#mcu dark

[deathbyathousandspiders]

HELL–BOUND. ₅

mcu!peter parker | zombie apocalypse au. CHAPTER FIVE.

IN WHICH a run in with cannibals sets you and peter back much further than anticipated.

!! WARNING !! — there’s talk and mention of cannibalism and heavy gore themes in this chapter. discretion is critically advised.

read chapter one | two | three | four.

✨masterlist✨.

4.8k.

A groggy, unforgiving headache greeted your wake as you blinked away what felt like days of sleep. You couldn’t remember half of what happened, what day it was, where you were–but the array of knives along the walls, the sleek cleanliness of the kitchen you were in, the pile of human bones in the corner of the white room–the memories came flooding back. 

You tried to sit up, quick to realize you were bound to the kitchen island by harsh leather restraints. They were tightly bound to your waist, wrists and ankles, keeping you from thrashing too much against the white kitchen counter. Your head rolled around, taking in your surroundings. When it rolled back, your eyes caught Peter, hanging by his own set of leather restraints off the wall. 

The two of you locked eyes in an instant. 

“I’m so sorry–”

“Zip it, Peter!” You fought against the restraints. “Don’t apologize to me until we find a way out of this!” You couldn’t do much when strapped down, and you knew wasting strength by fighting against a countertop would do you no good. You huffed, “What’s your visual from over there?”

Peter took a second to switch gears from his pity party, and you watched it happen. He’d been awake much longer than you, most likely blaming himself for the situation. For how long, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have time to. 

Just as he went to tell you his first mapped escape–route, the doors opened and shut with a loud thud. 

The same man and woman from earlier walked into the room and into your vision, stepping down the stairs and pacing towards you. The psychotic look in their eyes was so clear to you, so obvious. You felt idiotic for not noticing it in the clearing, and even more stupid to not see the hunger seeping through the midst of their staring. 

“I wonder.. Which piece of you should we harvest first?” The woman’s voice hummed in a sickly song, one that made your stomach turn. Her fingers ghosted down your leg, like she was trying to think through which pieces of you would spoil quickest. Which piece of you would taste the best. 

You let out a shudder. 

Peter tugged at his restraints. “Don’t touch her!!” He growled, shouted. He couldn’t just stand there and watch this happen. He didn’t even want to think of what would happen. 

The man pulled out a butcher’s knife and pointed it at Peter. It was the same blade that sliced your thigh before you’d blacked out, standing less than a foot away from his face “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” It was a roar almost as intimidating as Bucky’s. Peter knew if he spoke another word, he’d not only risk his life, but put yours more at risk, too. 

The woman laughed, somehow finding humor in this. “Oh, how I do love dinner and a show.” She never took her eyes off you, off your thickly cladded body. How you were still dressed was a blessing and a surprise. You were not complaining. 

You were not remembering to breathe, either. 

“Darling?” The woman continued, glancing briefly at her husband, “What’re you craving tonight?” The cruel, sickening smirk growing on her lips was enough to make you whimper. Your arms tugged against the restraints. 

The man caught your right arm roughly, causing you to flinch, stiffen. You stared at him with anticipation, a pleading look in your eyes. You were begging him to stop, to spare you, but no words left your lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, and you froze at the way he mirrored the woman’s twisted smirking expression. 

“I could really go for some charred bicep.” The words dripped from his tongue like venom, acid and magma that would have burned your flesh off. And perhaps, that might’ve been better. 

Better than seeing the way he raised that blade so high above his head. Better than hearing Peter’s final beseech to stop, his cry out for you. It would’ve been better than watching the blade chop full speed for your right arm. 

And it felt like the blade went clean through–It had to. It was hot and cold and heat and frost and fire and ice. Hot and cold and cold and hot and aches and burns and you couldn’t stop screaming. The pain was unbearable, stinging and cooling all at once, to the point where you couldn’t comprehend it; the pain overwhelmed you to a place of nonexistence. Pain to a degree of no comprehension, despite the fact that you could feel every waking second of it. You couldn’t breathe. 

Your limbs shook and stilled and flashed with chills and sweats and tears and sobs and bile and cold. You were cold, overheating, everything all at once. You were hurting, uncontrollably screaming. Each pained cry echoed through the room, ricocheting off the walls and immediately etching into Peter’s nightmares. Into yours, too. Into a place so dark in the depths of you, it would birthmark itself somewhere permanent. 

Screaming, bellowing, but were you even making a sound? Was the air around you truly as cold as it was hitting you? The room was spinning. The room was wet. It was hot and cold and burns and aches and far beyond anything you could ever describe, unlike anything you’d ever be able to comprehend. Anything you’d ever experienced, and something you never ever wanted to experience again. 

But he pulled the blade clean out, perhaps an inch above your elbow. And you gasped. You gasped like you’d drowned, like the air would taste cleaner. But it was warm hitting your throat, it was like you were drowning. There was no air in the room, it was water, thickly and warm and dissatisfying. It was death. You had to be dying. 

