Synopsis: An incredibly hot doctor uses her skills(and toys) to perform your yearly examination.
Warnings: Medical malpractice, dub-con, penetration, sex toy, implied inexperienced reader
Fem! Doctor X Fem! Reader
The nurse had told you to change into a gown and lay on the examination table with your legs open.
“The doctor will be in shortly.” She sighed, curt and a hint of sleep deprivation hitting the back of her voice.
It had been ten minutes; the air conditioning fanned your bare lower half to the point of freezing. You were beginning to grow agitated, even more nervous than before from the silence, the slight hum of the medical room.
An old clock ticked away on the wall, destroying the small bits of tranquility you held on to. Going to the doctor’s was nerve wracking enough, but lying here spread eagle made you even more terrified.
As if she heard your quick paced thoughts, a knock came at the patient room door. You snapped your legs shut, knees knocking against each other.
“Good evening,” She hummed, part of her obscured by your legs. “How’s my favorite patient doing?”
The examination room door shut with a small clack, the doctor taking in full view of your clasped-shut legs and twisted neck, trying to get a good look at her.
As soon as the knock came your body shut into itself, your arms wrapped over your chest and your shoulders hunched up.
And lord, this gorgeous doctor was not helping your nerves. She stepped close with booted feet, white coat open to show a partly undone button-up. The black slacks running up her long legs to meet a silk, dark blue shirt-- you could barely pull your eyes away as the smell of her clouded your senses.
She tilted her head, waiting for your response. There was a knowing, coaxing smile on her lips, as if she was patiently dragging you from your hiding place.
“Uh, as good as I can.” You finally respond, your lamenting on full display.
“Hmm,” You watched her pull a box of clear gloves from the desk nearby, her gaze scanning over your nervous expression. Not a big fan of getting your check ups done, are we?”
“Not really, I just mostly want to get it over with.” You smile a little, laughing nervously at how eager you were to run out of the room.
The doctor followed with a knowing look, part pity showing on her downturned lips.
“Well I’ll do everything I can to make you more comfortable, okay?”
Her hand slides to your knee, dropping slightly to caress the slope of your thigh. It’s comforting, and all the more unnerving as she grazes you.
You nod your head, laying back on the table as she slides on her gloves. You can hear them snap against her wrists as she pulls them tight.
“Now, let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?”
The doctor falls to the end of the table, running her gloved fingers over your ankles. Your knees press against each other, stomach tightening as you feel yourself on complete display. She waits for you to open them, but you just can’t seem to move. Your feet are planted roots, stuck standing right beside each other.
“Darling, I can’t quite examine you with your legs shut so tightly.” She says, sweet and soft.
“Right. Sorry.”
Your legs slowly fall open, widening again as you wince. This was the most uncomfortable thing you’d ever have to go through, you were sure of it.
“Now what do we have here…” She gasps, gripping at the base of your thighs. Her hands force you to lie wider, your cunt fully presented for her; she turns to look at you from the side of your legs. “Just by looking at you, I would never have guessed you were harboring something so pretty down here.”
She laughs a little, stroking a thumb on your outer labia.
Letting go of your thigh, she moves to pull up the hood of your clit.
“Hm, this looks quite neglected though, doesn’t it,” Her head falls further beneath your gown, hidden as the sensation of lukewarm breath fans your heat. “How often do you touch yourself?”
You’re taken aback by the question, tripping over your words. “I-uh- is that something you’re able to tell?”
“It’s more of an intuitive guess,” She spreads your inner lips to see the slick oozing from you. “You seem… tense. Masturbation can be quite a good way to relax. Especially when you’re this wet; she’s practically begging for it right now.”
You feel a thumb circle your clit, gentle and rhythmic. The pleasure comes in short shocks, begging you to shut your legs again.
“But I-- I mean I don’t really think that’s necessary.” You try to sit up on your elbows, anxious at the conflicting sensation of her playing with your wetness, drawing it up to your clit.
“Lay back down.” Her voice grows stern, one hand still gripping your thigh with a heavy hold. “This is a standard procedure-- I can’t check the wellness of your body with you so wound up, alright?”
You fear the directness in her voice, the thought of her being angry with you for not complying. You’re slow to lay back down, clenching your teeth when she blows cool air on your clit, smearing your arousal between your folds.
“Hmm, I can’t entirely determine how stable your body is with these useless gloves on.” Her voice is light, questioning with the sound of plastic falling to the tile floor. A warm palm cups your cunt, putting pressure against your sweet spot. “There we go. As I suspected-- you’re soaked, just from a little bit of touching.”
You keep your mouth shut, trying to hold back a whimper as she rubs her palm hard against your clit.
“Don’t be afraid to make some noise, sweetheart-- it's natural, for these kinds of things. I’ve had plenty of patients who are... quite vocal.”
A slender finger enters you, swift to inch itself against your quivering walls. Just from rubbing your clit she got you worked up, but this-- it was a different level, blooming warmth in your lower stomach, begging you to open your legs wider.
You breathe heavy, your thighs shaking as they lie open.
“There we go, let's loosen up some of that tightness…”
“A-are you sure it's supposed to feel this good?” You question, feeling a light kiss press against your thigh. Now you knew that was not normal.
“If it wasn’t I wouldn’t be doing it.” Wet squelches quickly follow her movements, one finger replaced by two, and it throws off any semblance of sanity you had left. “You’re telling me no one else has examined you this way?”
Her voice is fakely innocent, as if the question is genuine.
You shake your head, releasing a small “nuh uh” as her fingers work faster, deeper.
“What a shame; seems like I’ll need to give you the full treatment then, show you what you’ve been missing.”
“You really, really don’t have to--”
“That’s enough. I won’t let a sweet girl like you go untouched, unknowing of all the ways she should pleasure herself,” Your back arches as she grinds her fingers inside you to their hilt, curling deep. “Conducting examinations like this at home are essential, too. You need to know how to look for any health concerns.”
Her voice keeps a professional tone, opposite to the vulgar squelch your cunt releases as she removes her fingers.
“I can teach you about something that’ll help make this process easier; I’ll even let you take this one home, so long as you promise to come back for another check up this month.” The doctor grins, sweet and benevolent as she reaches in the computer desk for something. You watch as she pulls it out, purple and ridged. The shaft is curved upwards, a spongy tip decorating the dildo.
Your eyes widen at the sight, bewildered at the thought of a doctor, nonetheless your doctor, having this in their office.
“Don’t be intimidated by the size; you’d be astounded by what the human body can take.”
Her voice lilts with fascination, teasing your entrance with the tip. She rubs it against your clit, adding pressure to make you clench around nothing.
“I don’t think I can take that thing inside me,” You panic, afraid and nervous of what’s to come; you’ve never once expected a doctor’s appointment to end up this way, to leave you yearning to cum around something, and just as desperate to escape. “Please--can’t you just, figure out a different way? This is all, just really strange for me--”
Your pleas are cut off by a choked gasp, the toy pushing past your folds and rubbing inside you. You quiver around it, tears brimming your eyes in shock and intensity.
She stares down at you; cunning, sharp. That sweet smile is gone, replaced by a sick, sadistic grin.
“Look at you, you’re taking it just fine, sweetheart.” The doctor pulls the toy out of your clenching entrance, only to grind it back in, letting each ridge and silicone vein push against your sweet, aching nerves. “I knew you’d be good for me, taking it aaall the way inside. Your pretty cunt deserves some special attention.”
Your eyes fall half-lidded, mouth agape as the pleasure takes over you, a slight pain tugging at your ecstasy-driven consciousness.
You can’t form words, gripping onto the leather of the examination table as the doctor’s other hand thumbs your clit, pinching it to make you squeal. Her face lights up in entertainment, grinding the pad of her thumb against your pearl to make your hips jump.
You’re starting to fall deeper, to the point where your nervous expression is mingling with upturned eyebrows and bitten lips of pleasure. And yet, she continued to push inside you, to talk to you in that low voice.
“Unfortunately my practices aren’t always shared by my staff; could you imagine if one of my nurses came in here, seeing you like this?”
It sounded from the way she spoke, as if this wasn’t the first time she had thought about this.
Your head falls back, feeling so full, desperately trying to close your legs as the toy fills you up entirely.
The doctor swats at your thigh, pushing it down against the table.
“Don’t interfere with my work; we wouldn’t want anything to go missed during your exam, would we?” The way she twisted the toy, hitting this new angle inside of you, made you desperate to cover your mouth to prevent an escaping moan. “Just keep those pretty thighs wide and spread for me, sweet girl...”
You try to tell her to stop, to slow down and pull that thing out of you, but you can’t. You muffle into the palm of your hand as she rubs quicker circles on your clit, letting lewd sounds follow as the dildo swirls up into you.
Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, with her teasing and sighing hums at the amazement of your cunt, you think you hear something. It repeats itself again, echoing like an alarm bell in your ears.
A loud knock comes at the unlocked examination room door, a shallow voice calling the doctor’s name in urgency.
content warnings: Fingering, orgasm, power imbalance
word count: 1.4k+
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comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
You shiver, the thin paper beneath you not offering any warmth. You had been left with a small blanket and instructed to strip from the waist down. So now you were sitting, your skin exposed except for your most private area. You tucked the small blanket tighter underneath your hips, waiting for the doctor.
A few days ago, you received a message from your OBGYN informing you that your usual doctor had retired, so you'd be seeing a new doctor for your annual check-up. You'd seen a placard outside the room with the name Dr. Maximoff engraved, so you assumed that's who you'd be seeing.
You just hoped that the doctor wasn't a man. You weren't sure about sharing information about your most private area with a man; you'd always felt more comfortable around women.
There's a knock on the door, and you feel your heart race as it opens.
"Hi," the woman says as she enters. "I'm Dr. Maximoff. I'll be doing your check-up today."
The woman is ethereal. You feel your eyes widen as she sits down on the stool next to the chair you were seated in. You prayed you wouldn't leak onto the thin paper, which would be embarrassing.
The doctor has a kind face, her red hair long and effortlessly curled. It looks almost brunette, but when the light catches you see the faint red undertones. Her eyes are captivating, green and twinkling, with slight wrinkles at the corners. You think she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.
"Hi," you say, feeling suddenly shy.
"I know your previous provider just retired, and you'd been going to her for the past few years," Dr. Maximoff says, clicking away at the computer for a moment. You catch a whiff of vanilla, your cheeks reddening. "I hope that you and I can develop a wonderful patient/doctor relationship. I'm here to make sure that you're taken care of. Now," she turns back towards you. "Do you have any concerns today that you'd like me to know about?"
"Oh, uh," you stammer. The woman smiles patiently at you. "No, it's just a check-up."
"Sounds good. If you're ready, we can begin?"
You nod, and Dr. Maximoff reclines the chair, pulling out the stirrups. You move to place your feet in them, but you miss. A warm, firm hand wraps around one of your ankles, moving it until you feel the stirrup underneath your heel. You feel a rush of something warm pooling in your gut, and you pray that you're not visibly aroused.
Dr. Maximoff grabs your other ankle, guiding it to the stirrup. "Alright, I'm going to ask you to spread your legs now," she says, one hand tapping the blanket. "Would you feel more comfortable with this on or off?"
You've never been asked that before.
"Um, whatever is easiest for you," you squeak out.
Smiling, the doctor removes the blanket. You can see her between your legs, and you're sure your face is red as she grabs a rolling tray and brings it over. Her eyes are piercing as she inspects you, her hands slowly moving to your thighs.
"Everything looks good so far. For this next part, I'm going to put my fingers inside and make sure you're good internally. Is that okay?"
You nod, resting the back of your head against the chair so you don't have to look into her eyes anymore. It's overwhelming, and you're praying that she doesn't notice your obvious arousal.
The sound of latex gloves reaches your ears, and you jolt slightly when she places her hands back on your inner thighs. She doesn't reach for your center quite yet, her thumbs moving rhythmically over your sensitive skin.
Fuck, why was your traitorous body getting aroused?
"You show healthy signs of arousal," comes her voice. It's low, her tone soft as her thumbs finally move. One of them gently pulls back the hood of your clit. "Excellent protrusion here," she murmurs.
You feel your hands grip the side of the chair, the paper wrinkling under your fingers.
Dr. Maximoff doesn't stop, her fingers dipping lower to gently collect some of your wetness. You blink as her fingers return to your clit. You've never had that part of you examined before.
Her now-slick fingers glide over your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure through you. Your hips thrust automatically at the stimulation, and you raise your head in alarm.
"What are you-"
"Shh, just relax. I'm being through." Dr. Maximoff's eyes are warm as she looks at you. Her fingers gently circle your clit, and you hold eye contact as she does. You can see your chest rising and falling quicker, your cheeks warm.
You nod. The doctor smiles again, her fingers still circling your clit. She moves faster now, applying more pressure. Her head tilts as she observes your reactions, biting her lip for a moment when you throw your head back, a soft thump sounding out as you do.
"Very good," she says, her tone professional.
You can feel an orgasm on the distant horizon, the need to cum growing inside you. You begin to feel slightly desperate, willing your hips to remain still and not thrust against the doctor's hand. This was an inspection, after all. You didn't want to look like a sex-crazed woman.
A single finger enters you, and you barely feel it through your copious amounts of arousal. It's only when Dr. Maximoff slides a second finger in and curls them that you feel your pleasure increase tenfold.
"Everything feels healthy," she murmurs, and you just nod. Maybe now the exam would be over?
Dr. Maximoff doesn't say anything, but her fingers begin to move, pumping in and out of you slowly. Her other fingers circle your clit again, stimulating the throbbing bundle of nerves as you gasp.
"Is this part of the exam?" You raise your head to look at her again, letting a small moan slip out as you catch sight of her thrusting her fingers slowly inside you.
You clap a hand over your mouth, but Dr. Maximoff just smiles.
"Good girl." She tilts her head at you. "Put your hand back where it was, please. I need to assess your reactions to sexual stimulation. That includes all of those pretty noises."
You were thoroughly confused now, but you slowly moved your hand back down to grip the table. Dr. Maximoff rewards you for the action by moving her fingers faster.
Deciding that you didn't care anymore, you let yourself melt into the table, enjoying the way the doctor's fingers felt inside you as your clit throbbed pleasantly under her ministrations. This was by far the most bizarre, but most pleasurable doctor's visit you'd ever had.
Dr. Maximoff is talented, her long fingers coaxing your orgasm to the surface quickly. Her fingers never seem to tire, pumping in and out of you while you leak around them. Her rhythm is steady, if a bit rough. You don't mind, her fingers hitting your g-spot perfectly as you let out small gasps and moans, mindful not to let your volume get too loud.
Changing her rhythm, the doctor begins to apply pressure against your clit as she moves her thumb from side to side over it. You feel bolts of pleasure shooting through you at the action, and you helplessly move your hips, abandoning any shame you had remaining.
"Are you going to cum?" The doctor asks, her voice a bit strained, thick with arousal. You don't notice, too lost in chasing your pleasure.
"Yes," you gasp out.
She doesn't say anything else, but her efforts increase slightly, working you toward that rewarding edge you're about to fall off of. It hits you suddenly, your legs shaking as they attempt to close. They're stopped by the doctor's shoulders, and you hold on to the chair with all your strength as you feel your orgasm rolling through you.
Your clit throbs as you cum, the stimulation overwhelming. Your hips twitch, attempting to pull away. Dr. Maximoff slows her pace, gently stimulating you through the aftershocks.
As soon as you collapse bonelessly into the chair, the doctor removes her hands. You lie there, gasping, as she removes her gloves and sanitizes her hands. She clicks away at her computer, and you take a moment to calm your racing heartbeat, your body buzzing pleasantly.
Dr. Maximoff rolls her chair back between your legs.
"Now it's time for the speculum," she holds it up, coating it with lube. "If you're a good girl for me, maybe I'll let you cum again."
Then, she smirks. "I think you'll need these appointments every month moving forward. I take an active interest in my patients' well-being."
Yeah, this was the best doctor's appointment ever.
Pairing: Professor Wanda Maximoff x Student Reader
Rating: M 18+
Summary: Wanda Maximoff isn’t just sharp in the classroom, she’s confident, commanding, and dangerously tempting. Between stolen moments in her office, teasing encounters, and secret nights that push the boundaries of control, you quickly learn that focusing on your studies might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
The classroom always felt colder when Wanda was teaching.
Not because of the air conditioning, but because of the way her voice cut through the room, soft but commanding, her accent wrapping around every word. The other students scribbled notes furiously, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way her blouse clung to her frame, the way her lips curved into the faintest smirk when her eyes inevitably landed on you.
Nobody else noticed, but you did. Because you knew what those looks meant.
Because when the lecture ended, and you lingered after everyone else filed out, Wanda would let the mask drop.
You stacked your notebook slowly, waiting for the last straggler to leave. Wanda cleared her throat at the front of the room.
“Office hours still suit you?” she asked, her tone perfectly professional.
“Yes, Professor,” you said, fighting the twitch of a smile.
When the door finally closed behind you, Wanda didn’t waste a second.
Her stride was quick, heels clicking against the tile as she crossed the space. She brushed past you, fingers grazing your wrist in the smallest, most dangerous touch, and quickly locked the door to the lecture room.
Inside, the moment the door shut and the lock clicked, her entire demeanor shifted.
The professor was gone and in front of you was the object of your desires for the past few months. Wanda leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms, her smirk growing.
“You stared at me all through the lecture,” she said, her voice low, velvet smooth.
“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased, dropping your bag by the chair.
Her brow arched, and before you could react she had you caged against the wall. Her hand slipped under your chin, tilting your face up to hers.
“Imagined?” she murmured. “Detka, you’re lucky nobody else noticed the way you bite your lip when I speak.”
Your breath caught. She pressed closer, her thigh brushing against yours, her perfume dizzying in the confined space.
“You know how hard it is for me not to touch you when you look at me like that?” she whispered, her lips ghosting your ear.
Her lips finally claimed yours, soft but demanding, tasting faintly of coffee.
You melted against her, hands sliding into her hair, tugging until she growled against your mouth. The sound sent heat pooling low in your stomach.
“You have no idea,” she whispered between kisses, her accent curling around each word, “how badly I wanted to bend you over that desk in front of everyone today.”
Your cheeks flushed, breath shaky. “You wouldn’t.”
Her smirk deepened. “Wouldn’t I?”
In a quick motion, Wanda spun you until your back hit the desk. Her fingers tugged at your shirt, parting the buttons just enough to expose skin she immediately claimed with her mouth, biting softly, then soothing with her tongue.
“Wanda…” your voice was barely a whisper, already desperate.
“It’s Professor Maximoff.” Her words were firm while her fingers dug against your hips.
You let out a moan as your hips jerked forward against her.
She shushed you, lips brushing your ear. “Someone could hear. Do you want them to?”
You shook your head quickly, but she chuckled low in her throat. “Then be quiet for me, Malysh.”
Her hands reached down to grip the back of your thighs, lifting you up to sit on the desk. You quickly wrapped your legs around her waist, trapping her against you.
Her hand slipped under your waistband, moving your panties to the side so her fingertips could graze your heat, the lightest tease that had your knees buckling.
“You think I don’t notice how you look at me in class?” she murmured, dragging her lips across your jaw. “Biting your lip, shifting in your seat. You want me to lose control, don’t you?”
Her touch pressed harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch. The pressure was just enough to push you to the edge of begging.
“Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking.
“Better,” she said, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. “Begging suits you.”
Her fingers slid between your folds, finding the source of your wetness. She slipped in two fingers gently, curling inside to rub soft circles against your walls. You arched against her, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. But when a choked moan escaped, Wanda’s hand clamped firmly over your mouth.
“Shh,” she hushed against your neck, her tone equal parts warning and delight. “You don’t want anyone opening that door, do you?”
The risk only made it hotter, the scrape of her nails against your skin, the rough desk beneath you, her body pressing you down as her hand worked faster. The sounds of juices being pushed in and out of you had your head spinning. You gripped onto her forearm, trying to steady yourself as your toes curled from where they were locked around Wanda.
Her arm flexed as she pumped her fingers in you, her mouth sucking spots on your neck. You arched your back as you felt yourself clenching around you, your own fingers coming down to rub your bundle of nerves while she continued to fuck her fingers into you.
Your vision began to go white as pleasure built, crashing through you until your legs trembled and your muffled cries broke against her palm.
She held you as your body quivered against her, your legs weak but trying to keep her tight against your body, hips slowly thrusting against her hand to seek the remaining aftershocks of pleasure. Wanda kept her fingers still inside you, not wanting to overwhelm you but not wanting to leave your wet heat just yet. Her other hand left its grip on your hips to let her fingers brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead. Her voice softened, but her smirk remained.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “But you’re mine.”
__________________________
The next morning, sitting in Wanda’s lecture felt like torture.
She was every bit the composed professor, dark blouse tucked neatly into her skirt, glasses perched on her nose, voice even and measured as she dissected the day’s material. Nobody else noticed anything unusual. Nobody else saw the slight smirk when her gaze flickered over to you.
But you felt it, that look, that reminder. Your body still ached from what she’d done to you on that very desk she shuffled papers on, your skin buzzing just thinking about her hand clamped over your mouth, the weight of her against you.
You shifted in your seat, trying to focus on your notes. The words blurred.
“Are you with us, Ms. Y/L/N?” Wanda’s voice cut through the room, calm but sharp. Heads turned toward you.
“Yes, Professor,” you managed, cheeks burning.
Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, before she moved on. The lecture continued as if nothing had happened.
When class ended, you lingered as the others filed out, taking extra time to gather your papers into your bag. Wanda didn’t look up from her desk as she shuffled papers, but when the door shut, she finally raised her eyes.
“You’re distracted,” she said smoothly. “Didn’t I tell you to behave?”
You swallowed hard. “Hard to behave when you—”
Wanda’s chair scraped back. In seconds she was in front of you, her hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face up. “When I what?” she murmured, voice low enough only you could hear.
Your answer got lost in the way she kissed you, hot, fast, stealing every ounce of air. Her hands slid to your hips, guiding you back against the wall.
“Anyone could walk in,” you whispered, breathless.
Her smirk was wicked. “Then we’d better be quick, hm?”
Her knee pressed between your thighs, pinning you, grinding just enough to make your head spin. You clutched at her shoulders, your breath hitching as she set a rhythm against you, deliberate, teasing, relentless.
“Stay quiet,” she warned, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll ruin us if you don’t.”
The friction built fast, her hands firm on your hips, pushing and pulling your pussy against her bare thigh. Every shift of her body pressed you harder against her, panties soaked through and leaving a trail of your arousal on her leg. You thrusted against her until the pleasure grew sharp, demanding.
You bit down on your lip, muffling the sounds threatening to escape. Wanda’s satisfied hum vibrated against your throat as she pressed kisses along your skin.
“Good girl,” she praised softly. “Almost there, aren’t you?”
Your nod was frantic, your grip on her tightening as she pushed you higher and higher. And when release finally tore through you, your gasp was smothered by Wanda’s mouth on yours, swallowing every sound, kissing you until the world blurred.
When your legs gave out, she held you firmly, smoothing her hand down your spine as if nothing had happened.
“Now,” she whispered, fixing the collar of your shirt like a professor might adjust a student before sending them on their way, “go write me a paper on self-control.”
_____________________
The past week had been nothing but midterm prep — endless notes, caffeine-fueled nights, your brain too foggy to think about anything else. You had spent more nights in the library than in your own bed.
