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toodleoorblx · 5 months ago

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I Found You, I’m Bound to You

Agatha Harkness x Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 3,580

Summary: Wanda's life couldn't possibly get any worse. But... miraculously, it has. And a certain older witch isn't helping. Or is she?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 -/?

Warnings: violence, cursing, gore, trauma, mentions of death

A/N: This is my first Wagatha work, kinda nervousss! This is probably one of my favorite fic I've written (plot wise).

Chapter 1 -Not Your Aphrodite

Wanda's eyes flutter open slowly, each blink sending sharp stings of pain through her eyelids. It’s as if the simple act of waking is a punishment. Every morning, she rises in agony, the cause of which remains an infuriating mystery. Is this her grief manifesting physically, refusing to be contained? Or is it karma, striking her down for past sins? Whatever the cause, it leaves no room for hope or respite. Each day is a struggle, each blink a drain on her dwindling energy reserves.

She groans softly, the sound barely escaping her dry lips as she stares up at the wooden ceiling of her secluded cabin. The unforgiving light from the uncovered window across from her bed pierces her vision, adding to her discomfort. Wanda wants to scoot over, to find a position that might ease the relentless pain, but even the thought of movement sends waves of searing agony through her body. Her muscles scream in protest, her bones feel like they might shatter with the slightest shift.

This is why she has been using her magic as a crutch. Her once-strong body can no longer sustain itself without aid; it betrays her at every turn. Simple painkillers like ibuprofen are laughably insufficient against the torment she endures. She has to carefully dose herself with magic, using it as a delicate, potent medicine. Too much, and it will overrun her body, causing more harm than good. Too little, and the pain remains a merciless tyrant, rendering her almost immobile.

Wanda’s hand trembles as she raises it, summoning a faint, crimson glow that dances at her fingertips. She focuses, her brow furrowing with concentration as she channels just enough magic to dull the edges of her pain. It seeps into her muscles, wrapping around her nerves like a soothing balm. She breathes deeply, feeling a momentary relief as the magic takes effect.

Wanda closes her eyes and focuses on the stream of magic coursing through her veins. Its strong tides are contained only by the rhythmic beating of her heart. She learned to wield this spell through the teachings of the Darkhold, she has studied religiously over the past few months. It revealed things she never could have imagined, but she doesn't particularly care about its secrets.

She wants her sons back. She needs them back. She won’t give up until she has tried everything in her power. That’s the only reason she picked up the Darkhold—to be reunited with her boys, the only joy left in her life. But now, she has hit yet another roadblock.

The Darkhold has locked itself from her, and she doesn’t know why. When she began reading its corrupt pages for the name of someone who might help her find her sons, it started concealing pages from her sight. Even in her astral form, where her magic is most potent (and harder to control), the pages remain locked.

It's as if the book is mocking her. She wouldn't be surprised if it were, considering its near sentient? Whatever that’s about.

And there's another issue. Every morning, Wanda wakes up covered in blood and soot. Her already blackened fingers turning blacker and blacker. Blood from whom? Because of what? She has no idea. All she knows is that whatever the reason for her waking up drenched in blood is also the reason she wakes up in pain. It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore, even if she can't explain how she knows this.

This morning, she stepped outside and saw bloody footprints on her front porch. The sight terrified her, causing her to spill scalding hot tea all over herself. The pain was immediate and intense, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and fear gripping her heart. She tried to follow the footprints, but they vanished a few steps beyond her porch, leaving her even more bewildered. She ended up going back to bed.

She can't shake the feeling that something sinister is at play, something connected to the pain, the blood, and the Darkhold's defiance. But the most prominent questions she has were, is she close to an ax murder? Or is she the ax murderer? Because as far as she knows, she’s alone for miles. Where she can’t hurt anyone.

Not again.

The mystery only deepens, adding another layer to her already overwhelming despair. Yet, she knows she must find the answers, no matter how dark the path may be.

And that path… where she likes it or not, is utterly, and irrevocably Agatha Harkness.

The thought of her only brings pain, guilt and anger. Ginger from how she betrayed her, pain from how she hurt her boys, and guilt from not being able to protect her sons from her. But Agatha also follows Agnes. Her best friend, once upon a time. She mourns the loss (or… non-existence) of Agnes. Fake or not, she meant something to Wanda. Her overly inviting demeanor, her funny remarks and even her relentless flirting.

