scarletwitchproperty

[scarletwitchproperty]

No because why did I not think of that 😃 Rio you sneaky little pervert 😤 (she probably tossed Agatha around to see what was under that robe tbh 🤭)

Sometimes I'm having a normal day just going about my business, but then I remember that Agatha was completely naked under that robe and probably flashed Rio a few times when Rio tossed her

[scarletwitchproperty]

Like what do you mean “Rio is the bad guy?” She’s literally baby okay?! 😤

"What can I say, I like the bad boys."

The bad boy in question: Why don't you want me :( 🥺

[scarletwitchproperty]

No because the way I immediately said “ewww” with my entire body yesterday when my friend asked me if I will ever get with a man…💀

She looked at me like “I know what you are 😤” and I think she might be onto something 🤔 (I proceeded to tell her some fictional men are okay with me but she then looked at me like “bitch you serious?!”) even her man clocked me when she told him I only write fanfics with wlw pairings 😭 apparently he told her “does your friend know what she is? 😃”

Is that a canon event for lesbians who thought they were bi or is that just me? (I feel like it is 💀🫡)

(Might be good to add that when she asked me about being with a man thing I was talking with her about AgathaRio, and maybe Wanda too, Captain Marvel…and also Taylor Swift lmao I’m a mess 🤡)

[scarletwitchproperty]

Simply reblogging so I can read them at a later date I’ve entered my SwanQueen fanfic reading era once again 🫢😌

Swanqueen fanfics recommendations:

note: ngl i’ve been wanting for someone to ask me this. also all the recs are multi chapters… don’t get me started on how many one shots i saved or how many are in this post 😅

Every secret it keeps - Two years into emma and regina's loving marriage, emma discovers that she's somehow, impossibly, pregnant. Unfortunately, no one in this family is naive enough to believe that true love can make babies, and the swan-mills family is thrown headlong into a situation that will strain at the seams of their family– or tear them apart completely.

Dusk til dawn - what happens when the evil queen returns to a post-swan queen storybrooke? How will regina and emma's former relationship affect her pursuit of a happy ending with the savior? (warning: elements of mommy kink, ageplay/regression, and a bit of everything in between; even if you’re not into that, i would still give this one a read! it’s so good and super cute! .)

Storybrooke scandal - Regina Mills and Emma Swan have a long lasting sexual relationship with each other, but they got married along the way, however not to each other. Behind closed doors their relationship still continues, but what will happen when their respective husbands find out about their secret relationship and what will such a scandal do in the small town of storybrooke?

Making exceptions - No magic. Multi-chap. College AU: Emma Swan is a culinary arts student. Regina Mills is her English teacher.

Whispers in the night - AU: Emma's plagued by grief over the loss of her best friend. She joins a support group and meets Regina Mills. They share their heartbreaking stories and come out as friends. Can they find a way to become more than that?

Nine months to love - Regina overhears that Emma is pregnant. As the months pass, she is frequently at Emma’s place, and Emma at hers. Emma and Regina grow emotionally closer as the pregnancy goes through ups and downs. 10 chapters.

Project wingman - Regina has a secret admirer. Unknown to her, this mystery person has been standing right before her eyes all along.

We'll always have hope - “Are you saying I seduced you? “Regina frowned. “If I remember correctly, it was you that pinned me against the bed. It was you who kissed me. It was also you that pulled my panties down using your-“ Emma had messed up. She had messed up badly. There was no way she could choose between her best friend that she had been in love with for years and her husband who she just kind of tolerated. After their impromptu trip for their son's graduation, A few positive pregnancy tests changes Emma’s life forever and makes the decision for her.

Could you escort the maid? - Emma Swan is a 28 yr old aspiring writer who happens to be a professional escort. On a night out with a client Emma obtains a chance to save for her dreams when she is hired by a respected rich couple Robin and his wife Regina as their new maid.What happens when Emma soon realizes their marriage isn't as it seems and what will Robin do when he sees that she is falling for his wife

Darkness Falls - The story of how Emma and Regina discover they share true love is a rocky one. Snow White interferes stripping Emma and Henry of their will and Regina is on the run from a town that has turned on her. With few allies, how will the Queen restore her family and what will be the fall out of Snow's magical manipulations?

Bridges of storybrooke county - Based on the plot of the movie/novel 'The Bridges of Madison County'. Regina is a married and unsatisfied housewife living on an Iowa farm, Emma is a globetrotting photojournalist. Their fateful meeting begins a love affair neither of them is ready for. (And if you want to know whether Francesca gets out of the damn truck this time? You'll have to read the whole story.)

The choices we make - Would you give up the love of your life in name of a dream? Emma Swan and Ruby Lucas have a hard decision ahead and this will change their lives completely, and everyone around them.

What we could of had - Emma breaks up with her high school sweetheart, Regina out of the blue.Ten years later, Regina gets a visit by two adorable kids claiming to be hers.

Someone will remember us - On day one of her junior year at Boston College, Emma makes a fool out of herself in front of the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. She tries not to dwell on it, though – after all, it’s not like the woman is going to end up teaching one of her classes.

A date with destiny - Regina Mills is a 35 year old, rich business woman who is also a virgin. Emma Swan is a 28 year old friend and roommate of fellow business man Robin Locksley and works for Killian Jones. Regina's assistant is tired off suffering from the backlash of her boss's stress and decides to set her up on a blind date with Robin but he can't show and so sends Emma instead.

Circumstance - Emma is an owner of a renowned Fitness Club called Swan Fitness and is also a grad student seeking a Master's in Counseling. Regina is one of Emma's professors and soon to be a member of her club. Will they allow their circumstance to prevent their feelings from evolving? Or will they fight to have their chance at their happy-ending? (TW!!!!)

Indecent Proposal - Emma Swan, a single mother, struggling to pay for her son's medical visits along as his medication, gets more than she bargains for when she meets Regina Mills. New York's bachelorette billionaire who offers her the solution to all her money problems: 2 million dollars and a signed contract stating her companionship for an entire year. One year, where anything could come into play.

Miss Swan goes to storybrooke - Regina Mills is running an underdog mayoral campaign when her hapless partner in crime, Neal Cassidy Gold, hires his new girlfriend to be a part of it. It's hate at first sight. Emma Swan is infuriatingly attractive, infuriatingly competent, and– most infuriatingly– will absolutely bring down their entire campaign if Regina doesn't get rid of her first.

Hi, i'm calling to answer your craigslist ad - Emma, Just like every 18-year-old foster kid, just aged out of the system. With nowhere to go, Emma searches Craigslist's Ads in hopes that she may find a job. While Browsing the "live-in housekeeper" section Emma comes across a post titled: "Seeking Live-in Pet/housekeeper". Starts off as OutlawQueen, ends with SwanQueen.

Chronicles of eris - After bringing back Marian from the past, Emma is left to deal with the consequences and repercussions of that decision. Two months of silent treatment from Regina is enough to push Emma completely over the edge. Together she and Ruby jump into a portal to the Enchanted Forest in order to figure out where they belong in the world.

To woo the queen - Emma Swan finally confesses her love for Regina Mills but as soon as she does, Regina pulls away. If it was just a casual fling Emma wanted, Regina thought she could have done with just that, but an admission of love and feelings scares Regina. Will Emma be able to woo her lady love and change her mind?

Bridges - Emma Swan has always run from everything and everyone; make no connections and no one can hurt you. But one night, something stops her from running. She meets Regina standing at the edge of a bridge, and everything changes. Major TW for suicide, depression, rape/non-con, abortion, child abuse, baby conceived by rape

The Girlfriend Experience - Emma Swan is a successful soccer star who was born with a dick. Regina Mills is the escort she hires to give her the 'Girlfriend Experience' but it turns into more. Little does Emma know, Regina is actually a victim of Mr Gold's sex slavery trade. What will they have to risk to be together? Smutty G!P! (last time i read this, it was still getting updated..)

What have you done - Regina is not speaking to Emma over Marian's sudden appearance. Emma decides she's had enough. Set at the end of Season 3, before things got "frozen." The beginnings of Swan Queen. So what started out as a simple one-shot, expanded and will continue for four chapters.

Lawyer vs. love - Regina Mills is a hard-ass lawyer from New York. Her life is nothing more than work until one day she meets Emma Swan, a barista with a troubled past. But, when a jealous ex comes to town, everything seems compromised and when Emma is sent away she asks Regina to do something that seems impossible.

A moment of truth - After Emma and Regina finally confess their feelings for each other, the dam breaks. This is the story of discovering their love for each and realizing that it had been there all along. This story is low on the angst but high on the feels and does contain plenty of magical sex.

Safe in the arms of love - Storybrooke AU. After an attack, Regina is forced to confront a past she spent her life burying. Can Emma help her find her way back before the darkness threatens to consume her? SQ ending. Trigger Warnings: Rape, assault, child abuse, violence, sexual content, stalkin

Group therapy - Emma Swan meets Regina Mills in group therapy. Contains potentially triggering content such as self-harm, drug use, and discussion of eating disorders. SwanQueen.

One touch - Emma is in therapy, and Regina Mills is her therapist. Eventually SwanQueen. Warning: this story contains mature themes that may be triggering to some individuals. Please read with caution !!!!!!!

In sickness and in health - As if being in an accident wasn't enough, now she's being told she's forgotten the last 3 years of her life? And in those 3 years, she got married...to her? Just great.

Bait and switch - Henry Mills is sick and tired of his mother’s skating around the truth and not realizing that they are perfect for each other and that they belong together. So he has a plan to bring them together and convinces his grandmother to help.

Broken together - After experiencing a great loss, Emma leans on Regina for support. Can she get through this with the help of Regina and Henry? (TW!!!!) (will squeeze the fuck out of your heart)

One more try - Emma and Regina are having relationship issues. (this will eat your heart out!)

Reservation for ms. mills - Senior Henry Mills tries to set up his daughter Regina and Emma because he thinks they'll be perfect for each other. One way or another. (major romcom vibes !!)

Out - Regina breaks up with Robin after returning from the NY road trip. She begins to question her sexuality and decides to test the waters with a familiar face in town. Emma’s jealously rages and Killian is confused. Some Red Queen. Mostly Swan Queen.

Lost time - Emma gets accidentally sucked into a portal to a realm where time works a little differently and when she comes back she's got a little surprise with her. (crazy shit. read it.)

Love undefined - It’s been eight years since the last time Regina and Emma saw each other, eight years since Emma lost part of her happiness, her family, and everything fell apart. But she hasn’t forgotten those three years in New York, or any of what Regina had brought into her life. And if she can be honest with herself, she might even admit that she wants it back.

What’s wrong with emma swan? - Since Emma's return from the Underworld she is a shadow of her former self. Snow seeks Regina's help to get to the bottom of what's wrong with Emma. When Regina discovers the truth their lives are destined to change forever. An unexplained pregnancy and their evolving relationship leads to a future that neither of them saw coming.

A million tiny little things - emma swan doesn’t seem like the kind of person you’d leave in charge of your kids, but somehow she’s landed the job of nannying the mayor’s son. no matter her rebellious streak, she’s more than a little concerned that she’s breaking the cardinal rule of nannydom: do not, do not, start sleeping with your employer. swan queen romcom au.

The staircase - Regina could still smell her cologne and feel the cheap pleather pressing into her back. The brunette sucked in a breath. She was still lying on the floor at the staircase's base and she stared back up at it. Everything was different now. Changed. She felt broken by what had just happened, appalled and enraged, dirty. (TW!!!! very very fucking dark. probably the first dark fic i’ve ever read)

Villains don’t get happy endings - It had been her sacrifice—the price she had to pay. Save everyone she had cursed for 28 years while simultaneously losing the one person she loved the most. Villains, after all, didn't get a Happy Ending. That was reserved for Princesses and Saviors. A 'what if' story where it's Regina, not Hook, who visits Emma in NYC at the beginning of 3B.

Miles to go - Everyone has their own story, this one is theirs and it paints the picture of a love story that spans over two decades, with all the ups and downs and everything else in between. (so fucking amazing!!)

Little match girl - Emergency circumstances lead Emma to move in with Regina and Henry, and the unexpected attraction between the two women stresses their current relationships. At the same time, someone is targeting Storybrooke's children with deadly consequences. (TW!)

The story - Takes place after 3x22. After everything they've been through... After everything that was said between them Robin leaves Regina for Marian and Emma is there to pick up the pieces. Swan Queen Angst and Romance

Oops - Emma and Regina get together at the mansion after they break up with Hook and Robin. Obviously, they get drunk and well...things happen. After one night of pure passion what will happen between the mayor and the sheriff when that night changes their lives, and their relationship, forever.

Skinny love - What are you going on about?" Regina swallowed harshly, really looking at the only person she has been able to bare her soul to. "You don't want me anymore because you found somebody else. Somebody better." Emma looked blankly at Regina. (a-fucking-mazing)

Memento Mori - Regina rejects Emma to stay with Robin after they've slept together. Emma winds up pregnant and tries to win the Mayor back. When the pregnancy is revealed, Snowing forces Emma to Underworld to save who they believe is the baby's father. The Underworld could prove fatal for Emma and her baby. Will they survive or will Regina lose her chance at having true love forever? (the fucking best- i’ve been looking for this..)

Crazy changes - A chance encounter in a bar changes Emma Swan's life forever. One of those changes is the arrival of Regina Mills in her small town. But there's more to the newcomer than meets the eye and when Emma finds out the truth behind a family feud, she must re-evaluate everything she thought she knew.

For endings are where we begin - Regina Mills is your average working mom - she spends long hours at her bakery, loves her son Henry with all that she is, and can touch dead things and bring them back to life. Emma Swan is an orphan, an ex-convict, and a bailbondsperson residing in Massachusetts. She is also currently dead. This is the story of how they meet. [a Pushing Daisies AU]

Forget me not - Tired of feeling heartbroken after Robin's death, Regina takes a Forgetting Potion to eradicate all memories of her True Love. However, things don't go to plan as she can still remember Robin, but has no idea who the blonde sheriff, who goes by the name of 'Emma Swan', is.

Direct and linear relationships - Emma Swan is a barely 17 year old senior. She just has to worry about getting through the year, but a new Physics teacher might make her last year in high school much more interesting.

A single kiss - Emma is only a teenager when she falls madly and irrevocably in love with Regina Mills. She is convinced that Regina is "The One" for her, but it's a love that cannot be. At least not at the time. When Emma returns home years later will they finally find love and a happy ending?

Flu love’s kiss - Magic returns to Storybrooke bringing back magical illnesses as well. 'Love Flu' is going around and it's catching. Swan Queen.

Temporary Distractions - It's been a month and Regina won't speak to her, until she does and Emma is left pretending to be in a relationship with her so that Regina can get through a dinner invitation with her pride intact.

Not going anywhere - Emma’s life was finally starting to come together. She has her parents. Her bond with her son growing. Regina’s walls have slowly started to fall, their friendship blossoming. This doesn't settle well with a select few townspeople that believe there is no hope for The Evil Queen, so they kidnap Emma. They will make her see things their way at any cost. Emma is found beaten and left for dead with no memory of who she is. The ones that took her still at large, Emma is left in the care of the only one who can truly protect her and the only person she allows near her. (tw!)

Reckless abandon - After Regina and Emma spend a night together, Emma is left to deal with the fall out, and a life-altering event, all alone as Regina changes her mind and decides Emma is not what she wants, after all. Will Regina realize what she's done before it's too late? Angst and Swan Queen. (the fucking best!!!!!!)

Casual sex - Emma and Regina begin to have nothing but casual sex diving head on into a friends with benefits, well more so enemies with benefits what will happen when one or both begin to start actually feeling something for each other.

Lattes & lace - Regina's a successful, focused businesswoman running a burgeoning lingerie line that is just starting to gain international attention. Until one winter, an irritating woman opens up a coffee shop next to her studio... and generates constant distractions. But not all of the distractions are a complete disaster. Only few.

Take a chance on me - As Emma recovers at the mansion from an encounter with Storybooke's latest threat, nightmares start to plague her from the trauma she suffered as a child. As Regina comforts her, the women grow ever closer. When Regina is attacked, Emma vows to do everything she can to protect the now terrified and vulnerable mayor.

Teacher’s pet - Emma Swan is starting her senior year this year and she's got a pretty easy schedule. But as her friends tell her about the Creative Writing teacher and how no one has passed her class with an A, what will she do? And who exactly is this 'bitch' as they claim her to be? Swan Queen-Student/Teacher AU

The reason why - Emma Swan never stopped wondering why she left without a word, not even a goodbye. She was used to being left behind and abandoned but when Miss Mills her favorite teacher/mentor of three years disappeared without explanation it still stung. Now over ten years later and a chance run in she might finally find out the reason why.

The crush teacher - Emma Swan's life was easy. She was constantly hanging out with her friends and was dating the most beautiful boys at school. But everything changes when a new teacher starts teaching her at school. Feelings and sensations that Emma had never felt before begin to appear.

A fortunate mistake - After Emma and Regina share a night of passion and a morning of misunderstandings sprinkled with some amnesia, Emma ends up getting married to Hook. But when Emma realizes she’s pregnant, their worlds get turned upside down. With Regina’s unwavering support and Emma slowly piecing her memories together, will their love prevail?

I’ll be home for christmas (with my fake girlfriend) - When her girlfriend dumps her the week before Christmas, Regina Mills needs a date to placate her mother’s insistent badgering. Emma Swan, who’s never really spent Christmas with an actual family, steps up to the plate. Throw in a very pregnant woman, her two children, and a Christmas Eve party? Emma and Regina experience a Christmas weekend they won’t soon forget.

You again - Emma and Regina have known each other since they were kids, and it's amazing how they just can't stand each other.

Has anybody ever told you - After a night on the tequila Emma Swan drunkenly causes mayhem in Granny’s leading to a few home truths for our Madame Mayor.

The rain came pouring down - Emma and Regina have spent the past year working on Operation Mongoose. Emma has fallen in love with Regina and is sure Regina loves her back... until a surprise shows up from the recent past.

A date to remember - AU. Regina is a very successful architect who runs her own company in NYC. She has no time nor need for love. Although, to spice things a little, she allows herself to indulge in a date per person, in order to get some action – no strings attached. Would she change her own rules after meeting a beautiful blonde? Swan Queen (No!Magic)

A month and a half of wednesdays - 40 weeks is ten months not nine... They have it all wrong.Emma spends every Wednesday night at the mills Manor, and has made a little discovery after one wild Wonderful Day with The Mayor.

Waking up - Emma wakes up in the hospital with no memory of her life in Storybrooke with her family. When she sees Regina, though, she suddenly feels a connection between the two of them and feels like she knows her. But how?

Always & forever - Regina Mills is a 34 year old widow who lost her husband Daniel just 4 years after they married. Not only has she lost Daniel but she's lost her 4 year old son as well; Henry. Before their sudden deaths she saw herself as the happiest and luckiest woman in the world. Now that the two people that she's loved most are gone she's afraid that whoever she ends up meeting next will vanish from her life forever. Now to avoid that pain again she's completely shut everything and everyone around her out. Family included.

Pixie dust never lies - A revealed secret, a broken heart, and a stormy night lead Regina and Emma on a path of self-discovery. In the end, they will have to make a choice that will shape their lives forever.