Before you knew it, it was time for Professor Maximoff’s class again, your last class for the day. You did your best to focus on the lesson she was teaching this week, knowing you would be tested on this material as well but the lack of sleep made it difficult.
Wanda caught your heavy eyes more than once, concern briefly flickered in her eyes before she blinked it away, continuing on with her teachings. She made sure not to call on you.
After class, you quickly gathered your stuff, intent on heading back to the library for another sleepless night with your study group.
“Ms. Y/L/N.” Wanda spoke the words just as you were placing your bag strap over your shoulder. Her eyes didn’t look up from the papers on her desk. “I need to speak with you.”
The rest of the class filed out of the room, none of them paying any attention to you as you shuffled back towards the professor. Your eyes longingly looked towards the door, knowing every free minute counted if you were going to pass these exams.
As you walked up to Wanda, her eyes never even glanced up at you.
“My place tonight,” she said simply, her voice leaving no room for argument.
__________________________
You stepped out of the uber later that night, looking up at the luxury apartment building. You and Wanda hadn't dared extend your relationship, if that’s what you could call it, to this level. You had nervously typed in the address that was sent to you from her unsaved number and now here you were.
The door to the apartment clicked shut behind you, and Wanda let out a low hum, glancing you over with sharp, assessing eyes.
“You look like hell,” she said, lifting herself from her spot on the couch, stepping closer to you, hands brushing over your shoulders. “How many hours have you been sitting in that library, buried in books?”
You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Too many. I… I don’t even remember the last time I slept properly.”
Her lips twitched into a smirk, part teasing, part… concern? “Detka, you can’t run yourself into the ground like that. Midterms aren’t worth collapsing over.”
She pressed closer, fingertips grazing the back of your neck, tugging lightly at the collar of your shirt, and the familiar heat pooled low in your stomach. Even with her words of caution, the way she looked at you made your pulse spike.
“You need a break,” she murmured, tilting her head, eyes scanning your tired expression. “And I think I can help with that.”
Before you could answer, she leaned in, kissing you, slow at first, just testing, just enough to make you catch your breath. Her hand slipped to your waist, tugging you flush against her body. Every move was deliberate, teasing, keeping you on edge.
Her voice was low, urgent, brushing against your ear. “You’ve been thinking too much about exams… let me take care of the rest for a while.”
She guided you onto the couch, straddling your hips, hand moving with a mix of dominance and careful attention, enough to make you gasp, enough to make you melt, but always teasing, always testing boundaries.
Her kisses trailed down your neck, along your collarbone, and back up again, punctuated by whispers of approval. Every touch made it clear she wanted you, desperately, but also that she was savoring this control, teasing you without giving in completely.
Wanda pulled back to slide down your body until she was on her knees in front of you. Your breath hitched as she tugged you to the end of the couch, hands coming up to slide your pants down, helping you tug them off. Your panties followed next.
Her hand slid up your stomach, underneath your shirt. Nails scratching against your skin. You whined and lifted your hips, a silent plea.
Then she lowered herself, slow and deliberate, letting her tongue trace over you, from the thin line of skin just above where your thighs met, up to your sensitive core. She tasted you gently at first, just teasing, letting you squirm and gasp. Every flick, every press of her tongue made your hips jerk involuntarily.
You reached down to thread your fingers through her hair, careful of pushing this new dynamic too far. You hadn’t been in control like this before. If you even were in control. Your head fell back against the couch as your hips built up a steady rhythm.
You couldn’t stop the groan that left you when her tongue traveled further down to push into you. Wanda moaned against you as she pushed her tongue deeper inside, flicking up to taste the inside of you. The new feeling overwhelmed you, filling you full of wet heat.
Wanda pulled back to breath, your eyes catching sight of the wetness on her chin. Wanda didn’t notice, too captivated by your leaking pussy. She took a fast breath and leaned back down to suck on your clit. Her fingers slipped inside you, perfectly in sync with her tongue, and the combination sent you spiraling. Green eyes snapped up to meet yours, watching every reaction, every shiver, every quiet moan you tried to suppress.
“Look at you,” she murmured between kisses and licks, lips brushing against your clit. “So needy… so desperate for me. Only I get to do this to you, Detka.”
She alternated her rhythm, slow and teasing, then sharp and insistent, bringing you to the edge again and again. Her fingers curled just right, her tongue hitting exactly where it needed to, making your entire body quake.
Wanda felt you begin to clench tighter around her fingers and your stomach muscles tensed. She smiled against your pussy, quickening the pace of her tongue. When your release hit, it was drawn out, messy, and chaotic, and Wanda’s hands held you firmly, grounding you, murmuring a low, satisfied hum.
“Better pay attention to your notes after this, detka,” she said, smirking as she pressed a lingering kiss to your heat. “Don’t think you can distract me with those puppy eyes every time you’re exhausted.”
She pulled herself off of her knees, grabbing your hand to tug you off the couch. You stumbled behind her, legs still shaking and hearing still fuzzy. “Where are we going?” You mumbled, the exhaustion from your orgasm and the sleepless nights catching up to you quickly.
“You’re sleeping here tonight.” Wanda stated, pulling you behind her down the hallway.
You opened your mouth to protest and as if she could sense it, her head snapped over to look at you. “Don’t argue with me. You think I haven’t noticed how tired you are? You can’t push yourself this much.”
You stumbled into the room, letting the door click shut behind you. Wanda guided you to the bed with firm, insistent hands, tugging gently until you were sitting on the edge. “Here,” she said, tugging the remainder of your clothing off. “You’re not moving anywhere else tonight.”
Too exhausted to care about how this was the most exposed you had been in front of her, she pulled one of her oversized shirts over your head and pushed you back onto the bed.
Your body sunk into the soft mattress as Wanda slipped into more comfortable clothes as well. You let your eyes close, exhaustion finally taking over, and Wanda slipped into bed beside you, her presence warm and steady. The only sound was your soft breathing and the occasional shuffle as she adjusted to make sure you were comfortable, leaving unspoken comfort in every gesture. It felt like lines had been crossed by coming here in the first place, let alone staying the night. You would think about what this meant later.
Finally, your body surrendered completely, letting sleep drag you under, and Wanda remained there, alert, calm, and in control, until you were fully at rest.
Pairing: Professor Wanda Maximoff x Student Reader
Rating: M 18+
Summary: The last weekend before classes start again, a chance encounter ignites a craving neither of them can ignore. What begins as a reckless, secret hookup escalates into a tangled game of dominance and desire. Wanda knows what she wants, and you’re all too eager to give it to her.
Warnings: Smut, 18+ , teacher/student
A/N: This is a prequel to Lessons in Desire but can be a stand alone one shot too.
The car was parked in a quiet lot, windows fogged, engine off, but the tension between you was louder than anything outside. The night sky covering you both like a blanket of secrets.
In the back seat of Wanda’s car, your face nestled into her neck, desperately kissing and licking, careful not to leave a mark. Wanda grunted beneath you as she snapped her hips up in an unsteady rhythm, the strap pushing in and out of you.
She had her hands firmly gripping your hips while she pulled you fast and hard down against her, your wetness dripping down onto her thighs.
She had her head leaned back, eyes screwed shut and forehead scrunched in pleasure. “God, you’re so wet,” she growled, sliding her fingers down between your legs, pressing against you in perfect rhythm with her strap. “You like this, don’t you? Getting filled while I control every second?”
You whimpered, leaning back until you were resting against the back of the front seat. This new angle allowed Wanda to get deeper inside of you, your body on display for her.
“Yes—fuck, yes!” you moaned, hips rolling forward on your own, desperate for more friction.
You cried out, trying to keep up with the speed of her thrusts. Your thighs shook as you pressed down on her, sliding along the strap, feeling the obscene friction of her cock pushing inside you. Wetness dripped freely, coating both of you, smearing along the leather seat and her thighs.
“Oh fuck—oh god—,” you moaned, hips rolling desperately, grinding hard. The squelching, wet sounds filled the small space, echoing off the car windows, mingling with your ragged gasps and Wanda’s low groans.
“That’s it,” Wanda encouraged, her fingers sliding between your slick folds, pressing to your clit while you rode her. “Feel how good you are for me? So greedy, taking me like this.”
Your hands clutched her hair as you leaned forward, grinding harder, moaning through every thrust, every messy, dripping lap. She pressed herself against you, hips tilting, hands kneading your ass, keeping you moving just right, guiding you to the edge.
“Look at you—so wet, so slick, taking me like the little slut you are,” she murmured, teeth grazing your shoulder. “I’m going to cum so deep inside you”
Your eyes rolled back at her words. Wanda had learned about your breeding kink a few weeks ago and knew how to use it to her advantage.
“You like that, don’t you?” Wanda panted, her own orgasm building from the base of the strap rubbing against her with every thrust. “You like the idea of me filling you with my cum?”
You couldn’t hold back. Your walls clenched, trembling, heat and pleasure colliding as you moaned her name, hips jerking, dripping mess all over both of you. Wanda groaned, pulling you closer, fucking your cum back into you as she chased her own orgasm. She leaned up to kiss you roughly as she came, her pussy clenching around nothing.
Both of you groaned, breath ragged, bodies slick and sticky, heat radiating off every inch of skin.
You collapsed against her, exhaustion taking over your body. Panting, your forehead rested against her shoulder. She softly grinded her hips up against you, basking in the aftershocks of her own release. Her body finally gave out too as she stilled her hips, lips pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty temple.
“You’re mine,” she whispered between kisses, voice low and dangerous. “Every inch, every sound… all for me.”
You weren’t even planning on going out tonight. The last weekend before classes started always carried this restless energy, students pouring back into town, crowding bars and coffee shops, trying to squeeze the last taste of freedom before the grind began again. Your friends had dragged you along with promises of “just a couple drinks,” but within an hour they’d already scattered, some to the dance floor, some disappearing with strangers.
Which left you at the bar, idly stirring your drink and debating whether it was worth finishing.
That’s when you noticed her.
She stood out immediately, not because she was loud or flashy, but because she didn’t seem to belong to the chaos around her. While everyone else was loud and buzzing, she leaned against the bar like she was in control of the whole room. Dark red wine in hand, lips painted to match, eyes sharp as they swept the crowd. Older than most people here, sure, but not in a way that felt out of place. If anything, she looked untouchable.
You caught yourself staring. And then you realized she’d caught you too.
Her gaze didn’t dart away like most people’s. Instead, she let it linger. Measured. Deliberate. Like she was weighing whether you were worth her time. The smallest curve touched her mouth when you didn’t look away.
Your pulse jumped. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you slipped off your stool and crossed the room.
Up close, she was even more distracting, faint perfume that smelled expensive, voice low when she finally spoke.
“Brave,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Most people just stare from across the room.”
You raised your own drink to your lips, trying for casual even as your stomach flipped. “Maybe I like a challenge.”
That earned you the first real smile, sly, amused, like you’d passed some sort of test.
“Do you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Then sit. Impress me.”
You slid onto the stool beside her, trying not to show how your heart was thudding. She didn’t move her glass right away, just let her fingers curl lazily around the stem, nails painted a deep, glossy shade that matched her lips. Everything about her looked composed.
“Wine at a place like this?” you teased, nodding toward the crowded, sticky bar and the half-empty row of beer bottles behind it. “Bold choice.”
Her mouth quirked. “I don’t drink to fit in.”
That reply shouldn’t have made your stomach tighten, but it did. She leaned slightly, her elbow brushing the edge of your armrest, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel her presence.
“So,” she drawled, eyes flicking over you in a way that made your skin heat, “what do you drink to do?”
The question was so loaded it caught you off guard. You swallowed, trying not to sound flustered. “Depends on the night. Relax… distract myself… meet someone new.”
Her brow arched, deliberate, playful. “And tonight?”
You smirked, finding some boldness under her stare. “I guess that depends on if you let me buy your next glass.”
Her laugh was low, amused, curling in your stomach like smoke. “Confident.” She tilted her glass toward you. “Fine. Surprise me.”
You flagged down the bartender, ordered without looking away from her. She held your gaze the entire time, like it was a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
When the drinks arrived, she reached across you to grab hers, then let her hand linger just a little too long near your wrist. The brush of her skin was feather-light but deliberate.
“So, stranger,” she said, tone smooth, “what should I know about you before I decide if you’re worth my time?”
Her phrasing was playful, but her eyes told a different story, intense, sharp, as if she was already peeling you apart layer by layer.
You leaned in, emboldened by her attention and the flush in your cheeks. “Maybe you don’t need to know everything. Maybe you just need to… see for yourself.”
For a beat, she just studied you, silent, unreadable, and then the corner of her mouth curved. “Dangerous answer.”
And God, the way she said dangerous made your thighs press together under the bar.
The noise of the bar faded around you the longer you sat beside her. Her voice had this way of filling up all the space, like nothing else mattered but her next word, her next look.
Her hand drifted closer until her fingers brushed your thigh, just light enough that she could play it off as an accident, if she wanted to. You shifted, but you didn’t pull away.
“See for myself, hm?” she murmured, leaning in so her lips nearly grazed the shell of your ear. “You don’t seem like someone who plays it safe.”
You shivered, laughing under your breath. “Do I seem like someone who makes bad decisions?”
“Mm.” She let her nails graze your jeans, a deliberate scrape against your skin. “The best ones usually are.”
Your pulse thudded. She sat back a little, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just set your body on fire in the middle of a crowded bar. It was maddening, the calm way she moved, as if she knew you’d follow her anywhere.
You found yourself leaning closer again, caught between wanting to match her control and just begging her to take it. “So, are you always this forward with strangers?”
Her smile turned slow, lazy, wicked. “Only when I don’t want them to stay strangers.”
The words knocked the air from your lungs. You could feel her watching your reaction, measuring it, savoring it.
The music pulsed low in the background, the kind of bass that vibrated through your chest. Her hand lingered on your knee now, not hiding anymore, fingers flexing lightly as though she was testing how far she could push.
You swallowed hard, leaning toward her without even realizing it. “You’re trouble.”
She hummed, leaning in until her lips brushed your jaw. “Do you care?”
No. God, no. You didn’t care at all.
When she stood, sliding her empty glass across the bar, you thought for a moment she was leaving. Panic jolted in your chest, until she turned her head, that knowing look flashing across her face, and said in a tone that brooked no argument:
“Come with me.”
The alley was dark and narrow, tucked between two brick buildings, the low hum of the city muted back here. Wanda had you pinned against the wall, her lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your head spin. Her hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, fingers dragging over your skin like she wanted to memorize every inch of you.
You whimpered into her mouth when her teeth grazed your lower lip, and she smirked against you, drinking in the sound.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” she rasped, her voice low, already wrecked with want.
Your body arched into hers, chasing more contact, thighs squeezing together as heat pooled between them. She noticed, of course she did, and her smirk only deepened.
Her hand slid lower, cupping you through your jeans. You gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively, grinding against her palm like you had no control left. The rough press of denim against your aching core made you shiver.
“Already so needy,” she teased, her thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over you. “You like this, detka? Getting touched out here where anyone could see?”
Her words shot straight to your core, and you whined, nodding quickly, cheeks flushed.
She kissed you again, messier this time, tongue sliding against yours as her hand popped the button of your jeans and slipped inside. The anticipation made your knees weak, every second stretching unbearably until finally, her fingers slid beneath your panties, pressing against your slick folds.
You gasped against her mouth, the sound muffled as her fingers teased you, running up and down your slit before finding your clit. She circled it lazily at first, drawing soft, frustrated noises out of you as you bucked against her hand.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she groaned, biting at your jaw. “Dripping for me already.”
Her words had you trembling, heat spreading fast through your body. She slid one finger inside you without warning, the stretch making your mouth fall open. She worked it slow at first, then added a second, pumping them in and out, curling just right to make your thighs shake.
“Wanda—” you gasped, clutching her shoulders, nails digging in.
“That’s it, baby,” she murmured, lips dragging down your neck, sucking a bruise just under your jaw. “Say my name like that again.”
Her pace quickened, fingers fucking into you harder, wetter, the lewd sounds echoing in the alley. She pressed her thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles as her fingers curled deep inside, and you nearly came undone right there.
But then she pulled back, her hand slipping free, and you let out a broken whine.
“Shh,” she hushed, her tone commanding. “I’m not finished with you.”
Before you could catch your breath, she dropped to her knees on the dirty pavement, spreading your thighs apart. You looked down, dazed, heat flooding your cheeks at the sight of her kneeling in front of you, eyes dark and hungry.
“You look fucking divine from here,” she muttered, and then her tongue was on you–hot, wet, devastating.
You slapped a hand against the wall to steady yourself as she dragged her tongue up your slit, swirling around your clit before sucking it into her mouth. The sudden intensity had your hips jerking forward, grinding against her face, and she moaned like she loved the way you used her.
Her tongue fucked into you, deep and sloppy, then flicked back up to your clit, switching between licking and sucking until your legs were shaking so hard you thought you might collapse.
“Wanda—please—” you cried out, voice breaking.
She hummed against you, the vibrations making you see stars. Two fingers slid back inside, thrusting in time with her mouth, hitting that spot that made your entire body jolt. She ate you like she was starving, groaning against your cunt, tongue and fingers working you mercilessly.
The coil in your stomach snapped fast and hard, orgasm slamming into you so suddenly you choked on a scream. Your thighs clamped around her head, body convulsing as she held you there, dragging it out, fucking you through every wave until you were gasping for air.
When she finally pulled back, her chin was glistening, lips shiny with your slick. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking up at you as you sagged weakly against the wall.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” she said, voice husky, smug.
You were still trembling, too wrung out to answer, and she stood, pressing one last bruising kiss to your mouth. You could taste yourself on her lips, and it only made you shiver harder.
Your legs were barely holding you up, trembling as Wanda’s hands slid to your hips to steady you. She smirked at the state she’d left you in, eyes flicking over your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the way you could barely catch your breath.
“Can’t even stand,” she teased, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Did I ruin you already?”
You managed a weak laugh, but your knees wobbled when you tried to move, and she chuckled low in her throat, sliding an arm around your waist to keep you upright.
The cool night air hit you, making you shiver as reality crept back in, the hum of traffic at the end of the street, voices spilling out from the bar door just around the corner. You’d just let her wreck you in a public alley where anyone could’ve walked by.
Your pulse hammered at the thought, but Wanda didn’t look the least bit guilty. She looked smug. Predatory. Sated, but not done with you.
She leaned in, lips brushing your ear.
“You have no idea how badly I want to keep you right here and make you scream for me again.”
A heat surged back through your body, but your breath caught when the bar door opened briefly, laughter spilling into the night before it shut again. The reminder had you tugging Wanda’s shirt, whispering, “We should go before someone—”
Wanda pressed a finger to your lips. “Relax. No one saw.” Then her grin turned sly. “And if they had, all they’d see is how gorgeous you look falling apart for me.”
Your cheeks flamed, the words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. She kissed you once more, slow this time, claiming and then finally stepped back, letting you pull your jeans back up with shaky hands.
But before you could even think about what to say, she tilted your chin back up toward her.
“This isn’t over,” she promised, voice dark velvet.
With that, she slipped her hand into yours, tugging you back toward the streetlight glow as if she hadn’t just devoured you in the shadows.
____________________________________________
The week that followed blurred together in flashes of memory. The press of Wanda’s mouth, the scrape of her nails, the way she’d left you trembling in that alley like she owned you. You couldn’t shake it. No matter how many showers you took, how many times you tried to distract yourself, she clung to your mind like perfume on skin.
And it hadn’t just stopped there.
You’d been texting since that night— short, teasing messages at first, then longer ones. She’d asked when she could see you again, you’d both thrown around plans, but life kept getting in the way. Work, errands, the chaos of preparing for the semester. It was like the universe was dangling her in front of you but refusing to let you touch.
Still, every buzz of your phone sent your stomach flipping. The promise of her. The pull you couldn’t ignore.
Then classes started again. The campus swelled with bodies, students spilling into lecture halls with coffee cups and wrinkled syllabi, the lazy rhythm of summer traded for a frantic buzz of first-day energy. You’d barely slept, nerves tangled with excitement.
Your backpack was heavy with fresh notebooks as you slipped into the lecture hall, scanning for an empty seat among the crowd. You slid into one near the middle, pulling your laptop free, trying to focus on anything other than the way your thoughts still circled back to her.
The door shut. Conversations dimmed. The sound of heels clicked across the floor.
And then—
Your stomach dropped.
She stepped up to the podium with that same commanding presence, dark hair falling over her shoulders, lips curved in that smirk you knew too well.
Professor Maximoff.
Your pulse spiked. You froze in your seat, wide-eyed, as her gaze swept across the room like a spotlight. For a moment, you swore her eyes lingered on you, just long enough to send heat rushing down your spine, before she turned to the chalkboard, writing her name in neat strokes.
“Welcome to European History,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying through the hall, rich and steady. “I’m Professor Maximoff. And before we get started, there’s one thing you should know…”
You couldn’t hear the rest. Your ears rang. Your heart thrashed against your ribs as you stared at her, the world tilting around you.
The woman who’d had you against a brick wall less than a week ago.
The woman you’d been texting nonstop, making plans to meet again.
And now, she was your professor.
For the next hour, you fought the tight knot that had formed in your stomach, the cold sweats that had erupted over your body.
You couldn’t focus on what Wanda, Professor Maximoff, was saying, too busy trying to control your breathing.
You started to question if she even recognized you since she hadn’t looked at you a single time since she first walked in. You thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to switch classes and pretend none of this ever happened.
You hadn’t noticed her eyes fleeting over to you every time you looked down at your notebook.
The moment Wanda dismissed the class, you quickly shoved your belongings back into your back and snuck your way out in between bodies of students.
Your phone buzzed the second you stepped out of the lecture hall. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
Wanda: We need to talk. Come to my office after 4:30.
Your stomach flipped. Okay so maybe she did notice you. For a second, you considered ignoring it, pretending this wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t your professor, that you hadn’t let her wreck you less than a week ago. But you knew better. Wanda wasn’t the type to ask twice.
The hours crawled. You couldn’t focus on your other classes, your notes filled with scribbles you couldn’t read. Every time your phone lit up, you half-hoped it was her, half-feared it.
By the time the clock neared 4:30, your nerves were buzzing so hard you thought you might short-circuit.
Her office was tucked away in one of the older wings of the humanities building, dimly lit and quieter than the rest of campus. You stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the little brass plaque: Professor Maximoff.
You knocked softly.
“Come in.”
Her voice slid through the wood like silk.
You stepped inside. The space was warm, book-lined, filled with the faint scent of coffee and something floral. She was leaning back in her chair, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, pen tapping against an open notebook. When her eyes lifted to yours, that familiar weight settled over you.
“Shut the door.”
You obeyed before you even thought about it, the click of the latch sounding final.
Wanda set her pen down, folding her hands together as she studied you. “We have a problem,” she said smoothly.
You swallowed. “That depends on how you define ‘problem.’”
Her mouth curved. Not quite a smile. “You’re my student.”
“And?” Your voice was quieter than you meant.
“And that complicates things,” she replied. “Very much. I should tell you that nothing can happen between us. That this has to stop.”
The silence stretched, heavy with all the things she wasn’t saying.
“But you don’t believe that.” Your words came out before you could stop them.
Her eyes darkened, lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “You’re sharper than I give you credit for.”
