by a dense, dark cloud. A heavy color of stormy green falters in Wanda's limp gaze.
“Now… she's so different. Changed. It’s like… like I don't even know who she is anymore"
“Oh dear…” Agatha's friendly grip searches for the outline of Wanda's hand across the table, and the older witch gives her an almost apologetic motherly look as she does, “You know that things have changed, Wanda. A lot happened in those five years you were gone, even more so for her”
Wanda remains cuddled by her silence. Outside, Tommy lets out a loud laugh at something said to him by Billy. She knows what Agatha is talking about.
Y/N never willingly broached the subject with her in the last remaining days of their failed marriage, but she saw the news, the articles, the interviews. People talking about it left and right, all around the world. Damn, she talked to most of her teammates who stayed behind after she was blipped.
She knows well what Y/N has been through. She just doesn't know what goes on in Y/N's head after that.
“A lot of people have changed, hon. The remnants of the vanishing are still there for anyone to see and you know it, right? Some people still can't even talk about it openly. There are still support groups and probably many more years of therapy ahead for most survivors. The people who stayed… they are are no longer the same as before, and ten years is pretty much nothing on the space-time line. All of this is still very recent for some people. They still need to heal. That young woman… she still needs to heal”
And then, Agatha sighs. Her brooch reflects a beam of white light which is caught by Wanda's clever eye.
“I'm not saying what she did is right and fair, oh no, she's a cunt for doing that to you, hon. If I could I would turn her into a bug and feed her to Señor Scratchy right off the bat. But… you can't expect Y/N to be the same person as before, Wanda. Not after what she's been through”
Wanda looks up from her cup to aim at the other woman in front of her.
“How do you think you would feel if the love of your life and the children you had with them were ripped from you all of a sudden, huh? What it would be like if you felt how she feels. Think about it, child. There’s a lot to unpack there”
And no, she doesn't want to think about it at all.
But it's late at night, shortly after she's tucked the boys into bed with prolonged hugs and heartfelt goodnight kisses deposited on top of their childish heads, that Wanda finds herself checking just a single text message that glows on her phone's screen as a warning of a new concern.
can we talk? please
(seen)
And then she thinks.
Distress, anger, exhilaration and exhaustion merge into a single being that sprout inside her like a throbbing disease. But Wanda has always been the type to let her heart guide her, after all. The kind that always puts family above all else.
And Y/N is her family, there's no way she wouldn't be (not when she's the one who gifted her with Billy and Tommy, the best thing that ever happened to her). And that's why Y/N is there in front of her, sitting across the table, after she drops the boys off at school early in the morning.
She smells like a freshly smoked cigarette and wears a different jacket than the one Wanda last saw her in. It fits her well.
The coffee found inside the porcelain mug was specially brewed just the way Wanda knows she likes it, in the right proportions so it's full-bodied, but not too much bitter to swallow. But Y/N doesn't drink from it.
She just stares with demure eyes towards her hands lying in her lap, while Wanda follows her with a hard and unerring gaze. She wants to punch her in the face and kiss her in the mouth and hate her and love her all at once.
There is a moment filled with a piercing deafening silence. The neighbor's dog starts barking at the postman passing by on the sidewalk. When Y/N finally looks up and takes aim at her ex-wife, filling her mouth to start uttering rehearsed words, Wanda stops her from speaking before she even starts to do it.
You have to go to the scariest place to find out who you are, who you’re going to be. There’s no way around it, the only way through it, is through it.
"You could certainly think of a few ways she could repay you; imagining them whilst making eye contact with a crucified Jesus statue was not your finest moment."
Can’t pretend I’ll turn this into a series because I’m too lazy, but I was physically unable to not write something based on this pic. Enjoy!
-
“Just sit those beside the muffins sweetie, thanks so much for doing this” Wanda’s sweet words had you blushing and just about dropping the tray of cookies in your arms.
“Oh it’s no problem at all Wanda, anything for you” you beamed at her; internally smacking your forehead at your inability to play it cool. In your defence today was one of those glorious days where Wanda wore her glasses, and you were a goner at the sight.
Thick lenses framing her face, perched just above her button nose. She was too cute for her own good. She had recently cut her hair short and had been embarrassed about the ‘mom cut’ until you had convinced her she looked great by bombarding her with compliments until her cheeks were red.
This infatuation with the married woman had begun the second you moved to the small neighbourhood, greeted warmly by the woman the second your feet hit the sidewalk. From then on, she had become a permanent fixture in your daily life.
Wine dates and going to her whenever you had a tear in your dress that you just couldn’t sew. You had weaved your way into her busy life, and you were certainly not complaining.
This is what had led you to being in church at 7am on a Saturday morning. Wanda had flashed you a rushed smile the night before, explaining how she had so much to organise for the bake sale and practically no one to help her. Your car was loaded with baked goods before the night was over.
“Wanda you’ve really outdone yourself, this looks amazing” your eyes scanned over all the little handmade decorations she had been working on for the past week. Cheeks hurting from the smile that refused to leave your face.
“I couldn’t have done it without you silly, I really have to repay you somehow”. This was the biggest drawback to your friendship with the woman. The constant innuendos, the way she showered you with compliments and was always brushing hair out of your face with a perfectly manicured hand.
You could certainly think of a few ways she could repay you; imagining them whilst making eye contact with a crucified Jesus statue was not your finest moment.
As the day rolled on and the church became littered with all your fellow neighbours, you got less of Wanda’s undivided attention. The only thing that made you feel a little better about it was being able to study the woman whilst she was in her element.
Serving a cookie and ensuring everyone left her table with a smile, the woman was enchanting. Her movements so calculated, she stopped every now and again to throw you a quick smile over her shoulder.
Sometimes when she was listening intently to someone you would catch her twirling the bow around her neck in between her fingers, brows furrowed as she ingested every word that reached her ears. Earlier she had shed her grey coat, giving you a better view of the tight black dress that covered her body. You could not get your mind out of the gutter.
You were snapped out of your incessant daydreaming when you heard her calling your name, “y/n? Are you in there hun, you look a little warm”. You shook your head to clear the fuzziness that had taken over your brain. “Sorry Wanda, just lost myself for a moment there. What did you need?” Your words came out shaky as the hand she had placed on your forehead remained in place.
“Could you come help me with some boxes in the storage room sweetheart, there’s far too many”. You were nodding and following her like a puppy before she even finished her sentence.
The room was tiny and the boxes left only enough room for you to be pressed against Wanda’s side, the proximity leaving your mouth dry.
As you reached for the first box you felt Wanda grab your hand and raise it to her cheek. Spinning round to watch curiously as she pressed your fingertips against her ruby lips.