A new perspective - Regina disowns her mother and moves to London. Cora takes Emma under her wing and cultivates a business and a personal relationship. Regina and Emma meet after Cora's death and the fireworks start!! Slow burn SwanQueen and SwanQueen Family. Don't worry, dears, our ladies are alive and kicking through the entire story!!

There goes the neighborhood - SQ AU: Emma Swan has recently relocated to a neighborhood just outside of Quantico, VA after the death of her husband (Neal). She and her twin adopted daughters are just trying to find happiness again. Meanwhile, her new neighbors Robin & Regina Mills have a less than happy household. The women clash from the start, but through a marital betrayal the two women begin to see each other in a whole new light.

Stolen darkness - What started with a dream had revealed to Emma who she really was, upon the confessions of the Charmings' past sins, Emma embarks on a journey of self discovery. Dark Swan, Maleficent, and Swanqueen.

Mirror, mirror. - Emma is working her side-job as a mover when she finds the mirror, shattered in the back of a wardrobe. She takes it home, drawn to it for some reason. Regina finds the mirror in the back of her mother's old wardrobe. It was once broken and put away in a time of duress. Yet the mirror she is holding looks as good as new. When Regina speaks into the mirror one night, Emma answers.

Shadow Haven - Emma Swan is a PR agent who is sent on a holiday by her boss. Regina Mills is the owner of a private island named Shadow Haven. There is more to Regina than initially meets the eye. Swan Queen romance / BDSM story.

Feather of a swan - Emma Swan also ended up cursed in Hyperion Heights. With absolutely no memories of Storybrooke, she gets by working as a bounty hounter. After a particular long day, she just longs for a drink, and goes into Roni's Bar to get just that. But after she meets the bartender, nothing wil be the same again.

In it together - After both Hook and Robin are killed (and Hook doesn't come back in my story!), Emma and Regina grow closer. At first it's about getting each other through the grieving process, but eventually it turns into a much deeper connection.

—-

authors:

@ hunnyfresh | ao3

@ devje | ao3

@LZClotho (LZielinsky) | ao3

@LunaCeMore | ao3

@ClashofShips | ao3

@Z_OTAKU19 | ao3

@ starsthatburn | ao3

@ emmasyellowbug | ao3

@JuiceCup | ao3

@AshKnight | ao3

@Ash M. Knight | fanfic.net

@IShipLOVE | fanfic.net

@ angstbot | ao3

@rhysMerilot | ao3

@XSerendipity92X | fanfic.net

@AnotherEvilRegal | fanfic.net

@Nasty Nikolo | fanfic.net

@Gravity In the Air | fanfic.net

@PlayfulMay | ao3

@LittleSwanLover | ao3

@AOBZ | ao3

[scarletwitchproperty]

Helloooooo help I can’t breathe no more she took my breath away send help need to go to the hospital 😭😂🫣

excuse me? excuse me? excuse me? mommy? sorry. mommy?

[scarletwitchproperty]

Ahem hellooo??? How dare you look this good 😳🫣😫

I love you

[scarletwitchproperty]

The way I would stop breathing if such a thing happened to me 🫢🫡

Just a thought…

Avengers groups on vacation at one of Starks cabins. It’s late at night everyone has been drinking and they’re now all settled around the couches chatting, joking, and teasing each other. Reader is sitting in between Nat and Wanda. They are not a thing but Nat and Wanda (who are dating) are definitely interested in Reader. Anyways some how they get onto the topic of who out of the group is a bottom and who is a top. Reader is pretty fucking buzzed at this point.

Y/n : “YOU THINK I AM A BOTTOM???!? ME?!? I am the least bottom-ie bottom of all bottoms!.!. I AM the tippiest of all tops. —”

Everyone chuckling Wanda and Nat smirking

Y/n : “like please I am the teller of what is to be done. Nobody and I mean NOBODY can tell me THE TELLER what to do—”

Wanda : “oh yeah?”

Y/n : “uh huh (kinda slurred) no body (hiccup) can tell me what to do.”

Wanda : “Can you hand me my drink off the table sweetheart?”

Y/n : “huh? Oh yeah of course. Here you go. Now as I was saying —”

Wanda : “hand this to Nat for me.” (Gives them Nat’s phone)

Y/n : (passes the phone) “here you go Nat. Um where was I?” Looks at Nat for directions.

Nat: “you were saying how nobody can tell you what to do.”

Y/n : “Oh right, yeah you got to be crazy if you’d think I’d ever let somebody tell me what to do.”

Wanda : “go grab my bag off the table over there for me hun”

Y/n : “Okay, over here?” (get up and walks towards the table)

Wanda : “Yes, the black book bag with my red insignia on it”

Y/n : (whispers to themselves -“insign-who?” Searches and holds one up) “this one?”

Wanda : “Yes hun, that one. Now bring it over here.”

Y/n : (walks over and hands her the bag) “like I was saying - takes another drink - you will not find me underneath no one. Nobody can make me do anything or tell ME what to do. I call the shots around here.”

Everyone quietly dying laughing

Y/n : “I -hiccup- I wear the um strap in the relationship”

Nat : (leans forward) “Oh you do now?”

Y/n : “Y-Yes. Very much so. I stay strapped.”

Nat : “is that so?”

Y/n : “Yep”

Nat : (grabs the bag from Wanda and unzips it. She reaches down in and pulls out a red strap-on) “put it on then”

Everyone dying at this point while Nat looks so smug and readers eyes are bulging out of their head choking a bit on their drink.

Y/n : “well…well I mean..I…um”

Nat : “Come on Ms I stay strapped. Let’s see you put it on.”

Y/n : (grabs the strap then looks at Nat for direction)

Nat : “Go ahead..let’s see it”

Y/n : (has never put on a strap before goes to put it over her pants)

Wanda : “it’s upside down sweetheart”

Y/n : “right I knew that I was just checking it out.”

Y/n : (goes to step in it)

Nat : “you know that’s not where your leg goes right?”

Y/n : “oh yeah heh I was just getting my footing”

Y/n: (takes foot out then tries to put it in the right hole. Gets tripped up and starts to fall (drunk balance and all) and Nat catches them)

Nat : “here let me help” (Nat puts their legs in the right places and pulls it all the way till it’s snug. Wanda reaches over and pulls the straps tight to where it’s jostling y/n a bit)

Wanda: “there you go”

Y/n : ( their face is beet red with a little overly large red dildo hanging between their legs after being fussed over (slightly manhandled) to put in on by Nat and Wanda.

Nat : “as you were saying….”

[scarletwitchproperty]

This made me feel things 😳🫢😏

in her bed - Taylor Swift x fem!Reader Smut

warnings: smut, 18+ only

summary: Taylor Swift x fem!reader smut/lemon

requested: yes

word count: 1,063

The sun gleamed through the high rise windows as the light shone on your face, waking you up, unceremoniously. A muffled groan came from your lips as you adjusted your sleep-set eyes to the light.

You began to take in your surroundings as you laid in bed, a thin blanket lazily draped across your mid-section, leaving your upper half exposed to the brisk air. The room was generally kept together except for the sprawling of clothes littered around the floor, flung haphazardly into different places.

Two sets of clothes. Suddenly, the events of last night came flooding back to you in snapshots as you tried to calm yourself down, your heartbeat increasing rapidly as you tried to slow down your breathing, failing miserably.

I've never done anything like this before...

Neither have I but I'm willing to try. My God – I want to try.

Please...

Yes! Oh God, yes!

Waves of recognition flooded over your mind as you recalled what you had done last night – what you both had done last night. Hot breath drifting over each others necks, kisses planted down every inch of her skin, the electrifying feeling of every nerve alighting in your body as you brought each other to climax. You remembered the sound of her soft moans and the feeling of you grasping for more of each other. You began to feel a warmth spread throughout your body just recalling it, then you heard shifting and a groan from beside you.

Taylor. You had genuinely slept with the person you considered a best friend and now looking at the woman splayed out across the pillow, her blonde hair shining in the morning glow, you didn't know how this would affect your friendship.

"Morning." She whispered. You jumped being startled by your own thoughts, turning to see Taylor looking up at you with a small smile hinting on her lips. "Hey... Good morning." You replied, feeling a heat spread across your whole body. "I didn't hear you wake up." You stated, trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably.

Taylor rose halfway, her back now propped up against the headboard, "Yeah, well you tuckered me out pretty quickly," A mischievous glint in her eyes as she continued, "I really, really enjoyed last night."

You felt relieved to know that it wasn't just you who felt good about last night, to know that you hadn't just fabricated her passion and energy in your head. "Me too." You stared fixedly at Taylor awaiting to see what she would do next.

Instead, she leaned in and connected your lips in a kiss, your mouths moved over each other in tandem as you clutched a hand in Taylor's hair. Biting the other woman's lip, you let out a groan as you felt a pulse of heat to your clit.

Moving your mouth over to her neck, you sucked on her pulse point, running your hands over her smooth curves of as if you were trying to memorise every skin cell. You moved your hands down to Taylor's breasts, only slightly bigger than a handful with stiff pink peaks, you rolled them around in your hands and felt Taylor keen towards your touch.

"Please, touch me." She moaned as you manoeuvred yourselves with you in between her legs. You hastily moved forward and started to suck on her clit. Carefully, you pushed your tongue around the woman's folds, increasing when you heard a gasp or moan, alternating between sucking on her clit and pushing your tongue inside of her. Instinctively, Taylor's hands found solace in your hair as she pushed you down, getting closer to climaxing.

A burst of heat ran through Taylor's body as she was brought to orgasm, her body thrashing on the bed as a pleasuring hum rattled through her body. Riding her through the aftershocks, you kept her mouth fixed on her heat until she pushed you away.

With a shaky laugh Taylor leaned down to kiss you, her scent and taste mixing on your tongues. She gave you a lazy smile as she began to lean back in content.

"Oh no, we are so not done yet." You said as you pulled her on top of you. You began to kiss her fiercely, with increasing intensity as she ran her tongue across your jaw, you felt an ache of pleasure through your core. She sucked on the skin of your neck as if she was trying to map out every spot that made you tingle with pleasure.

Non-expertly, with an amused chuckle, she manoeuvred you so she was on top, you were completely at her mercy. Your breathing became ragged with anticipation as she inched her way down your body, occasionally stopping to suck on your skin or lay kisses on you. When she arrived at your lower half, she immediately licked a stripe up towards your clit which made you whimper at the intenseness.

Slowly, she moved her tongue around your folds, never quite speeding up but keeping the powerful force as she lapped up against you. Your every guard was down as you felt yourself to succumb to her passion. You closed your eyes as you felt her push one finger inside you, as she moved it in, inch by inch.

It was agonisingly slow, but the fervour and devotion made you come closer and closer to climax. "Taylor, please..." You whined as you tried to push her to give you more, but she stubbornly kept her pace.

She slipped in another finger and the heat in the room increased, you now felt trapped in the moment but the pleasure kept you enamoured with her. Speeding up, she moved her fingers in and out of you with one hand splayed against your thigh, rubbing small circles on it. The only sound in the room were your reverberating moans, as the noise of your fulfilment ignited her determination.

The stimulation sent you over the edge as you climaxed, gasping through the pleasure, huffing as the aftershocks arrived. Through a post-orgasm haze you looked down at her, the cheeky smirk she had given you earlier was still emblazoned on her face.

"You're amazing." You breathed out, attempting to lean up against the headboard but she jerked your arm back down keeping a steady grip with one hand on your thigh.

"Oh, you didn't think we were done yet, did you?" She smirked.

end.

[scarletwitchproperty]

No because I always leave a comment too and I posted a new one of mine recently on ao3 and I’m not kidding that when I say that I read every single one and they make my day 😭 even the one with only emojis, then I know they enjoyed it at least 🥺😭

I’m a big advocate for comments on fics 💖

[scarletwitchproperty]

Well damn 😳🫣 I did not blush your honor, I swear I didn’t 😌😏👀

to celebrate tumblr fixing the status of my blog here is the dumbest thing i've drawn this year

[scarletwitchproperty]