You didn’t have the mental strength to realize that the man was yelling about how dull the blade was; how the woman hadn’t sharpened the knife. You didn’t realize that your arm wasn’t even disconnected from your body, because to you, it felt like it was. 

The groggy, dizzy, unwakeable daze that lined the corners of the room began catching up to you, and you began to lose taste and touch of what was happening. You felt like you were being engulfed into a terrible dream, an out of body experience. And you couldn’t tell whether the world beyond your consciousness would be better than the phenomena you were experiencing right now. 

But Peter watched the whole thing happen. He watched your blood stain the blemished counters, the crimson he didn’t dare associate with you. He couldn’t even get it through his head that this was happening. Peter didn’t give himself time to gag at the sight, to process that you were about to get cooked and eaten. He was outraged that he’d been stupid enough to let this happen. 

Your cries and screams and thrashes and agony carved into Peter’s memory. He’d never forget this, it would haunt him. Forever. He’d never forgive himself for losing this badly. And the worst of it was that Peter wanted it to be over, so that he could get his turn. He wanted his punishment, to endure the same. He felt that he deserved it. 

He was trembling against the restraints, forgetting his own tears in the chaos of your pain. Peter wished he could take it; he wished more than anything, so desperately, that this was his ailment to live with. That he’d be the one with a disembodied arm. 

Peter fought back his sobs as the two kitchen–aids bickered about the knife. And just as they went back to what they were doing. Just as Peter tried to give himself more will to fight, more reason to bloody his wrists in attempt to escape, the lights flickered. The lights flickered and the two bone–heads looked at each other before the lights cut out. Blacked out, and when they came back up, they lit the grave room with hope. Hope in the form of Natasha Romanoff. 

Bloodied and bruised from what one could guess was remnants of a fight with everyone she’d faced to get here, Natasha took her two pistols and shot both of the cannibals clean through the head and painted the walls. The thuds of their bodies cued Natasha to process what the fuck was happening. Her shoulders slumped, she caught her breath, and immediately rushed to your aid. 

Your deafening cries had died down, weakening. It was scarier than when you’d nearly blasted out their eardrums. They were losing you, fast. Nastasha unbuckled the restraints around your right arm first, ripping the hem of her shirt off before wrapping it firmly around the slice on your lower bicep. The way you whimpered and flinched and your half–lidded eyes widened for a second made even Peter feel queasy, but it had to be done. 

Nastasha uttered a quiet apology as she finished freeing you, quick to take out a syringe from her pocket to push into your already–bruised collarbone. 

“What’re you doing?” Peter rasped out, hating to be skeptical of Natasha’s motives. A flash of worry that HYDRA had gotten to her, that she had worse plans for you rushed through him; the shortest glance at the tears and the panic as he watched the way she rushed over to him made him shake it off. Her fingers fumbled to undo his restraints, trembling, obviously as unnerved and terrified for you as he was. 

Natasha’s face was some form of grim, bare. Some shortcoming attempt at her usual stone–cold demeanor. She was a master at masking her emotions, but Peter could see the break in the dam she’d been holding up. “I gave her a sedative.” She freed his wrists, her voice wavering almost unnoticeably. “It’ll slow her heart rate, keep her from feeling the brunt of this.. It’ll hopefully help her chance at survival.” Peter glanced a few times between you and Natasha, swallowing the last of his tears before putting his head on straight. 

“We need to act fast.” Nastasha cut straight to the chase. “We can’t lose her.” Her words were short with urgency. Her breath was quick as they walked over to the counter, and Peter swore she had a glistening of tears brimming her eyes, but she’d never admit that. And Peter would never ask. 

He simply nodded and agreed. He was willing and ready to help however he could. And he started by picking you up off the island counter and hauling you out of the basement. 

Fresh corpses of the other cannibals Natasha had run into lined the halls, but the path was clear as she led Peter out of the fucked up vacinity. Both your backpack and Peter’s had been placed by the exit, and Nat carried both of them without question. Peter kept his grip on you firm, unshaken. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, or ever let you out of his sight again. 

No words were spoken between Natasha or Peter as they emerged from the building in the thick of night. She kept a white–knuckled hold on her pistols, nodding when the coast was clear for Peter and her to rush into the shadows. 

Peter knew she was headed straight for the airport. Once they were on that plane, headed for safety, they could talk about everything that had happened. Why Natasha was missing for a week. Where she was, how she found them. 

The jog to the airport was short, perhaps thirty minutes. With Peter’s heartbeat blaring above his neck, in his throat and all around, he hadn’t been keeping track of time. Whatsoever. His thoughts raced, he couldn’t keep a steady breath, but nothing would distract him from getting you to safety. 

That menacing, monstrous roar shook between the trees close by, but Peter and Natasha couldn’t look back to Bucky as you all approached the terminal. 

Both of them could feel the shaking of the ground beneath his trailing steps, feel the weight of his mutated presence as he loomed closely behind them. Peter kept running toward the airport garage, but Natasha slowed down. 