“Wanda what are you doing?” Your words came out as a whisper, too afraid to pierce the bubble surrounding you. “You’ve been so distracted today sweetie, and I think after being such a good girl you deserve a reward hmm?” You found yourself nodding along with her words.
“Come here darling” she whispered as she pulled you impossibly closer. Your mind could not catch up but it didn’t have to when Wanda brought your hands down to play with the bow around her neck.
“Take your reward baby” this finally snapped you out of it, not willing to pass up such an opportunity. You pushed her to lean against the wall of boxes, dropping to your knees in front of her. The irony of worshipping her in the back of a church was not lost on you.
You struggled to push the tight black skirt above her hips and she chuckled breathlessly as she wiggled her hips to pull it up. Your hands brushing over each other as desperation filled the room.
You were grateful to be on your knees already when you finally got the dress up to her waist, because the lacy black panties she had on would’ve left you unable to stand. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering just at the thought of tasting her.
Your might flickered between wanting to tease her until she whined, and wanting to push your tongue into her immediately. But in the end she made the decision for you, grasping your hair with both hands and pushing your face between her thighs.
Her hand came down to push her panties to the side and you barely got to appreciate the view before she pushed your face back to where it was. No barrier between your mouth and her now. Your tongue immediately gathering up as much wetness as it possibly could.
Her head fell back on the boxes with a thump and you raised your eyes to see her panting with an open mouth. The sight had you moaning into her, and that had her biting down onto her own hand to stop herself from filling the church with the sound of her moans.
When you let your fingers enter her, mouth not stopping for a second you were rewarded with a moan she let slip free. It only spurred you on to move faster.
A knock at the door startled you and you tried to pull away as panic rose in your throat, but Wanda’s grip kept you where you were and you watched as she cleared her throat prepared to lie effortlessly.
“Wanda hun, you in there?” Agatha’s voice floated through the door and right before Wanda replied you added an extra finger to hear her squeak. “Uh yes Agatha, just looking for uh some trays in the boxes I’ll be back in a jiff”.
“Want some help in there?” The door knob wiggled as Agatha asked, but unbeknownst to you Wanda had already taken care of that problem. “No no it’s alright, I’m- uh. I’m all good in here Agatha”. You could feel Wanda clenching around you and you silently willed the other woman to leave and let you hear her moan for you.
“Okay hun, see you out there” you heard her heels shift as she turned from the door, “be right there, I’m just coming” the innuendo couldn’t be missed, not with the way you could barely move your fingers. “Fuck I’m coming” that one was whispered just for you. You looked up and saw Wanda staring down at you, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Ruby lip caught between teeth.
“Such a good girl, keep going. I’m almost there” she was naive to imagine you’d stop. Not when she was about to come in your mouth. And she did, with shaking thighs and a silent moan. Nails digging into your scalp deep enough that you winced into her.
You tried to keep going, but she pulled your hand away with your wrist, dragging you to your feet as she put your fingers in her mouth to clean them up. “Mmm you’re way too good at that sweetheart. I can’t wait to repay the favour”. The thought of Wanda’s mouth on you had you grinning at her, but that abruptly ended when she fixed her panties and pulled her dress back down. Laughing gently at your pout.
“Soon baby, right now we have more cookies to sell so grab those trays and get your cute butt out there”
And she was on her way, you knew she was going to get you into a lot of trouble.
Can’t pretend I’ll turn this into a series because I’m too lazy, but I was physically unable to not write something based on this pic. Enjoy!
-
“Just sit those beside the muffins sweetie, thanks so much for doing this” Wanda’s sweet words had you blushing and just about dropping the tray of cookies in your arms.
“Oh it’s no problem at all Wanda, anything for you” you beamed at her; internally smacking your forehead at your inability to play it cool. In your defence today was one of those glorious days where Wanda wore her glasses, and you were a goner at the sight.
Thick lenses framing her face, perched just above her button nose. She was too cute for her own good. She had recently cut her hair short and had been embarrassed about the ‘mom cut’ until you had convinced her she looked great by bombarding her with compliments until her cheeks were red.
This infatuation with the married woman had begun the second you moved to the small neighbourhood, greeted warmly by the woman the second your feet hit the sidewalk. From then on, she had become a permanent fixture in your daily life.
Wine dates and going to her whenever you had a tear in your dress that you just couldn’t sew. You had weaved your way into her busy life, and you were certainly not complaining.
This is what had led you to being in church at 7am on a Saturday morning. Wanda had flashed you a rushed smile the night before, explaining how she had so much to organise for the bake sale and practically no one to help her. Your car was loaded with baked goods before the night was over.
“Wanda you’ve really outdone yourself, this looks amazing” your eyes scanned over all the little handmade decorations she had been working on for the past week. Cheeks hurting from the smile that refused to leave your face.
“I couldn’t have done it without you silly, I really have to repay you somehow”. This was the biggest drawback to your friendship with the woman. The constant innuendos, the way she showered you with compliments and was always brushing hair out of your face with a perfectly manicured hand.
You could certainly think of a few ways she could repay you; imagining them whilst making eye contact with a crucified Jesus statue was not your finest moment.
As the day rolled on and the church became littered with all your fellow neighbours, you got less of Wanda’s undivided attention. The only thing that made you feel a little better about it was being able to study the woman whilst she was in her element.
Serving a cookie and ensuring everyone left her table with a smile, the woman was enchanting. Her movements so calculated, she stopped every now and again to throw you a quick smile over her shoulder.
Sometimes when she was listening intently to someone you would catch her twirling the bow around her neck in between her fingers, brows furrowed as she ingested every word that reached her ears. Earlier she had shed her grey coat, giving you a better view of the tight black dress that covered her body. You could not get your mind out of the gutter.
You were snapped out of your incessant daydreaming when you heard her calling your name, “y/n? Are you in there hun, you look a little warm”. You shook your head to clear the fuzziness that had taken over your brain. “Sorry Wanda, just lost myself for a moment there. What did you need?” Your words came out shaky as the hand she had placed on your forehead remained in place.
“Could you come help me with some boxes in the storage room sweetheart, there’s far too many”. You were nodding and following her like a puppy before she even finished her sentence.
The room was tiny and the boxes left only enough room for you to be pressed against Wanda’s side, the proximity leaving your mouth dry.
As you reached for the first box you felt Wanda grab your hand and raise it to her cheek. Spinning round to watch curiously as she pressed your fingertips against her ruby lips.
“Wanda what are you doing?” Your words came out as a whisper, too afraid to pierce the bubble surrounding you. “You’ve been so distracted today sweetie, and I think after being such a good girl you deserve a reward hmm?” You found yourself nodding along with her words.