She misses it. But Agatha is at the center of it all. Wanda reels from how a single woman who she had only known a week, had wormed her way into her heart. Agatha and Agnes, despite being in her there for very separate reasons, are there nonetheless.

Agatha is, just like she said, needed. She can't do this on her own, that fact she's come to terms with, but the fact that Agatha is the other half of that claim, only brings bitterness and reluctance to her already heavy heart.

With purposeful movements she sits up. Her auburn hair blocked her tired vision. Green eyes stare at the floor. Nothing but emptiness.

She slowly stands up, feeling slightly dizzy. She takes a shuddering breath, mentally preparing to get ready for the day (and to see Agatha.)

She wonders how she's holding up, trapped in Agnes. A small, miniscule part of her hopes that it isn't too harmful. But the majority of her psych hopes it’s nightmarish.

Wanda begins her usual routine, she quickly hops in the scalding hot shower, the water rinsing the blood away. Wanda stares at the drain, how the blood seeps into it. Getting out of the shower, she brushes her teeth, gets dressed, and opts to have a cup of black coffee this morning. (she knows she'll need it).

Wanda wears a v-neck red sweater with blue jeans… maybe she should wear her Scarlet Witch attire? Would that intimidate Agatha? No, she doesn't want to scare her just yet. If she tries anything she'll transform. Plus, she's stronger in that form, more focused.

Wanda pads to the front porch and takes a moment to appreciate the morning sky, she birds that chirp, the way the tree sway because of the slight breeze. The way the lake ripples, and the woodland creature that occasionally passes by. It's all so, so beautiful. It's what she wanted, to be alone, no one to bother her. But… she didn't think isolation would be this lonely.

She can't lie, she misses the business of her old family. The Avengers. Though never truly a part of them, their loud chatter, their laughter, their support, fills her with peace. But also just the quiet presence of them. The silent touches of reassurance, that says ‘I'm here’.

She shudders at the memories, a voice screaming in her mind: Nat’s dead, Steve’s dead, Clint abandoned her, Banner vanished, Vision is dead, Thor disappeared, and even Stark is dead. Pietro is dead, her parents are dead, her old friends in Sokovia—all dead.

Wanda feels a wave of nausea. The cup falls from her shaking hand, shattering on the wooden planks.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she struggles to catch her breath, tears pricking at her eyes, a familiar presence. She grips the door frame, whimpers and pants escaping her as her chest tightens.

All of them left her.

She cries out, sinking to the floor, wailing and yearning for the fallen, for those still alive who purposely left her, for her boys.

Then it hits her—her boys. The lifeline, the hope she clings to, her only hope. The thought of one day being reunited with her sons begins to calm her breathing.

Her wails turn into cries, her cries into whimpers, her whimpers into sniffles. Slowly, she stands up, leaning against the door frame. Exhaustion takes hold of her, but she knows she needs to see Agatha as soon as possible. She needs her.

With determination, she aggressively wipes away her tears and teleports.

Wanda manifests in front of Agnes' home, her feet touching the ground as memories flood her mind, nearly overwhelming her. The laughter shared over cups of tea, the playful teasing, the rare moments of peace—each one now a ghost that haunts her. She takes a shuddering breath, her chest tight with emotion. Should she be doing this? Is there a better way? Doubts swirl in her mind, but she forces them aside, knowing she has little choice.

“Wanda?”

Wanda nearly unleashes her magic at the unexpected sound of the voice, jumping with a small yelp that escapes her lips. Her heart races wildly, and she whirls around to face the familiar figure. Standing there is none other than Agnes herself.

“A-Agnes?” Wanda’s hands drop to her sides, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion and sorrow. Her heart shatters at the sight of her friend, a rush of inescapable guilt paralyzing her. She never sent word to Agnes that she was leaving; she ignored her presence for months, abandoning her. The weight of her actions presses heavily on her chest as she swallows the lump in her throat.

Agnes stands before Wanda, clad in a blue and purple gardening apron smeared with dirt. Brown, dirty gloves cover her hands, and a visor holds back her brushed hair. Wanda’s eyes are drawn to a bold streak of white in Agnes' hair, a new detail that makes her tilt her head in curiosity.