What’s work? Who’s she? I don’t know any work, I only know Mommy Wanda 😌😏

Going to the office

Wanda Maximoff / Reader Word count: 4.7k Summery: You and Wanda have been living together for a while now, settling around each other, but some times going to the office is inevitable. Or that’s what you think, until Wanda proves you wrong. Warnings: NSFW, Smut 18+, lesbian relationship, strap-on use, fingering, oral, Dom!Wanda, Top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader,  ———————————————————————————————————– You hated going to the office. You just did. You loved your job, which is why you quickly moved through the ranks at your company, gaining a name for yourself as professional and reliable. You were entrusted with your own team and you managed them well. Yours was the best team this company had. But the office was a choir. The makeup, the hair, having to lose all this time in traffic jams… It just wasn’t worth it. Which is why you mostly worked from home. It gave you so much of your time back, helped you focus… And most importantly, it gave you more time to spend with your girlfriend - Wanda Maximoff. God, just thinking about it made you giddy! Wanda Maximoff was the best thing to ever happen to you and she was your girlfriend. When you met her, you never though that she would be interested in you. You were quiet by nature, a good listener and just a bit shy. She on the other hand was a goddess of a woman. Her perfect red hair, falling in heavy curls around her face, her deep, piercing green eyes, that confident smirk, plastered on her face… You thought she’d never notice you. But she did. She came right over and introduced herself and by the end of your interaction, at your favorite coffee shop none the less, she had asked you out, and to your relief, you managed to say yes, without embarrassing yourself. Now, months later, you had moved in with her and it was better than ever. She woke up earlier than you in the mornings, so she always made coffee for the both of you. Knew exactly how you liked it too. You worked in separate rooms, but kept in touch, sinched your schedules, so you can have lunch together every day and just talk. You brought her coffee or tea in the afternoons, just as an excuse to have her take a short break, when you knew she needed them. It was heaven really. Which is why, having to go to the office today, was irritating you so much. But onboarding people was faster and much easier in person and you wanted them to start working as quickly as possible, so you had to accept that you’d have to go to the office. Your alarm rang earlier than you were used to and you tried to pry yourself from Wanda’s embrace as gently as you could, but she still stirred, so you decided to return the favor for once and make her coffee. You drank yours while getting dressed, watching her sip hers from the bed, as her eyes followed you. Picking out an outfit was a challenge, but you decided on tight leather pants, accentuated by your favorite chain belt, a white silk shirt with just enough buttons left unbuttoned to let the eyes drift down to your cleavage and a black blazer. While you were putting it all on, you never noticed the way Wanda’s eyes darkened, or the way they followed you around the room, like a hungry predator. You knew she had a jealous streak like no one you’ve ever met. You knew even better just how possessive she was and how much she loved to claim you, to leave marks on your skin. Some scattered across your neck for everyone to see, others left on the inside of your thighs or your chest – for her eyes only. You knew. But she was getting more comfortable in your relationship, more confident in your love for her, more emboldened by the knowledge that she owned you - hart and soul. So you thought nothing, when you gave her a little twirl, so she can see you from all sides. - What do you think, Wands? - You look gorgeous, my darling. – She said in a tone, huskier than you expected. Your eyes lit up from the compliment, cheeks heating up, flushed and pink as you stood there, your body being devoured by her gaze. - Thank you. – You managed to say, still not used to her complimenting you, even after all this time, before starting to back away from the room, so you can start prepping your hair and makeup, as well as your bag for work. Your laptop bag was overflowing by the time you were finished. Stuffed with not only your laptop, but your favorite note book and fountain pen, headphones, wallet, keys and whatever else item you deemed needed, but to your relief, you managed to get everything together and yourself ready, leaving yourself enough time to go for a cup of coffee to go, before arriving at the office, since the one you made yourself was mostly untouched in your hurry to get ready. Everything was prepped and you were about to go kiss Wanda ‘’Goodbye’’ for the day, when she walked into the room. She looked you over, taking you in. - You’re leaving early. – She remarked as she saw your bag. - I wanted to go to our coffee shop, you know, the one where we met, so I can have a nice cup of coffee to start the day with, instead of that swill they have at the office. She walked closer, silently observing you while you spoke. Almost appraising in the way her head tilted a little. - I have something better to start your day with. – She told you, as she crossed the distance between you and her hands immediately grabbed your hipbones. Her moth was on you next, kissing your lips firmly, prying them open with her tongue, so she can delve even deeper. You could melt. You wanted to. But you didn’t have time for the game Wanda wanted to play. You knew if you let her continue, you’d be late and far less pristine than you hoped to look. When she let her moth move lower, over your jaw and neck, peppering kisses everywhere she could, you spoke. - Wanda, I don’t have time for that. – You tried to sound firm, but her hands on your body, now stroking and making their way to the waistband of your pants had you feeling needy for her. - I’ll be quick, baby. – She tells you, already turning you around, so she can press your bodies together from behind. She pulls your waist closer, your ass firmly into her and she grinds against you in a way that has your breath caught in your throat. She’s waring a strap, a big one at that. You can feel it nudging you as she moves, pulling your shirt out of your pants, so Wanda can sneak her hands underneath and grab your breasts, while her mouth attaches itself on your neck once again. - Wanda, I really can’t be late. – You try to protest. Somewhere in the back of your head, the rational part of you is still trying to tell you to stop her while you can. - Then stop arguing with me, little one, and let me play with you. She won’t take no for an answer. From the moment she saw you put that outfit on, she wanted to ravage you. She had that internal battle while you were getting ready, the one you’re having right now and the part of her that needed to take you had won. Now it was time for you to capitulate as well. - Don’t you want me to make you feel good, baby? – She said as her hands played with your nipples through your bra. – Don’t you want me to fill you up with my strap? - I do… – You sounded breathless just from this. You were going to lose this battle if you didn’t stop her soon. – But I can’t now. One of her hands snaked out of your shirt and up, closing in around your throat, so she can hold you steadily, while the other reached down, expertly unclasping your little belt and popping the button of your tight pants. - Shhh. Just let me play with you, baby. It will feel so good. – Her voice against your ear is deceivingly sweet. A stark contrast to her firm movements. - Wanda… - You try to say something. An argument you hadn’t even thought of yet, but her hand around your throat closes sharply, cutting off anything you might have tried to say. - Enough of that, little one. – Her voice is stern now, leaving no room for protests as she pulls down your zipper and moves her hand under your pants, so she can cup you through your panties. She strokes you firmly through the fabric, knowing your body like the back of her hand by now. Knowing just how to touch you, so she can have you a wet, needy mess for her. - You should know better than to say ‘’No’’ to Mommy, baby. You know you have to let me use that pretty pussy whenever I want. Something inside you clicks at the use of that title. She’s used it before. In the nights when you’ve let her get lost in her dirty talk and her praise. At first, she was careful about it. Trying not to scare you away with how filthy she could be, how depraved her thoughts could get when she had you at her mercy. But you loved it. From the first moment she used it, you loved it. Now she was more confident with that as well. Assertive and dominant and so deliciously rough while she spoke the sweetest things to you. - Are you going to be a good girl for Mommy and do as I say, or do I have to tie you down to get you to behave? – She asks as her hand slips out of your pants only to move under the waistband of your panties and stroke your pussy. – The more you resist me, the longer it will take, Y/N. But you should know by now, Mommy always gets what she wants, one way or another. This time you only moan. Work entirely forgotten as she starts to take over your senses. Instead of fighting you reach back to hold onto her, to have some kind of contact with her. When your head turns, searching for her lips, so you can kiss her again, she knows she has you. She kisses you with all her passion, letting you feel the desire that burns inside her for a few moments before she breaks the kiss. - Lost for words, baby? – She asks with a smirk, as she turns you around one more time and starts to pull down your pants. She drags them down your thighs, taking your panties with them, before her hand is on your neck again. – Answer me. Unless you want me to edge you and send you to work all needy and desperate for my cock. This gets your attention and you swallow thickly, scrambling to answer, knowing full well that it was not an empty threat. She was more than capable of doing it and if she set her mind to it, no amount of begging would change her decision. - I’ll be a good girl, Mommy! – You say in a rush, as she starts her ministrations on your pussy. Stroking through your folds and circling your clit in a way that has you soaked. - Oh really? – She sees the fear in your eyes. The thought of a whole day without her, needy and edged and desperate for her touch. Wanda files away the idea for another day. – Now you want to be good for me? I thought you were in a hurry to leave? Her hand never stops, making it harder to think as your mind starts to drift away and your body starts to burn with need. - No, Mommy, no. I want to stay here. – You tap into the part of you that you know didn’t want to go to work today in the first place. – To be your good girl and to do everything Mommy wants. I want you to touch me and use me and fill me up with your cock… Your words get cut off by her fingers pushing into you. All the way inside in one firm thrust of her hand and suddenly all you can do is gasp. She feels so good inside you. Her long fingers filling you up and curling deliciously. Her other hand never left your throat and it holds you steadily as she starts to thrust. Her eyes still devour you, hungrier than before. - Is that what you want, sweet thing? You want to stay here and be Mommy’s little toy? Used for my pleasure over and over again? You nod eagerly, hands wrapping around her securely, body pressing into her as the last of your resistance slips away. You know you’d let her do anything, you’d say anything, as long as she moves inside you like that. - Use your words. – She encourages you, while she leans forward, head nestling in the crook of your neck, so she can leave kisses and nips there. - Yes, Mommy. – You pant against her, holding onto her for dear life as the pleasure starts to build. – I want to stay here, in your arms. I want to get lost in your kisses. I want to feel your lips on mine, your hands on my body, your fingers inside me… I want to get lost in you. In the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you smell. I want to be your good girl. Let you do whatever you want to me. Follow every command and do everything you want so I can please you too! Wanda growls against your neck. You’re never this outspoken. Never this shamelessly open. Usually, she’s more vocal in these moments, dirty talk spilling off her lips like honey, but she likes seeing you like this. Desperate enough for her touch that you’d tell her all your secret desires, just so she would fuck you more. She bites your neck, just as her fingers curl inside you, hitting your sweet spot and making you see stars and you moan, grinding against her more. But before you can set a rhythm with her ministrations, she pulls her fingers out, pulling you from the haze that was just starting to set in. Before you can protest, she starts to push you backwards, until your knees hit the couch and you land on it with a heavy thud. Wanda sinks to her knees, pulling your pants and panties the rest of the way off your body, discarding them unceremoniously and she spreads your legs. The sight of you leaves her hungrier than before. Your delicious pussy on full display for her, juices spilling out of you, as you twitch with anticipation. You’re perfect. - Do you want me to continue, baby? Do you want Mommy to keep fucking you? - God, yes! Please, Mommy, don’t stop. - I won’t stop, my darling. Mommy will take care of this sweet pussy. But you have to do something for me, ok? – Wanda strokes your clit with her thumb as she looks at you, leaning in closer, almost giving you what you want. - Anything, please. – You’d agree to anything, just to get her to touch you more. - You’re going to have to tell me what you want Mommy to do to you. – She tells you and she drags her tongue through your opening. – Can you do that baby? - Mommy, please! – You don’t know if you can do it. She feels too good. She makes it so easy to get lost in her. You don’t know if you’ll be able to hold on to your own thoughts. - You can do it, baby. – She encourages you sweetly. Leaning in again, swiping her tongue over your pussy again, stopping just below your clit, which she’s still stroking with her thumb. – You said you wanted to be a good girl. And good girls do as Mommy says. She pushes her tongue inside this time. As deep as she can reach, making you throw your head back in a moan of pleasure. - Go on, baby. Tell Mommy what you want. – She asks again, moving her thumb away from your clit, so she can use her hand to push her fingers inside you. - Oh fuck! – You curse as she stretches you again. – This is what I want, Mommy! I want to feel your fingers inside me! She smiles triumphantly. As a reward, she wraps her lips around your clit. She starts to lick in tight circles around it as her fingers start to pump inside you. She wants to make you cum and she doesn’t have much time left. She has other plans for you as well, so she sets a fast pace from the start, making you see stars. When you don’t speak up again, she slaps your thigh. Just enough to get your attention and as you look down at her you already know what she wants. - Oh my… - You moan out as she curls her fingers again. – I … I want more of your tongue on my pussy. I love the way you eat me. Like it’s your favorite meal. Like I’m your last meal. She keeps her eyes on you as you speak. Taking in every word, as she works you towards the edge. - I… - You pant, burning under her ministrations, under her smoldering gaze. – It feels so good, Mommy! Your fingers inside me feel so good! You’re the only one who can make me feel like that! You turn me on so much. You make me so wet, so needy… You’re getting close. You have your eyes closed. You can’t look her in the eye when you tell her she owns you. But you know her eyes won’t leave you. Wanda knows every word is true and she is loving it so much. Feeding off your confessions, as she devours your pussy and pushing you closer to an inevitable edge. - Nobody makes me wet like you do. No one ever could. Only you! – You struggle to get the words out, but she rewards you by doubling her efforts. – Only you can make me fall apart like that. – She pumps her fingers inside you faster, making you throw your head back. - You ruined me the first time you touched me! – You almost scream. You’re so close! – Mommy, I need you! Only you can make me feel this good. Please! Mommy, please, please… Wanda sucks on your clit at that, pushing you over the edge in an orgasm that takes your breath away. Her fingers never stop. Helping you ride out your orgasm, that has you moaning, hands squeezing the couch cushions desperately. It’s so good your legs close around her head and you arch almost painfully, but she doesn’t let up, until she has squeezed every last drop of pleasure you had to give. When you come down and she pulls her fingers out of you, you sag for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts, but she doesn’t give you time for that. She lifts you up, only to make you turn around and land on the couch again, this time on your knees. As you do, your eyes fly open at the realization. The strap! She had a strap under the pajama bottoms she was wearing and she had every intention of still fucking you with it. As she pulls down her bottoms, you look back, only to see your suspicions confirmed. - Mommy, please… - You start out, unsure what to beg for. You want it. Badly. But you just came and your body is still so sensitive. – I can’t take it. - Yes, you can, baby. – She tells you, aligning her cock with your entrance. – Let Mommy make you feel good, ok? Mommy’s been wanting to fill you up with her cum all morning. Your eyes widen, but she doesn’t give you time to protest, as she slides the strap all the way inside you. She prepped you with her fingers, but her strap is bigger. It stretches you out deliciously as it enters you, all the way to the hilt, and you feel her flush against you. - Yes, just like that. – Wanda whispers out, as she stills inside you for a moment. – Just like that! Nice and full of Mommy’s cock. You can only moan. Still sensitive from your first orgasm and yet so desperate for more. Desperate for her to fully claim you. To have her fuck you senseless and stuff you full of her cum. She starts to pull out of you slowly and you brace yourself. She has her hands on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place and you know that this slow pace won’t last long. She gives you a few more gentle thrusts, sensually grinding against you from behind as she does it, just to see you squirm with need, before she starts to move her hips faster. - God, I love fucking this little pussy, Y/N. Always so responsive to me. So needy for me. – She slows down her pace just to hear you whine in need. Just to prove her point. – And so fucking tight! I can feel you squeezing and pulsing around my cock, baby. Just like the little slut I know you are! You whine at the degradation of her words, but she snaps her hips forward and your whines turn to moans as you feel her even deeper inside you. - Don’t worry, my sweet. That’s how I like you. You’re my little cock slut, aren’t you? You moan out in response, to lost in pleasure to speak, but it’s not good enough for her. - Speak up, baby! – She tells you sternly, landing a sharp slap to your ass. - Yes, Mommy! I’m your little cock slut! - That’s right. – She smirks behind you, reaching around you to start rubbing on your clit, while her strap slides in and out of you. – And do you know what I do with needy little sluts? Do you know what I’m going to do to you? For a moment you panic. You think she’ll stop. That’s she’ll pull out of you and leave you a desperate mess for the rest of the day. - No, Mommy, please… - Oh, are you worried Mommy’s gonna stop sweetheart? Worried I won’t let you cum? - Mommy, please… - You don’t even know where to begin to beg. Her cock inside you feels so good and she’s fucking you just right, hitting that spot inside you again and again in a way that’s causing you to see stars and you just know it will be so amazing, you might just have to stay home after all. But Wanda has no intentions of stopping. No intentions of denying you. Not now, not today. Your need is feeding that monster inside her, that beast that needs to see you fall apart, needs to have you fucked out and a complete mess and she has every intention of doing just that. She also wants to remind you who owns you. And she was going to do both. - No, I’m not going to stop, baby. Wanda quickens her pace and puts more pressure on your clit. Her other hand removes itself from your waist, so she can grab your hair and lift you up, so you can be flush against her. She kisses your neck and bites your earlobe, panting against you from the effort. - Mommy’s going to pump you so full of cum, Y/N. – She whispers to you seductively as she holds you close. Your body shakes at the mere thought of it. – I’m going to breed you, just like you deserve. – She starts to fuck you faster, more determined, knowing you’re getting so close. Knowing her words are going to push you over the edge. – I’ll watch you fall apart on my cock and I’m going to enjoy every second of putting your panties back on, while my cum still leaks out of your used pussy and sending you to work like that. You gasp at the though. The dirtiness of it only sparks more arousal inside you. Makes you want it even more. Makes you push yourself more snugly against her. - Oh you like that? Such a dirty little girl. Wanting to spend all day with Mommy’s cum leaking out of her ruined pussy. I wonder if anyone will notice… - She muses as she fucks you. – The fresh hickeys I left all over your neck… Or the way you’ll barely walk once I’m done with you. What would they say about you, hm? – She rubs your clit harder at that. – Doesn’t matter. – She decides. – It only matters that you’re mine, Y/N! That you’re my girl! That this is my body! That only I get to fuck this pussy! – Wanda pants against your ear. – Don’t ever forget it, baby girl. - Oh my God! – You gasp. It’s too much. You’re so close and the way she spills all those filthy things out of her lips is driving you wild. – Mommy, I’m gonna… - Yes, cum for me, Y/n! Show Mommy what a good girl you are and cum all over my cock! As if her permission is all your body was waiting for, you start to fall apart. Your walls clench around her strap and you throw your head back on her shoulder, shaking as she squeezes her toy, shooting her cum deep inside you, while she helps you ride it all out. It’s the best orgasm of your life and you stay still against her as she holds you, strap still buried as deep inside you as she could go. You both pant, tired and sweaty and completely disheveled and you both love every second of it. When she tries to pull out, you whine, trying to hold her against you. - No, please Mommy, please, I need you inside me. – You’re shaking, but the way she has you filled up is divine. She’s tempted. To pull you in and onto the couch and not let you go. But you both have work. - You have to leave kitten. You’ll be late. – She tells you, while trying to pull you away from her, but you hold her hands around you. - I’m already late, Mommy. – You tell her with a soft chuckle as you look at the clock. – I won’t make it to the office anyway. But if I work from home today… We’ll have 30 more minutes to cuddle. - Is that so, little one? – Wanda asks, already pulling your shirt up and over your head. Your bra quickly follows and she cups your breasts. – That’s plenty of time for Mommy to play with you one more time. She pulls you in for a kiss and you realize you’re overly sensitive and still shaking from your last orgasm. The cock still buried inside you, plugging her cum inside, doesn’t help matters in the slightest either. - Or I can make you feel good. – You offer, hoping to seduce her into giving you a well-deserved rest. Wanda pulls out then. Slowly. So gently it has you melt. You think you won her over, but she only pulls away from you, so she can turn you around and push you back on the couch, laying you on your back and settling between your legs, before you had a chance to close them. Wanda moans at the sight of her cum leaking out of you. You’re just so damn irresistible. - That’s what the lunch break is for. – Wanda tells you, before taking a long stroke of her tongue against your clit and moaning at your taste. – Mommy wants another taste of my little girl. With the smirk she has plastered on her face and the devilish way her eyes sparkle, you don’t even think to argue with her. ———————————————————————————————————– Ok, so …. This is my first Wanda story and it took me a long time to actually convince myself to post it. If you like it, let me know :)

[scarletwitchproperty]

This had me feeling things 😳🫣😩 Nat can ruin me any day, please and thank you 😌😏

Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Requested by 🕸 anon: I wish i could write because i’m always coming up with such good ideas and basically you’re one of my fav writers on tumblr so i’m giving u a request even if there closed maybe you’ll consider it when you open them back up But anyways yea, y/n being drekovs daughter and dark nat literally destroying y/ns insides with her strap🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻i just think it would be soooo hot for nat to be all up in drekovs face rilling him up being smug and cocky saying that we are no longer his little girl and that she ruined y/n and the look of anger on his face as she tells him about all the ways she had y/n bent over shaking and creaming all over her cock-🕸

18+ only, read at your own risk

AN: Consider it done, anon, and thank you for your kind words. Enjoy. 😘

Afficher davantage

[scarletwitchproperty]

Absolutely brilliant, almost had me in tears 🥹😭💔

save your tears for another day | w. maximoff

summary: you and Wanda had a troubled relationship to say the least, which from the beginning was doomed to end. but all it takes is one mission that leads to a little girl with her eyes and your nose for your life and hers to change completely.

warnings: angst, mentions of smoking, parental abandonment, trauma.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 17k

A/N: this is, like, huge. it took a long time to write. i don't think i've ever genuinely tried so hard for something kjfskdfhsdk

anyways, enjoy!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

It's late in the night, one-o'clock or so (maybe more, by no means less than that). It's eerily quiet in the alleys of Lower Manhattan, as if the whole region was in anticipation for this night, its shrewd eyes looking into your loft, into you.

It's that late dawn when you find yourself deep into the night to sit comfortable in a high swivel chair placed on the wide balcony of your loft, so many feet above the sidewalk, the people’s heads and the streetlights, to smoke a sturdy cigarette which in nothing you like to taste (the sensation that slides across the face of your tongue is bitter and rough, like chewing on a sandy stone).

It's a shamefully commonplace bad habit in your actions, adopted here and there, that usually accompanies you in puffs of swirling smoke throughout your lonely reveries taken at moments like this, grounded in darkness and an emptiness that tends to be purely melancholy, all enveloped in an air of taciturnity – you feel shimmers of icy wind passing through the bristly skin of your bare shins, devoid of any clothes, because you wear only a pair of shorts and an old hoodie of a dull, red and faded color that is not really yours over a thin plain tank top.

The hoodie doesn't smell like cigarettes, and it doesn't smell like you also. The scent that exudes from the fabric, after all, is hers, purely hers – like a memory that touches your skin, your bones.

This isn’t one of those nights that are too hot and not too cold, however, something that is reflected in your clothing choices; the comfortable and appreciative mood that blankets the entire dark city of New York is just inviting, you dare to think to yourself in your trains of thought that never stop. It's not very windy against your ankles or your weather-frozen cheekbones, but even so, your hair sways calmly, rustling behind your ears like a flag hoisted on a pole.

You just can't rest your head on the pillow to let yourself be carried away by the blandishments of sleep. So, after minutes or hours of staring at the boring monochrome ceiling above your bed with a restless agitation girdling the inside of your contrite chest, your time it is all spent on blunt remarks and mental notes made in your native language that at this point in life, might even sound like an alien to you – you get some of the word ordering wrong, while some elocution of others just sounds odd to your ears.

“Будь что будет.”

There is a slurred pause in your nasal speech, as if your tongue is catching between your teeth in the act of dancing against the roof of your mouth as you emulate the words that make up an ancient proverb, whose meaning you no longer quite remember correctly. And that prickly popular Sokovian dialect, colloquial in the most acute sense of the word and with a slightly less elaborate pronunciation and worthy of the lower classes, disappears little by little from your daily life like a healed and bleached scar, to which you cling like a grown child who carries with you a secure infantile memory, still so reluctant or even unable to let go of something that is no longer yours to hold on to.

You don't really have pleasant memories of your old Sokovian life in fact, so it even surprises you that something in you wants so much to keep a last shred of your cultural identity with you, that you don't want to let the world rob you of even that. Maybe, you think, maybe if you let the Sokovian go, you won't exist anymore. Something in you will change, and you will no longer be the person you know you are. And you also know that you're the stuck-up type of person, who doesn't handle change very well.

And then you talk again, again and again, like a broken record player. After all, you don't want to change.

Silence gives you permission to think calmly, like a bar company that eventually leaves you alone to drink your grievances from low-cut glasses. The view gives you a feeling of a fragile welcome; belonging to a collective kind of brings doses of contentment to your life. Although a lonely night is the inescapable epilogue to your existence according to the consequences of the actions that guided you in life, you like the vague idea of being a sociable animal, as the ancient philosophers would say.

From above, as if you were really omniscient or just an intangible deific figure, the big city is actually small and fragile, like a cornered sick person in dire need of protection – New York is just a black backdrop with tiny little lights encrusted along its entire length, like a long patchwork quilt rolled up in Christmas lights.

At this time of day, there are almost no good people to meet on the streets and you can hear a car horn and the screeching of tires running along the asphalt in the distance. Well, you think, what the hell.

Having retired the black outfit with indigo-detailed side stripes to the back of your wardrobe a while ago, inside a big dark bag, you just know that this is no longer a problem you have to solve. There's another range of masked and well-educated people hanging around, several of them younger and maybe a lot more willing, and you're no longer required to preserve the well-being of the life of the average New York citizen.

You then just snatch a thin cigarette with your right fingers from the half-crumpled wad of paper that was in the back pocket of your shorts and fit it through the gap between your lips, moving with the same expectant hand to the inside the single pocket of your hoodie, searching for the silver lighter in a dull action that already gives you a certain muscle memory when doing it.

Moving with your elbow, you bring the small metal accessory closer to your face, at the height of your chin, and sliding the cheek of your thumb across the stone you attempt to ignite a spark, but the attempt fails and you just grunt in discontent. The lighter clicks again, but one more time, there is no flicker to light your cigarette hanging from the middle of your mouth. The length of your fingers surrounded by a number of silver rings press tight against the metal of the tool.

“Dammit...”

There's a second frustrating attempt, and another one after that, and the third time is equally unsuccessful until you hear the doorbell chirp softly into the glass-and-concrete interior of the loft behind you, which is lit by low-yellow lighting that comes from a shy glowing globular lamp next to a spacious dark sofa. Your eyes leave the city to focus on the sound germ behind your back, turning with your chin over your right shoulder.

And you raise an eyebrow to the middle of your forehead, creasing the skin beam of your brow in disagreement because it's one-o'clock in the morning and someone's at your door, waiting for you – the cigarette blistered to your lips, so long ago forgotten; the lighter now lowered in your right hand in unconscious defeat.