She yelled something in Russian, making Bucky stop in his tracks entirely. And despite the heartbreak in her eyes as she looked at him, the voice in her head that fought against her, Natasha kept yelling the words; Bucky Barnes’ trigger words. 

He fell to his knees at the phrases, palms pressing to his ears as he screamed and thrashed at no one in particular. The words drove him wild, and gave Nat the window she needed to throw the same shock–net Peter used just hours earlier, and shock him in place. 

Quick on her feet, Natasha sprinted across the terminal, cutting the distance between her and Peter before they both made it to the garage. 

She opened the large metal doors, catching as much breath as she could with the time before running to unlock the aircraft. 

Once the door opened, Peter ran inside, immediately looking for someplace to lay you  down. You remained unconscious in his grip, blood oozing from the fabric banded to your lower arm. It was a gnarly sight for Peter, and he had to fight his nausea for your sake. 

Nat rushed in after him, shut the door and set down the bags, locking them inside before heading to the cockpit. It didn’t take her long before the plane was on and she wheeled the vehicle out into the open. 

“Are you two secure?” Natasha kept that same urgency with her words, hypocritical as she kept her seatbelt off. She prepared the plane for take–off. 

Peter found a stretcher attached to the plane wall, safely strapping you onto it before he buckled a seatbelt of his own. “Secure enough!” He hollered back. 

And before Natasha even gave a response, the plane was out into high gear and they dashed down the runway. The jet was in the air within a matter of minutes, and if you weren’t bleeding out beside him, Peter would’ve found some sense of peace. Every ounce of him was focused on you. 

Before they knew it, the plane was smooth sailing in the sky, through the dusking horizon and a slight gust of overcast. 

Natasha called Peter to the cockpit soon after, nothing wavering from the sense of importance and seriousness she’d been speaking in. But when Peter came to her aid, he could spot the glistening of tears painting her cheeks. 

“I need you to drive.” Nat’s voice showed no sign of crying, nor vulnerability. “Just while I give her stitches.”

Taking a sharp inhale, Peter tried to act like he wasn’t completely panicked by the words. Either set of them. “I, uh– I’ll do what I can.” And before Natasha could even stand up, Peter kept speaking. “How do I do that.. Exactly?”

A smile consumed Natasha’s lips before she could protest, realizing just how much she’d missed Peter. They didn’t have time to catch up yet, though. Not til you were in better stability. She took a deep breath, eying the control panel. She gave a very brief explanation and tutorial on what Peter needed to monitor while she stepped out; although, the jet was on autopilot for the most part. 

Before he knew it, Peter was alone with his thoughts. His bouncing knee, his shaky fingers on the steering unit, and his undeniable urge to turn his head back and check on you every second. He did try to look back a few times, but he was either met with a lightheaded rush of sickness or a thickened throat and tears in his eyes. 

Natasha gave him a task, and he tried to focus on that. If there was anywhere in the world where you could be nursed back to health, it would be Wakanda. So he tried to keep his thoughts set there, and what Wakanda would be like. Peter just couldn’t believe he’d led you to such an injury. 

It took thirty minutes before Peter saw the break between land and the North Atlantic. It was his second time leaving the country, his first time since Germany. Spacing out at the open ocean, the dark space surrounding the dashboard, he reminisced on the reason why he’d been in Europe: the epic fight between Cap and Tony. It led him to miss them, all of them. It only reminded him of how much they’d lost. 

Peter watched the way the skyline divided. The two sets of dark that separated stars and sea, the clouds that freckled the sky, and the waves that waded miles below them. He had to remember to breathe, because they had hours ahead of them before they’d arrive at Wakanda. At least the sight of the rippling waters reminded him of something like stillness. 

Forty minutes in the sky, and Natasha walked back into the cockpit, slumping on the seat next to Peter. Her bloodied hands cradled her head, and she took in the deepest breaths he’d ever seen her take. 

And now, in the dark, in the quiet, Peter finally took a chance to take in Natasha. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d left in a week ago, tattered and scorched, but mainly muddied; now, with a thick layer of blood splotches from this evening alone. 

For the first time in his life, Peter saw Natasha in vulnerability, in fear. It was sobering, and made him motivated to help however he could. If one of them had to be strong, Peter didn’t mind taking that responsibility for a bit. It just wasn’t a scale he thought measured when it came to Natasha Romanoff. 

Her fingers raked through her short red hair, now giving Peter a view of the sorrow in her eyes. “I should’ve never left you kids alone..”

The words filled Peter with cold, heavy, dread. “Is she dead–?”

“No!” Her eyes fell wide, panicked at the thought. “No. I just..” Natasha’s lips pressed to a thin line. “I went to look for Barnes, after I freed Y/N.” She blinked away the tears as quickly as they welled. “And had I just.. Walked her to the house, I could’ve…” Her words got lost on the way out. 