“Come here darling” she whispered as she pulled you impossibly closer. Your mind could not catch up but it didn’t have to when Wanda brought your hands down to play with the bow around her neck.
“Take your reward baby” this finally snapped you out of it, not willing to pass up such an opportunity. You pushed her to lean against the wall of boxes, dropping to your knees in front of her. The irony of worshipping her in the back of a church was not lost on you.
You struggled to push the tight black skirt above her hips and she chuckled breathlessly as she wiggled her hips to pull it up. Your hands brushing over each other as desperation filled the room.
You were grateful to be on your knees already when you finally got the dress up to her waist, because the lacy black panties she had on would’ve left you unable to stand. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering just at the thought of tasting her.
Your might flickered between wanting to tease her until she whined, and wanting to push your tongue into her immediately. But in the end she made the decision for you, grasping your hair with both hands and pushing your face between her thighs.
Her hand came down to push her panties to the side and you barely got to appreciate the view before she pushed your face back to where it was. No barrier between your mouth and her now. Your tongue immediately gathering up as much wetness as it possibly could.
Her head fell back on the boxes with a thump and you raised your eyes to see her panting with an open mouth. The sight had you moaning into her, and that had her biting down onto her own hand to stop herself from filling the church with the sound of her moans.
When you let your fingers enter her, mouth not stopping for a second you were rewarded with a moan she let slip free. It only spurred you on to move faster.
A knock at the door startled you and you tried to pull away as panic rose in your throat, but Wanda’s grip kept you where you were and you watched as she cleared her throat prepared to lie effortlessly.
“Wanda hun, you in there?” Agatha’s voice floated through the door and right before Wanda replied you added an extra finger to hear her squeak. “Uh yes Agatha, just looking for uh some trays in the boxes I’ll be back in a jiff”.
“Want some help in there?” The door knob wiggled as Agatha asked, but unbeknownst to you Wanda had already taken care of that problem. “No no it’s alright, I’m- uh. I’m all good in here Agatha”. You could feel Wanda clenching around you and you silently willed the other woman to leave and let you hear her moan for you.
“Okay hun, see you out there” you heard her heels shift as she turned from the door, “be right there, I’m just coming” the innuendo couldn’t be missed, not with the way you could barely move your fingers. “Fuck I’m coming” that one was whispered just for you. You looked up and saw Wanda staring down at you, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Ruby lip caught between teeth.
“Such a good girl, keep going. I’m almost there” she was naive to imagine you’d stop. Not when she was about to come in your mouth. And she did, with shaking thighs and a silent moan. Nails digging into your scalp deep enough that you winced into her.
You tried to keep going, but she pulled your hand away with your wrist, dragging you to your feet as she put your fingers in her mouth to clean them up. “Mmm you’re way too good at that sweetheart. I can’t wait to repay the favour”. The thought of Wanda’s mouth on you had you grinning at her, but that abruptly ended when she fixed her panties and pulled her dress back down. Laughing gently at your pout.
“Soon baby, right now we have more cookies to sell so grab those trays and get your cute butt out there”
And she was on her way, you knew she was going to get you into a lot of trouble.
Can’t pretend I’ll turn this into a series because I’m too lazy, but I was physically unable to not write something based on this pic. Enjoy!
-
“Just sit those beside the muffins sweetie, thanks so much for doing this” Wanda’s sweet words had you blushing and just about dropping the tray of cookies in your arms.
“Oh it’s no problem at all Wanda, anything for you” you beamed at her; internally smacking your forehead at your inability to play it cool. In your defence today was one of those glorious days where Wanda wore her glasses, and you were a goner at the sight.
Thick lenses framing her face, perched just above her button nose. She was too cute for her own good. She had recently cut her hair short and had been embarrassed about the ‘mom cut’ until you had convinced her she looked great by bombarding her with compliments until her cheeks were red.
This infatuation with the married woman had begun the second you moved to the small neighbourhood, greeted warmly by the woman the second your feet hit the sidewalk. From then on, she had become a permanent fixture in your daily life.
Wine dates and going to her whenever you had a tear in your dress that you just couldn’t sew. You had weaved your way into her busy life, and you were certainly not complaining.
This is what had led you to being in church at 7am on a Saturday morning. Wanda had flashed you a rushed smile the night before, explaining how she had so much to organise for the bake sale and practically no one to help her. Your car was loaded with baked goods before the night was over.
“Wanda you’ve really outdone yourself, this looks amazing” your eyes scanned over all the little handmade decorations she had been working on for the past week. Cheeks hurting from the smile that refused to leave your face.
“I couldn’t have done it without you silly, I really have to repay you somehow”. This was the biggest drawback to your friendship with the woman. The constant innuendos, the way she showered you with compliments and was always brushing hair out of your face with a perfectly manicured hand.
You could certainly think of a few ways she could repay you; imagining them whilst making eye contact with a crucified Jesus statue was not your finest moment.
As the day rolled on and the church became littered with all your fellow neighbours, you got less of Wanda’s undivided attention. The only thing that made you feel a little better about it was being able to study the woman whilst she was in her element.
Serving a cookie and ensuring everyone left her table with a smile, the woman was enchanting. Her movements so calculated, she stopped every now and again to throw you a quick smile over her shoulder.
Sometimes when she was listening intently to someone you would catch her twirling the bow around her neck in between her fingers, brows furrowed as she ingested every word that reached her ears. Earlier she had shed her grey coat, giving you a better view of the tight black dress that covered her body. You could not get your mind out of the gutter.
You were snapped out of your incessant daydreaming when you heard her calling your name, “y/n? Are you in there hun, you look a little warm”. You shook your head to clear the fuzziness that had taken over your brain. “Sorry Wanda, just lost myself for a moment there. What did you need?” Your words came out shaky as the hand she had placed on your forehead remained in place.
“Could you come help me with some boxes in the storage room sweetheart, there’s far too many”. You were nodding and following her like a puppy before she even finished her sentence.
The room was tiny and the boxes left only enough room for you to be pressed against Wanda’s side, the proximity leaving your mouth dry.
As you reached for the first box you felt Wanda grab your hand and raise it to her cheek. Spinning round to watch curiously as she pressed your fingertips against her ruby lips.
“Wanda what are you doing?” Your words came out as a whisper, too afraid to pierce the bubble surrounding you. “You’ve been so distracted today sweetie, and I think after being such a good girl you deserve a reward hmm?” You found yourself nodding along with her words.
“Come here darling” she whispered as she pulled you impossibly closer. Your mind could not catch up but it didn’t have to when Wanda brought your hands down to play with the bow around her neck.