Agnes’ outfit is completed with a purple t-shirt tucked into black trousers, her signature brooch hanging on a necklace. Her winning grin is plastered on her now paler face, and her blue eyes bore into Wanda’s shameful ones.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Hiya hun! I didn't expect you to drop by, hot stuff.” Wanda’s heart clenches at the pet names, memories of happier times flooding back. “It's been, how long? Feels like forever! How have you been, you beautiful thing?”

Wanda’s voice catches in her throat, but she manages to clear it. “I’ve been… fine. What about you, Agnes? How have you been holding up?” she asks, her brows furrowed with concern. She misses this—the bliss of just having a simple conversation with Agnes.

“Oh, I've been dandy! Ever since Ralph left, I’ve been so much better off!” Agnes chuckles warmly. Wanda notices the way her laughter reaches her eyes, making them sparkle with genuine amusement. “Would you like to come inside? I just made some lemonade about an hour ago.”

Wanda narrows her eyes slightly, a fleeting pang of guilt washing over her. She had completely forgotten about Ralph; she doesn’t even know his real name. Forcing a strained smile, she nods. “Sure, lemonade sounds great.”

“Alrighty then!” Agnes exclaims, turning towards the house and gesturing for Wanda to follow.

Wanda sits awkwardly on Agnes’s brown couch, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the cushion. She’s been finding it necessary to keep moving at all times, to prevent herself from drifting into painful memories. She wonders if Agnes would still want to be friends after hearing about all the terror she’s caused, the pain and suffering she’s inflicted.

She wouldn't even want to be her own friend.

The sound of glass cups clinking against the coffee table pulls her back into the present.

“So, hot stuff, what brings you to ol’ Agnes? Is Vision with the kiddos?” Agnes asks innocently, a small, genuine smile on her face. She takes off her visor and shakes her head slightly to let her hair fall free.

Wanda feels tears brim in her eyes. Of course, Agnes doesn't know about her family. Of course, she still thinks all is well. Wanda sighs heavily, wipes her eyes.

“Y-yes, he’s… taking them out for the day,” she lies, her voice strained. It feels odd talking about them to someone, but oddly… comforting?

“Oh, fun! But why visit an old gal like me when you could be out partying while you're still young and nimble?”

Wanda bites her lip and takes a big swig of the lemonade. She feels utterly exhausted, too worn out to hide her accent. (And quite frankly, she doesn't care anymore.) “Well, I wanted to visit an old friend. More my style,” she says, her accent showing a bit.

Agnes tilts her head, her eyes darkening. There’s something in her gaze that wasn’t there before, making Wanda want to squirm under the intensity. The firm stare is soon replaced by a smirk. “Well, well, well, hot stuff. I didn’t know you had an accent. It’s hot,” she says with a suggestive wink.

Wanda feels a light blush stain her cheeks, nearly causing her to cough. She wasn’t used to such overt flirtation, especially not now. She struggles to maintain her composure.

“Where’s it from?” Agnes continues, her curiosity piqued.

Wanda stammers, “Uhm... Sokovian.”

“How exotic!” Agnes giggles, taking a gulp of her lemonade, her eyes never leaving Wanda’s.

Agnes stands up and moves in front of Wanda, glancing down at her with an inscrutable look in her eyes. Whatever it is makes Wanda feel small, despite being a few inches taller. But as soon as it appears, the glint vanishes, replaced by a blissful innocence that almost feels disingenuous.

“I’ll be right back, hot stuff, gotta use the loo,” Agnes says with a small smile, her demeanor light and casual.

As Agnes leaves the room, Wanda’s mind races. She knows she needs to speak with Agatha, not Agnes. She sighs, the weight of her mission pressing down on her. Standing up, she glances around the living room, kitchen, and hallway, ensuring she has privacy. She casts runes on every wall, the magical symbols glowing briefly before fading into invisibility. The protection spell is crucial; she can't afford any surprises.

With the runes in place, Wanda takes a moment to steady herself, her fingers brushing over the worn surface of the kitchen table. She recalls the many mornings she and Agnes spent here, laughing over coffee and planning their days. The memories are bittersweet, a stark contrast to her current reality.