The tension crackled between you, thick and unyielding. She stood, moving around the desk with unhurried grace, stopping just a breath away. Her hand lifted, brushing your jaw with her knuckles. “This is dangerous,” she murmured. “If anyone found out…”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Her gaze locked onto yours, searching, weighing. For a moment, you thought she might step back, call the whole thing off. Instead, she smiled, a dangerous, wicked smile, and pressed you back against the door.
“Good,” she whispered. “Then I won’t either.”
Her mouth crashed against yours, hungry, claiming. All the restraint she’d carried in class shattered in an instant, replaced by the same feral need you’d felt in the alley.
Her hands roamed down your sides, over your ass, gripping tight enough to make you gasp. She spun you, pushing your back up against the desk, scattering papers and pens like they didn’t matter.
“Clothes off,” she ordered, her voice low, roughened. “Now.”
Wanda’s mouth claimed yours again, harder this time, all teeth and tongue, like she’d been holding herself back all day and finally snapped. Her hands didn’t ask — they took. Tugging your shirt over your head, unbuttoning your jeans with quick, impatient fingers, shoving them down until you were stepping out clumsily.
“Good girl,” she murmured against your lips when you obeyed without hesitation, and the praise made your thighs clench. She smirked knowingly, one hand sliding down to cup between your legs. “Already wet for me, aren’t you? You sat through my whole lecture like this?”
“Wanda—” you gasped, but she cut you off with a sharp slap between your thighs, just enough sting to make you whimper.
“It’s Professor Maximoff while you’re in my office.”
Your knees nearly buckled. The way she said it, low, commanding, dripping with filth, shot straight through you. She turned you easily, pressing your stomach against the desk, the cool wood biting into your skin as she yanked your panties down in one swift motion.
“Look at you,” she purred, sliding two fingers through your slick folds, slow and deliberate. “So fucking needy.”
You squirmed, trying to grind back against her hand, but she held you firmly in place with her other palm splayed across your lower back. “Stay still.”
The order landed like a shockwave, and you froze, trembling, every nerve lit. Wanda’s fingers teased you, circling your clit, dipping just inside your entrance, retreating, never giving you enough.
“Please,” you finally begged, voice breaking.
“Please what?” she pressed, bending down so her lips brushed your ear. “Use your words, detka.”
“Please… fuck me.”
That earned you a dark chuckle, and then two fingers pushed deep inside you, knuckles burying hard and fast. You cried out, hands gripping the edge of the desk, papers crumpling in your fists.
“That’s it,” Wanda groaned, fucking you with quick, ruthless thrusts, curling her fingers until your legs shook. “Take what I give you. You like being fucked like this? Bent over my desk like a filthy little slut?”
“Yes—fuck—yes!” you cried, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.
Her free hand slid up, wrapping around your throat just tight enough to remind you who was in control. She pulled you upright against her body, still pounding her fingers into you. “You belong to me now,” she hissed into your ear. “Say it.”
“I—I belong to you!” you gasped, eyes rolling back.
“Good girl.”
Her thumb pressed to your clit, circling hard, and your orgasm ripped through you like a shockwave, body convulsing, a broken scream spilling from your lips. Wanda held you through it, fingers relentless, dragging it out until your legs gave out and you sagged against the desk.
She finally pulled her hand away, glistening with your release. She licked her fingers clean, eyes locked on you the whole time. “You taste even better than I remember,” she teased darkly.
And then she pushed you down flat against the desk again, lowering herself to her knees. You barely had time to breathe before her tongue was on you, devouring you like a starving woman, not giving you a single second of reprieve.
Your cry cracked into a whimper as Wanda’s tongue pushed deep inside you, hot and relentless. She gripped your ass hard, spreading you open for her, dragging her mouth up through your folds to circle your clit with slow, devastating precision.
“God, Wanda—” you gasped, back arching, nails clawing into the desk for purchase.
She slapped your thigh sharply, pulling a ragged yelp from you. “Professor, detka,” she corrected, voice muffled against your slick heat. “You don’t get to forget that.”
“P-Professor—fuck—” the word tasted dirty on your tongue, but it only made the coil in your stomach tighten harder.
“That’s better,” she purred, before sucking your clit into her mouth, rolling it between her lips with such greedy intent you nearly blacked out.
Her tongue worked you mercilessly, alternating between slow, deep thrusts inside your cunt and ruthless flicks against your swollen bud. Every time you bucked against her mouth, she held you still, nails digging crescents into your thighs.
You were trembling, incoherent, your voice breaking as you begged, “Please—oh my God—please don’t stop—”
Wanda groaned against you, the vibrations making your knees give out. She hooked an arm around your hips to keep you standing, never easing up, drinking you in like she could live on nothing but your taste.
Your orgasm slammed into you, brutal and overwhelming. You screamed, collapsing forward onto the desk, your body jerking violently as Wanda licked you through every wave, refusing to let up.
But she didn’t stop.
Even as you whimpered that you were too sensitive, she pushed two fingers back inside you, curling them until your walls clenched desperately around her. Her mouth latched back onto your clit, and you sobbed at the overstimulation, toes curling, body writhing helplessly.
“You can take it,” she murmured darkly against you, tongue flicking with ruthless precision. “One more for me, detka. Be my good girl and come again.”
You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you. The pleasure built again too quickly, your moans climbing higher and higher until you broke, another orgasm tearing through you, leaving you screaming her name until your voice was raw.
This time, your legs truly gave out, and Wanda let you collapse, catching you before you hit the ground. She lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, your body limp and trembling.
Her lips were glistening when she looked up at you, eyes dark with smug hunger. She leaned in, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
“Such a mess for me,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from your face. “You’re mine now. Don’t ever forget it.”
You could only nod weakly, still gasping for air, your thighs sticky and trembling.
And Wanda just smiled like she had all the time in the world, because she knew she’d broken you in the best way possible.
Wanda helped you tug your pants back up, your body slack against her, too weak to move just yet.
With a final kiss to your lips, she gently gestured towards the door, “I’ll see you in class on Wednesday,” Wanda said, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Summary: Set in medieval times, you are Wanda’s beloved werewolf. You belong to no one but her. Not the council. Not the nobles. Only Wanda. Her word is your command. Her gaze your leash. Her magic, your heartbeat. You’re loved by the kingdom and feared by your enemies. And she? Wanda Maximoff — Empress of the Realm, the Scarlet Witch — is the soul of the kingdom. She walks her streets without guards, sleeves rolled, skirts dusted with flour, hand resting on your head as she trades stories with farmers and kisses babies on the crown. She helps stack firewood, soothes fevers with a whispered charm, and listens to complaints as if they matter — because to her, they do.
A/N: This is my first time writing in a while for just Wanda, and first time ever writing for a medieval AU. If you like it, let me know! And also, sorry for not posting, writers block hits the best of us sometimes.
Men and Minors dni
The people call you “hound.” Not beast. Not wolf. Hound. With affection. With knowing.
Their love is a strange, warm thing — like the way children tug your ears and braid wildflowers into the fur at your nape, or the way old mothers scold you when you come back from the woods scratched and muddy, pushing healing poultices into your hands. The kingdom sees your claws and fangs and does not flinch.
Not because you are safe — but because you are hers.
And no one questions the Scarlet Empress.
They say she tamed the darkness when she claimed you. They say she looked into the eyes of a monster and whispered, “Mine,” and the beast bowed.
They’re not wrong.
You remember that first night — smoke thick in your lungs, your body torn between bloodlust and desperation. You had run for days after the last pack scattered, chased by soldiers and sorrow. It wasn’t courage that made you stand before her. It was hunger. And madness. And something in her scent that pulled at your very bones.
She didn’t lift a weapon. Didn’t summon her famed scarlet fire.
She opened her arms.
And you — beast, killer, creature of nightmare — crawled to her feet and pressed your forehead to the hem of her cloak like a child.
That was five winters ago.
Now, you sleep at the foot of her bed, curled against velvet and carved stone. You rise when she rises. You run beside her horse when she rides. Her magic sings in your bones, a hum beneath your skin. You’ve felt it heal, bind, soothe. She calls you with a thought. You come with a prayer.
She is your north star.
Your sun.
Your leash and your home.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
The kingdom adores her.
They love how she walks the market like any other woman, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands stained with flour or berry juice. She carries baskets for the baker’s daughter and listens to the drunkards’ ramblings at the tavern without sneering. She plants trees on festival days and tells stories to orphans by candlelight.
But when she speaks in court — her voice low, unshakable — not even the lords dare interrupt.
You’ve seen her call rain to the fields with a twist of her fingers. You’ve seen her bend iron with her thoughts when a mine collapsed, freeing trapped men one heartbeat at a time. You’ve seen her hush a mob without lifting her hand.
She doesn’t need to shout. Doesn’t need to command.
She is command.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
The castle is yours by extension — but the village? That’s where your heart lives. You run errands for the old fishwives. Haul casks of wine and sacks of grain, your claws scuffing against the stone. You race the stable boys until they collapse laughing, panting into the dust. When you shift — great and shaggy and silver-pelted — children come tumbling from homes to chase your tail and shriek when you bow low to sniff them.
The tavern’s hearth is your winter den. There’s always a stool left empty for Wanda, and a space by the fire for you. The butcher saves marrow bones wrapped in cloth. The baker slips honeyed rolls under the counter. You bare your teeth when anyone jests too rough with the children — but they know you won’t bite.
Not them. Never them.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
But when it’s just you and her…
You’re still the hound. Still the loyal, ruthless, trained-to-kill creature she shaped you into.
But she lets you lie with your head in her lap, fingers tangled in your hair.
She lets you eat from her hand — a bite of fruit, a curl of cheese — and kisses your temple after.
She calls you pet. Darling. Pup.
Sometimes, in the privacy of her chambers, when the fire crackles low and you kneel before her without being told, she hums, “Good girl,” like it’s the highest praise in the world.
(It is. Gods, it is.)
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
The nobles call you a beast. The lords sneer behind your back.
They don’t dare do it to your face.
Because you would tear them limb from limb if she asked. Smile, even.
But she never does.
She only tilts your chin up with two fingers and murmurs, “You’re mine,” as if that is reason enough to behave.
It is.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
One evening, after a long ride through the forest, Wanda returns dusted with pollen and magic. You shift back to human at the river’s edge, clothes left folded from your morning transformation. You catch her watching — always watching — with that look. Like she’s proud. Like she sees everything.
“Did you miss me, pet?” she asks softly.
You drop to your knees in the grass.
“I always do.”
Her fingers card through your hair. You close your eyes.
In the distance, the bells of the city ring.
The Empress stands.
You follow.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
The world is not kind to crowns. You’ve learned that over time — in the bones buried beneath the city, in the assassins who whisper prayers before they strike, in the cowardice of nobles who smile with their teeth while poisoning wells with the other hand.
But the kingdom still stands.
Because Wanda still stands.
And you — her shadow, her leash-snapped blade — are always, always one step ahead of the danger.
You smell it before the guard does.
The scent of oil on a crossbow string. The stale reek of horses ridden too hard. The sick-sweet stench of death. It’s thick in the air long before the arrow takes flight.
You knock her down before it can reach her.
It lodges in your back.
The bolt is silver-tipped — meant for monsters, not queens. You hear the crowd scream. Somewhere, a child cries. But all you feel is her hand in your fur, and her voice — low, murderous, soft as falling snow.
“Who dares,” she breathes, “touch what is mine?”
The world burns red.
You don’t see her unleash it — but you feel it. Magic tears through the square like wind through dry grass. Stone cracks beneath her feet. The crossbowman screams once and is silenced forever. Those who dared to ride against her are already dead by the time your knees hit the ground.
Wanda catches you before you fall.
“Stay with me,” she says, pressing her palm to your chest. “That’s an order.”
You want to obey.
Gods, you always do.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
The fever burns high for three nights. The silver fights your body like a curse, but her magic holds it back, keeps it from devouring you whole. She sits beside you every moment — not Empress, not Witch, not even ruler — just Wanda. Just the woman who found a creature in the dark and called her home.
She wipes the sweat from your brow with the same cloth she uses to clean her own hands. She feeds you broth when your jaw won’t open. She whispers to you in her native tongue, ancient and wild and soft as lullabies.
And when the fever breaks, and you stir in the soft light of dawn, she is already awake — watching, always watching.
“Pet,” she whispers, and her voice trembles just once. “You came back to me.”
You try to rise, but your body is still leaden. So you do the only thing you can.
You bare your throat.
Not from weakness.
From willingness.
From devotion.
From love.
Her fingers skim it, reverent.
“I should never have brought you into the square,” she murmurs. “I should’ve kept you behind my walls where you’re safe.”
You shake your head. Voice hoarse. “I belong at your side.”
Her eyes flash crimson. “You belong alive.”
There is no arguing with her. Not when she looks like that — fury and grief and worship braided into one impossible woman. You can only stare. Only breathe. Only love her in silence.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
Word of the attack spreads, and with it, your legend. Children start wearing red ribbons in their hair — not for the Empress, but for her Hound. Soldiers bow when they pass you in the halls. The baker makes you sweet buns in the shape of paws. You’re limping, still, but no one mocks your slowness.
You saved their Queen.
And they love you for it.
But she — Wanda — she does not thank you. Not with words. Not with gold or ceremony.
She thanks you the way only she can.
With her presence. Her touch. Her eyes on yours in the quiet dark.
“You’re more than my blade,” she says one night, when you’ve curled into her bed instead of your own. “More than my teeth and claws. Do you know that?”
You nod — because you do. Because she’s taught you.
“You are my beloved,” she whispers.
Your chest aches.
And then: “Do you remember what I told you that first day?”
You nod again. “You said I was yours.”
She smiles. Slow. Soft. Powerful.
“You still are.”
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
By winter’s turn, you no longer sleep at the foot of her bed — you sleep beside her, half-wolf, half-woman, heart entirely hers. When she walks the city, you walk too, your hand now in hers. The villagers don’t stare — they nod. They smile. They wave.
The kingdom no longer calls you hound.
They call you Empress’s Shadow.
They call you beloved.
And when enemies come again — as they always do — you are ready.
Not just to protect her.
But to rule beside her, in your own strange way.
Not with laws.
But with loyalty.
With devotion.
With the kind of love only a monster can give — the kind that guards, that kneels, that kills if asked but kneels if kissed.
Because you are not just hers.
She is also yours.
And in a world of kings and curses and kingdoms that rise and fall with every decade…
waking up in the middle of the night to your mommy just to be lost admiring her relaxed and focused attention as she reads her book. you dare not move so you can watch her more, yet she is just so good looking in moments like these that you can't help it, you just have to let her know how much you love and admire her.
you slowly move your head up, bringing it closer to her face, you then place a gentle kiss on her cheek. she quickly turn her head to you, her previously serious expression is now replaced with a warm smile, her eyes softening when she meets your loving gaze.
she lean in closer to you and give you a little peck on the lips, her hand on the back of your head, caressing your hair gently.
"go back to sleep, princess"
you whine lowly, letting her know that it is late for her as well. she chuckles softly before giving up once you cling to her, and how can she ever refuse her little one anything when you look at her with so much love?
Happy Valentine’s Day!!!! I love your writing. Could I request Dom Wanda? I’ve seen you write some somnophilia before and I would love it if you could write some with Wanda? Maybe sneak in a bit of breeding in there too 👀 Anything would be amazing thank you!
Happy extremely late valentine's day :)
The breeding kink is only there if you squint sorry but I hope you still like it! Here is some very soft and very sweet somno 🙂↕️
Wanda cracks the door to the bedroom open. She smiles fondly when she finds you curled up on her side of the bed. She creeps over, wanting to take you in while you’re still in the softness of sleep. Her fingers trail over your cheek fondly.
Your bare shoulder peaks out of the covers and she raises an eyebrow. Carefully pulling the sheet back, she finds your top half naked. She lifts the sheet up to see that you are, in fact, completely naked.
“Naughty thing,” she murmurs with a hint of a laugh in her voice.
She lets the sheet fall down and climbs on top of you, settling herself between your legs. She pops two fingers into her mouth and sucks lightly to get them wet before she uses them to circle your sensitive clit. Her touch stays light and she delights in the way your little face furrows, how you begin to squirm as your body craves more contact. She applies more pressure on the next few circles only to return to her lighter touch just to enjoy the frustrated huffs you make. She does it a few more times until you’re close to waking.
She leans down and lightly rubs her nose against yours. Her fingers slip lower to find you soaked. Grinning, she runs teasing circles around your entrance.
Your eyes open, seemingly in protest of the continued teasing, and you blink sleepily up at her.
“Hi, baby,” she murmurs as she flips her finger inside of you.
You greet her with a whimper. Your confusion quickly falling away when you see her on top of you. It’s not unusual for your mommy to wake you up this way. She always says she can’t help herself. You’re just too cute like this.
She gently fills you, over and over again, until you’re a squirming mess below her. Mumbling pleases and clinging to her shoulders.
“Want to be full of mommy?” she asks, in a teasing voice. You nod eagerly. “Yeah? What do we say?”
You whine. You were beyond words before you even woke up.
“C’mon, be good for mommy. You can do it,” her fingers find your clit again. “How do we ask nicely?”
“Please,” you whimper. “Please wanna— wanna be full of you.”
“Oh, good girl,” she purrs, curling her fingers. “You’re such a good girl for me.”
“Gonna come,” you gasp, since she hasn’t actually given permission yet.
“Let go, baby. Come all over mommy.”
She stays gentle as you do, but firm enough for you to be gasping in her arms. Coming down is sweet and she manoeuvres you until you can nuzzle into her hold
Mornings like this are always the sweetest release.
This is a small collection - or an attempt at one - of all my rewritten wandavision scenes/stuff. They were all originally written as smut one-shots but since I wrote an ending chapter that connects two of them, I'm calling it a collection (and two new, one upcoming, series) now. All works, except for the Butchered Tongue (because this is connected to the other two), can be read separately.
List of works
Series "Unreal Unearth Unending"
Heart Drawing (+18)
I'll Crawl Home To Her
Butchered Tongue - (+18)
upcoming new series no name yet
Oneshots
These stories are not necessarily related to the others. They either don't have enough info or they have entirely different dynamics from previous/new ones.
Sypnosis — You struggled to keep yourself awake to wait for Wanda, resulting to her finding you asleep on the couch. She proves how worth it she is to wait for.
Tags — Fluff (because I was happy today), Cuddling (because I am so touch deprived), Mentions of doing something more than cuddling (because I am a freak)
Note — Short, but I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
You remember trying to keep your eyes open.
But the soft, white covers of your pristine blanket betrayed you as the clock struck 11:00 PM. A faint anxiety lingered as you awaited Wanda's return from her mission, eager to be close to her after a week apart.
You did everything you could to stay awake—drinking two cups of coffee, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and scrolling through your old pictures on your phone.
Looking at those memories brought a smile to your face, even if it made you a bit emotional. You let out a heavy exhale and adjusted your position on the sofa, tucking your arms under the covers.
The last thing you remember is the thud of your phone hitting the bridge of your nose, followed by a sharp pain. But due to your extreme fatigue, you shrugged it off and fell asleep anyway.
—
“You look so freaking cute.”
You stir at the sound of someone whispering in your ear and reach for the covers, but someone else has already pulled them over you. Your head is no longer resting on the armrest of the couch; instead, it’s resting on a soft pillow.
You slowly flutter your eyes open, and familiar green eyes meet yours. The sight of her bright smile makes your heart skip a beat. As you rub my eyes, strong arms pull you closer to her warmth.
“Hey, you.”
Wanda's raspy voice brushed against your ear as her chin met your cheek, kissing your lips softly. “I missed you so much, my baby.”
Letting out a chuckle, you move yourself closer to her. Your arms wrapped around her torso as her hands lingered around your waist. You assumed she was just as tired as you and that both of you were now lying on the couch, latched onto each other.
“I don’t think I’m exactly baby-sized.”
You responded with a playful quip, causing her to burst into laughter. Without needing to think, you nestled your face into the soft curve of her neck, enveloped by the warmth of her presence. Her sweet, comforting scent of vanilla wafted around you, wrapping you in a soothing embrace that overwhelmed my senses and sent dizziness through your mind.
“You shouldn’t have waited for me. I could’ve just slipped under the covers with you the moment I got home.”
You felt her fingers gently running through your hair, a soft touch that sends shivers down your spine. Her smile feels warm and exciting as you hug, bodies fitting together perfectly.
“I wanted to wait for you. ” You mumble against her neck, placing a gentle kiss before nuzzling into her again.
Your words made her heart flutter. Wanda gazed at you with a warm, affectionate smile that lit up her entire face, her eyes sparkling with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “Go to sleep. Don’t make me love you even more than I already do.”
You roll your eyes playfully, slowly pulling yourself to sit up.
“How much do you love me?” You whisper like you were spying on someone, eyes gleaming with amusement.
You knew she loved you as much as you did. To love someone is worth the effort of pulling them from sitting to lying back with you, and that is exactly what she did.
Wanda grinned, sides of her mouth turning upwards as she sultrily whispered back, “Want me to show you how much I do?”
Oh, she’s good.
“Not really in the mood right now but okay.” You bite back, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before tucking yourself back into the comfortable blanket.
The weight of it was pressing against you, but it was to keep you warm. You knew she was worth waiting for, even if it meant the depravity of the lack of sleep.
“Boring.” Wanda pouts, kissing you back. She waves her fingers gently as she threaded red energy amongst the air, closing all the lights in your home.
The covers weren’t as heavy the moment she hugged you. Wanda made your heart race and your mind dizzy all at once.
You stare at her, the moon reflecting softly at the glint of her eyes. Whispering softly, “I hope it’s you I wait for everyday.”
Wanda hummed in response, astute to knowing that to hope for it is unnecessary. It was already certain.
content: somno, dub/noncon fingering + oral, mention of a strap on, spit, masturbation
wordcount: +/- 900
a/n: im not responsible for your media consumption !
It’s your fault. Wanda tells herself it’s your fault.
And it is, right? It can’t be hers when you’re this pliant, this soft; surely you’d wake up if you didn’t want this.
“Mhm.” Her hands roam the expense of your thighs, the tips of her fingers prodding at the tender flesh. It takes little of her strength to part them wide enough for her head to settle in between, and even less for her to haul your legs over her shoulders. “That’s my girl,” she hums, breathing in the faint scent of soap that lingers on your skin. She gazes at the feast that’s laid out before her, the lack of a barrier between your core and her face.
“You’re so damn pretty,” she admires, pressing a kiss to where your thigh meets your intimacy. The tip of her nose makes a first contact with your clit as her mouth stops just shy of your folds. Please, she finds herself thinking, begging for a permission she knows you can’t give. She feels no guilt, however, when her tongue finally darts out to satiate her hunger.
Her eyes flutter in bliss, and even with her eyes closed, she can still see how flushed you become, can feel it underneath her palms. You’re hot to the touch and moist against the wet muscle that slides between your folds, parting them to flick your opening. The mewl you unconsciously give is enough of an encouragement for her, but not strong enough a reaction to alarm her. Keenly aware of your mounting arousal, Wanda laps the juice that oozes out of you, languidly dragging her tongue from your taint to your clit.