The ethereal silence haunts the corners of the night, broken by the colorful phantasmagoric neon lights beamed from the tall imposing signs of Times Square. Your ears are as attentive as those of a guard dog, but at such a distance, no sound is picked up by your hearing ability, which is not one of your singular aptitudes, and, therefore, is restricted to the common and ordinary. And then, you aim your attentive gaze towards the front door. Something unsettling grips the walls of your stomach.

It doesn't take a considerable effort for the atoms that make up your body mass to become auspicious, changing and charging, and a spontaneous lapse that leaves a trail of blueish light in the physical space around you causes your molecules to reconstitute themselves in front of the light wooden door of the entrance of your house, in a usual teleportation that, thanks to your skills of a genetically altered human being, becomes customary in your daily reality.

In a heartbeat, without giving it much thought in a window of time as slim as the speed of the hands of a clock that exclusively ticks the seconds that pass, you disappear from the balcony in a kind of vortex, a crease in physical reality, only to reappear inside the loft, feeling the heated floor against your bare feet.

A distressing hesitation runs through the palm of your right hand as you lift it to thread your fingers around the cold metal of the knob, hovering it through the air before completing the act, open, as if waiting for the knob to come to your fingers. But your powers have honed in you a somewhat reckless nature that is already rooted within you, and the hardened life of a crime fighter has left you just a little bit tired for small, impassive combat.

After all, if you had to sum up the purposeful range of your abilities, you'd say your specialty lies in the act of running away. It only takes one thought for you to flee, for your body to dematerialize in one place only to consubstantiate in any remote location that your brain can imagine; from Siberia to Kazakhstan, from Patagonia to China, across the entire globe if necessary. Just an idea, a measly lucid thought, and the action will be done before you can even bat with your eyes.

So there's no real reason for the person behind the door to be a cause for concern on your part. Even if you still have to remind yourself of that fact again, again and again, hammering inside your skull before taking care of your unexpected visitor.

With your fingers now hooked around the doorknob, you turn the knuckle of your wrist to the side so that you are able to open the door which, once flung open, gives you the familiar sight of the apartment's dark hallway, greeting you with a blank look and darkened walls. And it's fuzzy for half a second until you reflexively bring your field of view down to your ribs, about the end of the hoodie laces that dangle across your chest.

And then a pair of emerald eyes stares back at you, so expectant and full of the glow of a life still so exciting to live, as if that piercing green wants to rip your soul out of your chest; it is a familiar shade of green that stands out in the eyes of a small child with profuse brown hair that falls in a fluid movement over her scrawny shoulders, the tip of her nose so similar to your own that it is even astonishing to see it elsewhere other than in your own bathroom mirror, early in the morning.

Greenish eyes, but then, your nose structure. You blink once. She wears tiny, unlaced red shoes that were a birthday present from her mother on her feet.

“Miss Y/l/n…”

A childish, hesitant voice greets you, which just doesn't sound all that comfortable in your presence – after all, to her you were never the warm and welcoming auntie Y/n, like the relationship she has with Natasha Romanoff or even Laura Barton, or any other title that she might link to your vague existence in her life. It was always just the cold, distant Ms. Y/l/n, lurking around corners like an ethereal shadow, avoiding her as if to ward off a contagious and deadly disease.

Timidly, her gaze strays to the side, behind thick, dark eyelashes, to the doorframe or the floor beneath your feet. Her small shoulders look hardened into the jacket she wears, as if her age-limited cognition isn't capable of crafting a conversation with you once the goal of finding you has been accomplished. And you recognize this little girl right away, like an animal of the same species that recognizes the other just by smell, just testing, trying to understand its fellow.

“Talia...?”

Her little freckled nose was certainly not an image that crossed your mind when you started to question who your mysterious night visitor behind that door might be. But you just know you need to call her mother right away.

ᗢ

The dull forest air, damp and suffocating, flooded your blunt lungs as if you were standing under the dark water of a deep, muddy river, your nose channel icy and blunt through the interior, causing you in the middle of your skull a mild annoying, clumsy migraine that was the harbinger of a coming illness – it came in warm through your mouth and came out cold through your nose, an exasperated sip of oxygen, with no purpose but to make you sick in the future.

Ahead of you ran a blur of green rows of brownish dark pine, a sickly greenish tinge like a wall of moss, transformed into huge demonic titans by the obscurity of dawn, passing so tediously fast through your eyes when your forearms were outlined around the athletic torso of Natasha Romanoff, the notorious figure who went by the name of Black Widow, in a sublimely shrewd vibe as you sailed through the mud; both of you stilted atop her bland motorcycle into the forest of Gloucastershire, remote in English lands.

Ahead of you, on the road of dust, dirt and dark stone that seemed to swallow up even the smallest remnant of a source of light and heat, glowed in cherry-red neon from the taillights of the other motorcycle that carried Steve Rogers, Captain America, resembling the shimmering eyes of a creature that would guide you through the pitch of the night in pursuit of your goal—the prominent shield on his back reflecting hues of red, white, and blue toward you, twinkling with the star honorably encrusted in the right middle of the polychromatic circle molded in pure vibranium.

And growing on the horizon, at the top of a green hill with airs of mystery, a castle of an immemorial Victorian structure that, being owned by members of the HYDRA institution, was the base that contained in itself, well protected inside its stone walls and high monumental towers like a paranoid medieval king, a recent scientific invention that was allegedly capable of ruining your entire team and subordinating any form of government, coercing the geopolitical map in favor of those who held a monopoly on it. And just the thought of an instrument of that scale (Project Nocturne, as Black Widow told you) made a knot in the pit of your stomach.

The consensus was unanimous and indisputable, when Natasha came from those British lands having succeeded in usurping the information after a long month all devoted to her undercover work; a weapon with such a range of power should be taken out of the jurisdiction of an organization as oblivious to the rest of humanity as HYDRA was, which is why Nick Fury had assigned you and your colleagues (an elite team, sure, the Avengers) to extract the device from inside the castle and destroy it as soon as possible.

So, all you had to do was teleport and, with such an object in hand, your team would leave in retreat. Whatever this dreaded object was.

“Are you ready for action, teleport girl?” Natasha craned her neck towards you, speaking over her curious shoulder, a short-cropped beam of windblown red hair streaming through her speech.

And she saw that, in your features, a greedy, ill-tempered discontent rose and grew.

“T-that's not my name…”

But Agent Romanoff only laughed softly, her leather-gloved hands screwed tightly to the dark rubber-covered motorcycle handlebars, fire-colored hair bouncing in the crisp wind like the crackling flames of a bonfire.

The bike tore through the tall, vast forest for a few more miles and seconds before a guttural roar rumbled through the leaves and branches, loud as an explosion, and the notion descended upon you that Bruce had gone off to some dark corner inside the his own mind, and his alter ego was now the one who took possession of the one body that was circumscribed between two opposite mentalities; the sapient Doctor Banner and the neanderthal green Hulk creature, in a discrepant duality, a dynamic similar to the strange case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

And that was the signal (or you thought so, anyway).

And then, closing your eyelids, you teleported into a blue streak of reality melting away, leaving Natasha to be the only one on the motorcycle. And inside the castle where you jumped smelled of dewy earth, dust, and polished stone. You snorted once, taking in a huge gulp of dusty air; polluted oxygen crammed the pathways into your lungs, also smelling the still-fresh aroma of hot gunpowder wafting through the air.

But something hit you squarely in the middle of your black-and-blue rubber-covered chest half a second later, not even giving you any thought as your ribcage sank inward in a dangerous tingle, pushing all the air out of your chest, lungs flattened against your back like two balloons. It hurt like getting a cannonball shot in the ribs, the weight of invisible lead crushing into your upper bones.

A shimmering scarlet nebula was what that coaxed your body away, propelling you at violent speed across the room, where the muscles of your back met the frame of a splintered wooden table in a thudding collision – a cloud of dust rose from the plaster on the wall as you and the table slammed into the polished stone.

A pained growl escaped your throat as the sting from the blow started a rumbling pain at the top of your neck in a fiery whiplash. Inside your eardrums there was a horrible humming sound and, for a second, a faint seemed to be an imminent reality for you.

“B-but—” you huffed in a tiny voice on a breath coming from behind your tongue, huddled on the floor amidst table debris and dust pellets like a dirty old rag, “What the fuck was that?!”

And the figure set before you, your attacker, of course, could be none other than Wanda Maximoff, who had both hands raised in a solid lunging pose, forearms straight and precise in your direction, while a splash of piercing red color circled the moss green of her irises. It was like a swamp on fire inside her eye sockets, a will-o'-the-wisp that wanted to consume you completely. She looked serious and stern, almost as if just to prove that she had complete control over her own pulsing mystical powers.

The young woman looked prepared for the slaughter like a creature out of a nightmare, for a moment seeming to have awakened a slumbering ruffian nature within her, still with dancing crimson mist tracing the length of her upraised fingers, clad in a fistful of silver rings of the most diverse shapes and sizes, as if prepared to unleash a new burst of throbbing energy at any given moment.

But she let her shoulders sag as she realized that the target of her attack had only been you, a teammate of hers poorly mistaken for a malefactor in the heat of the moment; her hands hanging to the sides of the dark red coat that wore the length of her arms, spilling even towards the crook of her knees tucked into tight dark pants that allowed greater mobility when on the front lines of the battlefield.

And what was once concern writing its way down the length of Wanda's pretty face, with solid, sharp, even half-feline features, took on airs of crimson ferocity as she creased her dark brows in the middle of her forehead, watching you barely set standing, covered in a layer of dust and, well, a shameful defeat.

“What the hell, Y/n, what do you think you're doing?!” she scolded, stomping towards you with the combat boots she was wearing, “I could have killed you!”

“I know, dammit! That's why I asked what the fuck was that!” You gestured angrily with your hands raised towards her, who stopped right next to you.

“You knew I was going to jump in here! That's literally the damn plan, Wanda! Stick to the damn plan!”

But she just tilted her chin to the side of her left shoulder and sipped at a smoldering impetuosity that vibrated red inside her, as if buying the conflict you were selling. If at one point she had really cared about your well-being, now she just seemed capable of hitting you one more time on purpose.

“And you knew I'd have to clear the room before you jump in, Y/n!” she barked back then, in an equally irritated tone, her eyes a bright green sparkling and turbulent, “It was you who didn't wait for my signal, because everything with you is like that! You don't know how to wait for anything! You don't know how to work as a team!”

“I don't know how to work as a team?! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that working as a team meant I had to wait for you to feel like trying to do something to get into action on a mission that literally has to be done in the shortest possible time!” was your infuriated reply, which comes along with the flush of the skin on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry if the best I can do isn’t enough for you!” she accused, “But it’s not like anything in the world is ever enough for you, right, Y/n?!”

“Well, if you didn't just stay looking after Vision in every practice and work your ass out like the rest of the team, maybe then you'd be more agile on the field! That sure would be enough right now!”

But there was a tone of taciturnity that engulfed her fierce body language at your speech, taking on a predator's edge, and the low voice provided by her was shaped like a warm whisper, a warning and a threat blended into one amalgamation of dread that icy down the length of your spine, going even farther and, dare you say, even jabbing slightly between your legs. Your palms felt sticky against the rubber of your suit, lowering your composure a little before her.

“Don't you dare bring Vision into this.”

You, in turn, still hostile and certainly annoyed, opened and closed your mouth for a while, but there was nothing more to say once Wanda's tone ended up taking your speech, slaying it inside your throat as if her magic had suddenly ripped your tongue out. And for a brief second, the high dark collar of your uniform felt like a rope tightening around the outline of your neck.

Your rebuttal, however, didn't come because it was Tony Stark's voice that reverberated through your communicator tucked into your ear canal, and through hers as well. Your attention strayed from Wanda for half a second.

“Lovebirds, I know it's awkward to live with an ex in the workplace – trust me, you'll never want to date your secretary – but if you don't mind, let's just fulfill our mission and get out of here as soon as possible, all right? In the compound you two can fight a little longer. Geez, I’ll even make you two a coffee myself.”

You looked at her and she looked at you. And, at the same speed, the two proud looks drenched in a mutual meaning drifted away, as if dodging a common adversity that would never be resolved if what was needed to do so was an apology that would guarantee a good coexistence. You wouldn’t say she was your ex, but Wanda would say you were hers. Maybe if you were more mature, maybe if she wasn’t so rash. Maybe if you just listened to each other more.

At that time in your life you were just too presumptuous, the vigor imbued in youth bringing a certainty of self that would prove to be harmful at several later moments, and one of Wanda's most infuriating flaws was that the dark-haired young woman never liked to admit a mistake made by herself. And so, just like that, you were in a limbo, in an endless loop within a quarrel that had arisen on both sides.

The sex was good, sure, but the feelings imbued in the act were just too arduous to digest – when you wanted her she didn’t want you back, and when she wanted you, well, you just went away.

She took a step away from you, who also had no intention of being so close to her as you carried a bundle of conflicting feelings within your heart, and they were all aimed solely and exclusively at Wanda. You could kiss her and then curse her like flipping a switch.

“Let's just… go,” she muttered, rather tough into her speech, “Let's find what we came to find and just get the hell out of here. This place gives me chills…”

And began a joint search for the entire perimeter that made up the ancient castle, for what neither you nor she knew well what it was. And the notion burned within your larynx that once your unflattering esteem for one another had been withheld within you for the sake of the smooth running of teamwork, reserving lapses of discord for more propitious moments than that, you and Wanda, as in a bad joke made by fate, worked well together, like two halves that, when put together, make up a fully functioning whole.

If she attacked, you defended, and if you defended, she attacked. And together you advanced, traversing the circuit of stone and wood walls. It was like a well-planned dance, a meeting of minds, a rehearsed joining of souls; you didn't need to think to act, because she thought for you. A tune that, in the past, would have been pleasant to experience.

And she looked just so beautiful, so sumptuous, when brandishing with her bare hands to fire twirls of red energy that pumped from within her wills. Her pale face kind of shimmered with a layer of warm sweat on a bead of skin on her forehead, just beyond the roots of the dark hair that swung around the outline of her face, in a facial expression where concentration was written in scarlet lines, as her lids tightened around her soften eyes and her dark brows creased in search of a new target to hit in a fervent mystical ambition.

When she shielded you with a barrier of shimmering crimson fog that sheltered you from a hail of gunfire, turning her head over her right shoulder to check your physical well-being in a lapse of smoldering concern, you were remembered why your heartstrings had been pulled by her fingertips like a master puppeteer some time ago, not long enough to be completely forgotten, veiled and overcome.

“I can– I can handle it here!” it was a roar over the burst of machine guns springing into action, “Go ahead, Y/n!”

“N–no, no way! No!” you reiterated exasperatedly, “I'm not leaving you here by yourself, Wanda! Don’t ask me to do this!”

“Y/n,” she looked at you, armed with certainty in the deep green that bathed her irises, “I'll be fine, I promise. Now please, just go!”

The conversation that took place was without a word to be heard. But there was no hesitation; you trusted her in that moment, concurring at her with a nod of your head, just as Wanda trusted you too. And the spontaneous teleport was quick and accurate as your body mass melted in midair, like a dart hitting the red center of a target, the last sight being Wanda's dark hair cascading down the middle of her back.

And a sudden ghostly aura froze the hollow of your bones as you found yourself away from Wanda and the battalion of soldiers she promptly held off just with the willpower of her own mind. The room you jumped into was excruciating like a scream in the dark, and just as terrifying.

Melancholic as the last moments of life of a flower withering, and that brought you an ominous unruly nostalgia, referring in unhealthy memory to the moments when you found yourself lost in the deep solitude of your own cell in the HYDRA laboratory facilities – a frightening placethat accommodated you for so long that you even lost count, with stone walls and tears, martyring yourself for what you could never have (freedom or companionship, there was never absolute certainty).

Both, perhaps, you came to think later, as you stared at the ceiling as you lay down to die in your ridiculous excuse for what would be the most uncomfortable of beds.

Being there, in that dark room, for you at least, was as horrible as your teenage days, in a sultry temperature so unvarying and constant that a handful of a few strands of your hair stuck to the skin of your neck, covered by an invisible layer of icy sweat; anxiety pumping through your veins at yet another round of tests with the Mind Stone they'd stolen at the time, as your ears used to hear the footsteps pouring down the hall.

So much trial and error, so many failures and punishments, that you, at the time, believed that at some point your whole body would just completely disintegrate, vanishing from reality for good.

The strained vision of your clever eyes, beneath your eyelashes, could not discern even any direction to guide yourself through the darkness that seemed to surround you like an enigmatic augury creature, with uncertain and unpredictable attitudes – a blatant odor that seemed exhale right next to your shoulders, covering you in a cloak of rot, coming from the uncertain cylindrical stone walls that insisted on squeezing you into the mouth of hell.

The fog in the bowels of the earth just wasn't getting any worse, so deep and extemporaneous, because the presence of a unknown creature huddled against one of the corners of the four crammed walls was what caught your attention right away, just a shy silhouette in the dark, which could not be distinguished as anything other than a shadowy, shapeless mass. And you dared to approach, because if this was the fifteenth room on the seventh floor, the weapon of global domination would be there.

“What… what the...?”

As the sole of your boot took a step towards it, the thing squeaked like a harassed guinea pig, even seeming to melt and disappear into the wall it leaned against. And carefully, you approached. As you crouched on your knees, a wave of sudden nauseating vertigo ebbed down your esophagus as the light found your gaze amid the emptiness of the dark room. A small, freckled, little girl's face quivered before your gaze as the tiny chin found itself supplanted by a pair of bony sore knees, thick eyelashes hidden behind a curtain of lank, greasy, long dark hair.

But the eyes were green, like two jade stones set in a filthy receptacle that didn't match the preciousness of those irises soaked in a thin, misty layer of tears that she fought to not to shed in front of you – perhaps from fear, or perhaps from trauma, surely from both, never from less than either.

Her malnourished little body was covered only by a single piece of a damp, dirty cloth, and signs of fatigue that should never show on a child's facial expressions marred her tapered cheeks and thin, pale skin, as would be that of an ill person lying on their deathbed. You wanted to throw up all the contents of the dinner that were churning the inside of your stomach. You realized, with trembling hands, that this thing (this kid) was Project Nocturne.

“But it's a child...” was a thoughtless whisper, “It's... it's just a child...”

ᗢ

The return of a successful mission had never felt so unnerving in your guts before; why, of course, you found yourself in the strange presence of one more figure than the amount of people who had gone inside the jet hours before, a new creature to inhabit the interior of the quinjet with you and your teammates. It was as if everyone knew what it was that concerned them as a collective, but no one was bold enough to say it out loud. You just understood each other’s apprehension in silence.

The tension overwrought in the air that enveloped you could even be tangible, since all the adults present ended up peeking curious glances at the quiet little girl who was covered by a thick dark wool blanket that had been laid around her skinny shoulders, making her look like a tiny caterpillar inside a cocoon with only a pair of pea green eyes sticking out her shell, watching everyone like a suspicious radar.

 Wanda was the one who assumed the position of a tutor towards the child when no one else did, even if not for lack of initiatives by people like Natasha and Steve or even Clint, who was a father himself; the girl would not allow herself to be touched by anyone other than the enchantress without bursting out shrieking, and then Wanda was the one who, between the fingers of her hand, rewarded the withered palm of her downcast left tiny hand all the way until you arrived at your required location, back in American lands.