Peter didn’t wait for her to find them. “You can’t think like that.” Part of him spoke to himself as he reassured her. “It’s awful, what happened.. But we can’t blame ourselves for it.” He took a second to let his own words process. “At least, not until she blames us first.”

That got Nat to laugh at least. “I’ve missed you, kid.” The laughter was short to last, both of them catching a glance back at where you soundly resided. Silence fell heavy in the space between the two of them before she sighed, releasing some of the guilt she’d let reign over her shoulders. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“We’re together now. Let’s focus on that.” Peter cracked a small smile, forcing some of that strength he assumed Natasha needed. “I brought that change of clothes you wanted, by the way.” He found the strength to change the subject, digging through his backpack before handing Nat the clothes she’d instructed. 

With a mix of denial and complete appreciation, Natasha took the clothes with that same small smile. She thanked him. “You really thought I’d look like shit, huh?” She mused a joke, running a ghost of a finger over the fabric of the top like it was too good to be true.  

A more sullen expression transfigured into Peter’s curled lips. “No, I just figured you’d get put through the wringer.” The sentence was slow, more agonized towards the end. But it was honest. 

And it still earned a little reassuring squeeze of the shoulder as Natasha ushered herself to the back to change. 

The next two hours became Peter and Natasha catching up, eying the console but never needing to change any settings. They took the chance to check on your vitals every so often, hydrate, and freshen up. 

It was an overwhelming amount to process. The fact that they’d gotten out of the American ruins, were on their way to the last functioning societal places left on the planet, and had the source to cure the world was a lot. And Peter still had one burning question in mind. 

“So,” He picked at the food in his opened can, spinning the metal container to fidget. “Will she really need to die for them to make the cure?”

Natasha nearly spit her food out from the laugh suddenly caught in her throat. She disguised it with a faint hum. “She told you that she’d have to, didn’t she?” All she needed to see was Peter’s nod to actually let out a chuckle. “Of course she did.”

Something in Peter’s eyes sparked a bit. “Does that mean she won’t have to?”

Her head shook, “She shouldn’t have to. I never finished my notes in that folder, so she probably assumed the worst.” And that assumption was right. “She might be strapped to a bed for a few days while they do some bloodwork, but she certainly won’t have to die.”

Peter’s entire body seemed to melt back into the pilot’s seat, relief overtaking him before he could even release a solid breath. “Thank God.” He’d been holding those words, that breath, since the second the two of you reconnected. Part of him was always scared that he’d lose you once he’d found you again; now, being on that plane, headed to Wakanda, knowing you weren’t getting sent to your sacrificial death, he started to see the world in color again. 

And you did too. 

A thick gasp ripped you from your forced slumber, immediately choked back on winces as your body came to. You took in a few more rapid breaths, trying to latch onto anything familiar about your surroundings, trying to calm yourself from the adrenaline of a nightmare. The pain in your arm throbbed and your upper thigh burned, reminding you of the last time you’d been conscious. Reminding you instantly of what took you captive. “Peter!” It came out like a groan, rasped and lodged back behind your grimace of pain, but it was loud enough. 

You didn’t have to think twice before a haste tread of footsteps could be heard. In the dark of the room, wherever you were, his silhouette could be made out beside you. Warm fingers gripped your right hand, the familiar callouses of Peter’s hold brought you some mental footing. Comfort. 

He kneeled beside the stretcher you laid upon before kissing your knuckles, his lips tracing each. A bit of light caught his features, reflecting off the hot tears lining his eyes. “We got out, you’re safe.” He whispered the words so weakly, they were breaking at the seams beneath the weight of his guilt. You could barely hear them over the high–pitched whirring surrounding the room you were in. 

Tears welled in your own eyes–from the waking of your nightmare, from the overwhelming pain lining your left arm, from the silent realization that you were in a plane right now. You were safe–it was almost too much. Peter wiped the first tear that fell from your eyes, using the same free hand to move strands of your hair from your face. His grip on your right hand adjusted, only growing more secure. 

“We made it out.” He repeated, taking a shaky breath with his pause. “Can you let me say sorry now?” The cries he tried to swallow back put gaps in his hushed question, and you couldn’t bring your trembling lip to give a response. You were overcome with relief, and tried to process the trauma and realization that the two of you made it out of a situation you didn’t think possible to. 

You could only squeeze his hand in reply, and it seemed like more than enough for him. Peter pressed the back of it to his lips again before leaning closer and kissing your cheek. Unlacing your fingers, you held his face gently, wiping his stray tears with your thumb. Peter took in the moment, savoring your touch on his cheek, leaning into it. He soon dipped down, pressing a fragile kiss to your lips. It only lasted a long second or two, but he kept his forehead rested against yours for what felt like much longer. 

“It’s good to know some things didn’t change.” Nat’s voice stood out against the quiet, making you startle from the intimate moment with Peter. She stepped into view, confirming that she was, in fact, alive. Natasha made it out, too. And you assumed she’d been your saving grace against the cannibals. 