Wanda waits idly, anxiety gnawing at her. She’s terribly afraid something will go wrong. She doesn’t want to hurt Agnes by accident... but Agatha? She just might hurt her on purpose.

After another minute or so, Agnes emerges from the bathroom, a small sway in her hips that Wanda’s eyes follow before meeting her blue gaze. Agnes’s demeanor is cheerful, oblivious to the tension simmering in the air.

Wanda’s heart races. Taking a deep breath, she rushes towards Agnes, pinning her against the wall with enough force to knock a few picture frames loose. Agnes’s eyes bolt shut, and she lets out a small whimper. A whimper of pain? She doesn’t know, and guilt gnaws at her insides. But there’s no turning back now.

“Wan—” Agnes begins, her voice trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda interrupts, placing her fingers on Agatha’s temples. She sends a surge of chaos magic into her mind, willing Agatha to awaken. A cloud of red magic engulfs Agatha’s form, obscuring her from sight.

Wanda takes a cautious step back. Is she the Scarlet Witch? Yes. Is she still going to keep her distance from the barely caged lion? Absolutely.

When the cloud dissipates, Agatha stands there, still dressed in her Agnes attire but with her fingers blackened, her hair longer and curlier, with the streak of white still present—odd. The air grows tense, and Agatha’s body stiffens, her muscles tensing as she adjusts to her surroundings.

Disoriented at first, Agatha’s eyes dart around the room before settling on Wanda. The initial confusion in her gaze is quickly replaced by a sharp, calculating awareness. She regains her composure with startling speed, her blue eyes now more disturbed than Agnes’s ever were. More aware of the world and the threat it poses.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Agatha’s voice is deeper, rougher than Agnes’s. Her eyes slowly rake over Wanda’s form, making her self-conscious. “You look like shit. Have you been eating?” Agatha asks with faux concern, her tone dripping with condescension.

Wanda narrows her eyes. That’s... it?

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Harkness,” Wanda spits, her eyes flashing red. She stands her ground, refusing to let Agatha’s words get to her.

Agatha tilts her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips. She shoves her hands into her pockets and huffs a mirthless laugh. “I didn’t expect you to come so soon. That’s... kinda pathetic, Wands.”

Wanda scowls at the nickname and summons a small orb of magic, the red energy crackling in her palm. She can't let Agatha assume she's in charge here. She’s the Scarlet Witch; she knows her power now. She needs to assert her dominance. “I've been busy,” she says vaguely, her voice steady.

“I could only assume…” Agatha’s eyes flick to the orb of magic, an amused glint in her gaze.

“How come you aren't trying to actively punch me or smash a vase on my head? Why so… docile?” Wanda says slowly. She's not only trying to find Agatha’s motive, (which Wanda is sure she has) but she also wants to know out of curiosity.

Agatha’s smirk widens, and she takes a step closer, her presence imposing. “Why aren't you buckled over crying or trying to control a town? Why so... chipper?” she mocks cruelly, her words cutting deep.

Wanda feels anger bubbling beneath the surface of her composure. She can't let Agatha know she's getting under her skin, even though she already has. She forgot how infuriating Agatha could be when she wanted to be.

“Watch it, Harkness,” Wanda says darkly, her eyes narrowing to slits.

Agatha puts her hands up defensively, a smirk dancing on her lips. “Easy, tiger, don't get your panties in a bunch,” she taunts with a wink. “Unless you want me to.”

Wanda’s eyes widen in disbelief, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Do you—do you want to be Agnes again? Because right now, I know I’d much rather her.” She lets her crown manifest on her head, the glowing red energy crackling ominously. She thinks she's getting the hang of this intimidation thing.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening into a chuckle. “How cute,” she huffs a laugh.

Maybe she’s not getting the hang of this intimidation thing.

Agatha goes silent for what feels like an eternity before rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Look, I'm in no mood for such trivial questions, sweetheart,” she says flatly. “I know you didn’t just come here because you missed dear ol’ Aggie. Why are you here, Wanda?”

Wanda gulps, feeling a lump form in her throat. Should she be straightforward with Agatha? Should she choose her words carefully? She opts for the latter.