There was a comfort in Wanda's warm welcome that promptly convinced her that she was a pleasant presence, worthy of her trust so difficult to bestow on other unfamiliar adults; by nature, the child was frightened and weepy, and for that you all didn’t bat an eyelid, since everyone understood well the situation – you, even more so. And they were indeed alike, the little girl and Wanda, in a way that would raise eyebrows in acts of wonder, for they were too similar even for your own taste.

It made you think that Wanda, who had once been a child as young as that one, must have contained facial features similar to those of the young girl with an unhealthy face dotted with a galaxy of scanty brown freckles, and from the witch she only lacked in the familiar structure of her nose, which you weren't quite sure at the time to distinguish from who it was that reminded you so much; the answer looking like it wanted to scratch out of your memory, yet too uncertain to voice your thoughts out loud.

The girl settled in the compound because it was necessary, because there was no other place for her to fit in the world; in fact, they made her settle down. But as long as she was accompanied by Wanda, looking at the adult woman in question or seeking permission and comfort with those big verdant doe eyes, she was able to cooperate with others without showing any signs of rejection.

In part, you assumed it had to do with the fact that, once inside the HYDRA labs, she hadn't been granted choices in her very modest lifetime, and that's why she didn't know empirically that she was actually able to decline what adults offered her – according to Dr. Banner, after a previous session of physical tests passed all well accompanied by Wanda's watchful gaze, the girl was an average of seven years old, despite being quite stunted and undernourished for the age.

And the more days took slashes of weeks, the more and more she became a shadow that mirrored Wanda's actions, perhaps like an insecure duckling that follows its mother around or even a tiny puppy too young for its own good, still discovering so much of what the world had to offer. She was like a magnet drawn to the figure of her assumed guardian, a shadow sneaking behind the older woman's hip.

And Wanda seemed to enjoy every moment of it, because you watched her from afar, like a specter that doesn’t let go of the past to suitably move forward, when she took the girl for a walk in the outside gardens that surrounded the perimeter that made up the massive structures of the compound, or when she carried a sleeping little body so close to her own chest as if she were going to keep the girl inside her embrace until the last day of the Earth, heading to the room they shared to get her little girl ready for bed.

Wanda stopped attending other missions after a while, putting all her spare time into raising that child. And she's also definitely stopped reaching out to you to fulfill her lonely demands, for you to kiss her out of need or reward her with an orgasm that would consume the nightly necessity inside her, as she's done so many times before. She never went back for the rings she left on your nighstand or the red hoodie she left hanging on that chair in the corner of your room.

But one day when you were slinging athletic clothes around your body still sharp after a long morning of training spent in the company of Sam and Natasha, wearing a brief layer of sweat on the greasy skin of your forehead, you found yourself making a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch in the empty kitchen, to replenish your energies. That was when a sudden magnetic sensation took hold of your state of consciousness, sweeping away from your tired muscles the prostrate fatigue that required a very welcome break.

It was as if something called you; something that went beyond the barriers of what is tangible and material. It was a psychic need that itched to be attended.

So you turned around, in a blind search for what was inviting you in your unconscious. And, there, cohabiting the same space as you, could only be seen the figure of the little girl protected by Wanda, green irises wandering over your face in front of a childish and curious look, which seemed to digest the atmosphere in search of what connected her to you.

Your eyes bonded with hers in a flicker of gaze, and for a brief lapse of a second, there was a hesitation on your part that ended up tensing the muscles in your back beneath the thin layer of clothing provided by a tank top that left a lot of your skin showing. She looked healthier in that moment, her cheeks flushed and full, her hair glossy resulting from a good affectionate treatment, so dissimilar from that day when she was nothing less than an animal backed up against a dark corner in front of you.

She was quiet and apprehensive, as if waiting for your belated initiative toward herself.

“H–hey, kid,” you mussed, probing the area around her tiny body for Wanda, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you... are you alone? Are you lost? I mean, the compound can be quite big, huh... I honestly never thought we needed all this space, but you know how Tony is... but hey, where’s your– where’s Wanda?”

But the girl continued to maintain an air of silence towards you, only batting her thick dark eyelashes. And it was no surprise to you, in fact, the lack of response; until then, you had never heard her voice. You barely knew if she was really capable of understanding whatever was that you emulated concerning her in your second language, as Wanda used to communicate only in her Sokovian dialect with the girl.

“Що з вами?” You tried again, questioning her need for something.

And then she looked at the sandwich laid out on the plate in front of you on the counter, which was cut into two pieces made up of golden bread stuffed with melted cheese, a certain sheet of curiosity gleaming in her eyes. Your poor interpretation of signs dismissed it as a mute request, and so you took the sandwich in your hands and held it up into her field of view.

“Do you… do you want a piece of it…? ти хочеш?” On the girl's part there was the slightest nod, “Right, here.”

You offered her a slice of your sandwich, which was welcomed by two small hands raised in your direction as if asking for a hug.

You were the first to take a bite of the bread and, closely watched by the stimulated gaze of the girl, who was a born observer, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the sandwich just like you previously did, before chewing and swallowing in a studying way, as if it were that a scientific experiment. And then, after the experience had made her a connoisseur of the taste of grilled cheese, there was one more bite on her part, followed by another almost exasperatedly, which elicited a silly chuckle on your part.

Faced with the sound you made, the girl looked at you like a curious puppy and “Happy?” was what she asked, to which you only raised an uncertain brow.

"What? If I’m happy?”

Again, she nodded in agreement, rocking her silky dark hair that had recently been trimmed at the ends, looking gleaming and soft to the touch. And for a second, you didn't know what to say. She was a child, and you might as well lie. But you knew you weren't really happy, and maybe that wasn't even exactly what she meant with her vague knowledge of words in another language, but the question snuck into you and crept into your brain, planting seeds there that would later come to fruition, taking root in a bad feeling inside you.

“Well, you see, I... I...” Your mouth opened, but then closed shortly after, in a piercing, dysfunctional silence. There was nothing to say, not in front of her.

“Talia!” Wanda's voice, a little worried in its tonality bordering on maternal, reached your ears before she herself did it inside the kitchen, in quick and teasing steps.

And she barely glanced at you, because she got down on her knees to crouch in front of the child (Talia), so that she could hold the outlines of the girl's face in the warm palms of her hands.

“Are you okay, sweetie? You can't just walk away like that, I was worried to death! I swear, sometimes it's like you just go from one place to another,” the tone, however, was not harsh or ferocious; it was just tender, comfortable, oozing characters of thoughtfulness to the little girl, “Please don't ever do that again. I don't want you to get lost or out of my sight, okay?”

“Mama,” Her tiny voice rang out, causing a crease of brows on your part, who watched the interaction between the pair like a distant witness. The girl waved the remains of her bitten sandwich in front of Wanda's face before turning to you.

And then two sets of equally expectant, olive green eyes were like a spotlight burning your skin, Wanda suddenly aware of your presence inside the kitchen. But soon, her attention was all on the child again. Maybe, you thought years later, maybe she just didn't want to tell you what she's kind of suspected for a while at that point, as a magical sixth sense for the connection beyond the material plane that bound your vitalities.

“Oh, did Y/n get you a sandwich?” Talia nodded, something she seemed to do a lot, and Wanda's eyes brightened a jade color filled with tenderness for the little child before her, “And did you thank her? It's important to thank people when they give you things, polite people do that. And you're a polite little girl, aren't you, baby? Скажи спасибі, Крошка.”

Again, the little girl looked at you, seeming a little doubtful with a small flash of skin creased in between her thin brows just like you did too, as if the thoughts behind her eyes didn't match the words that might slip through her rosy button lips. And you, in turn, just raised a placating palm toward her before the evident lump of anxiety forming inside her chest grew to overwhelming proportions.

“It's okay,” you shrugged casually, “No need to say it out loud, kiddo, I understand your good intention. You don't seem to be much for words at all, right? It’s okay. Все добре.”

Wanda got to her feet again, stretching her knees into the dark jeans she wore on her attractive legs, before the palm of her right hand began the act of stroking the top of Talia’s head of soft brown hair, in a placid and unconscious action, bringing the little child close to her, beside her hipbone.

“Silence is her way of dealing with things,” are the first words Wanda says to you in days, casually holding eye contact with you, “Nat said it's common for kids who've been through... you know, what she's been through, to use it as a way of coping with all that happened with them.”

In the face of the conversation, the girl took another bite of the piece of grilled bread placed between her little hands. Wanda smiled at Talia's actions.

“But we're making progress, aren't we?” and her grin seemed so beautiful, so pure and genuine when directed at the girl, as if she were her greatest achievement in life, her primary source of affection and care, “She can already say a few words in English and associate them with what is happening around her. Talia is a very smart girl.”

“Talia, huh?” you repeated the name which, in a way, sounded right in your pronunciation. Wanda nodded, bouncing with the strands of her long, dark hair.

“Yeah, I'm not calling her a project like Bruce and Tony,” the green in her eyes looked unerring as she looked at you, looking so devout in her actions, “She’s not a lab rat, she’s a child. My… my child. And her name is Talia.”

“Right,” you mussed, because there was nothing more to say beyond that, “Talia. It’s… it’s a great name.”

ᗢ

The stone-walled interior of the cell that housed you was gloomy and damp, back in the days when you found yourself captive to the will of a man whose name, to you, has never been more than something like Strucker. He was a baron, perhaps—you had once heard someone refer to him in an air of military respect for such a title, the lowest in the entire nobility hierarchy.

There were no signs of comfort that could be pinpointed in any of the scrawny compost that made up the length, width, or height of those claustrophobic walls that closed in stone against you; it was like an empty, cold coffin, buried six feet away, beneath the glow of the last ray of surface sunlight. The HYDRA base that contained your cell had a dense, compact and sawn atmosphere, being devoured by the bowels of the earth where the impure air was thick and burning, so difficult to inhale by all that dirty dust.

It was an environment so harsh that had the air of a ghost town, even though life there proliferated in an unruly way, in anguished heaps, one on top of the other as if the intention were to reach the exteriority of the surface; although the laboratories were so deep and so submerged that it became increasingly almost impossible to glimpse their true abyssal depths and the most hideous monstrosities that there, in the shadows, hid from the eyes of the world. The most grotesque experiments that a human being would be capable of performing on another similar to themselves.

You, at that time, were never quite sure how much time had passed since your addition to that circus of horrors whose master of ceremonies was Strucker himself, the mastermind and employer; of how many weeks made up the months that constituted the years since your arrival at that place – your meager notion of the passage of time, always deprived of the notions of the sun and the hands of a clock, took the form of the perception of biological changes that had taken place in your own body.

The way your hair looked lengthier and greasier, or the way the ends of your chipped nails grew longer out of the edges of your fingers. The way the thin flesh of your cheeks tapered in signs of long-term malnutrition, or how, by the cuts characteristics of age, your physical structure took on more adult bearings that moved further and further away from the extremities of the epilogues of childhood, the time of life when you were still enjoying your remote time of freedom in a war-torn country, living off the crumbs of starving poverty.

A translucent droplet of warm sweat trickled down the line of your stiff, dirty, perspiring face, slipped down the curve of your chin, and then splattered onto the filthy floor between your bare feet. Something tucked within your insides just held back the full notion that they were going to come to escort you to that bigger room, to force you to touch that damned stone one more time, only to, after you did, put you through a bunch of exhausting tests that would border on imminent death. Boundaries didn't apply to you, who was just someone else's possession.

You held your breath as the heavy cell door clicked open. If this was a day seven days after the last time it had happened, it meant they were going to screw thick leather straps into your wrists and ankles to keep you stabilized on an ice-cold stretcher, when a masked man would come to stick a large needle in the middle of your back muscles again, to extract some strange spinal fluid from inside your vertebrae. It's not just because you had already been subjected to several rounds of this same nefarious procedure that your body had become accustomed to such an invasion.

A muffled clang rang through the room, your awed squeals echoing through its stone walls – a pair of uniformed men dragged you by your bony wrists down the scrawny hallway out of the cell.

“Поспішай, блін!” A gunman yelled in your ear, causing you to cower into your thin single piece of dirty, torn clothing, before shoving your skinny shoulder out of the cell.

The oxygen supplied in your lungs, roaming between the cells, took on a rigorously cold and even hard shape, quite difficult to breathe in or aspire with full propriety, weighing the sharpness of your fearful chest when your anxious eye could distinguish, between the quick blinks that pushed away the veil of darkness that clouded your mind, the shimmering shade of vivid green in the midst of the icy spectrum of darkness that crammed every square meter that made up the long corridor; the gloom entering your pores and choking you in a pool of fear.

They were, those impious orbs turned towards you, like true beacons that stared at the core of your soul in an apathetic emerald light. A color of green that saw everything, from which nothing escaped alive, overflowing with a hatred for the world that had taken everything from her, had wrested so much from her. The eyes of that girl who looked about your age (even if as dejected as your own body was in), a volunteer you knew, who had been housed in a cell next to yours.

She was also escorted by a pair of armed guards, heading in the opposite direction to where you were forced to go as on death row – the two predatory eyes, however, luminous, fearsome and incisive, were the most pronounced feature of a pale face like wax, devoid of sun, flanked by strands of long, straight brown hair lacking the graces of vain care. Rumor had it that the stone had detached itself from Loki’s scepter and ambled towards her, that she didn't have to touch it directly like you had.

 And for a brief lapse of a second, you felt magnetically drawn to the gravitational field around her like the rings of Saturn, like the very Mind Stone that had floated into her touch. The unsettling urge was electric in you who, panting in anguish, only cherished touching the chalk skin of the girl who passed you in the hallway. And she looked at you expectantly, as if she were also attracted to you. Seconds dragged by like a tortoise as eye contact was sustained between you and Wanda, whose face you only knew at the time, not the name.

Later, with the two of you freed from Strucker's clutches and her brother deceased after a blunt clash with Ultron (which cost you both your hometown and then your whole country), you learned that your connection to Wanda was in the energy of the Mind Stone contained in your genes and hers too. Maybe that's why something in you never got tired of her, that always craved more of her, for consuming her completely until the two of you were one whole. Maybe you just didn’t want to admit that you loved her on your own.

Perhaps that was why your gaze could never stray from Wanda playing afar with Talia in the company of Vision, the three of them sitting on the grass in the garden outside, in the sun like a family, while you were the ghost in the window, inside the compound – the synthezoid whose very body of green wires, yellow blood, and red bones was the embodiment of the Mind Stone receptacle that was embedded in the middle of his forehead, flashing a sickening neon yellow.

You never once failed to notice how he made her dawn on such a beautiful smile, while you only made her sad, stressed or anxious. You wanted her to smile like that for you.

“Why the long face, teleport girl?”

Natasha's voice came from behind your shoulders, when the woman older than you, who was stealing pecks from a cup full of coffee supplanted by the fingers of her right hand, come to accompany you to the huge window view.

“The little witch and her toaster boyfriend, huh? Such an unusual couple.”

“She looks happy,” you mussed, still not meeting the redhead's gaze, always watching Wanda like a security camera, “They... they seem like a happy family.”

“Well, she really got attached to that little girl. It’s cute to see, I guess. But looking happy doesn't mean being really happy,” was the Widow's reply, followed by a long swig of warm coffee, “You know that, don't you, Y/n?"

She looked at you like she wanted to say something she didn't. But it was about a few days later, inside the excruciating walls of your room one night after dinner (Tony had ordered shawarmas and fries for the entire team), when your unwary eyes darted toward the wall in front of you.

You blinked slowly, and then took a gulp of bored air, the room as quiet and dark as a crypt. The silver light of the innocuous moonlight crept between the thick curtains like a curious little animal, adorning the room in a bright, luminous color, creating a shading effect from the sparse furniture placed there, even if it wasn't these the major components of the room's decorations – the numbers “21” and “35” in neon green glittered on the dim face of your digital clock placed on the headboard just beside your bed, next to a porcelain lamp.

“Miss Y/l/n?” FRIDAY 's somewhat machine-like female voice, the artificial intelligence that governs each and every technological apparatus in the compound, entreated you, echoing into the walls of your room.

“Mr. Stark has asked to inform you that he requests your presence in the east wing laboratory right now.”

Your answer came in the form of a lame growl squeezed out of your throat.

“Tell him that tomorrow morning I’ll talk to him, please. I'm not in the mood for it right now.”

“Miss Y/l/n,” the voice repeated, in a slightly more insistent tone, “Mr. Stark has asked me to indefinitely turn off the power to your room if you refuse. He says it is a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Well shit...”

You got to your feet and lazily slipped on your half-worn shoes forgotten by the side of the bed, not going to the extra trouble of tying your loose shoelaces. The east wing was allocated away from the heroes' quarters situated in the west wing, and going with your legs there didn't seem all that attractive (although you didn't have much choice in doing so), opting to envision the room for that, like a snap of your fingers, you would teleport there without too many circumlocutions built into your apathetic actions.

This was a vast room lit by a layer of long white lamps, adorned with glass and holograms in eerie, flashing neon colors that floated at eye level, lined with shelves crammed with electronics and glass containers, tiny test tubes and Bunsen burners all with faded flames, in addition to other devices of a modern high technology that were not at all recognizable by your poor cognition about that area. To you, that place has always looked more like the interior of a spaceship than a laboratory itself.

Tony could be found there, close to Bruce and also Steve, but the presence that surprised you the most was Wanda, who wore an open dark sweater on her torso whose sleeves went beyond the limit of her wrists, partially engulfing the palms of both her hands. Illuminated by the artificial light of the room, her eyes seemed even more green and penetrating, always exuding airs of that relaxed beauty that seemed to be carved into her bones.

Her gaze caught you in silence, and you didn't say anything either before your attention turned to Tony, who came to meet you. He wore a classic rock band shirt, one of several that had always made up his playboy wardrobe.

“Ah, you're finally here teleport girl, I thought I'd have to make Cap go to your room and yank you out of bed by your ankles. I don't know how to deal with cranky teenagers, sorry.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that,” and then he turned his back on you, heading towards Bruce, who in turn seemed so intent on the open projections running through the interface of an interactive table (rectangular in shape and flat surface), to which he conveyed all the annotations made until then.

"Well, now that you're both here, Rogers, will you do the honors of telling the two lovebirds about what we've discovered, please?"

“What you’ve… discovered…?” Wanda said then, in a puzzled, curious tone of question that was aimed at Steve, with whom she was closest of the three men in the room.

The Captain, with his sturdy arms crossed over his Herculean chest buttoned up in a pale shirt, only nodded in the slightest movement of his head toward the young brunette woman. He looked apprehensive about doing so.

“Yeah, well,” he began his speaking with typical speech tones, “It's related to the girl, Wanda. Talia. You know that our agreement with the government after Lagos is that we must give them the reports of all our missions, right?”

“Yes, I... I know.”

The answer was in a regretful thread of voice that urged you to look at her. There was something gloomy that crept like a worm through the sullen green of her eyes and, looking so small, she stared at her palms for half a second, before the tips of her right fingers reflexively brushed to fidget with the silver rings that adorned the extension of her left fingers.

For a brief lapse of a moment, you wanted to bring her into the comfort of your arms and place a warm kiss on the crown of her brown-haired head to lull her to your mainstay, and to keep your hands from doing so, you just stuck them inside the back pockets of the baggy, ripped pale jeans that buttoned at your hips. You shifted your chin to the side of your right shoulder, just so you wouldn’t see her still silhouette like a nostalgic flavor memory in your peripheral vision, in the corner of your mind.