A fresh set of tears coated your eyes, much happier than the first. Even in the dark of the aircraft, you could tell she got watery the same moment you did. 

Peter kept hold of your hand, though he moved back a bit to share you with Natasha. She littled the distance between you, pressing a short kiss to your head with apology. With compassion and condolences. “Rest up, kiddo.” She sighed, “Both of you should sleep.” Natasha stood upright, looking you both in the eye. “We’ve got hours to go.”

And you didn’t argue with her. 

The stretcher was spacious enough for Peter to rest on it beside you, getting his first wink of proper sleep in possibly weeks. You slept plenty, but after an hour or so of rest, you got restless. And hungry. 

With Peter sound asleep, you took your time easing out of his hold around you and stretched your leg. The gash on your thigh was worse than you’d realized, but Nat stitched you up quite well. 

Now it was your turn to eat and catch up with Natasha. The two of you sat in the cockpit, talking through everything that had happened on both ends throughout the past week, and Nat even went on to tell you all about what the world was like during your captivity. You’d also sought advice in her about how to go about your relationship with Peter. 

She reassured you that there was nothing selfish about it. 

After a few hours, Peter woke up as well, joining the two of you in the head of the aircraft. It was a monumental moment when he did, because the three of you got to watch the plane fly over land. You made it. You were flying over the African continent. 

And static sparked over the radio system. 

Natasha sat upright, grabbing the walkie microphone and pressing a button on the dashboard. “This is Summersault, does anyone copy?” She used a nickname that you could only piece together based on assumption. The three of you held your breath as the static continued, only cutting out when Nat would press the button on her mic again. “This is Summersault. Does anybody copy? Over.”

Something thick hung in the air as you all simultaneously leaned forwards in your seats. You didn’t know who you were waiting for, but an unanswered call would not be ideal. Having static be the only answer to Natasha could mean a number of things. It did, however, fuel the worry that there wasn’t anything left. That maybe, the Wakanda you thought you were headed for, was nothing but empty buildings and bones and ash. 

You were still miles out from any possible remnants of operating civilization, so the feedback couldn’t be a fluke. Right?

What felt like a minute passed. Perhaps an hour, but you knew it wasn’t, really. Silence made the wait feel dragged. None of you could take your eyes off the console, hoping maybe that your prayers would be answered. 

A crinkle in the static, and the three of you held your breaths, flinching at the change of noise. “I think the codename I gave you was Peppermint Patty.” You never would’ve expected the recipient to have been someone so familiar, but it was Tony Stark who answered your call. He answered your prayer.

[w4ndal0ver]

Good Wives Always Know (Wanda x Agatha x Reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: daddy!agatha x mommy!wanda x sub!reader

summary: You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Agatha and Wanda found out you were casually seeing them both at the same time, but you didn’t think it would end up like this. 

content warnings: daddy!agatha, mommy!wanda, humiliation, degradation, praise, choking, breath play, nipple play, vibrator use, strap use, spanking, double penetration, strap sucking, power imbalance, bondage, oral sex, fingering, anal sex, spitting, probably more but read at your own discretion! <3 

 word count: 7k

Good Wives Always Know (Wanda x Agatha x Reader)

You tugged against the restraints tied harshly around your wrists, your face flushed as you were sat naked, wrists tied to either side of the headboard of your bed, the two women looking over you dressed completely. You couldn’t believe you’d been caught, you didn’t expect them to ever find out that you were simultaneously seeing them both. While you’d never confirmed exclusivity to either woman, with the dynamic you shared with both individually it was probably expected. 

“Oh honey, you really thought you could keep this little game going forever? Did you honestly believe we wouldn’t find out.” Wanda coos, perching to the left side of you, smiling in her sickeningly sweet way, her fingers brushing over your burning cheek. 

“Of course she thought that.” Agatha laughs, her chuckle a menacing contrast to Wanda’s calming demeanor. “Look at her Wanda, this little slut probably thought she was being clever.” You whined at the pet name, but your cheeks flushing scarlet as Wanda’s eyes opened wider at the contrast in how your other woman speaks to you, a stark difference to the dynamic you shared with her. 

“I just don’t understand how you found the time baby. Keeping up with me and Agatha.” Wanda spoke, her voice deceptively soft as her head tilts to meet your shamed gaze. “That’s quite the schedule. 

“Time? Oh, please.” Agatha cut in again, neither woman allowing you to speak, “She was probably slipping out of my bed and straight into yours, isn’t that right pet?” With that question she grasps your chin, pulling your face towards hers, her lips pursed as you glares down at you, her hand forcing you to nod in response to her question. You didn’t dare speak, you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Now, now, let's not scare her too much. She’s not used to being called out, are you, sweet girl?” Wanda protests, her hand falling onto your thigh and giving you an encouraging squeeze. The combination of both women was turning your brain completely fuzzy as you felt yourself slipping into a submissive role that was being torn between both dynamics. 