“I… I need your help,” Wanda admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha bursts into a full belly laugh, right in Wanda’s face. This was a bad idea. If only Nat could see her now. She’d be lecturing her on why not to fraternize or negotiate with an enemy. But Nat’s black-and-white vision doesn’t work in a gray playing field. This is the only way.

Agatha finally collects herself, holding her stomach as she wipes away a tear. “And what could you possibly need help with, Scarlet Witch?” she asks mockingly, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Wanda grits her teeth. This is going to be a long day. “...Finding my sons—”

Agatha’s mouth falls open. “Wanda. Wanda, Wanda. They... they aren’t real, dear. They never were real. Just a physical manifestation of your will to have people who care.” Her words sting Wanda’s wounded heart, like throwing stones into a ditch she’s stuck at the bottom of, with no way out. Just… collecting people’s shit.

Wanda refuses to believe Agatha’s words. Admitting defeat is not an option. There’s a certain sincerity to Agatha’s words, a level of twisted truth that cuts deep.

Wanda’s eyes start to water, her magic flickering in her palms. She feels so angry, so hurt, so betrayed, so… stupid under Agatha’s gaze. How can a few cruel words, just vibrations in the air, hurt her so much?

Agatha hurt her family, hurt Wanda. She even hurt Sparky. Wanda’s heart clenches at the memory—she killed a damn dog. Agatha is sick.

Wanda takes a deep breath, in and out, in and out. A technique Steve taught her. She needs to calm down. She’s not new to people not believing her. The only soul alive that believes her boys are alive is Monica.

Wanda clenches her fists until her nails break the skin, a habit she’s picked up. She sucks in a sharp breath of air.

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

Agatha sighs tiredly, as if speaking to Wanda is the most tedious task on earth. “Honey, I can assure you they aren’t. The only way they could be is…” She furrows her brows, her mouth slightly ajar.

Wanda gives her a knowing look.“Fuck…” Agatha mutters, rubbing her temples. “I need a drink.”

#marvel #agatha harkness #mcu #spotify #darkness #magic #agatha harkness fanfic #wanda maximoff #wagatha #Spotify #agatha all along #harkximoff

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fukanouna · 2 years ago

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Disconnect

Warning: SMUT 18+ Only, Minors DNI !!!! (and some angst)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Wanda has a wet dream involving her and Natasha - but it wasn't her Natasha. The Darkhold calls out to her and she succumbs to the book's temptation, discovering the spell to Dreamwalk.

Words: 2580

A/N: I haven't written smut in over 2 years. I hope it's okay. Please enjoy :')

*Cross-posted on AO3

---

It was the first time Wanda ever had a dream that she felt with such visceral clarity.

She dreamt of herself grasping the sheets of a bed that wasn't hers, her body exposed and every inch of her skin on fire with arousal as the head of a familiar woman was settled between her legs, an experienced tongue having her writhing in pleasure. A sinful moan escaped her lips, and though Wanda knew the voice was hers, it also was not. Her attention was drawn back to the other woman, jade green eyes glittering knowingly that Wanda was close, pulling away with a smirk curled on her lips. The woman crawled back up to lock eyes with Wanda, and before Wanda could whine at the loss of contact, the woman plunged two fingers into her throbbing center and instantly pumped her fingers in and out of Wanda at an unforgiving pace.

"Look at me when you cum," she husked out the command and Wanda's legs involuntarily spread further apart, desperate for those fingers to drive into her even deeper.

"Natasha! Natasha!" she sobbed between whimpers, the pressure in her lower abdomen reaching its apex, yet she couldn't deny the other's request, forcing herself to stare right back into Natasha's eyes. She cried out her lover's name when she felt Natasha's thumb rub harsh circles to her clit, hands moving from the sheets to gripping Natasha's shoulders, blunt nails digging into soft skin as Wanda's back arched off the bed from reaching her climax.

Then suddenly, the dream was over.

Wanda's eyes snapped open.

She was back in her own bed.

Alone.

---

In her isolated cabin away from civilization, Wanda prepared herself a simple breakfast that consisted of an omelet, hash browns, and a black cup of coffee. Typically, she preferred tea but after last night, she needed something dark and bitter. Her brows knitted together, trying to ignore the ache between her legs and focus on eating her breakfast.