“It turns out that our friends at the Pentagon took an interest in keeping the girl,” it was Tony's turn to say.

“They said we can't keep an underage immigrant without legal status under our jurisdiction, not without the accompaniment of a parent or a legal guardian. They want her transferred to a CBP shelter under the jurisdiction of the Department of Health and Human Services. You know, that bullshit from the Office of Refugee Resettlement, stuff like that.”

“Which means she will either be deported or fall into the system. Probably deported,” your voice doesn't sound like your own as it comes out of the back of your throat, shrugging into your old punk rock band-print shirt.

Wanda's exasperated gaze ached in an anxiety building in the pit of her stomach as she, who was standing next to your left shoulder, stared at your profile in an afflicted way. Not looking back at her felt like fuel for her dread, which felt larger and more unstable inside her chest like a red balloon filled with oxygen, about to burst with a loud pop.

“W-what...? No, they– they can’t–” and then she turned her head towards the Captain, “Steve, please, they can't– she can't be without me! Please, she’s just a child!”

“They won't, Wanda,” he assured her when her dark brows creased into an anguished facial expression.

“Because that's where things start to get interesting,” says Tony, with a diligent little smile glistening from under his neatly trimmed goatee, “Right, Banner?”

“Yes indeed,” was Dr. Banner's reply in his lethargic mannerism, who turned to you and Wanda as well, aiming the big square glasses blistered on the bridge of his nose in your direction, “It's an incredible advance in biology, I have to say.”

When Wanda glanced at you from the corner as if to study your reaction, you didn't look back, just sloping curiously towards the face of the accomplished scientist in the buttoned shirt with sleeves rolled up at the elbows and shabby cashmere shoes.

“I had to do a genetic mapping on the girl to find out what her origins were and preferably, with any luck, find her parents or any living relatives to contact. But what I found was, well... it was interesting, to say the least. The girl has no parents, not in the conventional sense of the word. She has gene donors. FRIDAY, please.”

“As you wish, Doctor Banner.”

The machine voice followed the call of the man with short dark hair, streaked with bands of gray, in an articulate fidelity, always so devout, and from the projector placed inside the interactive table's display, a brilliant hologram was produced, made in dazzling blue and opalescent white, detailed in its smallest details, to which it presented a 3D model of a DNA structureright in front of the avid emerald eyes that possessed the ingenious Wanda, who studied completely the holographic reproduction made available to her by artificial intelligence.

You weren't quite sure what the hell that in front of your eyes meant, but a flicker of curiosity that welled up in your gut allowed you to give Bruce a chance to talk more about his research.

“These, as you can see, are Talia's genotypes. Her genetic makeup,” clarified the bespectacled man, as if to lighten the glint of misunderstanding that shone in your irises.

“According to the notes we got from HYDRA's castle, Project Nocturne was a series of attempts to artificially reproduce the genetics of responsive test subjects from experiments performed with the Mind Stone a few years ago. I mean, well, you two and Pietro.”

The mention of Wanda's late older twin was sudden, something that caught her off guard – you've noticed it because you've noticed when she looks away, still so distraught over the lack of the late speedster boy, whose body lay in ancient Sokovian lands. Your hand pulsed to intertwine your fingers with hers. She used to seek your embrace to cry into the nights when the nostalgic regret of the lack that her brother caused inside her bones slipped through her.

“The initial idea of the project was to reproduce Wanda's DNA, who was the subject with the highest response rate to the experiments, as a kind of cloning procedure, but the incomplete DNA sequences they extracted from her required that the gaps in her sequences were filled with other DNA, and as it would be fruitless to do so with Pietro's because of inbreeding, they used your DNA for that, Y/n."

You blinked once at Bruce.

"What...?" it was the incredulous questioning that sprang out of you like a jet of skepticism that poured out of your larynx.

"Well, you see," he gestured with his hands in a rather flustered way, deep in his own racing thoughts.

“The girl was generated in an external pregnancy in an artificial uterus. It's a perfect blend of magic and... well, magic and science. Something we’ve only seen before with the Asgardians. We don't know exactly the extent of the Stone's powers, but we do know that it is powerful enough to spontaneously enhance and grant sentience to beings it comes in contact with, and that HYDRA has manipulated this ability to their advantage. It's–it's amazing, really! What I'm saying is that if a proper system for it ingested and absorbed some organic fluid produced by a being affected by Stone, there would be the possibility of dominant genetics looking for viable gametes for the formation of a healthy embryo–”

“Stop,” you cut him off abruptly, finishing off too much explanation from the man older than you, “Please just–just stop fucking talking about it like it's something amazing, because it's not! It's not, Bruce!"

There was a hint of silence that wafted into the lab. Something in Banner's face instantly withered. Wanda projected a hesitant glance that spilled over your profile before turning back to the trinity of men before the two of you.

“What does that mean,” she whispered, in a strained voice, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“What does that mean, little witch,” it was Tony's turn to take matters into his own hands again, “Is that the girl is a close relative of both of you. Genetically close enough to be an offspring. So congratulations, mommies, because it's a girl! Although I think now it's a little late to make a baby shower, eh...”

“Stark, that's enough!” Steve was exasperated at the man with the goatee, in a profuse tone of reprimand to Tony's shenanigans, who held back a smirk broken at the corner of his lips, an eternal keeper of childish humor that he was.

But no words would be enough to elucidate what it was that sent your thoughts from one side to the other, in a truculent whirlwind of emotions that flowed through your veins and your nerves. And, when you came to blink another time, it was with grief sprinkled in your gaze – and you knew that Wanda could hear what you thought, because it was stronger than her, and in that moment, you were just a mess of unhinged agonies in an icy sweat that evaporated from your pores.

You blinked once at the sheer smoldering confusion, furrowing your brows in a look of vagueness.

Then, with eyes of double size, you looked towards Steve, your team leader and the most approachable of the three, who with a shake of his head, acquiesced in your doubts, what had clarified your thoughts with yourself. The walls of your stomach dropped into your abdomen, and for a second, the air that filled your bronchi was icy cold like a breath of death.

And then, like the fateful epilogue to a Homeric romance novel, you dared look your way, at Wanda, because the heat in her gaze could be felt even if you were on the other side of the room. If a pen dropped to the floor at that moment, the sound would echo throughout the lab. Wanda gulped at the saliva that froze under her tongue at your silence, and with her eyes she turned to Steve, who offered her a piercing blue look in return.

“So,” she tried, hesitantly like a wounded animal, “If… if Talia is our… our daughter,” you trembled at the word and its meaning concerning you and her, “My daughter. Does that mean I can keep her?”

“Well,” sighed the blond veteran, wrinkling his thick brows congruently, “I think that makes things a lot easier, Wanda. Even more so now that you two have obtained your American citizenship.”

“My younger cousin is a lawyer,” says Bruce in sequence to Steve’s words, “It's not exactly her field, but I believe she'll be able to help however she can. I mean... she does owe me a favor.”

He kind of tried to laugh, but the ambiance was still jittery and he gave up halfway through. Wanda nodded in a closed silence that rocked her long locks of a rich shade of shimmering brown, before once again offering you a complacent look that glowed in shades of a dull green color.

“Y/n...”

But you were an empty figure beside her, distant gaze thundering like the eyes of a lifeless puppet that has had its strings cut. Her warm right fingers, which sought comfort in the outstretched palm of your left hand, were like a reality check weighed down on your soul; the slightest brush of skin on skin sent an electric current through all your muscles, and you repelled it as if her touch were burning embers, as if touching her hurt you. But the hurt look came to the expanse of her pretty face right away.

“Y/n,” whispered Wanda in a tiny voice, so small and vulnerable, her eyes flickering in stinging remorse, her lower lip quivering in a retracted wail, “Y/n, please–just, please–”

“No–no, I don't...” you tried, but it was in vain, “Don't touch me, I... I don't... I can't, I can't...”

A single teardrop crystal streamed from your left eye to your retracted chin. She’d been inside the confines of those cells before, she knew what it was like – and her stomach did somersaults at even the thought of how they’d extracted your DNA, because that’s the same way they’d extracted hers too, between needles, tears and screams. But looking at Wanda, who needed you so much at that moment, was what made the pressure inside your stomach worse.

“I'm sorry I–I can't do this. I’m sorry but I–I can’t. I can’t.”

“Y/n, wait–!”

Wanda's clouded face, a stream of tears that accentuated the green of her eyes, was the last thing you saw before a reality vortex stripped your cells of the space that made up the lab's interior. And once you teleported to the bliss of your room, you allowed yourself to slump down onto your cold mattress, sitting with your legs bent out of bed. And then you cried. In the dark of your room, you just cried into the night.

ᗢ

As the days have passed since that revelation so bitter to swallow that not even the most expensive of the bourbons on top of Tony's shelf could ease it, you, in a state of apathetic corrosive calamity, increasingly immersed in yourself and distant from your other colleagues, only avoided the girl and Wanda as if she were a small emissary of a pandemic plague, as if living in the same environment as she would make you sick to imminent death from the disease imbued in her veins, which pulsed a blood like yours.

Your attraction soon took on tinges of an irremediable aversion spread by your system towards those who, in better terms, might have been your only accessible model of family to cherish and grace. Maybe that's what wove such a nagging veil of discomfort into your ribs when Wanda brought Talia into the hangar to greet the rest of the team after a particularly long mission, and the little girl freed herself from her mother's hand to run into Vision’s open arms, who was blissfully waiting for her embrace like a father who has just returned home.

When you walked past them, still tied in a silent line of torpor, limping on one leg and nose crooked and bloody as you were, Wanda looked at you with a glint full of meaning in her eyes. Maybe she wanted you there to welcome Talia instead of the robot-man, maybe she didn't want you too close to the girl at all.

It was like a long-running game of cat and mouse played within the limits that demarcated the longitude composed by the structures of the compound, which at one time or another would corner you in a corner with no exit; if they were in a room, together as they were always meant to be (and witnessing Wanda acting like parents in Vision's company, seeing them raise together a child that was hers and unfailingly yours as well, was just an even more unpleasant bonus for your taste), you would automatically have to be somewhere else in order to breathe properly with your ached lungs.

You then took your left hand towards the handle and opened the bathroom door, a breath of warm steam coming with you as you walked serenely towards the huge bed well placed in the middle of the room that looked like a so much too big just for your enjoyment. You've never been the type to get away with luxury, anyway; it just wasn't a construct based on your simple-minded nature.

A towel crisscrossed by the damp locks played the role of extracting, from your hair, the excess of water that tarnished the curls stuck together by the outline of your face. You wore casual pajamas, a plain dark shirt, and gym shorts that adorned the skin of your inner thighs, and nothing else to cover your modesty. You therefore placed the towel around your neck, over your broad shoulders, in the course of making your way to the phone plugged into the socket placed on the bedside table just to the right of your bed.

But you couldn't do it right away, because a familiar shiver through your senses gave you an alert mode that ran hot from the nape of your neck down the length of your spine, squeezing your ribs into your chest. And, before you could even realize what was happening there, inside the four monochromatic walls of your dull room, a space-time lapse actually broke over your bed like an indigo tear, when a child's body materialized on the sheets that covered your mattress. Talia appeared there, and you froze in your position outside the bathroom door.

“What the…?” you snorted, in defensive surprise, “What the hell do you think you're doing here, girl?”

There was a momentary excruciating silence, before you blinked once in disbelief and saw the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen in your life – those that, by the yellow color of the lamp placed by your side of the bed, had acquired an exotic emerald color, but which contained fine traces of a unique amber next to the abysmally dark pupils.

You were rueful as you brought your right hand to your sharp face and pinched the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb, a strained sigh slipping through your thin lips, blinking eyes that drooped lids in lethargy towards the child. You heard her fill and empty her lungs with air, before blinking in your direction with an announcement of tears welling up in the green of her doe eyes.

“M-mama,” was a whisper of a small voice that gradually built itself into an unsettling anxiety, “Ma...mama...mama...”

It only took a mere second for her rosebud lips to part in the foreshadowing of a cry that hissed within your eardrums.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait, calm down, don't—don't cry! Don’t Cry! You don’t need to cry!" You intervened immediately, crawling down the length of the mattress until you were sitting next to the sobbing little girl, “I'm going to take you back to your mother, all right? Damn it, I'll take you to your mother!"

You didn't hesitate to touch her thin shoulder bone over her colored shirt to teleport her along with your own body mass in search of Wanda's bedroom door. And, once there in the corridor, accompanied by the child who was still shedding more tears than she seemed to have to cry in her small body, it took a meager amount of miserable seconds that dragged lazily as in the format of hours for the enchantress to open the door with a hard jolt, her maternal senses all sharp and alert when in the presence of her little girl's weeping.

“Talia!” Wanda softened, engulfing the small body with the outline of her forearms, squeezing the teary child in a warm hug against her thin dark sweater, “It's okay, sweetie, I'm here, mama's here. It's okay, shh... it's okay, крошка.”

You couldn't readily say what it was that made you hope she would calm the girl down, who ended up slumbering in a sleep bedecked with tears and a runny nose. But Wanda came to meet you in the hallway right after she did, carefully closing the door behind her body. Even though she was still a little apparently dazed at the fact that you were still standing there, her only in cotton pajama shorts and an oversized black wool sweater, she looked so appealing when lit up by the pale light from the hallway.

“I'm sorry about that, Y/n,” she blew a weary sigh across her lips, “She… she has these powers like yours, but this is all very new to her and she's been having trouble getting it under control. Sometimes I'm afraid to wake up in the morning and find out she teleported to the Himalayas in her sleep or something.”

“It's… it's okay,” you hissed in a shrunken reply, a little awkwardly, not looking her straight in the eye, “Someday she’ll learn to deal with it. Then it gets better, trust me.”

“Well,” Wanda scanned you with a cautious glance, “Maybe if you could help her with that–”

“No, Wanda,” was your unthinking response, ever so wary in your actions, “Just… no. You know I don't wanna get involved with any of this.”

“I know, of course I know,” the brown-haired young woman gave a bashful gasp of air, failing to mask the compunction evident in her bodily actions towards your presence, “You've already made that clear, Y/n. But she is our daughter, your daughter—”

“Wanda, for Christ's sake, don't start it. Not now.”

The clamor in your tone of voice was what discouraged Wanda, who even with a good number of protests popping in her throat, couldn't say anything in the face of your so teased look at her.

Despite the emotion running through your veins, you stopped yourself from continuing to gnaw at the feeling that was distressing at your insides, an acid sensation that spread through your chest like a nuisance on your airway. And as if it were a gulf of anguish, regurgitated by your stomach, you soon tried to swallow your uncontrollable greed for your own injustice; for the violation that child meant in your life.

You then looked down at your bare feet and clicked your tongue across the roof of your mouth poorly, tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. Wanda looked into your face, which was filled with volcanic and distressing emotions, and blinked for a long time, batting her thick dark lashes.

“She… this girl, she…she’s not my daughter, Wanda. She may be yours, but she's not mine. She's just a goddamn lab experiment, that's all.”

Maybe you just wanted to hurt her. Something selfish enough rooted in your immaturity grew up for you to say it to her – only intent on hurting and ruining, because like a tantrum child, you just couldn't deal with the frustration that swelled inside you like a sickening disease. Wanda, however, didn't do more than a dry movement of her dark brows, and then profuse eyes peered in your direction—two splinters of emerald staring at you like a predator in the dark, a viper and a hare.

"Don’t say that."

The look that was turned on you, even if it was choleric, rigid or perhaps even snarky, was what you keenly yearned for in your pitied core, avoiding looking at her when the bitter remorse flitted across the face of your tongue at your own words referred toward her – because then you wouldn't have to witness Wanda's mild irises as they were, tempting you with their melancholy green, immersed in a feeling of compunction, perhaps even of disappointment or anguish. The excruciating eyes of someone who no longer had the energies contained in her body to fight to get you out of the shell you've gotten yourself into.

It annoyed you in the most acute sense of the word that this was not the first time Wanda had confronted you with her dismayed eyes. And you didn't quite know why you kept hurting her like you did. But there you were, ready to break her heart all over again.

“Don't say that,” she repeated, “She's a child, she's not to blame for any of this. She didn't ask for it—”

“And I didn’t either!”

A last spark of common sense flashed and ended in your contrite interior, lifting you up immediately, screwing the sayings of the fingers of both your hands into a pair of clenched fists with joints so pressed that, due to the lack of blood circulation, became become white and dull.

“I didn't ask for any of this, Wanda! And this girl, she–she's just a constant reminder of everything that happened to me inside that shitty lab! I look at her and all I can see is it happening to me again and again and again! Damn, I can't fucking stand being around her!”

“I went through it too, Y/n!” Wanda's tone shifted an octave, though not enough to cause a flashy scandal, “I was in that fucking lab too!”

She took an irate step toward you.

“And yet I don’t treat her like she's contagious or some shit like that! What the fuck, Y/n, you treat her like a fucking criminal! She's seven, for Christ's sake! And she is my daughter and whether you like it or not, she is yours too! So stop acting like a fucking child and for once in your life, even if it must be really hard for someone like you, be an adult and fucking act like it, dammit!”

“Oh yeah, you were in those labs too, how could I forget,” your tone dripped with acid cynicism, consolidating with your jawbone until it resembled a wire as sharp as a razor blade, “You volunteered to change the world, didn't you? Wow Wanda, such a smart move! What a fucking difference you’ve made, really!”

She, in turn, frowned, her inner woes hastily taking the form of anger at you. A thin layer of red rage carpeted the profuse moss green that grew darker in her enraged gaze.

“Turns out I never told you how I ended up in that shithole, did I? Well, the drunk asshole that I had as a father was a bastard who didn't want to feed four more mouths after my mom died, so at the first chance he got to get rid of me and my siblings, he did it without even batting an eye,” and the smile that appeared on your lips was in no way in keeping with the tears about to burst from your eyes.

“And he said I should be happy, because I was lucky I wasn't pretty enough to end up in a fucking brothel like my little sister! I was fourteen, Wanda!”

Wanda's face fell, but you just bit your lower lip, clasping the pit of your stomach in an excruciating grip – for that bad feeling which resonated in your head before the drowsiness of sleep, terrifying you through the empty darkness that comprised space stripped like a scream in the silence, just alone, like a desolate tear. It hurt you to the core of your chest as much as the shot of a projectile would hurt any other fragile human being.

You squinted your eyes and shook your head. Wanda's red anger faded into thin air, giving way to the pitying looks you so hated getting from someone. She took a gulp of air and opened her mouth to say anything, but you stopped her before she even started.

“So yeah, I'm sorry if I don't want to be in the same place as someone who reminds me of this shitty time. Whose miserable existence is nothing but a reminder of all they took away from me, of how much they violated me over and over again, of how much they stole from my entire life!”

You sobbed, because you the notion of what was happening there fell like a bucket of ice water down the length of your back. You were losing her, and she was losing you too.

“Y/n,” she mussed, gracelessly, as if you really were such a small child as Talia, “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I–I didn't know–I didn't know that–”

“Don't talk to me anymore,” you breathed, your vision blurred and clouded, “Don't ever fucking talk to me again, Wanda.”

Wanda didn't try to stop you when you left in a heartbeat. Just like you didn't try to stop her tears, and she didn't try to make you stay.