“Take your reward baby” this finally snapped you out of it, not willing to pass up such an opportunity. You pushed her to lean against the wall of boxes, dropping to your knees in front of her. The irony of worshipping her in the back of a church was not lost on you.
You struggled to push the tight black skirt above her hips and she chuckled breathlessly as she wiggled her hips to pull it up. Your hands brushing over each other as desperation filled the room.
You were grateful to be on your knees already when you finally got the dress up to her waist, because the lacy black panties she had on would’ve left you unable to stand. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering just at the thought of tasting her.
Your might flickered between wanting to tease her until she whined, and wanting to push your tongue into her immediately. But in the end she made the decision for you, grasping your hair with both hands and pushing your face between her thighs.
Her hand came down to push her panties to the side and you barely got to appreciate the view before she pushed your face back to where it was. No barrier between your mouth and her now. Your tongue immediately gathering up as much wetness as it possibly could.
Her head fell back on the boxes with a thump and you raised your eyes to see her panting with an open mouth. The sight had you moaning into her, and that had her biting down onto her own hand to stop herself from filling the church with the sound of her moans.
When you let your fingers enter her, mouth not stopping for a second you were rewarded with a moan she let slip free. It only spurred you on to move faster.
A knock at the door startled you and you tried to pull away as panic rose in your throat, but Wanda’s grip kept you where you were and you watched as she cleared her throat prepared to lie effortlessly.
“Wanda hun, you in there?” Agatha’s voice floated through the door and right before Wanda replied you added an extra finger to hear her squeak. “Uh yes Agatha, just looking for uh some trays in the boxes I’ll be back in a jiff”.
“Want some help in there?” The door knob wiggled as Agatha asked, but unbeknownst to you Wanda had already taken care of that problem. “No no it’s alright, I’m- uh. I’m all good in here Agatha”. You could feel Wanda clenching around you and you silently willed the other woman to leave and let you hear her moan for you.
“Okay hun, see you out there” you heard her heels shift as she turned from the door, “be right there, I’m just coming” the innuendo couldn’t be missed, not with the way you could barely move your fingers. “Fuck I’m coming” that one was whispered just for you. You looked up and saw Wanda staring down at you, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Ruby lip caught between teeth.
“Such a good girl, keep going. I’m almost there” she was naive to imagine you’d stop. Not when she was about to come in your mouth. And she did, with shaking thighs and a silent moan. Nails digging into your scalp deep enough that you winced into her.
You tried to keep going, but she pulled your hand away with your wrist, dragging you to your feet as she put your fingers in her mouth to clean them up. “Mmm you’re way too good at that sweetheart. I can’t wait to repay the favour”. The thought of Wanda’s mouth on you had you grinning at her, but that abruptly ended when she fixed her panties and pulled her dress back down. Laughing gently at your pout.
“Soon baby, right now we have more cookies to sell so grab those trays and get your cute butt out there”
And she was on her way, you knew she was going to get you into a lot of trouble.
TW:18 (Best friend to lovers trope) strap on sex (R giving) fingering (W giving), lactation (R receiving) praise. Some cursing during sex. Wanda and vision are divorced.
Please listen to the song. I feel it goes so well with the fic. 💚
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You are sure of two things in life.
A good book is Chicken noodle soup for the soul and you are irrevocably, without a shadow of a doubt in love with Wanda Maximoff, your best friend.
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"Dance with me." The words leave your mouth faster than you can process them. "To this song?" "Yes." You quickly swallow the small lump forming in your throat as you hold out your hand towards Wanda, taking a hesitant step towards her.
Your heart begins to sink as hesitation swims behind Verde eyes. Your hand slowly lowering when you realize you've misread all the little signs between the two of you. Your body turns to flee, your mind and heart battling each other for control.
Pleading hands reach for your own "don't" she softly whispers "Please. Don't go" you bite your lip and nod your head, turning towards Wanda you see a sweet smile play at her lips before she's taking a step towards you.
Your heart rate quickens when her hands skim up your forearms, biceps then lay gently upon your shoulders as she moves to wrap them around your neck, her fingers softly scratching the nape of your neck sending shivers down your spine.
You take a step closer, closing the small distance between you both, nervous hands slowly enclose around hips, delicately squeezing. Two bodies slowly become one as you sway to the beat of the song.
Your lips kiss her hairline, letting them linger against the soft skin. Goosebumps form when you hear her release a shaky breath, her fingers mindlessly play with your baby hairs.
You begin to hum along with the song, your heart beating erratically in your chest as a soft hum becomes a low whisper.
"I'm in too deep"
There's no turning back now.
Wanda owns your heart, even if she never asked for it, it's hers. Your thumbs find her bare skin as you softly rub her hips in a soothing manner. Her front pressed tighter against your own.
You bite your lip as Wanda let's a hand loose, gliding it down your arm until her hand reaches your own on her hip, confusion takes over as she removes your hand from her waist, only to replace it with her own hand in yours.
Looking deep into your eyes you can feel the faint release of warm air as she shakily whispers the words to you. Her heart hasn't stopped hammering against her ribcage.
Not since you arrived at her house.
Not since you asked her to dance.
And not since you told her you were in too deep.
"When we touch, it's a dream"
Fingers intertwined with fingers.
Palm against Palm.
Hand against hand as she lifts it to place kisses to the back of your hand.
"Oh, you're making me delirious"
Wanda places your combined hands against her chest, as her other hand unravels from your hair and makes its way onto your cheek wiping away your fallen tears. She slowly leans in, breath fanning against your lips as her hands keep their possession over you.
"This is serious love"
Her lips cautiously explore yours "please Wands" you quietly plead to feel her lips against yours. When her lips finally lay upon your own, the breath is snatched from your lungs, your heart skips several beats and your grip on her hand and back tightens as you pull her impossibly closer.
Your eyes close as you live in the moment, THIS moment with Wanda.
"Love" she quietly whispers as her soft lips part from yours. Eyes remain closed to etch this very moment into your memory.
"Love" a smile grows on your lips as her words sink in. Your eyes slowly open to find deep greens lovingly staring back at you, your hand comes up to the side of her neck and rest against the silky smooth skin.
You find yourself hovering above Wanda on her bed, naked body against naked body as your hips slowly grind against her own. Her legs wrap around your waist pulling you closer to her, the strap attached to your hips moving deeper within her.
Her soft pants and moans into your ear has you clenching around the piece inside of you. Your lips take their time exploring the canvass of her neck as you leave open mouthed kisses against the milky skin.