A sinister whisper slithered into Wanda's ears. She didn't need to get up from her seat to know that the Darkhold was speaking to her, the Book of the Damned set on top of a desk in the living room, wide open to the last page she left off of. But there was something different. It wasn't just trying to speak to Wanda, it was trying to teach her something.

Unable to take the book's incessant whispering any longer, Wanda pushed her chair back and walked into the living room where the book resided. The first thing she noticed was that the book was turned to a page that was different from before. She scanned the ancient text, fingers gliding over the pages.

Her eyes flared red.

The whispering grew louder into a malevolent hiss.

"Dreamwalking… The Multiverse…" Wanda murmured.

As Wanda continued to read more into this new spell, she failed to realize that the tips of her right thumb and index finger became tainted black.

---

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Natasha pressed Wanda against it and captured her mouth in a heated kiss, the latter instinctively moaning into her mouth. Her hands were busy undoing the buttons of Wanda's blouse while the brunette's hands wandered to unbutton her jeans.

"Someone's impatient," Natasha teased in between kisses as if she wasn't equally feeling the same.

"Do not blame me for wanting you when you've been away on a mission for a week," Wanda said hotly, nipping Natasha's lower lip playfully. "If this keeps up, I will have to talk to Margaret myself."

"Calling Peggy by her full first name? You really are upset." An amused hum vibrated past Natasha's lips as she pushed the blouse apart, revealing a lacy scarlet red bra beneath and licking her lips at the sight. She moved to leave a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses on Wanda's jawline, down to her collarbone, then gently sucked on skin between her breasts.

Wanda groaned as she tangled her fingers in Natasha's reddish brown locks. "Natasha, as eager as I am, you are not taking me right at the door."

"Well, you were the one who went straight to undoing my jeans," Natasha quipped but she did agree with the unspoken concern that it'd be best to move to somewhere more comfortable. Wanda cupped her cheeks and brought her back up into another kiss, sighing contently.

"I missed you," Wanda murmured.

"I missed you more," Natasha whispered before kissing her again.

Somehow, they successfully staggered together up the stairs amidst the flurry of lips, tongue, and tangled lips. The moment they entered their bedroom, they helped each other tear off every article of clothing from their bodies and were naked within seconds. Wanda gracefully fell backwards onto their queen-sized bed and flashed a sultry grin as Natasha crawled over on top of her, tilting her head upwards when the older woman lifted her chin with a single finger to kiss her at an angle, moaning against her lips when she felt Natasha tease and pinch her nipple.

The erotic sound of Wanda moaning her name never failed to make Natasha throb. Her mouth replaced her fingers on the pert nipple, alternating between suckling and lapping it with an intensity that had her lover whimpering for more. When Natasha switched to give attention to the neglected breast, Wanda gasped in a way that shocked her and she immediately lifted her head in concern.

"What's wrong? Was I too rough?" Natasha quickly asked, worry bubbling inside of her when Wanda sat up and her eyes were wide, not from arousal, but from something else that Natasha couldn't decipher.

Wanda was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she was gasping for air, but after a minute, her breathing returned to normal. "I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me."

Natasha deeply stared at her with a furrowed brow. "Are you okay to continue? I don't want you to ever feel pressured with me."

Wanda leaned forward and pressed her lips to the Russian's, her hands traveling up and down her sides. "I'm okay. I'm sorry for worrying you."

The simple touches to her skin was enough to ignite the heat between Natasha's legs once more, pressing her knee against Wanda's slick center which caused the brunette to whimper. Still, Natasha wanted to make sure. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

Wanda wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck. "Don’t… I need you." Then she fell back down onto her back, tugging Natasha down on top of her and kissing her hard.

Natasha didn't miss the way the tone of the other woman's voice shifted in a different direction compared to moments before, but then her attention was drawn back to the way Wanda's tongue tangled with her own and the way she grinded her slick center against Natasha's thigh, groaning from how hot she was for her.

Natasha wasted no time worshiping the beautiful, flawless expanse that was Wanda's body. Kissed-swollen lips, fingers that dug into soft mounds of flesh, and her tongue lapping at every drop of sweet nectar Wanda's pussy gave her.