“Sweet? There's nothing sweet about her.” Agatha spits, releasing you from her grip, slapping you hard across the face, the noise alone drawing an elicit moan from your lips before you allow your head to drop, your hair falling across your face. “She’s a dirty little whore who thought she could have it all. Look at her now, squirming like the pathetic mess she is.”

“Let’s not be too hard on her, Agatha.” Wanda pouts, her fingers stroking through your sweat sodden hair. “She’s just inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced?” Agatha scoffs, the rage on her cheeks growing, “She’s been playing this game for ages. We’re just the ones to catch her.” This time, Agatha's hand found its way around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck at your lack of response to any of their questions, even if they hadn’t given you the time to respond. 

“I’m sorry.” You squeak, gasping on the words that get caught in your restricted throat. 

“Sorry? You’re not sorry, you like playing games, don’t you slut?” Her grip returns harsher and you whine against the palm of her hand, your hips involuntarily bucking upwards. 

“I didn’t-” You struggle breathlessly, trying to respond but you’re unable to underneath the brunettes pressure against your throat. 

“Shh, sweet thing, let Agatha have her fun.” Wanda cuts you off, her voice soothing but taunting at the same time. “She’s just upset because you’ve been so naughty. She only wants to teach you how to behave.” 

A wicked grin spreads across Agatha’s face as she loosens her grip and you splutter at the sudden rush of air. She doesn’t let you go completely, enough to let you catch your breath but still hold you captive against the mattress. “Oh, I’m not done yet. But don’t worry pet, you’ll learn. You’re going to beg us to teach you more by the time we’re through.” Her voice drips with disdain as she lets her other hand trace down your body, stopping just above your waist. 

You feel your skin begin to heat up with both fear and desire, your words unable to contain themselves. “I don’t want to, please, don’t-” You start to squirm under her grip, feeling trapped but exhilarated, your hands tugging harder against the restraints. 

“Stop pretending. You want this and don’t you dare act innocent now when you’ve been sneaking behind our backs.” Agatha’s voice rises in anger again, eyes darkening with jealousy as she looks at Wanda, the soft glow of the redhead's eyes beaming down on you doing nothing but spurring her on. 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted you both, I didn’t know-” Your words begin to trail off as you realise how desperate you sound with both women on either side of you, both with their hands on different parts of your body. 

Wanda smiles at the admission, her fingers caressing your face as she leans back just slightly to give Agatha more space. “Oh baby, we know. You just don’t know how to pick one, do you.” Her voice was laced with sweet mockery now, your cheeks glowing pink as her tone began to change, a switch up that you were all too well acquaintanced with. “But now, you’ll learn what happens when you can’t choose. You belong to us, whether you like it or not.”

Agatha's lips curl into a smirk as she leans in, bringing her face close to yours, her voice a sharp whisper, “You don’t get to play both sides anymore, you’re ours now, and we’ll make sure you know exactly what that means.” You whine at her words, her hand inching closer to where you needed her, the exchanges between the two women had made you more desperate than you could ever imagine, arousal dripping down the lengths of your inner thighs. 

“Do you understand sweetheart?” Wanda asks carefully, her fingers brushing your goosebumped skin, the pads of her fingertips edging towards your aching nipples. 

“Yes Mommy.” You reply, your lips rolling against each other as Agatha smirks down at you, her fingers pressing down into your pubic bone, hard enough to leave white marks into your skin. 

“How cute, you’ve got your Mommy and your Daddy.” Agatha smirks, not knowing Wanda’s title to you until your shamed admission through glossy eyes as you can’t pick someone to focus on. “Now your Mommy has been telling me some things about you and how much of a greedy slut you are with her, hm?” Even Wanda squirmed slightly at Agatha’s words, but you, you were a whimpering mess underneath them both. 

“I don’t, I’m not-” You exclaim, batting your eyelashes at Wanda who didn’t give you any soft and calming looks back. 

“You’ve never touched her have you?” Agatha states, two fingers reaching down to stroke the length of your cunt, spreading you apart and gathering your arousal onto her fingers. You shake your head, both you and Wanda knowing that their dynamic was different to yours and Agathas. “But that's what she’s good for Wanda, she's such a good little fucktoy when she wants to be, I use her all the time you should try her.” 

With her words, the pressure of her fingertips grew stronger, planting lazy circles against your clit, being spoken about like you’re not there, not getting the attention that you want was driving you insane. You tried everything to snap them back to you, lifting your hips, trying to get the friction that you desperately craved, but Agatha was good at ignoring you. 

“You’re going to show your Mommy how good that tongue of yours is.” Agatha orders, casually removing her hand from between your legs despite your whines of protest, untying the restraints that had held you captive. As soon as you’d been let free, her hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, shoving you onto your knees. 

As Wanda stood, she unbuckled her belt, removed her trousers and her laced underwear, positioning herself in front of your hung face, her legs open and you were practically drooling at the sight of her opened up in front of you, her arousal reflecting the light. 