She eats like a starved woman, like you’re a much needed meal she’s been so cruelly deprived of for far too long, and she’s finally having you. When she pulls back, her eyes open to watch your now-swollen lips, it’s with a glint in her eyes that’s nearly reverent, and an affection that borders on possessiveness. “Would you look at that,” she mutters, bringing a hand to your cunt. Her fingers rub you, alternating between tight and loose circles on your clit and teasing strokes down your slit. Your pussy flutters, and she’s convinced her heart does the same. A hot, sticky glob of saliva dribbles down from her mouth to your cunt, dripping down your core until it reaches your hole. Wanda’s mouth descends back in you, ravenous as it chases your taste mingled with her own.
She moans into your pussy, pulling your hips closer to her face. She’s so lucky you’re letting her do this, she’s so lucky you’re still fucking asleep. Her own hips grind down against the mattress, seeking a friction that almost feels dispiriting compared to the feel of you. So her face buries further into the apex of your thighs. With a mouth full of your taste, Wanda spits into her own hand, and guides it between her own legs. Her cheek comes to rest against your thigh, her breath cool against your core. “You’re so fucking wet,” she says breathlessly, eyes flickering between your pussy and your sleeping face. “It’s made me so fucking wet.”
Wanda crawls up your body, nose bumping into each curve and indentation until she reaches the pillow you rest your head on. “I wish I could make you taste it,” she whispers, bringing her slick-covered digits to rest against your lips. She watches you like you might wake up and mirror her sick love. She wipes them unceremoniously, coating your mouth with her cum. Her hand trails down your body, retracing the places she had touched on her way up, only to settle between your legs again. The pad of her finger circle your hole.
How could you not want this when you were sucking her in so effectively? She doesn’t stop when you stir, nor when your brows knit together, your features pinched at the burning feel of her finger. She pumps it slowly, in and out, in and out, her eyes stuck to where it was disappearing into your depths.
Wanda kisses your temple, her lips lingering with a tenderness that doesn’t fit the moment. Another finger joins the first, stretching you further. She would’ve noticed the shift had she been less focused on the velvety feel of your cunt. But goosebumps rise along your arms anyway.
“Wha—“ you gasp, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as Wanda slaps a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing your impending scream. Your body goes rigid, stiff beneath hers. The both of you are still for a tense moment, the thumping of your heart the only thing you allow yourself to register, along with Wanda’s breath that fans over the side of your face. You clench uncomfortably around the fingers that stuff you full, angling your hips in a useless attempt to free yourself of them, but it only serves to drive them deeper into you.
“Shh. Shut up.” Wanda’s grip on your face tightens at the sight of your horror. Her voice takes on a pleading edge that doesn’t seat quite right with you. “Shut the fuck up. Let me have this.”
You whimper pathetically against her palm, blinking back tears, but nothing you do can rid you of her.
“Hey, it’s alright,” she coos, the bite to her voice gone but the strokes of her hand still cruel. She leans closer to your face, her mouth distorting into a smile. “I’m just prepping you for my strap. You don’t want it to hurt, do you?”
A year after your death, you are resurrected on Krakoa and reunited with your lover
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson
It was proposed by @valkyrie7274 ! Thanks, love ♡
Logan Howlett (Wolverine)
- Logan had seen too much death, had held too many bodies in his arms, but yours—yours—broke him in a way nothing else ever had. You died in his arms, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your breath rattling in your throat as your body failed you. He had pressed his forehead to yours, desperate, snarling at the universe to take him instead, but death never listened. He stayed with you long after you were gone, his grip so tight on your lifeless form that even the strongest among the X-Men had to pry you from him. He didn’t make a sound. Not when they pulled you away, not when they buried you. But something inside him snapped, something vital, something that made him more animal than man.
- The others felt your absence in the silence Logan left behind. He spoke less, drank more. He vanished for weeks at a time, returning with blood under his nails and vacant eyes, the scent of whiskey and gunpowder clinging to him like a second skin. The world became a blur of violence, a never-ending cycle of fights he started just to feel something other than the ache in his chest. Jean tried to reach him. Ororo, too. Even Charles. But Logan wasn’t there anymore. Not really. He was where you were, in the moment of your death, trapped in a memory that refused to fade.
- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When he saw you again, standing there, alive, his breath caught in his throat, something feral and raw surging in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. He moved, crossing the space between you in a heartbeat, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear. His voice was rough, thick with too many emotions to name. "You real, darlin’?" He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but if it existed, surely this was it. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, like he had been starving for you, like he needed to prove you were real.
- But the fear remained. He had lost you once. What if he lost you again? He became obsessive, hovering near you, ensuring you never fought alone, ensuring no harm ever touched you again. He didn’t care that you were resurrected, that Krakoa promised eternity—he remembered what it felt like to lose you, and he refused to feel it again. It made him reckless, overprotective, angry at the world for daring to put you at risk. "Yer stayin’ with me, got it?" He wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.
- But at night, when it was just the two of you, when you curled into his arms and whispered his name, he softened. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, letting the scent of you ease the last remnants of his nightmares. He had been drowning in grief for a year. Now, he had you back. And if Krakoa ever took you away again, if fate ever dared to separate you once more—Logan would tear the world apart to bring you back.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
- Remy was not a man built for grief. He was a man of laughter, of mischief, of silver-tongued charm—but when he lost you, all of that died with you. The moment you slipped from his grasp, the moment your breath stilled and your body turned cold, something inside him broke. He didn’t cry at first. Didn’t scream. He just stared, as if he could trick himself into thinking you were only sleeping, as if his voice alone could call you back. And then, when reality crashed down, when he realized you were gone, he shattered.
- The X-Men had never seen Remy like that before. He wasn’t just heartbroken—he was lost. He stopped playing cards, stopped flirting, stopped being Remy. He wandered through the halls like a ghost, eyes dull, smile absent. Rogue tried to reach him, but he barely spoke. Even Logan, who had seen his fair share of loss, didn’t know how to pull him from the abyss. When Remy did talk, his voice was hoarse, whispering "She ain't supposed to be gone, chérie… she ain't supposed to be gone."
- And then—Krakoa. Resurrection. The moment he saw you again, standing there, his entire world tilted on its axis. He blinked, once, twice, as if you were a hallucination, as if his mind was playing some cruel trick. And then—he ran. He crashed into you, arms locking around your waist, his breath ragged against your neck. "Mon Dieu, y’came back t’me." His hands trembled as he touched you, as if terrified you might vanish again. He kissed you like he was drowning, like he needed you to breathe.
- But the fear never left him. He had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to lose you again. He became clingy, his usual flirtation laced with desperation. He followed you everywhere, always keeping you in his sights, always ensuring you were safe. He started waking up in the middle of the night just to check that you were still there, pressing kisses to your skin, murmuring reassurances to himself. He held your hand more, needed to touch you more, to remind himself that you were real.
- But even through the fear, through the grief that still lingered in his bones, he found joy again. You were his joy. And though he still carried the pain of losing you, though the memory of your death haunted him, he knew one thing for certain—he had been given a second chance. And he would spend every moment proving just how much he loved you.
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)
- Kurt was a man of faith, but even faith could not protect him from the agony of losing you. He held you in his arms as the light left your eyes, whispering prayers, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead. He begged—begged—for God to spare you, to take him instead, to not let this be your end. But no miracle came. And when you died, when the last breath left your lips, Kurt collapsed over you, sobbing so violently that even the strongest among the X-Men had to look away.
- The mansion was quieter after your death. Kurt, once the heart of the team, withdrew into himself. He still smiled, still laughed—but it was hollow, an echo of what once was. He prayed more, locked himself away in the chapel for hours, seeking solace in a God who had remained silent. And when he was alone, when no one could hear, he wept. He wept until his body ached, until he had no more tears left to shed.
- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. The first time he saw you again, his heart stopped. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then—he teleported, appearing in front of you in a burst of smoke and desperation. His hands cupped your face, his eyes wide with unshed tears. "Mein Liebe… is it truly you?" And when you whispered "Yes", he broke. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it was as if he feared the world would steal you away again.
- That night, he did not sleep. He lay beside you, his fingers tracing your features, memorizing every inch of you. He murmured prayers of gratitude, pressing reverent kisses to your skin, promising that he would never take you for granted again. He had been given a second chance, a gift from heaven itself, and he would cherish you for as long as fate allowed.
- And though the pain of losing you still lingered, though nightmares of your death still haunted him, he found peace in knowing that you were here, with him. And if ever the world tried to take you again, Kurt would fight heaven and hell alike to keep you by his side.
Scott Summers (Cyclops)
- Scott was a soldier. He had lost comrades before, seen death too many times to count, but nothing had ever destroyed him the way losing you did. You died in his arms, your blood staining his gloves, your final breath a whisper against his cheek. He had begged you to hold on, voice trembling, fingers pressing against your wounds as if his touch alone could keep you tethered to the world. But he felt it the moment you slipped away. The moment your body went limp, the moment your last exhale left you, the moment the warmth faded from your skin. He had been forced to let you go, but something inside him never did.
- The X-Men mourned you, but Scott grieved you. He buried himself in missions, in strategies, in war, but even victories felt empty without you there. He operated with precision, with control, but behind the visor, his eyes were hollow. Logan told him he was colder now, Jean said he had lost something vital, but Scott didn’t know how to be anything else. You were gone. He had to keep moving. He had to keep leading. But at night, when no one could see, he sat in your old room, hands curled into fists, jaw tight with the pain he refused to show.
- And then—Krakoa. A resurrection. A second chance. When Scott saw you again, standing before him, breathing, alive, his composure shattered. He didn’t move at first, didn’t trust his own senses, didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel illusion. And then—his voice, raw and disbelieving. "It’s you." The moment you whispered his name, the moment he knew it was real, he closed the distance between you in three strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you so tightly against him that he almost lifted you off the ground.
- He didn’t cry. Not in front of the others. But later, when it was just the two of you, when his fingers traced over your skin as if committing you to memory, his voice broke. He admitted—admitted—that he had been lost without you. That he hadn’t known how to move forward. That he had buried the pain so deeply it had become him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "I won’t lose you again. I swear to God, I won’t."
- Scott had always been a protector, but now, he was obsessive. He watched you like a hawk in battle, refused to let you fight alone, refused to risk you again. It was possessive, almost suffocating, but you understood—he had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to do it again. And when the world quieted, when it was just you and him, his fingers laced with yours, his lips brushing over your temple, he allowed himself to breathe again. Because you were here. Because he had you back. And he wasn’t letting go.
Jean Grey (Phoenix)
- Jean felt you die. Felt your soul slip from the world like a whisper lost to the wind. She had reached for you, her telepathy stretching out in desperation, but there was nothing to hold onto. You were gone. Vanished from the psychic plane, from the world, from her. And in that moment, something inside her broke. A scream tore from her throat, raw and grief-stricken, shaking the very ground beneath her. She had lost you. She had felt you leave. And she didn’t know how to exist in a world without you.
- The X-Men mourned as a team, but Jean mourned alone. She locked herself away, mind shutting out even Scott, even Logan, even Charles. The Phoenix inside her stirred, restless with the weight of her grief, but she held it back—barely. She visited your grave every night, fingers pressed against the cold stone, whispering things she never got to say. "I should’ve saved you." "I should’ve been stronger." "I don’t know how to live without you." The wind carried her words away, but the pain remained, deep and unrelenting.
- And then—Krakoa. When she felt your mind again, a presence she had ached for, she nearly collapsed. Her breath hitched, her vision blurred, and she ran. She didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about appearances—she ran to you, her telepathy reaching out before her arms ever did. And when she touched your mind, when she felt you, whole and alive, she sobbed. Her hands cradled your face, her lips pressed to your forehead, her thoughts pouring into yours in a rush of love, grief, longing, and relief.
- That night, she didn’t let you go. She wrapped herself around you, pressing her ear to your chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of your heartbeat. Her fingers traced absent patterns over your skin, her mind entwined with yours, never letting go again. She whispered against your shoulder, "I thought I lost you forever." And in her mind, in the quiet, she made a silent vow—if the universe ever tried to take you again, she would burn it down before she let that happen.
- Jean was always powerful, always strong, but your death had almost unmade her. Now, with you back, she was whole again. She became fierce in her love, in her protection, in her need to keep you safe. She touched your mind constantly, always needing to feel you, always needing to know you were still here. And when she kissed you, it was never just a kiss—it was everything. A promise. A devotion. A love that had transcended death itself.
Ororo Munroe (Storm)
- Ororo had never believed in helplessness. She was a goddess, a queen, a force of nature itself. But the day you died in her arms, the day your blood stained her fingers, the day the storm inside her fell silent—that was the first time she had ever felt truly powerless. She had tried everything to save you, had screamed your name to the heavens, had begged the sky itself to bring you back, but the universe remained cruel and indifferent. You died, and Ororo broke.
- The X-Men saw her grief in the way the weather changed. The sky over the mansion remained gray for weeks, the air thick with the taste of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and mournful, echoing her sorrow. She still led, still stood strong for her people, but the warmth in her eyes was gone. She visited your grave often, leaving flowers, whispering words only the wind could carry. "I should have protected you." "I failed you." "I would have traded places if I could."
- And then—Krakoa. She did not believe it at first. She could not. But when she saw you, when she felt the hum of your presence in the air, her breath hitched. The storm inside her stilled, as if the universe itself held its breath. And then—she moved. She crossed the distance between you in a heartbeat, her hands framing your face, her eyes searching yours with something raw and fragile. And when she whispered your name, when she felt your warmth, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for a year.
- That night, she held you close, arms wrapped around you as if you might slip away again. She traced gentle fingers through your hair, the electricity of her touch soft and reverent. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, "I will never let anything happen to you again." And in her heart, she vowed—if death ever came for you again, it would have to go through her first.
- Ororo had always been protective, but now, she was unyielding. She watched over you with a quiet intensity, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could harm you, that you would never be taken from her again. She loved you fiercely, wholly, eternally. And when she looked at you, her eyes no longer held grief—only devotion. Because she had been given a second chance. And she would not waste it.
Rogue
- Rogue had always been strong, always been stubborn, but when you died in her arms, she crumbled. She held you so tight, rocking you like a child, begging you to stay even as your body grew cold against hers. She could feel you slipping away, feel your life thinning into nothing, and she hated herself for not being able to take your pain—just once, just this one time—so you could live. And when you exhaled your last breath, when your fingers slackened in hers, she let out a cry so raw it shook the battlefield.
- She didn’t let go for hours. Not until they forced her to. Logan tried first, but she lashed out, feral and wild, screaming that she’d kill anyone who touched you. It was only when Remy pulled her close, whispering to her in a broken voice, that she finally let them take you. And after that, she vanished. She stopped talking, stopped showing up to team meetings, stopped doing anything but sitting in your old room, surrounded by everything you left behind. Her gloves—always such a necessity—sat abandoned, her hands trembling as she traced over your things, lost in a grief that felt too big to hold alone.
- When Krakoa resurrected you, she didn’t believe it. Not at first. She thought it was a dream, some cruel trick played by a universe that had already taken too much from her. But then—she saw you. And for the first time in a year, she breathed. Her hands shook when she reached for you, gloveless, fearless, pressing trembling fingers against your cheek. And when she felt your warmth, when she knew you were real, she choked on a sob and collapsed into you, burying herself in your arms like she was drowning and you were the only thing keeping her afloat.
- That night, she didn’t let go. Not once. She pressed herself against you, listening to your heartbeat, fingers tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. "Ah thought Ah lost ya forever," she whispered, voice raw with emotion. "Ah didn’t know how to live without ya." And then, softer, more desperate—"Ah ain’t never lettin’ ya go again."
- Rogue had always been protective, but now, she was relentless. She wouldn’t let you fight alone, wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger, wouldn’t let anything take you from her again. And when she kissed you, it wasn’t just love—it was a promise. A vow. A fierce, unyielding devotion to never losing you again.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)
- Erik had lost too much in his life. He had buried family, friends, entire legacies beneath the weight of war and genocide. But your death—it broke something in him that even he didn’t know could break. He held you as you died, his voice a desperate, shaking plea against your ear. "Stay with me." "Don’t go." "I won’t let them take you." But death did not bargain, did not show mercy, and when your body went still, something inside him snapped.
- After your funeral, Erik did not mourn like the others. He did not cry, did not wail, did not fall apart. He burned. He rained destruction down on those responsible, his fury so great that even Charles had to intervene. "They took her from me," he spat, voice cold, hands shaking. "And you expect me to be merciful?" He was not merciful. He was merciless. And when the last of your murderers lay dead at his feet, he still did not feel peace—only an emptiness so vast it swallowed him whole.
- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When Erik saw you again, standing before him, alive, whole—he did not move. He could not. His breath was sharp, unsteady, his fists clenching at his sides as if afraid you would vanish if he dared to touch you. And then—you smiled. You whispered his name. And the great and terrible Magneto fell to his knees.
- He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him with a desperation so raw it hurt. His fingers traced over your skin, your face, your lips, his expression shattered with disbelief and relief. "I lost you," he murmured, voice trembling. "And I do not lose." His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "But this time, I have won you back. And I will never lose you again."
- Erik had always been possessive, but now, he was obsessive. He hovered, protective and unyielding, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could take you from him again. He spoke of forever now, of building something permanent, of a love that could not be destroyed. And when he looked at you, his eyes were fierce, burning with the promise of a man who had already lost you once and would tear the world apart before he let it happen again.
Charles Xavier (Professor X)
- Charles had spent his life understanding loss. He had lost friends, family, even his own body’s ability to stand. But your death—your death was something else entirely. He had felt you die, not just with his eyes but with his mind, had felt the light of your thoughts flicker and fade into nothingness. The silence where you used to be was deafening.
- He withdrew. He still led the X-Men, still played his part, but something in him was absent. The warmth in his voice was gone, his smiles never reached his eyes, and he spent too much time alone. When others tried to reach him, he only ever responded with a tired, hollow "I am fine." But he was not fine. He was haunted. Every time he reached out with his telepathy, he expected to find you there. And every time he was met with silence, it destroyed him all over again.
- And then—Krakoa. When your mind returned to the psychic plane, Charles felt it before he even saw you. His breath hitched, his chest tightened, and for the first time in a year, the silence inside him was filled with you. He turned so quickly his wheelchair nearly toppled, his eyes wide, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles turned white. And when you stepped forward, when you spoke his name—he wept.
- He held you as tightly as he could, his fingers trembling as they traced over your skin, your hair, your face. His telepathy flooded into yours, overwhelming with the depth of his grief, his longing, his relief. "You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking. "And I did not know how to go on without you." His lips brushed over your forehead, his breath uneven. "But you are here now. And I will not waste a single moment."
- Charles had always been devoted, but now, he was fiercely protective. He needed to feel you constantly, to touch your hand, to hear your thoughts entwined with his. He whispered to you at night, murmuring things only the two of you could hear, promises and confessions and love. Because he had been given a second chance. And he would not waste it.
Wanda Maximoff (The Scarlet Witch)
- Wanda knew loss intimately. It clung to her like a shadow, whispered in her ear like an old friend. She had lost her parents, her brother, her children—things torn from her hands, leaving behind echoes that never truly faded. But your death was something else. It was catastrophic. You died in her arms, your breath trembling, your fingers curled weakly against her cheek, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her one last time. She screamed, shaking you, calling your name, but no power—no spell, no hex, no desperate plea to the universe—could bring you back.
- After your death, Wanda became unknowable. The X-Men found her standing over your grave, night after night, unmoving. Her hands, her lips, her very breath crackled with chaos, the air thick with something volatile and wrong. The ground beneath her feet pulsed as if rejecting the unnatural grief she carried. They tried to pull her away, tried to speak to her, but she only whispered, over and over—"It wasn’t supposed to happen this way." At times, she vanished entirely, disappearing into corners of the world where even Charles couldn’t reach her mind. Because if she stayed too long, if she let herself think, she feared she might undo reality just to hold you again.
- When Krakoa resurrected you, Wanda felt you before she saw you. A shift in the air, a flicker in the fabric of existence. She turned, slowly, almost afraid to believe it. And there you were. Standing in the light, looking at her with those eyes she had dreamt of every night. Her breath hitched, her body trembling, and then she ran. She crashed into you, gripping you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in your hair, her breath uneven and desperate against your skin. "I lost you," she choked, tears slipping past her lashes. "I lost you, and I broke with you."
- That night, she refused to let you out of her sight. She traced her fingers over your skin, whispering things in languages ancient and lost, spells to keep you here, to bind you to this plane, to make sure nothing ever took you from her again. You told her you weren’t leaving, that you were real, that you were back, and Wanda exhaled a broken sound before pressing her forehead to yours. "I won’t survive losing you again," she admitted, and it was not a plea—it was a truth.
- Love had always been dangerous for Wanda, but this—this was something beyond magic, beyond fate. You were her constant, her tether to the world. And she swore, with every ounce of power within her, that no god, no war, no force in existence would ever take you away again.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)
- Pietro had always been fast. Fast enough to outrun bullets, fast enough to move between heartbeats. But the day you died, he wasn’t fast enough. He saw you fall, saw the blood, saw the way your body convulsed before going still—and no matter how fast he ran, no matter how many times he replayed that moment, he couldn’t change it. You died in his arms, and for the first time in his life, time meant nothing at all.
- After your death, Pietro became restless. More restless than usual. He didn’t sleep, didn’t stay in one place for too long, didn’t let anyone near him unless they wanted to be met with a sharp glare and a sharper tongue. He snapped at everyone—Wanda, Logan, even Charles. When someone tried to tell him you were in a better place, Pietro laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "A better place?" he spat. "She belonged here. With me." And then, without another word, he vanished, a silver blur in the wind.
- When Krakoa brought you back, he didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He stood at a distance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes narrowed in something unreadable. But then—he heard your voice. "Pietro?" And suddenly, the world was silent. No rushing winds, no constant movement—just you. He was in front of you before you could blink, hands gripping your shoulders, eyes searching, desperate. "Is it real?" His voice was hoarse. "Tell me it’s real."
- When you nodded, Pietro let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his forehead pressing to yours, his hands shaking. "I wasn’t fast enough," he admitted, voice raw. "But I swear to you—I will never let anything take you from me again." That night, he stayed by your side, moving only when you moved, his fingers ghosting over yours as if trying to memorize every detail of you all over again.
- Pietro had always been protective, but now, he was ruthless. He didn’t let you out of his sight, didn’t let you fight alone, didn’t let anyone threaten what he had lost once before. And when he kissed you, it was with the desperation of a man who had spent a year in hell and had finally—finally—found his way home.
Hank McCoy (Beast)
- Hank McCoy was a man of logic, of reason, of science. But when you died, nothing made sense anymore. You bled out in his arms, your trembling fingers brushing against his fur in a final, fleeting moment of comfort, and all the knowledge in the universe could not save you. He whispered words of reassurance, promises that everything would be fine, that he would fix it—because Hank always found a way. But this time, there was no equation, no hypothesis, no miracle discovery that could bring you back. You died, and Hank was left with a silence that no amount of knowledge could fill.
- After your death, he changed. He buried himself in his work, deeper than before, hiding in his lab for days at a time. The others tried to talk to him—Jean, Ororo, even Logan—but he always waved them off with a tight-lipped smile, pretending to be fine. But at night, when the world was quiet, he sat alone with a single photograph of you, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hands trembling as he traced the edges of your face.
- And then—Krakoa. When he saw you again, alive, standing before him with that same beautiful smile—Hank froze. His brilliant mind, capable of solving the most complex puzzles, could not comprehend what was in front of him. He removed his glasses, as if seeing you clearly would change something. But you were still there. Real. Alive. And then—he broke. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath uneven as he buried his face in your hair. "You were gone," he whispered. "And I forgot how to be me without you."