"You feel so good inside of me dorogoy" she moans out as your hips sink even deeper between her parted thighs. Her nails dig into your shoulder blades as you bite down on her shoulder, your own moans muffled by her smooth skin.
"Fuck, you're doing so good for me" she whines out as your strap buries itself deeper and deeper. The wet squelching sounds leaving her, as her pussy desperately tries to keep your cock inside of her has your mind racing with unbridled desire.
"You're perfect Wanda" you pant as your hips continue to move against her own, feeling her beneath you, moving needy hips upwards to take everything you have to offer. You feel something wet brush against your own breast and gasp, looking between your bodies to see her breast leaking milk.
Full breast seeking much desired attention.
Your breath hitches when the words leave her parted lips "I know you want a taste dorogoy, your thoughts are loud" she let's out a breathy chuckle replaced with a needy whine when you roll your hips harder against her core, sinking so deep you're sure she'll feel you for days to come.
One hand scratches it's way up your back to the nape of your neck. Long, nimble fingers slither through sweaty locks before she's grasping at the hair.
"Taste me" she breaths out.
You let out a groan at her raspy, lust filled voice. Turning you two over, and giggling when she releases a squeak at the suddenness of the act. "Thought you could read minds Wands?" You pant as the strap moves deeper inside of you as her hips begin to roll above you.
Your nails lightly scratch up and down her toned thighs before a firm hand softly grips the flesh before you. The woman above you a deliciously sinful sight to see as hedonistic hips move against your own, seeking pleasure not only for herself but you as well.
Her open palmed hand rest against your sternum while the other against your abdomen as she grinds her hips down against you "tha-thats not funny dorogoy" she whines out. You maintain eye contact with her as you hold her hips still, a grip sure to leave bruises behind.
The only word you can think off as you grip her waist is 'mine'.
You smile up at Wanda as she let's out a low whine as you hold onto her hips preventing her from moving. You plant your feet firmly against the bed before thrusting your hips upwards.
You have to hold back the whimpers you want to release as you watch Wanda's face contort into that of pleasure as you reach a new depth inside of her. "Holy fuck" she mewls out, the sight of glossed over greens and drool escaping her parted lips has you clenching around the dildo inside of you.
Full breast bounce with every upwards thrust as beads of milk slowly drips down her pert nipples, rolling down her soft tummy, before landing on your own body beneath her.
Hands remain heavy atop your abdomen as nails dig deep to ground herself. Heavy pants and grunts fill the sex laced air. Your hungry eyes happily take in the sight above you.
Her head flies back in ectasy, long brunette locks sway about as your name leaves her lips like a sokovian prayer. "Mo-more" she whines.
An eager thumb finds a swollen clit as it hastily massages the bundle, seeking to give a desired release to the body its so graciously attached to. "You look so beautiful like this Wands" you pant out, one hand stays against her hip while the other ventures up her body slowly exploring the new, unearthed territory.
She nods her head, words hard to come by as her mind begins to grow foggier by the second. Wanda has dreamt of this moment for so long.
Wanda has dreamt of being yours.
Now.
Ten years from now.
50 years from now.
Only yours.
You continue to guide Wanda's hips against your own, the hilt of the harness rubbing against your clit everytime she grinds back and forth against you. Both of your eyes locked onto one another's as you continue to use each other to reach the peak of ectasy.
"Keep going baby" you encourage the brunette above you "fuck keep going" you groan out, her shifting weight only pushing the strap deeper inside of you, walls beginning to spasm "s-so close" you breath out. Wanda leans forward as she continues to grind against you, her soft breast find their way in front of your face.
Taking the erect nipple of her left breast between your parched lips and suckling the faintly sweet milk from your lover. Her eyes rolling to the back of her head as you grab her ass and help to grind her down onto your cock. The milk coating your taste buds generously as you take all she has to offer.
"Please...don't stop" she whines above you. Your lips only leaving her long enough to find the other breast as you let the warm milk flow down your throat. Her legs shake as her orgasm rushes through her. Cum and milk alike leak from her sensitive body.
Her orgasm is unlike anything she has ever experienced before. Your hands stay on her ass to help guide her through her orgasm as your lips slowly unlatch from her nipple. Eyes shimmering, milk and drool running down your chin.
"You're such a messy eater" she giggles out as she takes in your messy appearance. She lays her exhausted body down against your own exhausted frame, her head on your chest as she listens to your heart beat against her ear.
"You have no idea" you chuckle back. Arms wrapping tightly around her body as you take in the provided warmth of her body against yours. Your hands stay on her ass, kneading the soft flesh as you both inhale and exhale, seeking much needed oxygen to refill your over exerted lungs.
"I am you know..." she whispers against your collarbone as her fingertips trace circles around your nipple, causing the small bud to harden again. Ardor lips attach themselves to your collarbone before moving over your heart and depositing sweet kisses.
You softly kiss the crown of her head, inhaling her strawberry scented shampoo. Your hands abandoning her fleshy bottom as fingers begin to scratch up and down the expanse of her back. You hold her close to your body "you are what baby?" Voice croaky from all the moaning you partook in. Your breath suddenly hitches when she begins to kiss around your stiffened nipple.
You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before opening them to find viridian eyes staring back at you, a soft smile plays at her lips as her hand descends your body until its hovering beside your now quivering thighs. With a flick of her wrist red wisps appear in a flash, and the fullness you once felt from the strap disappears along with her red tendrils of magic.
Wandas body shifts to the side of you making way for slender fingers to eagerly slip between slick folds, one then two fingers easily slip inside of you, catching you slightly off guard "th-those wiggly woos are naughty" you gasp out, her soft giggles reverberate against your chest.
Fingers slowly pump into you as her lips embrace yours, tongue against tongue as she languidly moves against you. The kiss is sloppy and passionate. Your moans are greedily stolen by Wanda as she moves her fingers deeper inside of you, reaching depths you didn't know could be reached.
Your hand flies down, gripping her wrist, trembling thighs threatening to close around you both, her lips begin to kiss the delicate skin of your sweaty neck. It's all too much and not enough as she moves her fingers inside of you.
Her fingers really are magical.
Her soft pants against your ear as she fucks into you cause your fluttering walls to further clench around Wanda's fingers. "I am you know..." she repeats her phrase from before, red tendrils of magic carefully turn your face towards her own
"Y-you are what?" You whisper as her thumbs rolls over your clit before applying pressure. The way her fingers pump inside of you and her thumb rubs your clit has you gasping for air. Your back arches off the bed as you get closer to your release, so close you can taste it.
She breaths against your lips before softly leaning her forehead against your own. Fingers continue to thrust inside of you until she's pulling your orgasm from your quivering body. Soft pants leave parted lips.