“Go on honey, I give you permission.” Wanda spoke calmly, watching as Agatha positioned herself behind you, unknowingly to you. You couldn’t care what Agatha was doing as the permission to touch her was the only thing you could focus on. You didn’t know what Wanda liked, but you just performed what Agatha had taught you when you first met, your tongue licking wide strokes up and down the length of her pussy, groaning at the taste of her. 

Just as you started to drive circles into Wanda’s clit with the tip of your tongue, you felt Agatha’s hand collide harshly with your ass, an unexpected moan forced its way through your lips, vibrating conveniently against Wanda’s cunt. 

“You’ve been seeing your Mommy for ten weeks behind Daddy’s back, so you’re getting ten.” Agatha announces, delivering another quick spank to the other cheek. You moaned again, this time you were joined with a high pitched groan from Wanda, who had fallen back on her arms, her hips lifting to meet where your tongue was circling lightly against your clit. 

“Oh baby you’re making Mommy feel so good.” Wanda gasped as your circles got harder and tighter. Agatha delivered two more spanks to you and you groan increasingly louder with each one and the redhead’s hands fall into the locks of your hair, forcing your face closer to her arousal. You started to suck against her clit, your rhythm being put off once again by another spank. 

“You make Mommy sound so pretty with that whore mouth of yours.” Agatha comments and even Wanda whines at the remark, her cheeks flushed and her neck strained as show throws her head back in pure ecstasy. “Look at your Mommy when you make her cum.” She forces your head up, your tongue remaining firmly against Wanda’s clit, the redhead trembling in front of you as Agatha smacks your ass another three times in quick succession was enough to make you fall apart in between them both. 

You could feel Wanda shaking around you, her thighs clenching harder around your face as Agatha spanked you for the penultimate time. Wanda’s chest rose as you sucked against her clit, grazing your teeth over her nub and that was all she needed, she came tumbling over the edge with a pornographic moan, her hands still buried in your hair as she continued to grind against your tongue as she worked herself through her orgasm. 

Just as you leaned away from her, Agatha slapped your ass harder than she ever had before you and groaned in pain, trying to scurry away from her, but she had a tight grip on your thighs, keeping you in place. 

“God your Daddy was right, you are incredible with your tongue.” Wanda praises, changing her position so she’s lying next to you, her hands caressing the red marks left by Agatha. You pout at the redhead, knowing that you could get yourself out of this punishment if you kept acting sweet and innocent, but Agatha would never fall for it. You were right, of course. 

Agatha flips you onto your back, laying you down harshly against the matress. “Don’t give into her Wanda, she wanted our attention and now she’s got it so let’s see how much she can take.” You watch as Agatha reaches for her wand, handing it over to Wanda and you feel your body squirm as your mind flicks to the countless times Wanda has punished you with this toy, edging you over and over until you’re a pathetic mess begging her to let you come. 

“Come on sweetheart, you know you have to be punished so take it like a good girl.” Wanda beams, her smile calming you as Agatha pries open your legs, holding one so you can’t escape from what was about to happen. You hear the vibrations before you feel them, the anticipation making your body tremble as the brunettes' nails dug harshly into your upper thigh. 

Wanda moves the vibrator an inch so it's pressed lightly up against your clit and you whine so desperately to the pleasure that was coursing through your body. You were already so desperate, your arousal leaking and smothering your thighs from being spanked so harshly, your clit pulsating against the vibrations as Wanda pressed the head of the toy harder against you. 

Agatha started to play with your hardened nipples, she was never gentle with you. Her nails were scratching against your nubs, her fingers rolling them harshly. The addition of Agatha’s harsh pulls and twists against your breasts and the increasing vibrations pulsating through your cunt was bringing you unashamedly close to the edge as your thighs begin to tremble, Agatha slaps your erect nipple, making you gasp and try not to tumble over the edge. Before you could even think about it, Wanda removed the vibrator from you, her familiar mockingly sad pout looming over you as Agatha continued to play with your nipples. 

Wanda gives you a few seconds to reset before placing the vibrator back against your clit as your hips buck subconsciously to meet the toy. “Do you like being the center of attention? Having both of us watching your every move?” Wanda asks, her voice slick with a sweet mockery of your current state as you nod so hard you almost pass out.

“Oh she loves it. Look at her.” Agatha jeers, leaning down to bite your right nipple, drawing a high pitched squeal from your throat, “She’s practically begging for more.” 

You felt yourself getting close again, but before you could get there Wanda removed the vibrator once more. You were frustrated, your cheeks flushed, your forehead slick with sweat. You start whining but Agatha grasps your mouth with her flat palm, forcing your whines to be muffled by her strop grip as Wanda places the vibrator against you again. 

You get close embarrassingly fast, not being given enough time to recover. You start trembling and moaning against Agatha’s hand, but before you are given any sort of release the vibrator is removed from you again. Wanda can’t help but laugh at your body sprawled across the mattress, Agatha’s fingers still pulling at your nipples. 