- That night, Hank did not return to his lab. He stayed with you, hands tracing over yours, memorizing the shape of you as if afraid this was all a dream. He whispered soft, poetic musings against your skin, quoting philosophers, scientists, poets—all the words he never got to say before you were taken from him. "You have been the missing piece of my every equation," he murmured. "And I refuse to miscalculate again."
- Hank had always been careful, but now, he was deliberate. He cherished every moment, every laugh, every fleeting touch, knowing how fragile it all was. And when he kissed you, it was with the reverence of a man who had been given a second chance and refused to waste a single breath of it. Because he knew now—life was too short not to love you completely.
Emma Frost (The White Queen)
- Emma Frost was not a woman prone to visible grief. She did not collapse, did not wail, did not crumble into the kind of sorrow that people expected when you died. No—she shattered in ways too quiet for most to notice. Her grief was precise, like the sharp edge of a diamond, embedded so deeply within her that it cut into every thought, every breath, every carefully composed word. She had held you as life drained from you, her telepathy drowning in the deafening, chaotic echoes of your fading mind. And then—silence. A silence that lodged itself within her chest, a silence that never left, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.
- After your death, Emma became colder. The X-Men expected her to lash out, to wield her grief as a weapon, but instead, she withdrew. She occupied herself with Hellfire dealings, mutant diplomacy, anything that required her to be untouchable. But at night, in the stillness of her chambers, she sat in front of a mirror and hated what she saw. She had spent her life convincing the world that she was indestructible—but losing you had proven otherwise. And that, above all else, infuriated her.
- When Krakoa resurrected you, Emma was there, but she did not rush to you as others did. No, she stood at a distance, hands folded, expression unreadable. You turned, met her gaze, and for a moment—just a moment—there was hesitation. Because Emma Frost did not believe in miracles. She believed in power, in consequence, in the unrelenting reality of the world. And yet, here you were. And suddenly, she was moving. Her heels clicked against the ground, and then her hands were on your face, her breath uneven, her mind opening to yours in a desperate, wordless declaration: Do not leave me again.
- That night, she did not sleep. She laid beside you, fingers tracing absentmindedly over your arm, her mind whispering things she would never say aloud. I broke without you. I am not whole without you. You are the only softness I allow myself. And when you finally fell asleep, she watched you, eyes shining in the darkness. For the first time in a year, the silence in her mind was not unbearable.
- Emma Frost did not love lightly, and she certainly did not lose lightly. Now that you were back, she would make sure of one thing—she would never lose you again.
Laura Kinney (X-23)
- Laura Kinney was born into violence, shaped by it, taught to wield it as both armor and weapon. She had seen death, caused death, buried death in the back of her mind as a survival mechanism. But your death—your death was something else entirely. She held you as you bled out, her hands pressed to your wounds, her voice rough as she told you to stay awake, damn it, stay awake. And then—you were gone. Just like that. No enemy she could kill, no battle she could win, no fight to bring you back. And that—that was something Laura didn’t know how to live with.
- After your death, Laura became a ghost of herself. She trained harder, fought longer, threw herself into missions with reckless abandon. Logan warned her, told her she was going to get herself killed, but she just shrugged, expression empty. She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t see much reason to avoid it, either. She stopped talking as much, stopped engaging, stopped pretending she was anything other than a weapon with nothing left to protect.
- And then—Krakoa. When she saw you, standing there, alive, something in her broke. She didn’t think. She just moved, closing the distance in an instant, grabbing your face between her hands, her breath short and sharp. "This isn’t real." But it was. And the moment that realization sank in, Laura collapsed against you, forehead pressed to yours, her fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of your shirt. "I was supposed to protect you."
- That night, she barely let you out of her sight. Her hands never stopped moving over you—your hair, your arms, your pulse point—constant, silent reassurance that you were here. That she was not losing you again. And when you finally asked her to talk to you, to tell you what had happened after you were gone, she hesitated before whispering, "I don’t know who I was without you."
- Laura had lost many things in her life, but you were the one thing she had never wanted to lose. And now that you were back, she wasn’t sure how to be soft again. But she would try—for you, she would always try.
Wade Wilson (Deadpool)
- Wade Wilson was no stranger to death. He had watched it, dealt it, felt it wrap around him more times than he could count. But when you died? When you gasped your last breath in his arms, your blood seeping into his gloves, your lips barely forming his name before going still? He broke. Not in the way he usually did, not in the way that ended in crude jokes and misplaced laughter. No—this was different. This was quiet. This was Wade Wilson staring down at your lifeless body and realizing that, for the first time in his entire miserable existence, he wanted to die and stay dead.
- After your death, Wade became erratic. More than usual. The jokes became sharper, meaner, too forced even for him. He picked fights he didn’t need to pick, tore through enemies with a desperation that made even Logan pause. But at night, when no one was watching, he sat in the dark, staring at old photos of you, mumbling to himself like a lunatic. "Hey, sweetheart, if you’re out there somewhere—hope you’re laughing at me. Or haunting me. I’d be down for some sexy ghost action. Just—just come back, okay? Joke’s over. You win."
- And then—Krakoa. He didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He saw you standing there, looking at him with those same eyes, that same soft expression, and his brain short-circuited. "Oh. Oh, this is a trick. This is a cruel, cruel joke, and I love it. Round of applause to whoever came up with this one!" But then—you touched him. And Wade Wilson—king of wisecracks, champion of bad ideas—stopped breathing.
- He crushed you against him so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe, his body shaking, his mask damp from the wetness gathering beneath it. "You’re back. Holy fing hell, you’re back." He pulled away just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he couldn’t believe you were real. And then he laughed. A real, broken, beautiful laugh, pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses all over your face. "Never do that again, okay? Like, ever. Seriously, babe, I’m fragile."
- Wade Wilson had never been good at keeping the things he loved. They always slipped away, got taken, or left him behind. But now that you were back? He was never letting you go. Ever. And if anyone dared to try? Well. Wade had a very particular set of skills, and he would make sure they never got a second chance.
Summary: Between you and Wanda, love has been kept a secret for too long. It's time for one of you to be brave. | This brief story is based on the Brazilian song "Medo Bobo".
Warnings: mild angst of mutual pining, drunk confessions, very fluff, friends to lovers, some kissing | words: 2.572k
A/N-> Hey, there’s a line here from Anne with an E. Also, I wrote this because I’ve been a Marvel fan for years, and it was only after WandaVision that I actually saw Wanda. I need this angst.
General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection
-&-
For the first time since she met you, Wanda was being selfish. Not only that, but she was truly determined to be selfish. And to be honest.
And to be heard.
Yet, seeing you cry change her words or tone to something less of a statement and more of a question. An hypothesis. To picture you both in a world where there was time and courage, instead of fear and missed opportunities.
“What if…” She started that from the kitchen counter where she was sitting. Unlike yours - which also happens to be the reason you're standing at the open fridge - her glass was full.
You hum out of curiosity, wishing for her to continue and hoping she would choose a lighter subject now that you were done pouring your heart out in that old compound kitchen. But Wanda takes a shaky breath, and you nearly miss her hesitation while you're leaning down to grab more wine from the bottom drawer. “What if I tell you that I have feelings for you.”
You chuckle. Naturally and immediately, because it's certainly a joke. To ease your nerves and soon to turn your sad tears into laughing ones. A talent that Wanda always seemed to have.
But you turn to your friend - Is that what she is now? Colleague. Work partner, drinking buddy maybe. The girl next door. The temperamental witch you share training schedules with. The strongest Avenger.
Wanda is looking at you, expectantly. Vulnerable.
You frown.
“What?”
You don't mean to sound so surprised, not really because mainly, you're sure she's joking. You're also drunk, the wine making it a little harder to put the thoughts in order. And Wanda is giving you this kicked puppy eyes and you're not understanding anything.
She swallows hard, but her gaze doesn't flinch.
“What would you say to that?”
You laugh again, dryer than before, somehow hurting your throat a little. The wine bottle stared at you from the counter but you don't feel like drinking anymore.
“Wanda, what are you…” you stop mid-sentence, reaching for your face to rub your eyes. You really shouldn't be drunk for this conversation. But then again, why is this conversation happening in the first place? “Why are you saying this?”
Wanda knows you're drunk, knows you're hurt. So she doesn't mind you're not taking this seriously. She gets up but doesn't move closer.
“Maybe I'm just tired of listening to your whining about your terrible partners.”
You cross your arms, pouting as soon as you mutter “I don't whine”. But Wanda is moving closer now, slowly walking past the counter and towards you.
“Or maybe I just meant it.” She whispers, green eyes nearly hypnotizing. “I am right here. I've always been. Why can't you see me?”
The question is too close to your lips, suddenly it's too real.
This is Wanda fucking Maximoff. The most incredible, world-changing amazing person you know.
Her cheeks grow a little pink and it's her time to giggle.
“I'm flattered.”
You huff, looking away. “Don't read my thoughts.”
She doesn't pull back, gaze searching yours even though you don't look up. “How else would I know what you think if you never tell me?” She challenges, but your head is spinning, and Wanda's perfume is not helping. You step away, putting more distance and a counter between the two of you again, and it works a little.
“I don't understand why you're doing this.” You declare, suddenly serious. You sound hurt and Wanda hesitates immediately once she catches the tears forming in your eyes. “I know it is not fun, having to endure my drunk nights. But you're the only person that stays so I thought…” You take a deep breath, Wanda shakes her head. She's gonna clarify that she didn't mean it that way - she was not complaining about your company at all - but your rambling shuts her out. “I know I'm not an easy friend. I can be self-centered and absent. And I'm so terrible at feelings. But we have known each other for so long, and it took us years to get here. Just to have comfortable silence. I don't have this with anybody. So, I'm sorry if I'm being too much but please, this kind of teasing… I really don't like it. You're… not the type of friend I can have this kind of joke with.”
Some part of her is hurt by that: She recalls how often you would flirt and joke with your other friends, most of them to be honest. Sometimes, even playful touches, that would make Wanda's blood boil.
Hearing this kind of joke is not for her hurts. But Wanda is not sure if it is a bad thing.
“I wasn't joking.” She insists, but you chuckle before stealing her full glass and the wine bottle.
You change your tactic because Wanda changed hers. It has always been this way between the two of you, a never-ending push and pull with a never giving up side.
“So you're obviously drunk. I'll take this.” That is what you say before grabbing the items and moving to the living room.
When the compound is empty and quiet like this, it's almost like a normal residence. The way things are arranged now, one could be fooled into thinking that was a normal living room in an old house instead of a high-tech secretive environment for superheroes.
Wanda takes a deep courage gathering kind of breath once she's alone in the kitchen.
Those feelings have been asleep, pushed back for way too long. Now that she said them, she's simply incapable of numbing it again.
“Why is it that the idea of me liking you sounds so absurd?”
She's not being sweet anymore - just like her feelings, she's demanding. Craving for validation and correspondence.
You chuckle during a gup and there's wine falling down your chin. Wanda let out a shaky breath at seeing the drops across your chest, exposed by the poorly bottom-up shirt, and you chuckle again when you catch her staring.
“Don't give me those eyes.” You sneer, as hurt as before but somehow, angry. The bottle is tightly grabbed in your left hand, but you finish Wanda's glass before speaking again. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You are drunk.”
“I'm not drunk.” She retorts, arms crossed when she stands in front of the couch you're sitting. You smile but it doesn't meet your eyes. “How could I be drunk if you have my glass?”
You grimace, putting the item away on the small table. Your head is hurting and Wanda gives up trying to read your messy thoughts.
“If you're not drunk, you're mourning.”
She raises her eyebrow at your audacity, but then, she catches the near despair in your eyes and takes a deep breath again.
Instead of cursing you, she uncrossed her arms and knelt down on the carpet to have your eyes at the same height as hers.
“I'm not running away from any of my feelings. It's quite the opposite.” She starts softly, hands moving on your things to take the bottle away and find your fingers. “You said yourself. We have known each other for so long. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?”
You let her hold your hands but only for a second. Then, you take your bottle back.
“Of course you love me, Wanda, I'm your only friend.” It's not meant to be hurtful, not the way she thinks so. Yet, there's a form of venom in your words that leaves her speechless. You pull back to rest completely against the couch but Wanda doesn't move an inch. You try to laugh but it's almost a sob. After another long sip, you point at her. “I'm the only one who really understands you. And your silly jokes and your questionable morals. And because of that, you think you have to thank me somehow. That's why you're saying all of this love bullshit. You don't really mean it.”
She takes a peak, deeper this time, at this painful life-changing memory that you have of a first relationship. Hurtful and toxic behavior that traumatized you for life and would never stop coming back whenever you found yourself a good partner.
Wanda doesn't say anything at first. She gets up and decides that maybe you really are too drunk for this conversation.
There's a glass filling itself with water when she offers her hands for you. This time, to help you to your feet.
But you hug the bottle and give her a sad look.
“Just leave me here. I'm not being a good friend right now.”
“You're an amazing friend, sweetheart.” She retorts immediately, a sincere smile on her lips. “You're snarky and clever and loyal. And you're so fun. You're my favorite person. I wish you could believe me when I said it.”
You hide your tears from her, there were too many tonight. Wanda grabs the water floating in her direction and waits for you to look up again to give you the item.
The wine bottle flies away in colorful red sprinklers when you make the exchange.
“Can I take you to bed?” Her question is innocent in every aspect, but you grin and her cheeks warm up.
“One love confession doesn't make me that easy, Maximoff.” You retort playfully and she smiles while this time, you accept the help to get up. The wine glass is forgotten because Wanda's powers do the job of taking everything to the right place in the kitchen, perfectly washed if needed.
The walk to your bedroom is silent, excluding familiar guidance of “watch your step” or “let me help you with the zipper” when Wanda helps you off your work clothes to pajamas.
Those are things you have done together a dozen times now, but not quite like tonight. Wanda never took off your shirt after saying she had feelings for you. She was never in your bed after you didn't believe her words.
There's a tense silence now, while you're lying next to each other.
She tussles around before suggesting “Maybe I shouldn't sleep here tonight.”
You sigh deeply before it's your turn to tussle around and look at her.
“You never sleep away when we are drunk.”
She turns her body in your direction, using her hand as a support for her face.
“Well, I am not drunk. And it's different now, darling. Tonight is different.”
You hide your grimace against your pillow. Wanda smiles.
Her fingers move up, to play with your hair and she takes some pride in how she can catch some of your reactions: the blush, the shudder, or the hard shallow.
“What's in your head?” She risks it very quietly.
You look up just a little from the pillow and almost lose the ability to form a coherent thought with such pretty eyes looking back at you.
“As if you can't tell.”
She smiles at the impolite answer, never moving her fingers away from your hair. It's such a lovely and comfortable gesture that you're struggling not to fall asleep.
“Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not willing to read every mind I come across. It's often overwhelming and also disappointing.”
You smile at her, pulling the comforter up a little, nearly enough to cover your face. Wanda wishes you wouldn't do it, if there's something she likes to do is to look at you.
“You gotta admit there's fun in knowing what everybody thinks. What keeps them up at night, what's stealing their attention, and who they are thinking about. How they feel, what they fear.”
She gets a little closer, to count your freckles. To see your honesty.
“Is that what you want me to do with you? Read your every thought, know your fears, know your feelings?”
You swallow, look down at her lips but then pull back, gazing at the ceiling. Wanda just keeps looking at you.
“I don't understand why you're doing this.”
She's ready to start another argument, maybe even tell you to go to sleep so that you can talk in the morning, but you keep talking and she decides to keep listening.
“We were never like this. I'm a fucking mess and you're a fucking mess too, and I had James, and we both know how shit that went.” You continue with a tearful voice. “Then I had Natasha and fuck me, that was even worse. And you had Vision and Simon, and that is probably a lifetime of bullshit. So I don't….” You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You end up giving a sad chuckle. “What I think I mean is that we have been around each other from the start. And I never saw you. Not like this. And it sounds fucking ridiculous that I just stand there, next to you for years, wasting my time with everything else instead of looking at you. And seeing how perfect for me you always have been.” There's this crack in your voice and Wanda really wants to kiss you but you don't look at her, not even when your tears start to fall on the sides of your face. “Now I'm so scared. It's like you put on the lights on this thing that was going on in the dark, this precious and special thing we have. And I am terrified that it could end as bad as any other relationship I had, because you're not like any other relationship I had, Wanda. You're… fuck, I can't even-”
She gets closer, enough to touch and to take your face into her hand to make you look at her.
“I wish I knew sooner too. We would have saved us so much time and heartache. But you can only know something when you know it. And I know this now, I'm certainly of it. How much I care for you, how important you are. And I think we have wasted too long being scared.” Her forehead falls to yours. “Maybe it is time we are brave together.”
You kiss her first. Wanda has this memory of your eighteen-year-old versions hiding from Avengers training with cigarettes and shared headphones, making stupid jokes that were ridiculously funny. She recalls the teenage hormonal urgency she used to push down right at this moment, how your breathy sighs cause her head to spin, or how every little sound sends a straight wave of heat towards her body.
But she also tastes the wine and pulls away with the same accelerated breathing and dark eyes as you have.
“You shouldn't have drunk that much.” She whispers against your lips, ignoring your attempt to chase her mouth as she gets up. She knows her willpower wouldn't survive another round. “See you tomorrow, dekta.”
Just like this, she's out of the room.
You pull back at the bed with a huff and a silly smile on your lips. Every bit of skin Wanda touched, especially your lips, tingled. Your chest was as warm as your heart, and you were sure it had nothing to do with alcohol.
You may be just as drunk as you were the countless times your past relationships started and ended. But this time you are sure it will be different, the person means too much to you not to be. You will make sure it is better.
summary: During a mission, Wanda needs to keep warm, and there's no one better suited for the job than a demigod with fire powers.
words: 2.701k | warnings: this is not explicit at all but there's undressing and some innuendos, actually super fluff, friends (rivals) with mutual pining, attempt at humor (sometimes I think I'm funny), takes place after civil war, reader actually have the same personality as johnny storm because he's the only fire powered character I could think of while writing.
A/N-> Honestly, this was entirely based on the scene of Jacob warming up Bella in Twilight. It was requested as a challenge by @abimess about three years ago, and it's finally here. Never stop believing your request will see the light of the day guys (does this expression exist in English as well?)
General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |
-&-
Stake out missions are always a pain, but there's a code among the Avengers, and that's why instead of relaxing on some paradise island, you're in Siberia, collecting evidence for Natasha Romanoff.
To be fair, this was more of a favor to Nat than an Avengers duty, since the team was currently on a political tightrope, with half the people here and half somewhere else, with government contracts between them and councils all over the world. In the midst of all this mess, Natasha had discovered that the Red Room was not only operational, but also had a hundred thousand widows out there. The operation to locate and rescue these women was understaffed, and well, that's how you ended up in the Siberian winter with a grumpy witch and a synthezoid.
It turns out that the revelation that the Red Room was still operating was the exact kind of argument that the Avengers could use to exist, only super spies like Nat or Clint could find the widows, and well, only people like you, and the other Avengers could deal with that kind of power and influence. So while Natasha took care of the bureaucratic part, you and the others helped with everything else.
Stark and Cap were somewhere in Peru, and you envied a little the reconnaissance pictures that Tony sent to the group that contained the most beautiful tourist landscapes he visited with the justification of 'you never know where a black widow might be hiding' while you froze your ass with the people who liked you the least on the team.
Well, Vision didn't like you. In the same quantity as you hated him.
Wanda is a special case. You like to annoy her because she's really cute when she's mad, and she, although she's probably the most powerful person on the team and has full capacity to do so, has never put a definitive end to any of your torments towards her.
It was more of a game of teasing and friendly rivalry than mutual hatred.
The only thing you really disagreed on was the strange relationship she had with Vision, which always made you cross some line and say something stupid that would make her angry for weeks.
And it was also the reason you had offered to keep watch in the snow outside the hideout, while the two of them were safe and warm inside.
But only a few hours into the mission - Steve had already confirmed his status, as had Sam, who was in France, also having a great time as a tourist - when your slumber was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Vision, making you jump a little from the wooden chair.
"I wasn't sleeping!" You exclaimed immediately, to which the robot only sighed in reprimand, without comment. As you adjusted your posture and forced the sleep away, he stepped away from the canvas of the tent he had just crossed and cleared his throat.
"I require your assistance, Miss L/N." He begins, making you look at him in surprise.
The formal way Vision speaks always seems strange to you. You laugh shortly, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Do you now, huh?"
That damn proud robot doesn't lose his composure under your irony.
"As you may have noticed, the temperature has dropped considerably."
You hum at his words, shrugging. "I didn't, actually. Perks of being a demigod, I guess."
Vision sighs impatiently. "Well, the human in the group is cold." He explains grumpily, and you laugh in confusion.
"Sorry, I thought you were the one taking care of that, microwave." You retort, remembering well how Wanda, who must have been wearing three different coats the last time you two talked, grumbled the whole way about the snow, and how Vision seemed so pleased with himself when he offered to keep her warm with the heating function of his metal body.
So it was strange to see him standing there, begrudgingly asking for help.
"I was." He grumbles. "But my body... well, it overheated. I can't keep it that high heat for too long without damaging myself. Unlike you, of course. So I thought-"
"That I would save the day?" You interrupt, feigning some disinterest and then sighing. "Well, I don't know, I don't feel like a hero tonight." You sigh again, glazing him through the corner of your eye. "Maybe if you say please."
He chuckles incredulously. "You want me to beg you to save a teammate's life?" He retorts indignantly. "Maybe I should just report on your attitude. I'm sure Miss Romanoff will be happy to know what we've been wasting our energy on instead of the mission. Ridiculous arguments and-"
You burst out laughing, gesturing. "Dude, you need to lighten up. I'm obviously joking." You cut him off, standing up. "Take my watch. I'll keep your girlfriend warm."
If Vision could blush with anger, he probably would. He huffs, giving you room to get inside the tent.
"Just so you know, Miss Maximoff and I don't have that kind of relationship," he grudgingly clarifies, and you almost get the impression that this is something Wanda has asked him to do whenever someone - you - assumes differently.
You laugh, irony dripping onto your tongue as you retort, "I'm so sorry to hear that." And you imitate the sounds of fireworks and cheering, escaping a push from Vision to slip into the tent.
Even with your powers, it was easy to see how cold and damp it was in there. The tent, while spacious, didn't have much ability to accumulate heat from the fire pit outside or the small wood heater in the corner of the room, and almost all of your attitude disappeared when you caught a glimpse of the shivering figure on the camping mat.
Almost.
"Fear no more, Maximoff, your knight in shining armor is here." You teased, earning a small laugh from her.
Wanda adjusted herself to make room for you on the mattress. "Shut up, and get over here already."
Despite moving immediately, you retort, “Bossy,” which only makes her hide a smile against the pillow.
It should have been awkward, cuddling with a teammate, but as you adjusted and hugged her, it was only hard to ignore how Wanda seemed to have been molded for you. She fit perfectly against your body, and you tried not to blush at the sigh of relief she let out as she snuggled into your warmth.
“Thank you.” She sighed, eyes closed, hands moving inside your jacket.
Your arms were around her, legs intertwined beneath the blanket that was no longer needed, and you didn’t trust your voice much to say more than a hoarse: “Don’t mention it.”