But something was wrong; something was different.

Wanda's body was normally sensitive to Natasha's ministrations, but Natasha had never seen her this sensitive and responsive. Wanda gripped the sheets beneath her so tightly that her knuckles turned white and wondered if she'd draw blood from digging into her own palms. The younger woman would thrash about and throw her head back, seemingly overwhelmed from the pleasure she felt, and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, her whimpers almost sounding guttural.

Unease bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

Natasha had to confirm her suspicions.

Without warning, Natasha thrust two fingers into Wanda's sopping wet folds, causing the latter to cry out in pleasure, and Wanda shamelessly rocked her hips against her fingers. The sight alone made Natasha gush and throb, loving how easy it was to turn Wanda into a whining mess, but the other more rational part of her brain didn't miss the way the Sokovian continued to keep her eyes shut.

Natasha pressed small, firm circles against Wanda's clit and moved upwards so they were face level. "Are you close?" she asked huskily.

Wanda's hips jerked and a long moan tore from her throat. "Yes!" the younger woman sobbed, desperately clinging to Natasha's shoulders. Natasha responded by pumping her fingers more vigorously.

"Look at me when you cum," she commanded, the speed of her thrusts not faltering for even a second.

"I-I can't!" Wanda cried out with flushed cheeks and back arched off the bed.

"Yes, you can," Natasha insisted hotly, gazing down at her writhing lover, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in her gut. She felt Wanda's inner wall tighten and convulse around her fingers every time she went knuckle deep. Wanda couldn't even respond, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, the pleasure overwhelming.

Natasha bit down on her lip, feeling her stomach drop; she got her answer.

Natasha pulled out her fingers and began rubbing Wanda's clit mercilessly, and Wanda squealed with her hips jerked into the air. Leaning down towards the Sokovian's ear, Natasha's voice is soft and affectionate. "It's okay… You can let go," she whispered.

A strained cry tore out from Wanda as she called out Natasha's name and reached her climax, her petite frame shuddering violently with each wave of her orgasm washed over her. Her hips twitched as Natasha slowed down her fingers to ease her through the small aftershocks. Wanda covered her eyes with her forearm, chest heaving from exhaustion.

"Wanda, look at me… Please?" She wasn't sure if the other woman would comply, but to her surprise, Wanda brought her arm down and back to her side, finally looking at Natasha with teary eyes.

Natasha quietly studied the woman beneath her, deeply searching those ocean-green eyes that were so familiar yet not, and struggled to get out the question that had been itching at her conscious for some time. "You're not my Wanda, are you?"

Tears slid down Wanda's cheeks, smiling sadly. "Even in this universe you're very perceptive, Natasha Romanoff. You are right. I am not your Wanda…"

---

After putting back on their clothes, Wanda followed Natasha back downstairs and into the kitchen. Wanda thanked her when the other woman made her a cup of herbal tea, but all Natasha did was give her a nod then turned to focus on preparing a cup of coffee for herself. The silence between them was heavy, almost tangible, and Wanda understood why all things considered, patiently giving the woman space.

Finally, Natasha spoke.

"If you're dreamwalking, then that means you possess the Darkhold," Natasha observed, watching her warily. It was strange to look at this woman across the kitchen island. The body was her Wanda yet the person inside was someone different. She felt so conflicted and confused.

Wanda nodded then took a careful sip of her hot tea, well aware of the distance that existed between them. She tried to ignore the pain it was making her feel. "Yes. It seems that you're knowledgeable of the Darkhold's capabilities."

"In this universe, Steven Strange was in possession of the Darkhold," Natasha began, eyes downcast as she took a couple of sips of here coffee before continuing. "He used the book to dreamwalk to his other selves in other universes to find a way to defeat Thanos, and while he proved to be successful, his actions caused the destruction of those universes he traveled to."

"You talk about Strange in past tense," Wanda noted softly and tilted her head. "What became of him?"

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, still averting her eyes from Wanda's. The coffee tasted bitter than usual. "He atoned for his actions with his life. The Illuminati made sure of that."

Wanda fell silent. She wasn't sure who or what the Illuminati was, but their presence must have an impact on this universe. Her eyes fell back on Natasha, the woman's visage still unreadable as ever. "You must be revolted by the fact I'm using the Darkhold."