ᗢ

“Am I a bad daughter?”

"What...?"

Five more autumns had been later than the one you find yourself in. Wanda has been living in New Jersey with Vision and Talia for a few years now, being an ever so helpful mother to her little daughter, the best that has ever happened to her and the worst that has ever happened to you.

But the girl born to you is still there, perched on a sofa opposite the one you're cuddling in at your own home, and with the aging enhancements to the facial features, you can't help but notice how much she is very reminiscent of Wanda in her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her eyebrows – even if, in a way, also to yourself when you were the same age (twelve years old or something). Like the seasonal change of seasons, the freckles are fading from her nose. Someday, you just know that she could be mistaken for her young mother if seen from afar.

“Am I a bad daughter?” asks Talia awkwardly after long doses of stillness, immediately following a generous sip of water from the glass curled between her fingers.

You considered offering her a sip of freshly brewed still warm coffee, but when you realized she was just a child, you decided that water was good, water was neutral ground and a safe option. And you're probably paying attention to her drinking water so you don't have to think of a worthy answer to her inferred questioning of you.

"You... you...” there’s a pause, “You don't...I don't..."

Your sentence dries up and dies for a split second, though, as you stop yourself before you say too much to the girl, who frowns at you in a custom all too familiar to your cognition – as Wanda used to do when younger. You don't want to burden her, still as young as she is, with answers and satisfactions for someone who wasn't there for her.

“Why do you think that, Talia?” the girl sways a bit at her own actions before your gaze, dragging her upper teeth over the cheek of her rosy lower lip, and for a second there's a sliver of silence that seems to break through your ear canal.

“Because you never spoke to me.”

The answer shuts you down like a deferred open fist punch to the middle of your face, though you still stare at her with both irises going on at the insipid little face so vacillating in your presence. You open your mouth, nothing comes out, and then you close it again as best you can. Then, you opened it again, but soon whatever it was that would emerge from there is canceled out. Finally, you choose to console yourself with the gaze that descends to the laminate flooring placed between your bare feet, even though you have within yourself the fullest notion that, what you need and what you so lack in your system, right after such a shock, it's a good dose of something much stronger than a simple set of coffee beans and hot water.

“Talia, I...” you hesitate for a while, “How did you...?”

“Vis told me,” says the girl, “I... I asked him if he was my father because he is married to ma, but he said he can't be my father because he's not human like me and her. And that I don't have a father because I'm made from ma and... and you, Miss Y/l/n. But I didn't understand what he meant. I think it has to do with those lab days.”

You press your lips together in a single long line, digging into statements which you do not see yourself as fully capable of expounding on the girl you only recognize, then, as your daughter (because, facts being facts, it is what she is). Maybe Vision is just a clueless douche, but you always knew that eventually she would catch on. You just didn't want to be the one to break the news to her.

At least, not without such resolutions inferring a handful of new themes and questions which you might not even be able to clarify for such a chaste child, still sprucing up to the height of her tender twelve years of life; you don’t intend to cultivate it with more seeds of doubt that, perhaps, may come to bear fruit in the form of large trees of insecurity in her future. You aim, then, as a priority, to preserve from the naivety that little Talia has before her two mother figures, who were, respectively, you and Wanda. Two extremes very different from each other.

You look at her, and for a second, the pulsing muscle in your chest aches. No longer out of remorse, or even repulsion. It only hurts because, after the years have passed and your maturity has dawned, you only see something of your own in Talia's face. In front of her you stand up, and the green gaze follows you as you come towards her as if you have something to say.

With your fingertips, however, you touch her thin chin, seeking the gaze to link with yours once more. So you give her a tender smile, showered with regretful caresses, and with your thumb you caressed her smooth-skinned jawbone. Once again, your gaze realizes that Talia has the traits of a bone structure similar to the one that Wanda also has.

“I'm sorry, kid,” you sigh at the girl, before taking the small body in your arms, leaning your cheek against the crown of the dark haired head. There, Talia snuggled in and expelled a sigh, because, for the both of you it just feels good. It feels right.

“I'm so sorry, Talia.”

When a new knock was referred to the wood of your door, the young girl had already slept lying on your sofa. For half a second you just watched over the child beside you as you never had before, her chest heaving and falling over her red jacket, while Talia snored to the blandishments of a slumber. You had long ago retained her facial features in memory (the sharp eyebrows and nose, the pearly lips), but it was inevitable to look at her once more.

You covered her small body with a thick blanket before going to tend to your new visitor.

“Y/n, is she…?” is the first thing you are told by Wanda's anguished tone, who casts glances behind your shoulder in search of her daughter inside your house.

“She slept on the couch, don't worry,” you nod, which elicits a relieved sigh from the other woman, “You… would you like some tea?”

Wanda blinks in your direction.

"Yes, please..." she whispers, "I would like to."

Wanda is still the same woman you fell in love with at some remote moment in your past memories, to whom you had committed your heart and soul – the same emerald eyes rimmed with an eerie glow, the same athletic, supple back, the same dark hair that hugs the outline of the prudent face. But she seems more centered. Like you, she's more mature, weathered by time.

She just looks so pretty sipping from a cup of tea inside your own kitchen.

During the succinct moment in which your gazes gather in a single line, one applying themselves to unveil the other, the gap in your chest is able to sip and scrutinize every measly detail of her radiant beauty, so that you can then contrast it with the countenance of the young woman you left behind so long ago, checking that your disillusioned eyes aren't mocking your feelings. However, with no room for error, she is still Wanda. Your Wanda.

“She knows,” you say then, with your forearms crossed in front of your chest, your hips snug against the icy marble counter of the sink, “About me, I mean. She knows. She says Vision told her.”

“I know,” Wanda sighs behind swirls of steam rising from the inside of the cup that she shields with a wall of her own fingers, now devoid of any rings to be seen – including the wedding ring that has always captured your suffering gaze, “That's why she ran away. Vis, he's just... he's complicated. I know I can't exactly demand some things from him because he's not human, but... lately he's just been so... so...”

“Robotic?” you try, with a teasing half smile, and Wanda allows herself to laugh grimly, shaking her head of long dark hair that now looks a little shorter than it once did.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “Robotic.”

And she looks tired, as she takes gulps of oxygen to say, “We're getting divorced. Or breaking up, I don't know, we were never really married. It’s not like he has a birth certificate.”

The woman wails in a wretched wail, and so much of the past you can see in her, so helpless and vulnerable, that your very heartstrings tighten in a grim girdling, bathed in a greedy despondency.

“This sucks, Wanda,” you say, frowning complacently, “I… I'm sorry about it.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” she whispers, “It's just… lately I can't seem to do anything right. My life is in chaos, and I'm losing control of everything and I'm just so, so tired..."

You then approach her in silent strides, crossing the kitchen to stand next to her right shoulder, who is leaning against the dark marble of the island. And she doesn't seem to repel you at all; on the contrary, she comes even closer to you, to the point that your elbows almost rub under the clothes you wear – she in an open cashmere cardigan that exudes cozy airs of domestic comfort, so different from the clothes with those dark colors from before, and you in an old red hoodie that once belonged to her.

“And then, Vision went over there and told Talia about you,” her grip presses against the pale porcelain of the cup, “And now I'm sure she hates me for keeping it from her for so long. I was just trying to protect her, and now I'm… I'm just a bad mom, I guess.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cry out immediately, searching for her lowered gaze, “No, don't say that, Wanda, that's not true and you know it's not. Damn, you are an amazing mother to that girl, from day one you always were! And it's noticeable how much you love her and how much she loves you too. You've always tried so hard, you've always given so much of yourself… seriously, Wanda, you're amazing!”

And she blinks, her lashes thick and dark, a pre-announcement of tears that are swept away from the emerald green of her eyes.

"Do you... really think so?"

“I always did,” you shrug, “Even though I've been an asshole to you and her, I've always… I've always paid attention to the two of you. Like, not in a creepy way, I'm not a pervert or whatever, it's just—”

“Y/n,” she kind of smiles at you, “It’s okay, I get it. The three of us are connected by the Mind Stone, it's normal for you to feel something different about us. Vis said that the attraction he felt for me was because of that.”

“No, Wanda, that's not what I–” you exhaust yourself on a sigh, squinting your eyes for a few miserable seconds. You lift your eyelids and finally gives Wanda a supple, complacent look, no longer in a battle against your feelings for her, “It wasn't just the Stone, Wanda. It was never just the Stone. I was immature and stupid and for a while I wished it was, but it was never just that and I was always sure of it. I would really fall in love with you in any possible situation, Wanda, whether with the Stone or not.”

"In any situation...?" and she looks so fragile, when she casts a light green gaze upon you like the leaves of spring trees. And you shake your head in unsyllabic agreement with her doubts.

“In any situation,” is an unerring tone of voice, one she's never seen sketched out by you when it comes to your feelings for her.

“Either way, I would always fall in love with you. From the way you smile and scrunch your nose, or the way you eat cereal holding your spoon in that weird way, the smell of your perfume, the laugh you get when you watch your favorite sitcoms, for... for the way you took Talia in when we found her. It's not just the damn Stone, Wanda, I just can't help but fall in love with you just the way you are.”

Your gaze is sharpened by a still-young memory that echoes through the temples of your beloved Wanda – who pours out her appreciation for your figure before her in the tenderness exhaled through her pores.

You see it as a reminder of your past, where you both belonged in each other's arms and made love in the breath of the night, kissed by the moonlight, with no one knowing what you were doing away from the sight of astute spectators. However, your heart rises high in your chest as soon as the idea that she is in front of you is evident again, and it is different, but it is also so much the same as before. You smile at Wanda, who was once your victory and your defeat, much more than just a piece of the Mind Stone that lives in you. The one who always had your heart in her hands to keep.

“In any universe, Wanda, I will always love you.”

She gasps as she brings her face towards you, which doesn't flinch at all from the other woman's action. Lips touching as if to keep an ancient secret from each other, Wanda melting against you.

And a cunning pink tongue slips into her peach-colored mouth like a cunning snake, and there, with the velvet touch, you stroke your tongue against hers expertly and needy, coiling around her with a mature agility, as if guiding a wet dance between two people who, behind the excitement that seemed to warm their bodies like a summer mist, only sought to connect through cracked kisses – the echoes of the words you both wanted to say, but you were never sure how you were going to do it.

She still tastes like red, which is good to keep in your mouth, but the other taste you find in her is new and causes a smoldering happiness inside your chest – because it's the taste of the reciprocation of a feeling so intrinsic in your bloodstream, and in hers also. She kisses you because she misses you. You kiss her because you want to feel her again. And together, you kiss just because you love each other.

“Don't go away again,” her hot breath brushes the cheek of your half-swollen upper lip, her fingers carefully caressing the corners of your face between her hands, “Please, Y/n, never go away again. Never leave me again.”

“I won't, Wanda,” you muss, looking into her eyes, as close to you in her embrace as you are, “I'll be here for Talia and for you, I promise. I’ll never make you cry again. This time I’ll be the person you deserve to have by your side.”

When she smiles, so beautiful and so peaceful, you kiss the grin on her mouth. Again and again.

[scarletwitchproperty]

OH MY GOD that would so be me 🫢😂

Billy: Mama?

Y/N: Yeah sport?

Billy: Could you close my closet door please?

Y/N: Why?

Billy: So monsters don’t come out

Y/N: What makes you think monsters can’t open doors?

Billy: 🥺😰

Tommy: 😆🤣

Wanda:

Y/N:

[scarletwitchproperty]

I would let Wanda mark me wherever she wants 😩😌

Mark Me.

summary: in which wanda wants to mark you—and she will get her way.

warnings: marking, fingering (r receiving), slight dubcon, slight choking, bratty wanda, dom!wanda, sub!reader, fem!reader, a picture of lizzie (see above)

note: 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

Work tended to follow you home. Even in the evenings, when most people would be having leisure time or spending time with their loved ones, you were stuck with your laptop in your lap and your fingers on the keyboard.

Usually, you would do your nightly work at the kitchen table or in the living room, but your girlfriend, Wanda, was becoming more and more of a distraction. At first, she respected the concentration you so desperately needed. As time went on, Wanda became more and more needy for your attention.

So tonight you opted for your bed, leaning against the headboard and having to shift the pillows every five minutes to get comfortable. You had taken a short break for dinner, during which Wanda was surprisingly quiet, but you were back to the bed once the sun had went down, clicking away at some emails as the screen’s blue light burned your eyes and illuminated your face in the dark.

“The meeting next Thursday will conclude the project,” you whispered as you simultaneously typed the words. “Please note that you can go fuck yourself for destroying my sex life.” You chewed your lip and hit the backspace button until the sentence was deleted. Sighing, you continued with the email when you heard the creak of the bedroom door opening.

The light from the hallway halfway blinded you as you looked up, seeing Wanda’s silhouette standing in the doorway. Your eyes adjusted as she came closer, preceding a dip in the bed next to you before her face was suddenly next to yours.

“Whatcha doing?” she innocently asked, her cool breath fanning against your face as she peered curiously at the screen. You were fortunate that you had deleted that last sentence before she came in.

“Work,” you tried to say in the least-stressed voice possible as your fingers hovered over the keys, trying to piece together what you were just about to write. But the words had left your brain, and Wanda was speaking again.

“It’s going on 9 o’clock, y/n,” she whispered, bringing her finger to line the edge of the keyboard. “Can’t you save this until tomorrow?”

“There will be even more emails tomorrow,” you argued, pursing your lips as you tried to concentrate on what you were going to say to your coworker. Unfortunately, you had a one-track mind, and Wanda was the best de-railer you’d ever met.

You watched her svelte hand glide up to the edge of the screen, and before you knew it, she was pushing the laptop closed.

You caught it before she could, fighting against her to open it back up. You finally looked at her to see that her green eyes were stony. “Wanda,” you sighed impatiently.

She sat up a bit, leaning on her hand and looking down at you. “I’m asking you to put work away until tomorrow,” she said much firmer, causing a knot of anxiety to form in your stomach. You hated denying her.

You gestured to the screen and said in a very clearly agitated voice, “This is important.”

It was painstakingly clear how wrong your choice of words were by the look that crossed Wanda’s features. A look of anger and hurt was evident in her eyes as she tilted her head. “More important than me?” she questioned in an eerily calm tone.

You were really eating your words now. You opened your mouth to try to find words to say, but your brain was too jumbled for you to be quick in a response. Finally, you found one: “No, this is not more important than you, Wanda. But it is important. You being more important does not take away its importance. Do you follow?”

The proceeding look on her face told you she most definitely did not follow.

You could feel your blood pressure rising, but you did not want to stir an argument. Running your hands through your hair, you looked back at the screen and sighed. “Look, just let me reply to a few more emails, then I’ll be done for the night.”

You had thought it was a perfectly fair bargain, but you mistook your girlfriend for a patient one.

“No,” Wanda firmly disagrees. “I want you—now.”

Almost wanting to chuckle at her clear jealousy over a computer, you bit your lip and followed your better judgment in not chuckling.

“Babe, can I just—“

Your words were cut off when Wanda suddenly came closer to you, attaching her hand around your throat. You gasped at first, but eased upon feeling that her hold was light. The smirk on her face, on the other hand, was not very assuring.

“No, you may not,” she whispered in response to whatever argument you had been prepared to say—you’d forgotten what it was by the time her lips pressed against your jaw.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling you had so desperately missed without fully realizing it. Her lips peppered kisses all along the side of your face, heat swiftly following where her lips went. Soon, they ventured to your neck, and dizziness circled behind your closed eyelids.

You were leaning into her, too consumed by her scent and her touch to notice that she was sucking on the skin of your neck. Your eyes flew open, and you gasped before pulling away and pushing her hand away from your throat, holding her wrist tightly.

Startled, Wanda looked at you with threaded eyebrows. “What?” she whispered, and you almost fell for her feigned innocence if it weren’t for a twitch at the corner of her lip.

You looked at her warningly. “I have work tomorrow.”

“So, cover it up,” she said simply, leaning back to your neck.

Placing a hand on her chest, you gently pushed her away from you. “You know I can never manage to cover them up.”

There was a look of arrogance on her face, as if you’d complimented her. It was true—when Wanda did anything, she did it wholly and completely. That streak of character even applied to the hickeys she so gratefully gave you. They were always too dark for the loads of makeup you used to try to conceal them.

She looked at you for a moment, a smirk crawling on her face. You could tell by the glimmer in her eyes that she felt you had challenged her. There was another thing about Wanda you had learning during the length of your relationship:

She was a competitive, arrogant, selfish woman. There was no denial for her wants—simple as that.

You had to admit that she had been patient ever since the project at work had taken up most of your time with her.

It was evident now that her patience had worn thin.

Moving her body so that she was nearly lying atop you, she wrestled with your hand that held her wrist tightly. “Let me,” she seductively whispered in a tone she knew drove you crazy.

You clenched your jaw and tried to resist her, struggling to keep her hand away from you. Her strength outmatched you, and suddenly her hand was your throat against, this time not so gentle.

Her other hand slammed your laptop shut, the sudden darkness blinding you as you felt her entire weight press you down onto the mattress. In a flash, her hand jerked your jaw to the side, exposing the tender flesh of your neck to her.

In another flash—a hot, blinding one—her mouth was on your skin, wasting no time in creating suction.

You let out a cry as the future began flashing in your eyes—you walking into work the next morning, seeing everyone gape at the hickeys on your neck, the embarrassment prodded further by the obvious mess of makeup you had pathetically used to cover them.

“Wanda,” you begged her again, holding tightly onto the wrist of her hand gripping your throat.

Unfortunately, her name had tumbled from your lips in the form of a moan, and it only goaded your girlfriend in suckling harder on your neck, grazing your skin with her teeth.

“Ow!” you shrieked at the sting, clenching your teeth and trying again to push her away, but her body was glued to yours. “Wanda, please, stop.”

To your surprise, she stopped, releasing your skin with a pop. You could feel your neck throbbing as she came up to look at you. Even in the dark, you could see those amused eyes glinting at you.

“Hmmm?” she hummed as you recovered, keeping her hand tight on your throat.

You found yourself breathless, panting as you stared up at her. “I said please stop.” You could see her lick her lips. “Please.”

“Well, since you said please,” she husked, but she made no move to get off you or remove her hand. Instead, she dipped her other hand up your shirt, coming to squeeze your braless breast.

You couldn’t help the moan that left your lips, your chest involuntarily arching to her, causing the heel of her hand to press into your collarbone. You silently cursed her for knowing your body so well.

She pushed your shirt up farther so that both of your breasts were exposed, the cold air hitting your nipples. They were already hardened, anyway, and Wanda chuckled darkly at the sight.

You watched her head of red hair lower down to you. Her lips took hold of your nipple and sucked it into her warm, wet mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

A wave of heat washed over your entire body as Wanda began sucking on your nipple, moving her mouth to the side of your breast to suck there—she was marking you again.

You considered protesting just for the sake of winning this little game, and as if she read your mind, she whispered against your skin, “Don’t tell me anyone will be seeing you here, detka.”

A cluster of confusing emotions passed through you. She used her most tender nickname for you, the one she held for the sweetest of occasions, but her tone was borderline threatening.

“No,” you breathed, your hand finding her hair and tangling through it. “No one will see me there.”