A moment of silence passes, and then another. Your thoughts wander between Wanda, the Avengers, and what Natasha would say about how you’ve chosen to spend your time. Maybe Vis is right, and you’ve wasted enough moments that being used as a human heater is your only way to keep Wanda close. Maybe it’s too late to be anything else.
The silence stretches longer, and you almost think Wanda has fallen asleep, and you’re almost considering doing the same, when she groans.
“You’re being loud.”
Opening your mouth to defend yourself because you’re sure you haven’t said a word in the last few minutes, you shut yourself up before you do, as you realize the telepath snuggled against your chest was surely talking about another kind of noise. You snort lightly, folding your arms behind your head. The lack, even a little, of the warmth of one of them on her shoulders makes her groan in protest.
“If you weren’t nosy, you wouldn’t hear a thing.”
You snap back rudely, but Wanda chuckles, quite comfortable moving one of her hands inside your shirt. Your skin is considerably warmer without a fabric between you two, and it makes her hum in satisfaction.
"Yes, that's better." She whispers sleepily, hiding her face in the crook of your neck. The position becomes less and less platonic with each adjustment Wanda makes, but you would never complain.
You try to relax with so much contact - it's especially difficult now that you can smell Wanda's shampoo so directly, almost intoxicating all your senses with it. - And you're almost getting used to the sensation, when she grumbles dissatisfied.
"Why am I still cold?" There's a soft scratch of her nails against your lower back that makes you clear your throat and think of anything other than the sensation, in scenarios very different from this one.
You consider mumbling something about it being too cold outside for her to warm up in five minutes, and telling her to stop moving and wait a bit, but Wanda tries to repeat the skin-to-skin idea from before by adjusting herself so that she's practically all over you, both hands under your shirt. And that makes you jump in fright.
"Wow, slow down there, tigress." You scoff, really embarrassed now, and Wanda raises an eyebrow at the color in your cheeks - which increases considerably when she sits against your hips, hovering over you.
She looks at you with some curiosity, a smile playing on her lips. You have the impression that her eyes glow red for a second before she retorts:
"Don't act like this isn't your dream come true." She teases, half-joking and half-serious, you can only swallow hard as you stare into her eyes.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." You retort, well aware that a quick peek into your mind would tell Wanda that you know exactly what she's talking about.
But despite her skills, she's either too tired or too cold to do nothing more than let out a short laugh and roll her eyes.
"Can you stop thinking about dirty things for a second and help me out?" She grumbles, and you'll probably agree with anything this woman says while she's on top of you. She starts to take off her sweatshirt, and you forget how to breathe. Your expression brings a blush to her cheeks, but she doesn't lose her composure. "Stop it."
Yep, she can definitely hear your thoughts.
You clear your throat, adjusting yourself to cover your face with your arm, and block that sinful image before you.
"You stop." Is your answering grunt, to which Wanda gives a tense chuckle. "What the hell is this now? Undressing on my lap."
Wanda, who has already discarded all her sweaters on the floor, rolls her eyes. You're not looking, but she seems to be having a great time.
"You don't pay attention to anything, do you?" She retorts, and sighs to herself when she realizes that with all the movement, she now can see part of your abs exposed by the shirt. The anatomy of the gods was something really unfair and hard to ignore and Wanda is grateful that you are covering your eyes, because she can hide her own reaction from you.
"I pay attention to too many things if you ask me." You mumble, but Wanda ignores your answer, busy removing her shirt. With a sports bra being the only thing covering her torso now, she moves her hands to the edge of your jacket. With the gentle tug, you startle again, and stare at her in shock when you realize her lack of clothes. "F-for Odin, what the hell-"
"I need skin-to-skin warmth, you perv." She retorts firmly, even though her face is burning. You stammer in amazement, unable to look away from the cleavage in front of you—which is too close when Wanda pushes your jacket off. “You didn’t pay attention in any of those survival classes they organized for us, did you?” She insists on making conversation, but you’re mumbling sincerely:
“I don’t think I’d know my name right now if you asked me.” Wanda chuckles, rolling her eyes. Your jacket falls down your back, and she reaches for the hem of your shirt.
“Take it off.”
“Won't even take me to dinner first, Maximoff?” You scoff, even though you’re complying. Wanda loses a bit of confidence at your exposure, clearing her throat when she realizes she’s staring.
She ignores her own reaction, looking away as she explains; “You probably don’t understand this because you’re not entirely human, but it’s really cold right now. I just need a little more warmth.”
You smile at her, moving your hands to her hips, making Wanda sigh as you start to play with the knot of her sweatpants. “Are you really going to take it all off, Maximoff? I knew you were hardcore, but damn…”
She groans in embarrassment, for the first time that night. Covering her face with her hands, you laugh at the sight. “This would be so much easier if you didn’t keep thinking the things you’re thinking.” She mutters. “It’s so annoying.”
You laugh, tugging at the knot so it comes loose. The slight slack in her sweatpants that allows you to see more of her hips makes you sigh. “Well, I’m still fifty percent human. No one is ironclad against a pretty girl on their lap. Oh, wait, your boyfriend is.”
Wanda takes her hands away from her face to hold your wrists away from her hips but still in your lap. "Vision isn't my boyfriend."
You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. "But he's something." She hesitates, letting go of your wrists.
"Yeah, just like you are." She murmurs, taking you by surprise. She sighs then, adjusting her hair. "Friends, roommates, teammates. It doesn't matter what you call it."
You smile. "How about... personal heater?"
She laughs, shaking her head. "Shut up and take off your pants."
Despite the raised eyebrow, you don't say anything else. There's a pull apart, so that the two of you can strip down to your underwear. You do that fairly quickly, because even with your powers, you can feel how cold Wanda's skin is now.
But once you're settled under the covers again, Wanda can breathe a sigh of relief. She resists the urge to dig her nails into your back, feeling your body covering hers, and now skin to skin, the temperature rises much more quickly.
You’re also kind enough to emit more heat, and Wanda can’t resist hiding her face against your neck when your arms wrap around her completely.
It’s a very tender moment between you. Wanda doesn’t want to think about how vulnerable she is, trusting you completely to keep her alive. And she also doesn’t want to think about how much better this feels than anything she’s ever felt. The safety inside your arms leaves her breathless. Suddenly, she finds herself asking; “Did you really mean all the things you were thinking?”
You laugh shortly, your fingers moving to caress her hair and Wanda can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips at the sensation. “I don’t want to have this conversation while you’re having a hypothermia episode, Maximoff.”
“I’m not—”
“I paid attention in survival classes.” You interrupt her. "One of the most common signs of hypothermia is confusion, and one of the desperate actions people tend to have is to remove all clothing. You're lucky I can warm you up so quickly." She says nothing to that, finally realizing that she's stopped shivering, and her thoughts are much clearer than before. She's no longer desperate to get warm, because she's not cold at all now. Wanda is ready to thank you, when you add, "Of course, there are still ways to warm you up even more..."
You move your head, and playfully bite her cheek, making her squirm with laughter before pinching you on the corners. You're still laughing when she turns inside your embrace, pouting but not pulling away from you.
With your arms firmly around her, you adjust your mouth to her ear.
“Go to sleep, you need to.” You whisper, smiling at the way she tries to hide her body’s reactions from you. “I’ll keep you warm through the night.”
She reaches out to intertwine her hand with yours, and rest it on top of her stomach. When you two finally fall asleep, you have matching smiles on your faces.
summary: A study session turns into a make out session. Or the one where the most beautiful girl on campus is your situationship and you would never refuse to distract her, even during exam weeks.
words: 3.820k | warnings: (+18), college au, fuck buddies, popular!wanda x loser!reader, mostly smut but there’s actually some plot here, bottom!wanda (we need way more of this sorry), oral, fingering, some dirty talk, reader is briefly described to be shy and introverted because of the loser archetype, w and r are actually super comfortable with each other don’t be fooled, text messages are in bold cause i never tried that before.
A/N-> I have written more than 100 works for wanda, but I don’t remember ever writing casual sex before. To be a demisexual is really something, huh? Anyways, this was actually based on “One of Your Girls” from Troye Sivan, but around the middle I just started doing my own thing honestly. Good reading!
General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection
-&-
To inspire students to have sharper minds, as she likes to say, Miss Harkness is known for having the hardest tests on the entire campus. This means that you needed to study seriously for next week's exam, without quick readings or breaks to watch the television or talk about anything other than Applied Sociology with your friends.
And definitely, no 'study' sessions with Wanda Maximoff.
You shouldn't even think about Wanda, and her emerald eyes and bold hands. You need to think about Émile Durkheim or Max Weber, and any other sociologist from past centuries, with their difficult theories from which long and complicated questions will be in your exam.
But Wanda and the casual thing you two have is like clockwork. You had barely made up your mind about keeping your distance, and prepared a proper study session in your dorm - empty that afternoon due to a divine miracle that occupied Natasha and her girlfriend Maria all day - for your cell phone to vibrate with the notification from the person you had decided to ignore.
Stealing a glance at the contact name, you grunted quietly and turned your attention back to the book that had just finished reading the first page.
Focus.
Another vibration makes you roll your eyes.
Wanda didn't do anything wrong, maybe you could just say you’re busy.
"I am bored."
Her text makes you laugh through your nose. Typing quickly, you don't expect a return to your "And I’m busy. Talk to u later."
Your cell phone vibrates again, but you stand firm. Sociology will not study itself. There's a shift of pages, and you taste some of the mint tea from the mug on the table before your cell phone rings again.
Maybe it's someone else. It may be important.
You can’t even fool yourself.
The book is placed on your lap, and you unlock the screen for a photo that brings a warm color to your ears and spreads around your body as quickly as this whole thing began.
"What if I was in public?." You type with a certain harshness, which doesn't match the way your heart missed a beat. Or how you've completely forgotten about the book now, and all you can do is bite back a sigh at the image of the prettiest nipples in this galaxy.
Wanda responds in the same second, and you want to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of her feeling eager for a response from you.
"Kinky."
You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You're the worst" That's what you type. You end up sighing when looking at the pile of books around. Wanda only needed one stupid photo to completely take your focus away.
She types before you can tell her off for it. "Are you in your dorm? Wanna see you."
You bite your lip. She is so infuriating.
"I have to study."
You can almost hear her giggling on the other end. "Don't you always?"
You think about cursing at her teasing, but you don't want to cross any lines. It's true that this relationship is a constant push and pull, but Wanda isn't clingy for no reason. You're about to ask if something happened when she adds "Are you really gonna force me to send another photo..."
You swallow hard. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. I was innocently studying until now.”
It takes her a moment, but finally, there's another photo. With your fingers shaking, you forget to breathe at the image of her thighs, a red garter belt in contrast to the pale skin, barely covered by her mini-skirt. It was such a simple image yet so provocative, Wanda truly had talent.
"Fuck me." You sigh quietly, unable to type anything back for a moment.
And so she does it first. "Did I melt your brain?"
“Please come here.” You begged, only imagining her smirk on the other line.
Wanda typed back a second later; “I thought you were studying. I wouldn't want to distract you.”
You huckle incredulously at her cynicism, and almost type back a curse but end up deciding to get up instead, hurrying to make the room less messy for your guest.
Wanda takes a while to show up at your room - Unlike you, she lives on the other side of campus, in an apartment shared with her brother. The outfit she's wearing is definitely more impressive in person, and you have to control yourself not to feel jealous at the realization that a good part of the university has just seen her parading around looking so stunning. This was definitely Yelena's doing, the one responsible for trying out everything she learned in her course on her friends and successfully dressing the whole group like supermodels.
Sometimes you wish you were more sociable, at least to be friends with Yelena and get new clothes.
Not that you have any idea of this, but Wanda did a great job of hiding the way her stomach did two flips when she saw how comfy you looked, the dark green sweatshirt covering your shorts making her immediately think about exploring underneath.
"What's up, loser?"
Wanda had this problem. High defense barriers, almost all the time, but especially when she was feeling things that were out of her control. Like the way her heart raced in your presence, or how she was starting to run out of decent excuses to meet you without admitting the only reason was simply because she wanted to spend some time together.
When you first talked, freshman year, she was the most intimidating person on campus (she still is), but with a little insistence (or friends playing cupid) you had managed to see sides of her that no one else had seen. And vice versa.
It was a pretty interesting dynamic, the most popular girl on campus and a big nerd with social anxiety were somehow dating. Wanda dragged you to parties whenever possible, a possessive hand on yours and a threatening look at any idiot who thought of giving you a hard time. And often you end up in some drunken Instagram live or records of friends making out in the background.
When you weren’t doing the things she liked, Wanda would just show up. After your classes, in the study hall, during your break from your internship, and in your dorm. She didn’t mind showing you off, but there was something so soft about spending time alone. When her defenses were down, the mean girl mask would fall and she would laugh at your stupid jokes, or dress up in your clothes to make pancakes in the middle of the night.
It wasn’t an official relationship, but it was something really closer to one. Something that gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased from your life, and mess everything around as she went.
You made room for her to enter, and she gave a long kiss to your cheek before leaving her shoes at the entrance. You were blushing when you closed the door.
The dorm you shared with Natasha had little more than the space needed for two beds and two desks, but somehow you and her managed to squeeze in enough decorations on the walls and even some of her ballet and fighting awards. Your side was covered in band and movie posters and science holiday medals. A barely used keyboard sat dusty in the corner, and you had made a mental note to show Wanda how to play Over the Rainbow sometime. She tossed her backpack on the corner of your desk, and you hurried to try to clear up some of the clutter on the wood, blushing even more when she chuckled.
“Come here.” She asked softly, and you swallowed hard as you stumbled closer to her again, guided by her hands holding your wrists. Wanda actually wanted your arms around her, and that’s where she put them. So her hands went up to your shoulders. “You always get so shy when we’re alone.”
“I am shy.”
She shakes her head slightly. “That’s not true,” she says, leaning in close to brush her lips against yours. You gasp slightly, and Wanda pulls away, teasing. "You're an introvert, but no one shy says the things you say when you're turned on, darling"
Yochuckle, shaking your head with pink cheeks. "Shut up."
She bites back a smile, and leans in, but the kiss is too short, it's so unfair. You try to chase her mouth, but Wanda pulls away to hug you. And that surprises you as much as her breathing deeply into your neck.
You don't remember hugging her before. Not really. There's plenty of sex of course, and making out and pillow talk and late-night snacks. But Wanda isn't the type to cuddle, or hug. It gives what you two have an intimacy that you understand she doesn't want to have, or didn’t, past tense.
Your hand caresses your back, and you're not quite sure if you should say anything but finally you do; "Is everything okay?"
It's like throwing a bucket of cold, reality-filled water over her. She breaks the hug, forcing a laugh that doesn't convince you at all.
"Of course!" She says, pulling you close at once and giving you a kiss that's much more determined than before. That almost makes you forget where you were, almost. "Let's take these off." She pulls the folds of your sweater up, but even though you let her, you risk:
"Wanda, are you sure-"
She cuts you off again, this time kissing you with tongue. It's definitely hotter, and it elicits a breathless moan from you. Her hand holds your face, controlling the kiss until you whimper against her mouth. Wanda lets you breathe as she pushes you by the shoulders to the bed, and you fall sitting, facing her.
"I said take your clothes off." She repeats, but it's her who puts on a little show. She pulls off her blouse at once, and the exposure of her breasts covered only by a red lace bra leaves you mesmerized. Wanda giggles at your reaction. “Every damn time.” She teases, her hands moving to undo it. But you move suddenly, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto your lap in urgency. Wanda gasps in surprise at the heated kiss, losing herself in the task of removing her bra as you start to suck on her tongue. With one hand on your shoulder for support, the other ruffles your hair before she feels her bra loosen on her body, not having even noticed your hands working on the clasp until now. She bites her bottom lip as she feels the item being pulled away from her body.
“You’re getting better at this.” She teases again. You look at her with lust-bright eyes but also with a frown.
“Better? When have I ever been bad at this? Certainly not with you, because you came three times on your first time together.”
Wanda raises an eyebrow at you, her hips grinding slowly against your lap. “Like I said, not shy at all.” You roll your eyes, gripping her hips a little more firmly to guide her movements. It's Wanda who chases your mouth again, returning with equal fervor every kiss you give her.
Your hands let go of her hips to slide down her thighs, until finally touching the garter belt. You break the kiss with an affected groan, and Wanda takes the opportunity to catch her breath a little. If the image of her swollen lips and dilated pupils wasn't enough to drive you crazy, looking down did. Her skirt was wrinkled up, and the red garter belt was truly a sight. A damp spot was now visible on your pants from all her grinding, and you would have time to feel proud of making her so aroused with just kisses later.
As you pulled the garters and made them slap gently against Wanda's skin, you smiled when she shivered, a breathy moan escaping her mouth. It was such a beautiful thing, turning all her bad girl attitude into a pathetic mess of whimpering.
But suddenly you remembered that she had walked across half the campus wearing this, so your clenched jaw had another reason.
"Did you get dressed up for me?"
Wanda gave a short laugh, not really understanding what you were saying. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
You glared at her, your hands giving another warning tug, and Wanda wanted to hate the way her body twitched, but she couldn't help it.
"If not me, who?"
She blinked in confusion, deep in her own lust.
Why were you still talking when she was literally dripping on your lap?
"What are you-" She fell silent when you grabbed her throat, your grip making her thrust her hips in desperation for friction, her mouth opening in a needy moan. Her own reaction surprised her, and Wanda would have tried to work things out if you hadn't taken away her ability to respond when you kissed her again, dirty and hard until she started whimpering on your tongue again. When you pulled apart again, your fingers invaded her mouth and Wanda's eyes widened, realizing that this might be the first time she'd come without even being properly touched.
You seemed to have noticed the same thing, a chuckle escaping you as she began sucking on your fingers with the same fervor she was trying to grind into your lap.
"Tsk, look at you, Wanda." You began, your hand moving from her throat down to her garter belt, to pull it off again. "You really want me to believe anyone else can turn you into this needy mess?" Flushed with arousal, Wanda still manages to frown in confusion. Anyone else. What the hell are you talking about? There’s no one else.
But suddenly, you remove your fingers from her mouth, and when she tries to ask, it's too late. Your soaked fingers have moved down and they fill her without warning, sinking inside her and eliciting a throaty moan that makes her head fall forward, forehead to yours, and nails digging into your shoulders. You laugh hoarsely. "Fuck, you're so wet, Wands."
The dirty sound of your fingers moving inside her echoes in the room along with her breathless moans, but you don't prolong things for too long. There’s an urgency and roughness to your movements that makes Wanda roll her eyes back and bounce on your fingers in animalistic desperation.
“Oh, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” It’s always such a beautiful sight. She arches on top of you, spasming as her climax hits her and spreads hot waves of pleasure. Your hand is soaked, but you pull your fingers away to lick them one by one as Wanda tries to get back into orbit.
When she finally does, it's rewarding. It's your turn to have your throat grabbed, and Wanda presses forward until you're lying on the bed, at her mercy, even as a smile plays on your lips.
It's time for her to shake that smugness off your face.
"You're overdressed." It comes in a warning tone, and her hands go down to remove your clothes, one by one. You help her, between one kiss and another, a touch and a squeeze, until finally, Wanda ends up on your lap again, this time, with no fabric between you other than the beautiful lingerie she picked out for you.
Oh, of course she lets you know.
"I don't want you to get any more cocky than you already are." She began between the countless breathless kisses you were exchanging, minutes on end in this hot make-out session. "But all I could think about when I bought it was how you were going to look at me." She takes advantage of your gasp in surprise to bite your lip and pull, making you tremble. With a smug little smile, Wanda looks at you with darkened eyes. "And how were you going to take it off."
Your hands move of their own accord - There's a hard tug to pull her against you, and you end up rolling around on the bed, until Wanda ends up underneath, writhing at your touch. Your fingers slipped under the belt again, but now you take your time to remove the item, slowly until Wanda couldn't hold her breath any longer.
Stealing a glance at her dripping pussy that she displayed so proudly on her parted legs, you clicked your tongue again before finding your space in her middle, your hands fitting behind her thighs.
"You spoil me, you know?" You whisper, feeling her fit her ankles into your back, an impatient whimper escaping her. You were so close to where she wanted, needed, but still not giving her what she was begging for. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a sweet gift."
Wanda tries to play along, she really does. But you give her a tentative lick, and another, and all that escapes her are shaky moans, as one hand grips your hair, the other seeks support in the sheets. Something she can pull at will without hurting.
She feels hot in all the right places, and she wants to police herself for how addicted she is becoming to the feeling of having you like this, but it's impossible to think about that right now. With you eating her so well and making her forget all her problems.
You hum suddenly, satisfied at the taste, and at the vibration, Wanda loses it. There's a loud whimper escaping her throat as she arches against you, begging for more, but you hold her in place, your own hips grinding against the bed as Wanda starts to sound desperate for your tongue to go deeper.
When you risk teasing her again, shallow tongue strokes that leave her dizzy and shaking, Wanda loses her patience. She curses under her breath, and grabs your hair with determination, managing a satisfied grunt from you before she forces your face against her pussy. Not caring if she’s hurting you or suffocating you, Wanda chases her high with near desperation. She grinds her hips against your face, and locks her legs behind your back, using you until she comes.
She sounds so hot when it finally happens. Your name drips from her tongue as she drips into your mouth. It’s so strong that her body instantly goes weak, her legs shaking around you. You chuckle against her thigh, taking great satisfaction in leaving her like this.
Still catching her breath, she calls out. “Come here, asshole.”
You think she wanted a kiss, maybe another orgasm. But Wanda just adjusts you to her side, so she can rest against you. This is new too, spooning. It's the kind of thing casual encounters shouldn't do.
Of course she notices how tense you've become, and it only takes the moment for her to stop shaking for Wanda to look up, her chin resting on your chest.
"You don't have to overthink everything."
A nervous laugh escapes you. "I wasn’t."
Wanda makes a small grimace of unconvincedness. "I know you were. It's what you do. It's one of the things that makes you, you." She says, and it takes you a little by surprise. She sighs then, and looks away, resting her face against your chest again. You almost think she's not going to say anything else when she continues. "It's good that you think of all the possibilities. That way I'll never be able to disappoint you, you'll always see it coming."
You frown, absorbing her words in silence for a moment. Wanda begins to draw patterns on your stomach that look like her initials, until you sigh.
"I know we haven't named it what’s between us, but whatever it is, you can always tell me what's bothering you." You let her know quietly, your fingers playing through the strands of her hair. "And we can just talk, you know? It doesn't always have to end in sex. You don't have to get a new lingerie as an excuse to see me. No matter how hot you look on it."
She pinches you for the joke, but she’s smiling when she looks back at you.
“You’re not good at the whole casual sex thing, are you?” She teases, but she’s genuinely so happy with your previous words that she just can’t hide it.
You smile, watching her hover closer and closer. “You think? Because I think I’m doing pretty well at this, miss-Oh, baby, I’m gonna come,”
You do an imitation that makes Wanda's eyes widen and she blushes deeply while she huffs in embarrassment. You burst out laughing when she tries to cover your mouth and stop the teasing, and it ends up turning into a small fight of hands and tickles until Wanda ends up underneath again, now with her hands pinned on either side of her head.
There is an exchange of glances between the two of you, and you are smiling just like her.
You know that today, Wanda will not tell you what bothered her, what brought her here. She is right, however, you’re an overthinker and already have a hundred possibilities for what could have brought her there, and considering that you know from her friends how much she has been fighting with her father in the last few weeks, it is not hard to assume it is related to that.