I can’t explain how feral this makes me. Had an existential crisis about writing and I don’t want to do it anymore but… a milf Wanda fic of pulling that dress up above her thighs in the toilets at the church bake sale 🤧😌
I can’t explain how feral this makes me. Had an existential crisis about writing and I don’t want to do it anymore but… a milf Wanda fic of pulling that dress up above her thighs in the toilets at the church bake sale 🤧😌
Moving to the small town, for your husband, has been nothing short of dull. You married him simply because he was nice, and it was seen as uncouth for a woman your age to remain unmarried. Uncontrolled by a husband, you think the world meant to say.
Of course, you struck lucky with your husband in most regards. He was never cruel, or vindictive, or abusive, at least physically. You knew about his dalliances with pretty much anything with a pulse and blonde hair, but after the second time, you had honestly stopped caring. As long as he catered to the bills, for you were unable to work, he was free to do what he liked. Who he liked.
The town was insular, a barely populated vacuum wherein everyone knew everyone else’s business, and it rubbed you the wrong way. Your husband had barely parked the car when you saw the sights of curtains twitching and lingering inquisitive stares from neighbours in your peripheral vision. You got out of the car, unconsciously straightening the line of your dress, still a bit self conscious about your appearance, especially under the gaze of so many eyes.
“Darling, the movers have already furnished the house, nothing to unpack here. Shall we go in?” The house itself was as the town was; plain and imposing. You nodded, biting your tongue at the many complaints about your life at this point that continued to build upon your tongue, and followed his guiding arm.
You had peace for all of 152 seconds. You had been counting them out of spite.
You moved to open the door, and a neatly made head of red hair greeted you, along with a wide and friendly smile.
“Hello! I’m Wanda, I wanted to be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Myself and my husband, Vision, were the newest moved in. That is, until you!” She’s undeniably…happy to say the least, and you deflate internally, hoping she’s not a chatterbox. You exchange names quickly, and you want to immediately thank her for stopping by. She says there’s some kind of community gathering usually held over people’s houses; a game night or a potluck dinner, something like that. Your husband stalks up, tall as ever, and tells her that sounds great, that he’ll talk to the other husbands and find out when the next one is happening.
Thankfully, she leaves quickly, and all you want to do is rest, but your husband insists on talking to you, and you can hardly roll your eyes and deny him. “That would be nice, don’t you think? Get a chance to know the new community over something relaxed, rather than just going door to door introducing ourselves. That would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, dear.” You sigh out hopelessly, knowing that he will either not pick up on or miss the tone of your voice entirely. He brushes past it, of course he does, trailing off about the importance of his new job. You can’t help it, but you find yourself unable to care. He’s not a bad man, but he’s terminally underwhelming in the contest of personality. You stand, saying you’re going to make dinner, and still he carries on.
A long dinner and a round of disappointing sex later, you’re staring at the ceiling in contemplation. Still, tomorrow is another day.
Tomorrow comes in the form of grocery shopping and continuing to avoid the prying eyes of ‘soon-to-be friends’. Your husband had called, something about Vision working in the same processing firm that he does, and that he offered up your home to host dinner sometime in the next month as a way to get to know the neighbours. You grit your teeth, telling him what a great idea it is with your best positive voice, and it’s like you can actually see him stand taller, telling you he knows it’s genius.
Of course, you needed to get some food for the two of you, but now you find yourself with the troubling task of shopping for a group of…10? 20? 50? How many body parkers are you going to be playing hostess to next week? What do they eat? Is anyone allergic to anything?
This is why you detest forced interactions like dinners. You’re still scowling as you reach for a can of chopped tomatoes, your hand coming into contact with a softer one, and a breathy chuckle leaving its owner. You turn, an apology ready on your lips at the unwanted contact, and are met with the most beautiful face you have encountered.
“Are you planning a creamy sauce for your husband as well?” She husks out, and her voice almost brings you to your knees in the middle of the goddamn grocery store. She’s beautiful, you think. Almost unnaturally so, and it ignites a warmth inside of you that you thought was either long extinguished or simply wasn’t to be ignited at all. You have many revelations screaming in your mind, but her captivating eyes are still on you, awaiting your answer.
“Uh…no. I’m just doing the general shop. I’m a planner, you know, I want to do everything at once. I’m a ‘you never be too prepared’ kind of person.” You’re rambling, that’s new to you. It’s like you’re physically unable to stop. Thankfully, she puts you out of your misery.
“You’re the new neighbour, correct? Across from Wanda and Vision, just beside the Harkness’?” Her words are questioning, but her tone is anything but. You see what she’s doing, trying to shift the conversation before your mind explodes from your constant thought-to-speech stream, and you send her a thankful gaze.
“Yes, I am. That reminds me, are you coming to the community dinner?” You ask.
‘The one I have barely come to grips with that I’m hosting’,you think dourly.
“I am. My husband and I will be joining you for dinner, so it’s kind of good to meet you outside of it, you know, because it will make it at least a bit less awkward.” She states calmly, and your heart sinks at the mention of her having a husband? But why does it? Of course she has a husband, look at her! You inhale sharply, trying to focus back on the topic at hand.
“Yes, actually it is. Do you have any allergies? I know it seems a bizarre question, but I’m not sure what to make, and I’m also not sure who’s allergic to what.” She smiles, pearly white teeth peeking out from behind plush lips, and you feel your heart speed up, cursing internally.
“I can help you there. The people with no allergies are my husband, Vision, and Ralph.”
“Ralph?” You question.
“Agatha’s husband. Now, Wanda has a minor allergic reaction to garlic, and Agatha can’t eat nuts without her tongue swelling up. Also, she detests seafood. Not an allergy, but trust me, you don’t want to get on her bad side.” Natasha replies, a shudder running through her at a previous memory of being on the receiving end of Agatha’s wrath.
It feels like you’re conspiring. She’s leaning in close, and you can smell the Chanel perfume she had put on, and see the colour of her lipstick more clearly. Suddenly, you feel 16 again, whispering to your friends under covers and in darkness, giggling at the thoughts. She makes you feel so…small. So young and fresh. It makes you want to fall in deep, but all you can do is stare at her, trying to hold onto the quite literally life saving information she’s giving you.
Never mind her delectable smell or perfect features.
She leans in impossibly closer, almost whispering; “I also have no allergies, doll. But I do love a good beef stroganoff.” With that, she straightens up, grabbing the can of chopped tomatoes and giving you a wink before sauntering off, leaving you thoughtless and gaping after her.
You shake your head clear and hurry off to the meat aisle.