"No, that's not it at all," Natasha responded, finally looking at Wanda in the eyes since the bedroom. Her brow furrowed, trying to formulate her thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences. "It's just… I don't understand. Why did you resort to using the book? It corrupts its user the longer the person is in possession of it. And why come to this universe to dreamwalk into my Wanda?" The spy stood in place as Wanda came close to cup her face in her hands. Even though Wanda was smiling, Natasha could clearly see the pained anguish swirling in her eyes.

"Because I lost you. I was jealous that this Wanda had her happy ending with you. I know that doesn't excuse my actions but..." Wanda quietly trailed off. She swallowed back the tears that were welling up in the back of her throat. It slowly occurred to her that this was the first time she's acknowledged her reality out loud. "In my universe, Thanos succeeded in obtaining all six Infinity Stones and snapped half the universe's population away. I was one of those who were snapped away. But my Natasha survived. Because Thanos destroyed the Stones after he accomplished his goal, Natasha and the remaining Avengers devised a plan to go back in time to collect the Stones from the past to reverse the Snap."

The tears grew hotter in her throat, but Wanda pressed on as this Natasha quietly listened. "Clint Barton went with Natasha to retrieve the Soul Stone, both unaware of the price that had to be paid in order to receive it." The tears finally fell and streamed down her cheeks. "The two of them fought each other as they both wanted to be the sacrifice… and Natasha won."

Natasha felt her heart tightened. Wanda's tears wouldn't stop but she went on.

"When I was brought back into existence, something died inside of me when I learned that the one person I desperately want to see was gone. I didn't get the chance to thank her for saving me." The last words came out in a defeated whisper. "I didn't even get the chance to tell her I loved her…"

Natasha held the younger woman close, letting Wanda quietly sob into her shoulder, her heart ached at the thought of what this Wanda went through and how she became so broken as a result.

"I'm sorry… I just… I wanted to see you again…" Wanda whispered.

"I understand," Natasha answered back just as quiet. "But I'm not her. I'm… not your Natasha."

Wanda held this Natasha tighter.

"I know… Just a little longer. Please."

Natasha couldn't say no. There was no way she could. If she could, she wished she could take away all of the other woman's pain and suffering.

Once Wanda calmed down, she pulled away from Natasha and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "Thank you for allowing me to be selfish."

Natasha nodded slowly with pained eyes. "Of course. What will you do now?"

Wanda gave a rueful smile. "Say goodbye. I've taken away the person you love long enough."

Natasha hated how sad she looked but she knew she couldn't allow this Wanda to remain in her universe any longer, fearing an incursion could happen. "And the Darkhold?"

"I'll close it for good. I know it's what my Natasha would have wanted." Wanda gazed into her eyes. "Your Wanda… Please know that she loves you dearly. I can feel it. Never forget to cherish her."

"I won't," Natasha promised.

Wanda gave one last tearful smile then mouthed her farewell, her irises flared red for a brief moment before eyes fell to a close and the body went limp. Natasha rushed in to catch her lover's body before she hit the floor, cradling her in her arms. The former assassin held her breath in anticipation, exhaling in relief when eyes fluttered opened.

"N-Natasha…?" Wanda rasped lowly.

"Hey, baby," Natasha smiled as she pushed some stray strands of hair away from the other woman's face. "Are you okay?"

Wanda stared up at the ceiling, eyes distant. "I… I had a dream."

Natasha pressed her lips tightly together. "What did you dream about?"

Wanda blinked a few times, swallowing thickly. "I dreamt of another me. From another universe. I felt all of her pain, all of her sorrow… because she lost someone really important to her."

Natasha was trying not to cry and blinked back the tears threatening to fall. "Is that so?"

"Yeah..." Wanda nodded slowly and turned back to look up at the older woman before wrapping her arms around Natasha's neck and burying her face into the crook of her neck. "I hope she'll find happiness again. I want her to be happy."

Natasha pressed her lips to the Sokovian's forehead and held her lover tightly, her thoughts drifting to the other Wanda she wished she could save.

"Me too, Wanda. Me too..."

#wandanat #wanda maximoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #scarletwidow

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