But Wanda returns the intensity of your gaze, and you know that something between you has changed. She will tell you when she is ready.
Your grip on one of her hands loosens, and Wanda uses the opportunity to touch your cheek.
"What are you thinking about?"
You sigh, and she can tell. Her heart misses a beat, and she considers if she’s ready for a confession. If it would scare her or make her so happy, she would freeze. Maybe both.
But you grimace a little, and smirk, and Wanda feels silly for even considering.
"I'm definitely going to fail Miss Harkness's class this semester."
Wanda frowns and then bursts out laughing, confused and incredulous.
"What?" She asks between laughs. “Why would you be thinking about this now? With a naked girl in your bed, you nerd!”
You giggle at her words, your free hand fitting on her waist as you wait for her to stop chuckling. "I don't know why you're laughing, this is your fault. You ruined all my study sessions with your... distracting presence."
She rolls her eyes in a playful manner. “"Well, I could always just leave-"
You grip her waist tighter, holding her in place. "Nah, who cares about classes anyway? Come here."
Wanda will definitely help you study, she makes a mental promise. But she will kiss you first just a little longer.
Pairings: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x SHIELD Detective!Female Reader
Word count: 8k
Tags | Warnings: +18 smut, angst, top!Wanda, bottom!reader, Wanda being a perv criminal, fingering (r), enchanted strap (r), dubcon, breeding kink, pregnancy, comic/tarot reading inaccuracies (I did try my best searching about them), jealousy if you squint, friendzoned!Nat
Author's note: This is set after the MoM, Wanda being stuck on Earth-818, where she is a multiversal criminal after killing the Illuminati—the planet's mightiest heroes. Title inspired from the song Closer by NIN. I have another a/n at the end of the fic.
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"Do you know this girl?"
Wanda lets out a small huff, then leans on the table, her sore cuffed hands resting on the cold surface.
"I'll tell you if you tell me what color those pretty little panties of yours are."
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She had killed the Illuminati, the very protectors of your universe. You couldn't understand why she would go after them, they were the ones who were keeping your universe safe and sound. It seemed that the only reason she had for doing this was to gain more power somehow and that's the only thing you got as of now.
But you couldn't help but wonder if she's up to something…more or personal? If she isn't after more power, then what is she up to? She could be plotting something far more sinister than anyone could imagine.
Or something she just lost.
As you stand in front of the interrogation room door, your heart is pounding fast, your hands are cold and your breathing hitched.
"I'll get you to talk." You murmured to yourself.
You then took a deep breath before signaling the agents that you are ready, then you watched as the door slowly opened before you. Sitting behind a desk facing you was the most wanted criminal on your planet.
As you stepped inside you examined her, you noticed that her body was covered in a number of devices which were meant to restrain her from using her magical powers. There's something on her temple, something that looked like an electric device. She also had the same thing collared around her neck and in her cuffed hands, you also took note of her blackened fingers. But both her feet seem to be free and in full display. She seemed to be unfazed by all the devices though, despite the fact she looks restrained in almost all parts of her body.
You were one of the top detectives in your field, but you had never seen any of this stuff, let alone be in a high security room with the most wanted criminal in your universe.
"Worried about me? Detective?" She asked as if she could read your mind.
"Comfortable with those on your body?" You huffed lightly, you hoped that you were able to keep a straight face while asking that question. You were doing your best to keep your cool, but it wasn't easy with her looking at you like that. "Sadly, you can only have those removed if you cooperate with me."
Wanda's face started to form a smirk before letting out a small chuckle as if to torment you even more. It was as if she knew exactly what kind of effect she was having on you.
"What about you? I don't think those clothes are comfortable on you…" she spoke with a wolfish grin, "want me to remove them?"
You force yourself to look away from Wanda, your heart rate slightly elevated. You take a deep, subtle breath, trying to compose yourself completely, focusing instead on your mission. There is no room for any distractions right now.
But God, this woman is a breathing distraction.
"Wanda Maximoff, is that your name?" you started, putting down the files you were pretending to fix a while back.
"Yes."
"Where are you from, Wanda?"
Silence.
You pressed on with the same question rephased, "Could you tell me where exactly you came from?"
She still didn't respond. Her eyes were like ice, cold and emotionless. You sighed disappointingly that now made the woman curve her lips upward.
Now, you began to lay out the facts, "You're not from here," you stated. "We've figured that one out. You're not from our universe and you killed our heroes." You slid a photo in front of her, the sound of the paper touching the cold metal table. "Do you know who that is?" It was a cropped photo of her. She was wearing a sweater and wide pants. She had a soft and gentle expression on her face, unlike the cold and emotionless looks she had been giving you so far. You observed how she looked at the photo and there is something you can't put a finger on her expression as she stared at it—jealousy?
"That's me."
"Wrong," you said firmly. You saw her eyes shot through you faster than the lightning. You were pleased that you were finally getting some sort of reaction from her. You could tell that you had caught her off guard. It seems like she wasn't used to being contradicted like this, you'll take note of that.
As a detective, if you cannot get an answer from your culprit you will get a reaction out of them. It was a fun game for you.
You held up another photo, before sliding it down on the table. This one is a closeup shot of her looking eye to eye at one of the monitors of Illuminati headquarters that was recovered. She was covered in blood and her eyes were glowing red.
The photo that has been haunting you since this case was given to you.
She just stared at it like a mirror. Then slowly, she began to tilt her head to the side, imitating the pose in the photo—taunting you. You could feel her eyes piercing into your soul.
Before you could lose yourself at her stare, you slammed your fingers down the photos. "This is not you, this is the Wanda Maximoff of this universe." You pointed at the photo of her variant with the soft and gentle expression on her face. You slid it towards you before grabbing the photo that is left, which was a photo of her showering in blood, "This…this is you."
Silence.
"Happy," you flick the photo of the happy Wanda. "And miserable." You pout, putting down the bloody Wanda in front of her.
Well, your tactics seemed to be not working. Because silence is all you got.
You took a deep breath and spoke again, trying to keep your frustration in check. "I'm going to ask you again, why are you here in my universe?" You stared at her expectantly, hoping for some kind of response this time. But Wanda remained silent, her face impassive as she stared back at you.
You were just starting, you just got here for like twenty minutes. Usually, during this part of interrogation you aren't frustrated yet unless you didn't have your pack of gummies before you started. You still should be cool and calm, but right now? You don't think you are at all.
She seemed to relish in your frustration. Taking pleasure in watching you struggle to get a straight answer out of her. This only added to your growing annoyance, making you wonder how long you could keep up this interrogation without losing your temper completely.
"Don't breathe too hard, detka."
You swear to your dead grandparents, you are going to lose it.
Your face flushed red like a fool, stomach was in knots as you tried to ignore the growing feeling of something you will slap yourself about.
Now, you managed to compose yourself back again, it's your turn to be silent. Fun games for you to play—the silent game where you'll sit on your chair while the culprit moves themselves in every way they could think of, walk, sit on the floor until their ass gets sore while you sit comfortably on your chair and this will go on for long painful hours. You've got to have years of training before you can master it.
So you sat comfortably, not saying anything. You waited to see what she would say or do next. But it seems like she was playing a waiting game as well, trying to see who would break first.
The two of you only sat in silence but the tension was too obvious in the small suffocating metal room.
You looked up from your file folder over and over again, taking notes of everything you got so far and that is the unknown name she had given you—detka. Now, you blinked as you realized how much time had passed. Your eyes shifted to Wanda and you noticed that she was tapping her blackened fingers impatiently on the table. It was clear that she was growing restless.
Good, you told yourself before getting back to your papers. One thing you're sure about is you have been here over and over, you had sat in a small cramped room for ten to twenty four hours half of your life. You're used to it. You do it for a living.
You'll last longer than she will.
"Detective Y/L/N, we got something for you." You heard through the comms of the suffocating room.
You got up and went to the door, waiting as a folder was delivered through a small opening of the door. As you walked back to the table, you couldn't shake off the feeling that Wanda was watching you intently. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the folder in front of you. But the weight of her gaze made the hairs on your neck rise. You glanced up at her, and sure enough, she was staring at you, a smirk written all over her face.
"It's quite disappointing I am not unwrapping something," she commented suggestively as she watched you unwrap the manila envelope on your hands. Then, her gaze drifted up to your lips and to your chest, your cleavage showing slightly on your low cut blouse that seemed to be taunting her from the moment you had stepped into the room.
Your jaw tensed as you tried to ignore the effect her nonsense comments were having on you, you tried to remain focused and professional, but you couldn't deny the heat building between your thighs.
You shame yourself.
You crossed your legs awkwardly, trying to conceal your discomfort. Wanda's smirk only grew wider when she noticed your movement. You could feel her eyes on you, and you wondered if she could tell how this back-and-forth was affecting you. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a way to regain control of the situation without giving her any more satisfaction. So you just decided to shift the focus of the conversation back to the interrogation. You examined a photo of a young girl wearing a denim jacket, taking note of a slight glow on her knuckles before showing it to Wanda.
"Do you know this girl?"
Wanda lets out a small huff, then leans on the table, her sore cuffed hands resting on the cold surface.
"I'll tell you if you tell me what color those pretty little panties of yours are."
"Who is this man?" you pushed another photo towards her that you weren't even able to see first just so you could dismiss her painful teasing, hoping to shift the conversation back to your hands because clearly, it's in hers.
"You want answers? Come on, detective, it's a simple question. Red? Black? Maybe something a little more innocent, like pin—"
"If stupidity is the only thing that will come out of your dirty mouth, then don't talk to me or don't speak, at all." You finally snapped, "I had asked you simple questions as well but I think you're too dumb to answer them since you're all silent." You knew that this was a low blow, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratification as you threw her own words back at her.
But still, you didn't last long.
You gathered the papers, folders, and envelopes in front of you, you couldn't help but feel Wanda's venomous glare burning into you. When you glanced up at her, you gulped by the sight of her face. Her expression was a picture of barely contained fury, suddenly feeling like prey being stalked by a predator—like the photo of her showering in blood. You immediately avoided her fiery gaze, you swore you saw it flicker red. You shake your head and take a hold of your documents.
You couldn't believe she had gotten the best of you in this interrogation and you only got defeated and frustrated. All you can do is huff, straightening your collar and smoothing your hair as you try to regain a sense of composure and the little shame that this investigation left you. You glanced towards the two-way mirror, knowing that the other agents and your colleagues were watching this whole ordeal unfold. They watched as you got humiliated by this multiversal criminal.
Taking a deep breath, you spoke up, your voice firm and decisive. "I think I am done here," you said, signaling them to open the door for you. But before you could even step outside, Wanda suddenly spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.
"It's not stupidity if it's all true," her words dripping with a cold and thick accent you are not familiar with that sent shivers down your spine.
You knit your brows together but you didn't turn around because you knew you would only see the annoying smirk plastered on her face.
"Victoria's secret, it's lacy and has a floral pattern, scarlet. And it's wet."
You clenched your jaw tightly, your nostrils flaring in anger. Now, you felt violated and humiliated, she had really gotten under your skin in a way that no one else had ever managed before.
As the door shut behind you, you felt a sense of relief at finally getting some distance from her, and you took a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself down—a routine you usually do.
"You okay?" Natasha immediately asked, removing her leather jacket and placing it on your shoulders, "I swear, allow me to do this."
Wanda rose from her chair and tried her best to stretch, trying to pop and shift some bones in her restrained neck and her back. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she was savoring the moment. Then, she walked towards the one-way glass mirror.
"No, Nat. If I allow that to happen one of you will come out in that room in a body bag." You walked to put your files down briefly staring at Wanda who was now hovering closely to the mirror.
Natasha then grabbed you by your right arm, her face dangerously close on yours. She clearly didn't like how this multiversal criminal talked to you. "And who do you think that will be?" Natasha asked intimidatingly.
You just huffed playfully, rolling your eyes on her making Natasha let out a few laugh.
"Are you sure those devices are really working on her?"
"Well, we don't know where she's from or what entity she really is. So we don't really know what else she can do," Natasha said and you already know that fact. "As of now it is the highest and most secure restraining device that they have. At least that's what they told me. Why?"
Well, you don't think it is working or restraining her powers at all.
Natasha didn't speak as if she already knew what's going on in your mind. "So it's true?"
"What is?" You asked as you crouched down to your bag, stuffing all the heavy documents you had dragged to and fro wherever you go.
"What she said."
"Natasha, she said nothing but taunt and—"
"Eye fuck you, yes."
Humiliate, humiliate is what you were going to say.
"The last thing she said, was it true?"
Natasha's question hung in the air, you found yourself frozen in place, your mind racing to come up with an appropriate response. You then slowly turned around and your eyes first landed on Wanda. You still have no idea if she can hear or see everything despite her being locked inside, but you can see her staring right at you as if she can see you through the one-way mirror. Now, you are both staring at each other even with the glass standing against the two of you.
Guess there is only one way to find out.
"Why don't you drop by later and find out, agent?"
You stepped back, almost like a flinch as you watched Wanda hit the mirror with her cuffed hands, her jaw shaking and her eyes flickering with a terrifying red glow, as if the rage within her had taken on a life of its own.
Now that you know how much effect you have on her, and how you figured out how she plays—you will play her game with your own hands.
Play the game or the game plays you.
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Your fingers flew over the keyboard of your laptop as you delved into the files that had been recovered from the headquarters of the Illuminati. The video footage was particularly compelling, showing Wanda's abilities at their most devastating. You watched in horror as she unleashed a barrage of powerful magic, tearing through the ranks of the Illuminati with ease.
Black Bolt was killed having his mouth covered.
Captain Carter was cut in half with her shield.
Reed Richard was grated to death.
Photon was blasted with her own powers and was crushed by a statue.
And Professor X's neck was snapped by Wanda after what you think was a telepathic duel.
"Why did you do all this, Wanda Maximoff?" You whispered to yourself.
You knew that what had happened there was unprecedented and that the implications were far-reaching. Another set of evidence was given to you stating where this multiversal criminal was, Earth-616—from a different reality. With the Illuminati gone, multiversal travel was impossible, and the potential for catastrophic consequences seemed to loom around every turn with her being in your reality.
You watched another video footage of a young girl who was clearly in the throes of something far beyond her control. The way she was running and in a second she was being consumed by a star-figured portal she made herself, as if her own power was turning on her, devouring her from within.
A theory now begins to take shape in your mind. You theorized that perhaps Wanda was here in your universe because of the young girl. But again, it would always fall back onto why Wanda killed your world's mightiest heroes.
"Think, Y/N. C'mon."
As a seasoned detective, you couldn't help but consider all angles and possibilities. Then, another theory popped, what if Wanda used the girl to get to your universe? But the question that nagged at you this time was why she would do such a thing. What was her motive? Was she trying to escape from her own universe or did she have some greater purpose in mind? The uncertainty of it all made your mind tangle, as you desperately tried to piece together the puzzle that was Wanda Maximoff of Earth-616.
"What do you want?" You whispered, your gaze was locked repeating the footage of Wanda going on to Illuminati one by one.
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"Thank you for meeting me."
Wanda nodded in acknowledgement, as she locked the door of the cafe behind you. You carefully watched her actions and movements as you followed her. And as a detective yourself it was your nature to observe and it was clear that she was a bit nervous, a far cry from the confident and aggressive that is her variant.
She led you to a small table for two, as you two finally settled in, you spoke.
"So, uhm. I'm detective Y/N and I think you kno—"
"I-I know who you are, I know what happened," Wanda interjected, cutting you off mid-sentence. Her tone was sharp and clipped, as if she had already anticipated your attempt to broach the topic of the devastating events that had transpired within the week. "You don't need to repeat it all over again," she said with finality.
It was all over the news for days now, hell it would be for the next few years. The death of the World's mightiest heroes and footage of the one who killed them, which was her—not technically her but her variant from another universe.
"I have received threats and so are my children. I had to close my shop since then," your gaze darted around the surroundings. Before you got in, you'd seen the words "murderer, witch, killer, anti-hero," painted on the shop's windows in bold, aggressive strokes.
"But…I have nothing to do with it," Wanda's voice trembled with emotion, you could hear the undeniable anguish in her words. "There would be times that I can't control my powers and it frightens me. My body was present but my mind was something else...someone else," she continued, her voice growing fainter, almost like a distant echo. "I had glimpses of a star…more like a portal, a shattered mirror and a book. But it's…I swear, it's not me I have nothing to do with it."
"Hey, it's—" you carefully edge in. But she quickly stopped you.
"No, I want to get this over with. I just want my children to be safe." She looked at you with glossy eyes. She looks so tired and defeated. "I used to dream every night," she continued, her words tumbling out rapidly, "I was…I was happy, I was with my children, I was in control of everything. But then it's gone. I put my kids to sleep then everything slowly started to disappear, I watched it. I watched everything I created, everything I loved disappear right in front of me."
"You lost your children…" you whispered unintentionally.
"Not me, I'm with my children," Wanda shook her head lightly before looking at you.
"It's not you who lost them…"
It struck you deeply, and suddenly, the pieces started to fall into place.
"What we see in our dreams are what is happening on our alternative selves. They may not be our exact selves, but they're our counterparts from different universes, and when we sleep, we inadvertently tap into their experiences."
"H-how sure are you about that?"
"I came to my old mentor, I told her everything about it. She might give you better answers than I do, I stopped learning more about my powers since I retired," She paused briefly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Besides, I…I'm just a sitting duck variant here."
"Hey—" you blinked when she handed you a piece of paper. Stopping your attempt to comfort once again.
"I don't need it. Here is the address if you still need answers. That's all I can give you."
She stood and you panicked, you hurried after her. As she reached the door, she turned to face you for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. Before you could utter a polite goodbye, she had already shut the door behind you, leaving you standing in the cold street.
You took an exasperated sigh, then, you quickly pulled out your phone and dialed Natasha's number, asking her to send some SHIELD agents to keep an eye on Wanda and her kids for protection. After the call, you felt lost, it's like you're close to hitting a brick wall, but then you remembered the paper Wanda gave you.
"This sounds like a sham."
ᱬ
"What are you doing here in our universe?" Natasha asked for God knows how many times now. But Wanda remained silent.
She unbuttons her suit jacket, revealing her holstered gun. She watches Wanda's silent form, she is unfazed—unthreatened. She wishes you were here, with how easily you extracted information just using your eyes and laughter. How your disarming smiles could crack even the hardest facades, including hers.
"Was I right?" Natasha freezes, surprised by Wanda's sudden voice.
"What?" Natasha responds sharply, trying to hide her shock. "What did you say?" She watches Wanda closely. Her eyes are no longer empty. They're stormy and intense. "Right about what?"
"C'mon you know what I am talking about." Wanda's eyes crinkled to the side. And Natasha's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the smirk, remembering the last thing this criminal had said about you before you got out of the first interrogation. Natasha catches herself slowly smirking as well before she can stop it, leaning back confidently in her chair. She hoped this play of hers would look natural.
"Not going to lie, it was impressive 'cause you were right about it. Saw it upclose, it was black, lacy Victoria's Secret, and it's wet—for me."
"It's red." Wanda immediately corrected, the colors of Natasha's face started to drain in embarrassment. "Dark red," She emphasizes, "Almost burgundy, like wine...or blood." She grins mischievously, enjoying how the agent in front of her clenched her jaw.
Natasha intended for it to look like she indeed saw what you were wearing that day. You even told her to come to your place and find out even though she knew it was just a play to get something out of this criminal, only for the two of you to do nothing but investigate and investigate. She even bought wine! But since then you had made it clear to her, that you two cannot be a thing—that she's just a friend.
"Listen here, you twisted criminal," Natasha strided and grabbed Wanda by the collar of her prison suit, pulling her closer. "Try to disrespect her like that once again, you will never be back in your universe again."
Wanda laughed despite Natasha's threat. "In just one snap I can go through your mind and see the very not-so-respectful things your twisted brain has thought of doing to your boss," she spoke calmly, unfazed by Natasha's grip on her collar and how close their faces were to each other.
"Give me your boss or you'll get nothing from me."
ᱬ
You find yourself standing in front of a quaint, old-fashioned shop, nestled between two larger buildings. The sign above the door reads "Madam Calderu's Psychic Readings" in a flowery, Victorian script. As you push open the heavy wooden door, a bell chimes merrily, announcing your arrival. The shop is dimly lit, filled with an eclectic mix of incense burners, crystal balls on a small, round table.
Before you can take in your surroundings properly, you hear a sudden scream.
Your hand goes for your holster, gun drawn instinctively. The woman freezes, seeing the gun pointed at her. "Wait!" She throws up her hands, the shawl falling back to reveal a middle-aged woman with sharp features and piercing dark eyes. The woman's gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, it's as if she's peering right through you, seeing something that only she can comprehend. Her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper.
"You…"
Taking a deep breath, she forces a calming smile. "I apologize, dear. You just gave me quite the surprise. Please, have a seat. I am Madam Calderu."
Even though something about this feels off—hell, everything about this feels off, you holster your gun and take a seat at the nearest table. The smooth wood is cool to the touch, just like her hands when she places them palm-up on the table.
"What's your name, dear?"
Her eyes seem to pierce through you as she awaits your response. There's a strange intensity to her gaze, like she's trying to unravel the very fabric of your existence.
"Y/N…" you were about to get your badge to show her that you are a detective but she gently stopped you.
"Y/N, no need for that," She repeats softly as if she already knows what you really are.
The goosebumps you're feeling made you want to finish whatever this is. "I am here about Wanda Maximoff."
"Which one?" She asks, laying out a spread of cards you thought are tarot cards across the table.
"What? Wh-what do you mean which one? Hey I-I am not here for that." You rushed out, but she already flipped a card.
"The Fool. Bare…untouched, pure." You cringe slightly, what a nice way to say you are a virgin…which you truly are. "You are going to bring a new life."
"W-what?"
She turned to another card that was placed vertically. "The Hermit. You're in deep search for something. The Devil, upright. You are bound...constrained by circumstances beyond your control." Another card was flipped. "The Empress Meaning, upright. You are a vessel…meant to contain something immense, powerful. But you're unprepared. A fragile container for a force that could shatter you at any moment."
The last card made her eyes widened as she saw the image—a hanged man suspended upside down from a tree, with his right foot bound and his left foot free. "Someone is after you…" She mutters under her breath, then she looks at you who was in a deep frown, images of something red…a crown, something powerful flashed her mind that made her scream. You immediately took a hold of her hands with yours, as if you pulled her out of her nightmare, she stopped screaming but she was breathing hard.
"You wait here, young lady." She stood, shaking as she rushed from her seat disappearing through the string curtains.
The room grows silent again as you wait for Madame Calderu to return. Your phone suddenly rings, making you jump slightly. You pull it out, seeing Natasha's number.
"Romanoff."
"She wants you."
Realizing what she meant, you shifted on your seat in frustration. "Romanoff, I told you not to…" you didn't finish, sighing defeatedly knowing that scolding Natasha would get you nowhere. She had always been like this, stubborn and would sometimes go against you and your higher ups. "I'll be there." You say, ending the call and tucking the phone back into your pocket.
Madam Calderu came rushing back with a wooden rectangular sigil in her hand only to see a 20 dollar bill on top of the table.
You were gone.
ᱬ
"Y/N, I'm sorry." Natasha followed you behind as you strided toward the interrogation room. You have not been giving her any words or any blink of an eye as you arrived. And she has been apologizing, following you around like a lost puppy.