Your answer didn’t satisfy her, because she growled softly and bit you hard, causing you to yelp and kick against her. Her hand on your throat tightened in a warning to stop, and she continued sinking her teeth into your sensitive flesh.

“Wanda, stop!” you whined, moving your legs against her. She grabbed your thigh to still it, finally removing her teeth from you to look up at you.

“Stop telling me to stop, detka,” she purred, coming up closer to you as her hand squeezed your thigh tightly.

Before you could protest, her mouth was on yours, taking you into a fiery kiss that left you dumb—so dumb you barely noticed her hand slipping through the hem of your shorts.

Her fingers cupped you through your panties, feeling a collection of moisture through the fabric. She smirked against your lips, to which you pulled her hair in embarrassment.

She removed her lips from your bruised on, allowing you to catch your breath. “Don’t be embarrassed, my love,” she whispered against your cheek, pressing her face against yours as she reached her hand down lower, moving your panties to the side and stroking her fingers through your slick folds. “I love how wet you get for me.”

A wave of heat flushed over you at her words, and the sound of your computer dinging with another email brought you back to life. You turned your head to look at the closed laptop she had pushed to the side of the bed, but a hand gently moving your chin to face her brought you back to Wanda’s darkened eyes.

“Look at me when I fuck you.”

With her words, she pushed two fingers inside your entrance. Your entire body reacted, jolting and arching off the bed as you threw your head back against the pillows, moaning loudly for her.

Wanda smiled in satisfaction as she thrust her fingers inside you, almost in awe at the sight of you. She returned her hand to your throat to press you back down against the mattress.

All thoughts of emails dissipated from your head as her fingers moved inside you, curling to massage that sweet patch inside you. Her thumb rubbed your clit in circles, and all the stress you had been under the last few weeks started rushing out like a dam had broken.

You grabbed onto Wanda’s shoulders and bucked your hips up to meet her hand, moaning into her mouth as she came down to kiss you again. She took the opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth, her saliva mixing with yours.

You could feel the coil tightening beautifully in your belly, and all in the world suddenly began to grow brighter—

And suddenly it was dark.

Feeling empty, you opened your eyes to see Wanda sitting up away from you, sucking your juices off her fingers.

Although the sight throttled you, you whined as a wave of irritation washed over you. “Wanda,” you begged, trying to pull her back down to you. “Please don’t be like that.”

“Detka,” she whispered as she removed her fingers from her mouth, leaning over you to move them to your lips.

You opened them for her, letting her push them inside. You suckled on them, tasting yourself and her as she stared down at you lovingly.

“I will only fuck you,” she continued, your tongue around her fingers pausing as you listened to her breathlessly. “If you let me mark you.” Leaning down farther, she planted a soft kiss at your neck. “Here.”

She removed her fingers from your mouth to let you speak, rubbing the fluids all over your chest, making you feel dirty in the best way.

You whined at the ultimatum, tightening your thighs around her and trying to grind against her leg. Taking your hips, she firmly pressed them down, restricting you from getting any of that friction you so desperately needed.

You tried to think about the consequence if you let her. Your coworkers would see. Your boss could even see. They would think of you as promiscuous slut, or painfully self-unaware for showing up to work in such a state.

But the throbbing in your clit had its own opinion, and you gave into it unwillingly. “Fine,” you said in defeat, “Do it.”

Wanda looked down at you and tilted her head. “Now, that’s no way to ask.”

Your cheeks heated in embarrassment. She was only going to do it if you begged.

You had already come so close to begging, so you let caution go to the wind. Grabbing at her shoulders, you hooked your knees around her and whispered. “Please…mark me.”

A shining smile cracked Wanda’s face. “How could I say no to such a pretty face?”

So, burying her face into your neck, she latched her lips around the skin directly under where she had already given you a hickey, sucking hard. You whined out at the pain, but your whines were strangled by the feeling of three fingers plunging inside you.

Your nails found Wanda’s back as you moaned, feeling her stretch you out. Your walls clamped around her fingers, and she continued dutifully marking you as she fucked you.

Wanda grew breathless, her breath coming out in fast, hot pants against your skin as she moved her mouth to the next spot, showing no ounce of restraint as she bit and nipped and sucked at your neck. You were a hazy mess as she pounded knuckle-deep inside you, expertly hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

She grazed her lips across your throat, leaving a trail of her saliva, and you momentarily hoped she would at least avoid the front where it would be so obvious, but your hopes were crushed when you felt her biting at your windpipe.

You couldn’t help but moan. Between her fingering the life out of you and possessively marking you, you were no longer a woman of protest. No, you were a complete puddle of moans and whimpers as Wanda unraveled you around her fingers and her mouth, and you lost count of how many hickeys she was giving you by the time you felt your belly tightening.

A few more thrusts, and you were screaming her name, clawing at her back and leaving your own marks on her as she held your throat again, letting you ride out your orgasm on her fingers.

You could have sworn you went blind from how hard you had climaxed. Wanda removed her fingers from your sopping cunt and used her hot, thick tongue to gingerly lick over all your wounds that were suddenly throbbing now that all the stars had left your vision.

You panted, arms falling dramatically at your sides as Wanda chuckled and got off you. You lazily watched her move your laptop onto your lap again, folding it open and navigating to the camera.

Your eyes widened in horror at the sight of yourself. Even in the dark and through the low-quality camera, you could see dark patches of red and purple covering your throat. Turning your head, you examined the sides of your neck which were twice as bad.

Now that all the pleasure had passed, you were beginning to panic over how to get rid of them as fast as possible.

Wanda, on the other hand, was staring at you like you were a piece of art. She brought a hand to graze over a particularly dark and painful-looking bruise, smiling at her artwork.

You flinched at the pain and turned to stare angrily at her.

“Don’t be mad at me, detka,” she cooed in amusement, moving a piece of your hair out of your face to ghost her lips over yours and whisper, “After all, you begged me to do it.”

[scarletwitchproperty]

This one is good, like really good 👀

Symbiotic

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Symbiote!Reader Warnings: Threats, lesbian symbiote (dangerous combination), but that’s really it. A/N: I really wanted to do a symbiote one, mostly because I liked the idea of someone sitting like a maniac and having an unhinged conversation with themselves. Enjoy.

The team was gathered in the living room of the compound, liquor passed around, popcorn being thrown places, and plenty of chocolate at the table between everyone. You sat next to Natasha, your hand on her thigh as your other held your glass of Tony’s expensive scotch.

Keep reading

[scarletwitchproperty]

There’s nothing quite like reading Wanda smut not long after you wake up 😌 Honestly, the whole thing is sooo good but the end…chef’s kiss 🤌🏻 I too, would kneel for the Scarlet Witch 😌😏

She’s in Your Mind

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,835

Warnings: Mommy Kink, Mommy!Wanda, Bottom!Reader, praise kink, slight mind control/invasion, there are fingers involved, Dark!Wanda, mention of murder?, multiverse of madness spoilers, I’m new at this don’t judge, smut, |minors DNI, 18+

Summary: Instead of whispering “run” in the MoM scene at the Kamar Taj, (y’all know what I’m talking about) Wanda reads your mind and sees that you are attracted to her. She uses a different method instead of fear, to make you submit to her, and it definitely does not involve running. I feel like we all combusted when we saw that scene…Let me know what you think.

Several students gathered around the courtyard, raising their arms to form shields, listening for the Supreme Sorcerer’s next orders. You weren’t the greatest at magic, still learning as a student with the mystic arts. So even though there were many others like you in Kamar Taj, ready to defend the temple against a great threat, your confidence was not very high. Especially when said threat, was the mythic Scarlet Witch, who is written in script to be more powerful than even the Sorcerer Supreme.

While that was shocking enough, you were even more surprised, when, in a storm of clouds, the Scarlet Witch arrived, red surrounding her and gracing your eyes with the most beautiful women you had ever seen. She was floating high above all of you, talking with Strange in what appeared not to be a pleasant conversation. And yet you could still see the vibrant green of her eyes from where you stood, her hair flaming red, and the sun illuminating her red armor and what looked like a fitting crown. You were mesmerized to say the least, and couldn’t help but stare as she spoke to the other sorcerer.

The sudden movement of Strange backing away from the witch snapped you out of your trance and reminded you of why she was here. A poor girl, named America Chavez, was being hunted for her powers by the Scarlet Witch, wanting to take them for herself which would kill the girl in the process. You were all for protecting young, innocent, supernatural, teenage girls. Murder wasn’t right in your moral standards after all, but you could also understand why the witch was after Chavez’s powers. A mother’s love was no joke and hearing about Wanda losing everyone she loved…it-it was understandable, wrong, but understandable. Strange flew back down to Wong, leaving the Scarlet Witch looking furious after attacking the shield held up by everyone and failing to break through. She threw bright red blasts of her power, shaking the temple, (and a few sorcerers in their boots) but luckily your effort to join forces with one another made the barrier strong enough to withstand her. You felt a sense of victory when she stopped, knowing that she couldn’t break through, but that immediately went away when you heard Strange tell Wong that she was going after your minds instead.

“Fortify your mind!” Wong warns to everyone. You weren’t sure how to exactly do that, but you knew you weren’t a person to scare easily, feeling assured of yourself since you were always fearless and confident when you did dangerous or scary activities. So, preparing yourself for any sort of intimidation or invasion of your mind, you looked toward the Scarlet Witch. Only when you did, she was already looking right at you. You tried not to gasp from the look in her eye, she looked so focused on you and then…interested. You straightened your stance, solidifying your magic more and tried to keep yourself from giving anything away.

Too focused on keeping a strong front and watching her for any movement, prepared for her to possibly scare you or take control of your mind. You were not prepared however, for the sudden presence and warmth you felt from behind you. Feminine curves pressed along your back and soft lips brushed against your ear, you then heard a low beautiful voice whisper.

“I know what your thinking, your thoughts are very loud little one.” Strong arms wrapped around from behind you, delicate hands tipped with black splayed themselves against your stomach, holding you almost possessively. It certainly felt secure. You couldn’t move, not sure what to do, Wanda was still in the air above you, looking at you with dark eyes. You knew she was in your head, that what you were feeling was all in your head. Yet it felt so real and, you hated to admit it, she felt so good. What was she trying to do? You weren’t going to just let her control you, make you give up your magic and run. Letting your defense down would make everyone else lose their defense as well and as nice as she felt you wouldn’t give up that easily and fail everyone.

You tried to move forward a bit, to get out of her hold, but that plan failed miserably when she merely moved her hands down, grabbing you by the hips and pressed you flush against her, hips slotting against each other. This time you couldn’t contain the whimper that left your mouth and you felt her smile against you ear.

“Your a little fighter aren’t you?” She said with amusement. You tried not to show how much she was making you flush, but knew you failed when you felt her hum from behind you.

“I know how you feel about me, you can’t hide it, not from me. This feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t you want to feel more? You want to know what it feels like to be my good girl and let go don’t you?” Her lips skimmed down to your neck as she said this, placing a gentle kiss right below your ear. “Your doing so well already, look at you, such a sweet girl letting me hold her. You feel so good against Mommy.”

An uncontrollable shiver racked through your body at her actions and you had to bite your lip to contain the moan you wanted to let out at her words. You wanted to feel more, you already wanted to please her, but you knew it was wrong. So many people were counting on you to hold your ground, to stay strong. You didn’t want to let them down, but your resistance was crumbling and she knew it. She moved her hands up from your hips, up to your stomach, nails scratching upward through your clothes, then stopped right under your breasts, making you tremble. She nuzzled her face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent and moaned right into your ear, effected by your smell.

“Oh, baby girl, I can smell you already. You smell so good, all ready for Mommy to taste you. I know you don’t want to fight me anymore, it’s hard isn’t it? Having to think all those hard thoughts, making big decisions, trying to please all these people who don’t even know you.” She moved her hands up and finally cupped your breasts, without thinking, your back arched into her, her warm hands started to slowly massage them as a reward. Whispering in your ear, “But I know you, I know your just a sweet girl, one who just wants to be loved and cared for. You just want to please Mommy don’t you? Let Mommy make all the hard decisions and let me take care of you.” Wanda suddenly slides her leg between yours from behind, barely adding friction to where you’re so badly aching. She places her mouth back on your neck and starts to suck, and in between each slow mark she lays, she continues to speak. “It’s ok my little one.” Another kiss, “Don’t fight me anymore.” A soft bite, “I promise it will all be ok, I will take care of everything.” (She doesn’t mention, that she’s also means everyone.)

At this point your panting, your so close to just letting go. There is nothing else but Wanda. Wanda looking down at you gently, her body molded behind you, holding you safely in her arms, her soft melodic voice surrounds you, her hands caress your body in intoxicating ways and they won’t stop. She’s in your head, and now almost has your heart, you’ve forgotten what it was you were trying to fight, to resist. How could you fight her, why would you want to fight her? All she has been is sweet to you so far, why not just let go? You look to the right of you to see if any other sorcerers are aware of what’s happening, to see if that would remind you of your reason to resist. That thought is quickly shut down however, when instead of seeing a fellow sorcerer, you become face to face with striking emerald eyes, the pinkest lips you’ve ever seen, and high cheek bones that you just want to place your palms over and hold cherishingly. All attached to this stunning women who holds you gently like your her whole world. You’re caught in her gaze, her pupils are blown wide, taking you all in as she leans closer, her lips are just barely grazing against yours when she does. Warm breath caresses your lips when she finally decides to say the one thing you needed to hear to let go.

“Such a Good girl”

You moan, loud and wanting, sinking in to her and giving up all resistance, and Wanda’s eyes light up at the sound, at your giving in. She grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you to her, smashing your lips together. Her lips are even softer than you thought, and you thought of them pretty soft from just looking at them. Her nails scratch the back of your head lightly, sending pleasant shivers down your spine and you moan, opening your mouth. Wanda uses this as her way in past your lips, her tongue sliding in smoothly, curling against the roof of your mouth, completely devouring what feels like your entire being. She grabs both the sides of your face for better leverage, and presses her front against yours. Chests heaving against each other as you both practically breathe in one another. Sucking on your tongue as she pulls away, you whine. She laughs, it’s a short laugh, low, soft, and sweet. Your instantly addicted to it. She moves her head down to your neck, and you can’t control your breathing or the noises she’s pulling from you. Nipping and sucking all along your throat and you begin to move your hips against her.

“Yes, that’s it, good girl, give yourself to Mommy. Let me see all of you. Such a sweet girl, giving in and letting Mommy take over.” She slides her hands down your body, one going to your ass, the other slyly finds it’s way into your pants. You gasp when you feel deft fingers caress your covered pussy. Your completely soaked, through your panties and all. You try to act unembarrassed about this, but Wanda has other ideas.

“My my, look at you baby girl, dripping all over just from a kiss. Does Mommy make you feel that good? Or do you perhaps like the idea of everyone seeing you being completely taken by me? Letting them see what a little slut you are for the Scarlet Witch. Do you like it when Mommy shows everyone just who you belong too?” Her fingers continue to move up and down over your covered pussy, but it’s not enough. Too much clothing and not enough attention to where you want her. Your dumbly humping her hand now, and you whimper from frustration. She pulls back a little, her hand that was groping your ass, swiftly moves to your throat, holding you there. She looks at you with her teeth slightly bared, so close to your mouth you can almost taste her.

“Answer me my pretty girl, do you like it when Mommy claims you in front of all these people? You want me to make you cum right here on my fingers for everyone to watch? Answer Mommy when she asks you a question and my good girl will get a sweet little treat.” Her fingers have moved to the sides of your folds not even close to your clit, creating a V shape with her fingers, teasing with how close she is to where you need her. Your absolutely ruined at this point, arousal dripping down your legs. Your so desperate for her to touch you, to give you your release, so with a blush that won’t seam to leave your face and neck, you nod quickly and do your best to give her a coherent answer.

“Y-yes, I want you M-mommy, please mommy let me cum, I’ll be your good girl, let them to see what you do to me, make me yours.” Delighted with your answer, Wanda smiles, it’s dazzling and your stunned by her beauty all over again. You don’t have much time to dwell on that though because the next moment, she’s pulling you in to her by your throat, kissing you so deeply that you don’t notice her fingers slipping past your underwear until a finger is dipping into your tight pussy. She sinks her finger in all the way at the same time her tongue delves in your mouth, nearly reaching to the back of your throat with her hot tongue. She moans at how wet you are, and starts to slowly move her finger in and out of you, her tongue synchronizing with her finger. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you’ve never felt so taken, she’s consuming all of you and it’s absolutely mind numbing. With her hand that’s still holding your neck, her thumb starts to caress the column of your throat, you don’t know how someone can completely devour you and still be soft and dominating at the same time. She starts to move her hand faster against you and soon you need more.

“Mommy. Please, I need more.” you gasp out. Wanda pulls back from kissing you and hums.

“We’ll since my good girl asked so politely.” With out any other warning, you feel her add another finger. With dark eyes never leaving your face, she eases both her fingers in, you let a choked moan and you stare at her with wide eyes never moving from hers. Addicted to the way she watches you, she takes note of every sound and reaction you make and you love it, love the attention and care. It’s this look, and the way she moves her thumb to rub tight circles on your clit, pumping in to you at the same time that brings you close to the edge. Wanda can sense your close, the way your cunt clenches around her fingers, gripping them so tightly. The way your hips starts to move erratically against her. She groans at how wet and warm you are, going crazy with the way you look at her, with pleading and near tears in your eyes. You don’t know if you can go for much longer so you try to tell her.

“I’m gonna-mommy please I’m gonna cum.” You gasp out.

“Shh, shh, I know baby girl, your doing so good, such a good girl taking mommy’s fingers so well. I want you to cum now, be my good girl and cum all over my fingers.” The thought of getting her black tipped fingers messy with your cum makes you groan. After this, she adds a third finger, curling them, pumping them so deep in you, hitting spots you’ll never reach yourself and your release finally washes over you. You feel like your exploding. Arching into her, arms wrapped around her neck holding tight, eyes closed shut because your literally seeing stars. She’s watching you closely, holding you up because your legs stopped working since before you came. And now she’s just breathing you in, whispering praises to you and slowly moving her fingers to prolong your pleasure. You finally come down from your near heaven experience, calming your breathing into her neck as you hold each other. She rubs your back, holding the back of your neck, keeping you close, until she pulls back a little. You try to stop the whine that slips out, but she hears it.

“Don’t worry little one, I’m not leaving you. Your mine now, and I take care of what’s mine.” You feel warm and content at her words, knowing she wasn’t going to just use you and then leave you… why would she use you and leave you… wasn’t there something you were doing? Oh.

Suddenly, she’s not holding you anymore. You finally come back to the real world, and look up. The Scarlet Witch looks back down at you, and she smirks. You sink to your knees, letting go of your hold on your magic. You can’t believe what just happened, what felt like hours, was only just a couple seconds in your mind. The Scarlet Witch invaded your mind, taking over every part of you, and you let her. The barrier breaks down around the temple, and your comrades start to attack. You don’t, instead you feel scarlet wisps gently lift your body off the ground. As your being moved to safety away from the chaos, Wanda demolishing the temple and its sorcerers, you can’t seem to bring yourself to help or care. It may have been in your mind, but Wanda owns you now, and what a good girl she owns.

@cthulhus-curse

Y’all let me know what was your favorite part! I’m desperate to talk about Wanda. 😭and I’d love to hear what you think.