——————————————————————————
Two weeks go by, you and Natasha meeting and talking more and more, getting to know one another privately, without the onlook of others. The dinner date is ever nearing, and you can’t help the small twinge of excitement that accompanies the thought of cooking for Natasha, someone you now consider a very good friend, even in the short time you’ve been in town.
Everything should be done, you think. It turns out that dinner would be a thankfully small affair; simply Agatha, Wanda, their husbands, and your husband.
And Natasha. And her husband.
You’re still intensely trying to figure out why Natasha having a husband makes you so…so…you can’t even think of a word deep and descriptive enough to describe the emotions. The timer goes off, just as the door is knocked. You move swiftly, knowing that your husband will help with neither situation, the mere thought of him being accompanied by irritation in your mind.
Why didn’t your husband make you feel?
Why did 5 minutes with Natasha make you feel more than your entire marriage?
The dinner cools off in the kitchen as you answer the door, Wanda and a mystery woman, presumably Agatha, standing, wearing matching smiles on the other side.
“Hiya, hon! Wanda, you sneak, you never told me she was such a model!” Agatha’s voice is confident and assured as you invite them both in, and her compliment has you blushing and lowering your head, a small smile overtaking your mouth.
“Agatha, let’s not embarrass the poor girl. Sorry about her, she sometimes forgets the better parts of social decorum.” A mock glare is sent to her by Wanda, and Agatha holds her hands up in mock surrender.
“Anyway, we wanted to come over earlier and see if you needed help with anything, darling. No woman should have to bear the brunt of it all on her own.” Wanda’s voice takes on an unimpressed quality, as if she’d had to deal with that before. You assume it’s the same as you; a useless, fickle husband. Great with general work, but unable to see when his wife is upset with him, even when she’s standing right in front of him. Agatha lays a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder, nodding in agreement, and Wanda visibly relaxes.
“I’m fine, thank you. But please, help yourselves to some drinks, and relax. My husband is in the lounge, but don’t mind him and make yourselves comfortable.” Your smile is painted on but cordial, and the two look knowingly between each other before leaving to do as you asked.
Another knock on the door reveals Natasha, and a strange man holding her arm. You clench your jaw subconsciously, and invite them in wordlessly. Natasha smiles at you, the dazzling grin lighting you up inside. You’re glad her husband merely nods at you in greeting before rushing off to talk with your husband jovially, both you and Natasha rolling your eyes, laughing at them with each other. You walk Natasha over to the other women, feeling somewhat self conscious as she looks over your home with a studious gaze.
“Your home is beautifully decorated, truly.” She breathes out, and you feel yourself relax, unsure as to why her opinion is held in such high regard in your mind. You’re just about to reply before a final knock rings out, causing Wanda and Agatha to sign dejectedly, confusing you as you walk to open it, Vision and Ralph standing before you.
Time moves forward, and now everyone is sat, the men chatting openly and loudly, leaving the women to ‘gossip’ as they see it. You emerge from the kitchen, dish in hand. Natasha’s face lights up, a knowing smirk crossing her face as she eyes the beef stroganoff being set down on the table, your face red as you meet her stare, and her smirk grows.
The dinner is peaceful, the men waxing poetic, the women finding them ridiculous. Soon enough, the dinner is polished off, many thanks and compliments being delivered to you, much to your delight. Natasha grabs you gently by the wrist, making sure you’re looking at her when she gives you her heartfelt thanks.
You almost faint at the sincere look you find swimming in her bewitching stare.
Making your way to the kitchen, you hear music filtering through from the record player. You pile the dishes into the dishwasher, the clanking of plates muffling the sound of the door opening, soft footfalls going also unheard by you as the owner approaches you.
The feeling of hands resting at your hips makes you groan, but not with pleasure.
“Honey…not here. Not now. There are guests, don’t start.” Your voice is tired and final, the words escaping from gritted teeth.
“Are you sure, dear? It could help you to destress.” That voice. The voice that certainly did not belong to your husband. The sultry quality sends shivers down your spine, the hands on your hips squeezing, and you’re powerless to resist at this point. It’s then you smell lingering traces of Chanel as she leans in close to your neck, her front slotting perfectly against your back.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Her voice is teasing, breath fanning across your neck, and you have to ball your hands into fists to calm yourself. At your notable silence, Natasha braves a kiss onto your neck, and you can feel yourself slipping, a stifled moan escaping your pursed lips. The firm grip she has on your hips moves to your front and downwards, resting at the hem of your dress.
“Tell me you want this.” Her voice is gasping, breathless, and her lips are so close it’s intoxicating. If you turned your head and leaned just a bit, your lips would meet hers so delicately. You struggle to breathe because of all the sensations, but you quickly struggle through your answer.
“I want this.” You’re panting, but your answer is definite, no wavering. Natasha pulls you impossibly closer, one of her hands disappearing under your dress as she captures your lips. The simple act of a kiss from Natasha opens the floodgates for you. No amount of intimacy from your husband has made you even half as hot as one kiss and one touch from Natasha has, and Natasha must know it.
It has also made you almost embarrassingly wet, which Natasha will also know in a moment.
Her hands push your dress up so slowly, passing by your thighs and over your ass, resting at your hips. Natasha groans at the sight of your garters; white, as pure as she sees you. Logically, she knows that you must have slept with your husband, but to her it feels not like she’s taking your virginity, like men will, but rather she’s introducing you, like she’s sharing something with you. It’s how making love is supposed to happen, she muses. A joint experience, a joint effort. She glides her hands across your garters, smooth as liquid silk as she tells you as such.
“I would bet any amount of money I had that your husband is rather like mine. When the act of intimacy is brought up, they simply take. There’s no consideration for their partner’s pleasure, or even comfort.” She playfully snaps one of the belts against the skin of your thigh, making you gasp as her hips continue pinning you to the counter. It’s all happening so fast, but you can’t find a single reason to complain as she continues her movements.
“Tell me what you think about.” She pleads.
“What I think about?” You ask confusedly.
“When you touch yourself, baby. Tell me what goes through that pretty head.” The request stops all thoughts in your mind. You think back to the last time your hand had travelled down past the barrier of your panties, and you realise that this situation you find yourself in is exactly like your recent fantasies.
“Do you think of me?” She asks quietly, sounding almost vulnerable as she licks the shell of your ear.
“Tell me, little dove. Do you think of me when your fingers reach your quim? Undeniable pleasure coursing through you. Does my name leave those pretty lips as your fingers stroke yourself? Do you think of my fingers, my tongue?” She has hardly touched you, and you’re nearly in tears because of how erotic it all is. Your mind is growing fuzzy in the best way, and you nod furiously, hoping that that’s enough confirmation for her.