"I want you out of this case, Romanoff. This is not the only time you went against my orders." You say with finality before disappearing behind the door of the interrogation room, not wanting to hear any of her reactions.
You took deep breaths before you turned around and saw how the criminal had been staring at you. She was wearing a wolfish grin, elbows on top of the table while her cuffed hands together were in the air.
"How are you holding up?" You asked, much calmer like you were the first time.
"I'm good, detective." She said, simply. "I'm good now that you're here."
"I could say that." You quipped, making her let out a few chuckles that made your stomach flutter.
"I didn't like the attitude you have the last time we saw each other."
"Well, I didn't like how you didn't cooperate with me."
Wanda smirks teasingly, her black fingernails tapping against the metal table. "I missed you, detective," she purrs softly, her voice dropping an octave. She manspread her legs slightly under the table, unnoticed by you.
You respond in a neutral tone, your expression giving nothing away. "I could say that," you repeated, never breaking eye contact with the criminal.
She chuckles softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She leans forward slightly, the movement subtle yet intentional. "Didn't you miss me too?" She just threw you a bone, looking for a reaction—any reaction. She watches your face carefully, eyes picking up every tiny muscle twitch. She sees your jaw tighten slightly, your shoulders stiffen. She notes how you never left her gaze, how you keep your voice neutral and unreadable.
But then, you remained composed. Chuckling but you didn't give any response to her question, instead you answered with a question yourself.
"Wanda, have you had dreams?"
She frowned before huffing softly, but failed to hide the slight uptick in her lips. She leans back slightly, her gaze drifting away before slowly returning to meet yours.
"It's here, right in front of me."
As Wanda answered, a smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth draws Wanda's attention back to your face. She sees the genuine smile hiding behind the smirk, and it makes her pause. She's not used to seeing genuine smiles, especially not directed at her. Wanda's eyes linger on your smile, her gaze seeming to drink in the sight. She notices the way your indifference during the first interrogation melts away, replaced by something warmer. Something that makes Wanda's heart skip a beat.
"Have you lost someone?" You asked another question, much personal this time. But silence was the only answer you got back from Wanda. You expected for it to not work for now but you know that eventually, later on, you will get something out from her—you will make her say something.
"I used to have dreams, Wanda." When the words escape your lips, you see Wanda's eyes widen slightly, hanging onto each word. "I dream of my kids, and I dream about losing them every single time." You continued. Your dreams have become a nightly ritual, an obsession. Every night, you relive the same scene, sitting on the couch, surrounded by laughter, playful shouts and calls for you—their mommy. You're surrounded by your children, their faces blurry but their joy unmistakable. And then, next thing you know is you're awake in an empty bed, no signs of your children.
"Every time?" She asks, already knowing the answer.
You hesitate, then nod. "Like clockwork. I see them, hear them. They feel so real…" You trail off, smiling at the memories. "Then they're gone." You add softly, unconsciously wrapping your arms around yourself. Wanda swallows hard, her fingers twitching slightly. "It's funny because I don't even want kids, but after those dreams, when I wake up the first thing I expect to see is them beside me."
As she sits there, watching you wrestle with the ghosts of your dream children, she feels an unfamiliar pull. She's seen the same thing in her own dreams—blurry faces, laughter that turns to silence.
"Every night the same dream, every morning the same nightmare." She murmured under her breath.
For the first time since you've seen her, Wanda's mask completely slips.
"I can say the same, Y/N. I've lost people I loved…but I am here to get them back now."
Bingo.
Wanda blinks, momentarily taken aback as she watches you rise, a flicker of confusion passing over her face.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Wanda." You say before disappearing, leaving her alone in the cold room.
ᱬ
Later that night, as the prison settles into a quiet routine, you find yourself back at your apartment.
You pour yourself a glass of wine, the cool liquid sliding down your throat as you relax on your couch. This case has been tough, but tonight, you finally made a huge progress. She had opened up, shown emotion. You smile smugly to yourself, confident that tomorrow, with your newfound insight, you'll finally break the case wide open.
You finish your glass of wine, feeling tired. You've had a long day of investigating and interrogating. You let out a breath, your body relaxing as you slide into bed in your silk nightgown. You close your eyes, ready for sleep. But you felt dizzy. As the room spins around you, suddenly, unmistakably, you hear it—laughter. The clear, joyous laughter of children echoes through your darkened bedroom. Your eyes fly open, but the sound doesn't stop. It surrounds you, bouncing off the walls, growing louder.
Figures begin to take shape right before your eyes. Two boys—the same children from your dreams. They're laughing, their faces fully visible this time, and they're reaching out their little hands towards you.
"Mommy!" You laugh, reaching to them.
But then, in an instant their laughter turns cold, their smiles disappearing as they hiss, "Mommy, go away! Run, Mommy, run!" They push you back, their small hands shoving you towards the bed. You saw a glowing figure just outside your door, a woman with horns in her head—glowing red.
Your kids continued to scream, "Run! Mommy!"
Your heart was pounding in your chest, you wrapped your arms around your children, pulling them close. You can feel their small bodies shaking, mirroring your own fear.
"Mommy, go." The first boy whispered.
"You have to go now, mommy." The other one said.
But you didn't let go of them. The footsteps grew louder and the figure was just right beside your bed. Blocking out the light on the hallway of your room.
You jolt upright in bed, your nightgown damp with sweat. You pant, looking around your room. No children, no figure. Just you and your phone ringing loud.
"Y/N," Maria's voice is tight, "Wanda escaped. We don't know how but we need you here. Now."
"2800 Sherwood Street, Eastview." You rattled out. Your heart pounds in your ears as you stand still. "Maria, 616 is after 818's kids, she might be on her way to get them now. Target is the variant Wanda of Earth-616. Presumed armed and dangerous. Objective: Contain and capture." You stood, walking to where your closet is, "Eliminate if you have to." You ended the call swiftly, pulling on your tactical gear—bulletproof vest, cargo pants, combat boots out of your cabinet.
When you were about to get undressed, there was a figure that loomed over your room's doorway. You can't be wrong but it was the same figure you saw in your dreams just a while back. A woman with little horns, glowing red.
As you sweep the hallway, you think you're alone. But then, a movement catches your eye—a shadow darting between rooms. You turned around, gun raised, heart pounding. "Who's there?" You call out, voice echoing through the empty house. Then, a shadow appeared right at the end of your hallway and it started crawling to your direction. Without thinking, you spin around and dash back to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You lock it immediately, and aim your gun straight at the door as you step back.
You felt an energy behind you so you whirl around, gun still pointed at the air, only to find yourself face to face with the towering figure. It looms over you, the red light pulsing violently. Your hands tremble slightly as you raise the gun higher, aiming at the center of the shadowy mass. You gasp, eyes widening as you recognize the features hidden beneath the glowing shadow.
"W-Wanda?" Your voice is barely a whisper.
Her blackened fingers extend, reaching to the gun aiming at her and it disappears in a flash of dark energy. Before you could react, she snapped and in an instant you were up in the air. An unseen force lifts you off the ground, suspending you in mid-air with an invisible restraint tying your feet and hands. You struggle, legs kicking uselessly as you float higher but her eyes glow with an intensity you've never seen before, almost burning with the red energy that surrounds her. She watches you like a predator eyeing its prey—calculated, intense, and completely focused.
"Miss me?"
"What are you doing?" You manage to choke out, heart is now hammering to get out of your chest as you stare into her glowing eyes. Her appearance is disturbing; she wears a crown that looks like horns, and a suit that looks like it was drenched in blood. The red energy seems to be seeping from her very pores. Her features are still beautiful, but twisted into something dark and terrifying.
"To get what I lost."
Your frown deepens as you process her words.
Then, a chill laughter escaped her lips. "I thought you already figured it out, detective," she says mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're supposed to be the smart one. The one who sees through every lie and unravels every mystery." She leans in closer, her face inches from yours as you elevate in the air. "But you've got it all wrong."
Your mind races, trying desperately to connect the dots. Your detective mind isn't working at the moment and she tilts her head, studying your baffled expression with cruel amusement. Her blackened fingers gently caress your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw. "You really don't get it, do you?" She murmurs, her touch icy cold. Her fingers started to caress your stomach. "Let me give you a hint...what's the same thing we lost every time we close our eyes?"
Your kids. Her kids.
You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion. "But…I-I don't have your kids, Wanda."
"Oh, you will." Her voice drops to a threatening whisper as she snaps her fingers again. In an instant, you find yourself falling backward onto your bed, the familiar indentation of your pillow against your head. Wanda begins to crawl up your body, her blackened fingers digging into the blankets, pulling her closer. Her face hovers above yours, her twisted crown casting ominous shadows on the walls. "Now, let's make them, shall we?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, praying desperately that this is all just a nightmare. But as Wanda's cold hands begin to roam over your chest, pulling the knots of your nightgown, you realize with a sinking heart that this is no dream. This is terrifyingly, undeniably real.
"Open your eyes."
A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air hits your bare skin. You have nothing under your nightgown, just your lacy panties. You're exposed, vulnerable, lying naked beneath her. She takes a moment to admire the sight, her red eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "I knew you're more beautiful without clothes," she murmurs, tracing a finger down your chest. She then squeezes them roughly, pinching your nipples between her fingers until you gasp in pain. Her other hand reaches up to grab your throat, squeezing tightly as she attacks your chest with a frenzy of kisses and bites.
You arch your back in pain as Wanda's cold hands maul your breasts, her fingers digging into your flesh like claws. Her hand around your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply as she nuzzles her face between your breasts, inhaling your scent deeply. Your body goes limp beneath hers. You spread your legs wider, letting her settle deeper between your thighs. Your arms lift up, wrapping around her neck possessively. You whimper softly as she bites down hard on your collarbone.
Her fingers slip beneath the lacy fabric of your underwear and immediately find their way inside your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, her skin so cold it burns against your sensitive flesh. She begins to move her fingers in and out of you brutally, ignoring your cries. She silences you with a brutal kiss, her cold fingers continuing their relentless assault on your insides. Her thumb finds your clit, pressing down hard as she forces another finger inside you. You feel yourself stretching to accommodate her blackened fingers, your body trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure.
You should be fighting, clawing, biting, anything to make her stop. Instead, you find yourself wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer as she invades your cunt with cold, blackened fingers.
Letting her darkness in.
"Hng Wanda..." You whimpered.
She smirks wickedly as she hears you cry out her name, your pleasured gasps mingling with anguished moans. Her eyes glitter with cruel triumph. "Say my name again," she commands.
"W-Wanda…" You stuttered.
Then, she curled her fingers inside you agonizingly slow, hitting that perfect spot. "Louder."
"Fuck! Wanda!"
Just as you're about to release the coil on your stomach, she pulls her fingers out of you suddenly, leaving you gaping and empty. You whimper in protest, but before you can even process what's happening, she shoves two of her blackened fingers into your mouth instead.
"Suck."
Magic crackles in the air as Wanda presses her blackened fingers against your lips, demanding obedience. Shimmering sparks dance before your eyes before you reluctantly close them, submitting as your mouth envelops her fingers. The metallic taste of chaos magic and your wetness coats your tongue, making you shudder.
She pulls her fingers free from your mouth, leaving behind trails of dark magic. Kneeling between your legs, she lets you see the crimson strap-on secured around her waist—it looked so real, enchanted.
As you finally register what's happening, adrenaline shoots through your veins. Your body goes instantly rigid, eyes wide with realization and fear.
"No..." you whimper, trying to close your legs, but she holds them firmly open with her knees. The alarm bells in your mind scream to fight back.
With a cruel smile, she rips your delicate underwear to shreds, discarding the remains aside. She grabs your thighs tightly, spreading your legs as far apart as they'll go. The enchanted strap-on hangs between her legs, the chaos runes pulsing with dark energy.
"It's time to make what we lost."
She rubs the tip against your wet entrance, coating it with your arousal. You watch in horror as she throws her head back, moaning softly. "You're so tight, around my cock," she hisses, gripping your hips. Without warning, she snaps her hips forward, burying the entire length inside you brutally. She shushes your cries, her free hand caressing your cheek, kissing your forehead soothingly as she continues to brutally thrust the strap-on into you with each heartbeat. With every painful push, you let out a little whimper, your body trembling beneath hers.
"It hurts, Wanda…" you sobbed.
"I know, detka." She placed her forehead against yours before kissing them again, her thumb gently stroking your cheek as she continued to ravage you with the cock. "It's supposed to hurt." She murmurs against your forehead, "This pain will remind you who you belong to now." As she continues to brutally thrust into you, she starts to feel pleasure from the enchanted device. The chaos runes absorb your pain and convert it into dark energy, feeding into Wanda. She moans softly, nuzzling your face, "You're hurting so nicely…" The pleasure builds inside her, her hips snapping forward with increased force, the strap-on plunging deeper into your torn and stretched flesh. She buries her face in your neck, kissing and biting your skin as she chases her orgasm. "I'm going to cum inside you, my love."
All you can feel is the relentless pain, your body bruised and your pussy battered by her cock. But despite the agony, you nod dumbly, willing to take whatever she gives you. "Yes, Wanda," you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. "Please, please."
She presses a palm firmly against your stomach, feeling the prominent bulge of the strap-on inside you. "Feel that, detka? Feel how deep I am?" She pants harshly, her hips grinding against yours. "You'll be filled with my cum, marked from the inside out."
"Then, we will never lose them again."
"Please…I don't wanna lose them again, Wanda. Please, give me my kids. G-give me your babies."
Your statement throws her over the edge. She groans loudly, her body tensing as she forces her cock deep inside you, releasing wave after wave of hot, enchanted seed. The chaos runes pulse dangerously, filling your womb with dark energy.
She collapses onto you, panting heavily as she caresses your stomach, feeling the warmth of her release inside you.
"Our kids…" she slipped out of you. Making you whimper from the empty feeling. Then, her hand slowly trailed down to your pussy, feeling the wetness of her cum mixing with yours as she pushed it back inside you.
"We'll never lose them again."
ᱬ
You blinked groggily as you stirred awake in your bedroom decorated in a vintage 1950s style. A silky nightgown slips off one shoulder as you sit up slowly. You stare at the two boys beside you, your heart swelling with love. And your dear wife, Wanda lies in between them, her hand protectively resting on the boys' backs, a soft smile on her sleeping face.
Feeling you're moving away, Wanda calls out softly, stirring in her sleep. "Hey, mommy." She carefully removes her arms from around the twins, ensuring they don't wake up.
"Hey." You greeted back, groaning as you finally managed to stand. Wanda immediately rounded the bed to get to you.
"Mmm, good morning, my love." Before you can say a word, she leans in to press a tender kiss to your lips. She took your hands as she sat back on the bed. Then, blackened fingers slide down to your swollen stomach, you laugh, guiding her head as she leans down to kiss your bump.
"Good morning, little one," she coos. "We can't wait to meet you soon."
—
Author's Note: This was supposed to have an angsty ending but I remember promising someone here to write a Wanda fic w happy ending.
I just want to inform everyone that this might be the last fic I will be posting. I will be on hiatus since I have been missing school a lot due to health issues and I need to keep up and get back on track. Every series/fics of mine will be put on hold for a while, but I promise that the first thing I'll post when I get back are updates on them. I'll see you all around :)))
Wanda’s giggles fill the room with the touch of your lips against her belly.
One of her hands finds the strands of your hair, fingers moving through the curls to tug gently in protest at the tickling, but you wrap your arms around her torso and close your lips in a soft spot just above her waist. She bites her lip when the kiss turns into a small hickey.
There’s no intent to tease her though. Your mouth moves again, the chaste kisses returning to the full length of her stomach. She sighs, the grip on your hair softening to a caress until her eyes meet yours. With your chin resting against the skin above her belly button, you smile.
“I’ve missed you, Wanda.” You let her know sweetly. "Don't leave again." It's her turn to smile, just as lovingly as you did.
Her fingers leave your hair to caress your cheek. "Sorry, baby. I won't. Tomorrow, I'll tell Natasha I'm retiring." It's a joke, but you both can't help but wish that were possible. No superhero routine to keep you apart. Maybe one day, Wanda could leave the team, to be with you instead.
"I won't be here tomorrow, you need to do it today." You retort like a stubborn child, a pout forming that makes Wanda's heart leap in her chest. She loves you enough to truly consider the offer. She's delighted by the reaction for a moment, and you sigh impatiently before moving your face again. Kissing her tummy, once and then twice, before biting it gently. The kissing starts to gain more intent, your lips firm into her skin. The sudden scratch of your fangs makes her flinch in a delicious shiver, her legs instinctively trying to close around you to increase the friction. Wanda sighs, one of her hands tightening its grip on the sheets.
"Be nice," she warns, a little out of breath. Your kisses, which are moving lower and lower, have turned completely into bites and hickeys on the way.
You sigh into the limit of her nightgown, looking up at her with darkened and fully transformed eyes, the vampiric appearance of your face making Wanda hold her breath in anticipation.
"Since you're not staying, I should give you something to remember me by." That's the only warning you gave her, and the feeling of your fangs digging into the skin of her thigh should make her yell but all that escapes is a deep-throated moan.
Her grip tightens instinctively on your hair and you groan as you feed, strong hands holding Wanda down on the mattress as her hips begin to buck in desperation. When her grip loosens, you stop, licking the bite and trailing kisses up her thigh to where she wants you so badly. Her out-of-rhythm breathing hitches as you tentatively lick her soaked warmth, and Wanda rewards you with sweet pleading sounds for every teasing touch that fails to give her the stimulation she needs.
"Please." She gasps between whimpers, trying to thrust her hips into your face. You look up from between her legs, and it's your turn to gasp. She looks so beautiful like this, her chest heaving, her cheeks deep-flushed, eyes begging to be fucked.
You smirk, kissing the hardened bud and making her groan in arousal.
Your fangs scratch your bottom lip, and Wanda bites down on hers as she watches, one hand gripping the sheets in case you bite her again. But the touch of your lips is sweet, precise, and not at all sharp.
You whisper into her warmth: “Anything for you, my darling.” before feeding in an entirely different way now.
Her head falls back onto the pillows, and Wanda gasps between moans of pure ecstasy. Your tongue dances inside her, eating her slowly, appreciating every tightening of her muscles, every pleading sound. The coiling tension in her lower abdomen threatens to break at any moment, at every flick of your tongue. She begins to lose control of her body then, turning into a mess of pleads and whimpers, but you place both hands on her thighs and hold her open without difficulty, the movements of your tongue never faltering inside her until Wanda arches her back and spills herself into your mouth. Her high comes in hot waves, making the lights in the room flicker and the bed shake as much as her thighs.
You smile at the scene, licking more tenderly so as not to overstimulate her beyond what she can bear. You know you ended up on the other side of the room the last time this happened. But Wanda surprises you when, still out of breath, she gasps "again." and repeats it, until you chuckle a soft “insatiable” and move your fingers to take the place of your tongue.
Who would be crazy enough to deny this woman? Not you, for sure.
nothing is hotter than a good age gap. especially since the woman you were in love with seemed to only become more perfect with age. however, that didn’t stop you from teasing her about becoming older, often. after all, you were one for mischievousness.
“so what’s it like to be old?” you ask wanda one evening as the two of you were lying in bed together. she had been wrapping up some work on her laptop, some blue light filter glasses adorning her nose.
with your head draped across her legs, your hair fanning out over her bare skin, she slowly closes the lid to her laptop, looking down at you with a withering gaze. “excuse me?”
“being old - what’s it like?” you reiterate your question calmly, looking up at her through your lashes.
“i beg your pardon, little girl!” she scoffs, an incredulous smile on her face. you giggle softly at her reaction. even her response made her sound old.
“oh, you think that’s funny? i’ll give you something to laugh about..” she mutters, sliding her laptop off her lap and grabbing onto your torso. she shifts your upper body so you’re propped up against her before her fingers begin digging into your ribs. you squeak, immediately erupting into a fit of giggles.
“wanda!” you squeal her name, squirming against her, but her free arm had a firm hold around your waist, effectively trapping you there.
“take it back.” she commands. somehow, every time your hands tried to still her tickling hand, she evaded your efforts, her fingers scribbling and squeezing different parts all over your sensitive torso. you didn’t want to cave and take it back too soon, so you double your escape efforts, sputtering out a ‘never!’
wanda chuckles at your antics and allows you to squirm out of her grasp, but your moment of reprieve is short lived as she all but shoves you back down on the bed, your back falling against the sheets. she straddles your hips, her knees pressing firmly into the flesh in order to try and keep you there while one of her hands expertly entraps your wrists.
“take it back, (y/n), or else…” she tilts her head, arching a brow in a threatening manner that made your stomach flutter with butterflies.
“bite me,” you pronounce boldly, immediately biting down on your tongue after saying that. wanda purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with mischief before she leans down, heading for your neck. she tosses her hair to one side, humming as she gets close to your ear and you mentally brace yourself for the small prick of pain, but instead hear a resounding buzzing noise as she blows a raspberry against your neck. you make a sound of surprise, trying to shrug your shoulder up to your chin in an effort to protect your helpless neck. wanda laughs again, using her free hand to extend your neck to the side to blow more against the sensitive skin there. you giggle, the sound and the sensation causing you to fall into a small fit.
she lifts her head from the crook of your neck, her face just inches from yours as she hovers there, her green eyes boring into yours. she looks at you, a smug expression on her face as she bites her lip, and then you feel her fingers vibrating against your stomach again.
“you really think i’m old?” she asks, faux pouting. ”that’s not a very nice thing to say to me, you know. what do you have to say for yourself?” you’re unable to answer her though, as she purposely seeks out your most sensitive spots, sending you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“stop! please!!” you manage to breath out when she lets up a bit.
“take it back.” she repeats simply, her face still hovering closely above yours as she has you trapped firmly beneath her. you wriggle as much as the position allows, your head thrashing from side to side. she looks much too arrogant for your liking, but you know you’ll never win in this situation unless you give her what she wants.
“FINE! ok! ok! i take it back!” you half shout in desperation, wanda’s devious fingers finally ceasing to dig into your sensitive flesh. she hums her approval at you admission, kissing you sweetly on the cheek. it doesn’t go unnoticed by you that she still has yet to release your wrists from above your head.
you clear your throat. “aren’t you gonna let me go?” you ask, giving her a subtle pleading look.
“no. not yet.” she smiles down affectionately at you. “i want to be free to do as much of this as i want..” she trails off, kissing the tip of your nose. before you can ask what she means, she begins planting kisses all over your cheeks and your forehead. each kiss becomes sloppier, not one inch of your face being left uncovered. you begin to giggle again, your face moving around in a half-hearted attempt to escape the affection. she joins in laughing with you as she continues kissing your pretty face, only pulling away when she was content you were positively smothered in affection.
“you’re just about the cutest thing ever - you know that?” she asks, finally freeing your wrists and using that hand to trace down the bridge of your nose.
“i love you.” you murmur softly, looking adoringly into her eyes. she kisses you chastely on the lips.
“and i love you, my darling girl.”
she gently rolls to the side, pulling your body close to hers until you were practically meshed together. you burrow your face into her neck, inhaling her comforting scent as you relax in her arms. after a moment, you break the silence.
“hey wanda?”
“hmm?”
“i think it’s incredibly hot that you’re older, but you know i don’t actually think you’re old.”
she smiles, though you can’t see it from where your face is buried. “i know.”
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