“I think of you too, my darling. At the dead of night, lay next to my husband, I whisper out your name as my release takes over. My legs shake and my cunt aches for you, the slickness between my thighs, all yours.” She’s whimpering into your neck, her hand finally cupping you. You moan, your loudest yet, and you thank the stars that the crooning of Brenda Lee drowns you out. Natasha groans at the wetness she finds, hips unconsciously thrusting into you, the air electric.
“Please, dear God. I need to have you, my sweet. Ever since we met, you have invaded my thoughts. I have pondered on how you feel around my fingers, how you would taste. How your moans would sound as you orgasmed again and again. How it would feel to run against you, our cunts pressed together. Please, tell me I can pleasure you. Let me bring you pleasure.” She kisses down your neck, hand still drawing circles over your now soaked panties, and you repent fully, all lingering thoughts of guilt or embarrassment leaving you as she reaches inside and cups your bare core.
“Thank you, my babe. My sweet, innocent one. Just let me make you feel good.”
One finger circles your clit, occasionally dipping down into your pooling wetness, teasing penetration before repeating the cycle. It’s humiliatingly quick, the speed at which you cave, begging for her to move inside of you, wishing for her to reach so far and deep inside of you that she grips your heart and never lets go. Those lithe fingers finally cross the barrier completely, two of them breaching you and slipping deep and snug inside of you. You reach for a tea towel, hurriedly biting into it to silence your scream. Natasha quickly pulls it away, filling the gap with her other hand before you had time to protest, fingers slipping through your mouth, mirroring her other hand’s actions.
You feel her starting to rub against your backside once more as she continues to pleasure you. You can’t help the feeling of whorish nature coursing through you; being bent over your own kitchen counter, being fingered by your older, married neighbour as she also uses your body for her own pleasure.
It’s enough to get you right to the edge of your first orgasm. The shame returning full force at everything about this event.
“I can feel what you’re thinking, dove. But I swear to you, this is perfectly natural. Our husbands do not give us the pleasure, the release we crave. So we must look elsewhere. No one can judge us for that, and no one will. Wanda and Agatha do the same thing. They won’t judge.” Natasha’s voice is exclusively soft whimpers and short gasps, and your mind explores what she has said, the image of Agatha and Wanda making love crossing your mind, making you flutter and clench around Natasha’s fingers, pushing your ass back and making her throw her head back. You quickly pull her fingers out of your mouth, concerned.
“Natasha, something feels off.” There’s a pressure building just above your pelvis, a foreign yet not undesirable feeling. You fear you’re about to wet yourself, and you start squirming against her, wriggling to escape. When she feels this, she holds you firm, speeding up her ministrations and snaking her other hand down to press against your lower stomach, and you bite back a yell.
“Natasha! Please, I’m gonna…” You trail off, not even being able to say the words to her, embarrassed. She chuckles against your shoulder knowingly, not letting you move an inch as she moves her hand unthinkably faster.
“Love, you’re about to orgasm. Nothing else. Please, clamp around my fingers. Chase your own pleasure. Feel it burn through you. Come for me, my doll.” The permission combined with the harsh bite she leaves just under your dress triggers your first orgasm. It’s electric, it’s intense. It’s nothing you have ever felt close to feeling, and you open your mouth in a silent scream, all oxygen leaving you as spots dance across your vision. The visual of you coming over her fingers sets Natasha off, her movements stilling against your hips as she comes in her own underwear.
Natasha holds you through it, moaning at the feeling of your juices leaving you, knowing you’ve just squirted onto her hand. She kisses you as you come down, trying to catch your breath, her tongue slipping past your lips and caressing your own. Her hand stills in you as you stop twitching, before pulling out gingerly, kissing you in apology as you wince.
“That was…” You can’t even begin to describe it. She smiles softly, spinning you around slowly and kissing you on the nose.
“Pleasurable.” She deadpans, and you laugh. You have no idea how long the both of you have been lost in your own world, the reality coming crashing down. The noise outside is still loud as she wraps her arm around your waist, the other bringing her soaked fingers up to her mouth and sucking harshly. You feel worked up once more at a simple visual, and you have a lot to think about because of all of this. But, for now, you settle for a final kiss before you rejoin the others. The girls cheer as you return, handing the both of you drinks and Agatha almost commanding that you sit. With the newfound knowledge about them, the command makes you flush, dipping your head to cover yourself as you take a drink.
“Finally!” Natasha’s husband’s voice cuts through the gentle atmosphere, grating to your ears and, judging by her venomous glare, Natasha’s also.
“Sorry. I got a bit turned around and luckily someone was there to help me.” She doesn’t even look at her husband, eyes trained on you, and you give a soft smile in response.
“Ah, cool your jets, you know how the women are with each other.” Your husband replies, laughing.
“Don’t we just.” Wanda speaks up, looking between you and Natasha, Natasha giving an imperceptible nod towards her. Wanda’s eyes light up at the confirmation as she leans over to whisper something in Agatha’s ear. Agatha’s eyes widen for a moment before her gaze returns to the both of you, an impressed look crossing her features as she nods in congratulations. Their reactions make you laugh, still feeling thoughtless because of your orgasm, and you’re basking in the afterglow. The women laugh with you, knowing exactly what you’re feeling, Natasha’s head coming to rest on your shoulder.
The men, as always, remain clueless.
Eventually, the night has to end, the husbands saying they have work in the morning and cannot stay longer, saying goodby with firm handshakes, smiles, and slaps on the back. You grab the tray of empty glasses, almost dropping them when you notice Natasha and your husband talking, her pointing over to you as she’s speaking. Panic courses through you, but then you see your husband smiling and nodding.
She couldn’t have told him.
You breathe out in relief as you enter the kitchen again.
Another presence is behind you once more.
“I asked your husband if you could join our book club, darling. Of course, a smart one like you can figure out that we won’t be reading.” She husks out, and you’re nodding furiously, thinking about it already.
“It sounds fun, Natasha. I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I, dear. I’ll be counting down the seconds. I think that Wanda and Agatha are curious about you, but forgive me. I want you all for myself.” A swift harsh kiss is planted upon your lips, and she’s smiling against you as she feels how eagerly you kiss her back. She’s falling hard and fast for you, already dreaming of your tightness once again.
“I like that.” You murmur against her lips, and she pulls away reluctantly.
“Until the next time, my sweet.” She laments.
“See you, Natasha.” You reply, and just like that, she’s back into her husband’s arms and out your door. You sigh, heart already feeling heavy due to her absence.
The smell of Chanel follows you into bed, making you smile.