“Please Mommy, I can’t, I need to come, please.” You beg, knowing that it usually worked with Wanda, tactfully choosing not to address Agatha because you know what the answer would be. 

“Okay sweetheart, this time you can come for Mommy okay.” You nod enthusiastically, opening your legs up wider and you can hear Agatha scoff in disbelief at how easily Wanda had caved from one line of pathetic begging. You felt the vibrator again, this time your body relaxed into it, allowing the pleasure to take over your body. You were a stuttering mess, your body squirming despite both womens harsh grips on your skin in an attempt to keep you still. 

This time when you get close, you let your body take over and the orgasm rips fiercely through your body, your muscles contorting from the relief of frustration. Just as Wanda went to turn the vibrator off, Agatha grabs if from Wanda, finding the dial and turning it up to the maximum speed and pressing it hard against your sensitive clit. 

“No way, Daddy is not letting you get off that easy.” Agatha smirks as you do everything you can to get away from the strength of the toy that was being pressed so harshly against you it was painful. Your legs start thrashing against the bed, but Agatha doesn’t stop, she just laughs at your struggle. 

“Please forgive me Daddy, I can’t” You whine desperately, tears forming in your eyes as another painful orgasm rushed through your body against your will, but she still doesn’t give in, she keeps her strong grip on the vibrator, not allowing you to escape from her. 

“You know the word if you can’t do it.” Agatha says, waiting impatiently for a safeword to come out of your mouth, but as she expected, she was met with radio silence, “Yeah thats what I thought you fucking whore, take it like the little slut you are for Daddy.” Agatha laughs as she pushes even harder and you scream in desperation as you feel another orgasm getting dangerously close to your sensitive cunt, you weren’t even sure if you could manage another one. 

Wanda started to draw circles into your skin, her instincts kicking in when she sees a tear stream down your face. She goes to wipe it from your cheek, but Agatha stops her with her spare hand. “Look at how pathetic she looks when she cries, she’s so easy to break.” Agatha says as more tears stream down your cheeks. Wanda manages to brush a few away from your cheek much to Agatha’s distaste. 

“I’ve never seen her like this before, she looks so helpless.” Wanda comments as your body shakes underneath the vibrator, the pain and pleasure combining too much and you’re so overstimulated you can’t help but let the tears fall. 

“Helpless? No doll, she’s nothing more than our slutty little toy and she’s ours to break, look at her, it's pathetic.” With that, she spits at you, her saliva mixing with your tears on your face. This time you’re met with Wanda looking down at you, a satisfied hum leaving her throat as she finally sees what Agatha means. You were done for, if Agatha could convert Wanda so easily, you didn’t know if you’d ever get out of it. 

“I can’t do it Daddy, I’m so close I can’t do it again.” You whine in desperation as another orgasm tried to break you, but you were holding it back so you didn’t have to feel the sensitivity afterwards again. 

“God you’re so pathetic.” Agatha growls, turning the vibrator off and you can breathe again, your aching cunt dripping down onto the bed sheets. You’re barely given a moment to recover before Agatha is unbuckling her belt and forcing you up onto your knees. “It’s a shame, I was going to fuck you after one more orgasm.” Agatha laughed, motioning towards your favourite purple strap that was waiting for you, already attached to the harness. 

“No wait Daddy, Please I’ll do it, I’m sorry.” You whine, you knew this was Agatha messing with your head but your fuzzy state of mind couldn’t see past it, the only thing you knew how to do was beg, even if they called you pathetic. She ignored your attempts, holding her belt between her hands before buckling it back around your hands as she tugged them behind your back, tightening it so you couldn’t move them. You winced at the stretch, but you got no sympathy in return. 

“No its okay sweetheart, you can watch while Mommy gets fucked by Daddy instead of you.” Wanda coos and you could have almost combusted on the spot. You try to move, but your hands behind your back put you off balance and you realise your fate as Agatha slips herself into the harness, lubing it up as Wanda arches her back on the mattress. You couldn’t even whine anymore, your silence was astronomical as you watched the scene play out in front of you. 

Agatha isn’t rough with Wanda, she treats her with respect, knowing the redhead deserved it. “Agatha, no teasing.” Wanda demands as she feels the head of the strap rubbing against her pussy, and Agatha immediately complies, pushing the length of the cock inside of her and relishing in the pornographic sounds that erupted from the redhead's mouth. Wanda’s fingernails dug into the bedsheets, gripping fistfuls of the duvet underneath her as she felt Agatha’s hips begin to thrust gently into her. 

“Fuck you’re so tight for me,” Agatha groans, finding the strength to double her efforts and thrust harder into the redhead, feeling how desperate she was for her. “Makes a change fucking someone who isn’t a pathetic fucktoy.” Agatha shoots her words at you as she squirm against the mattress, your knees begin to ache and your shoulders pulling backwards at un uncomforting level. “You like watching Daddy fuck Mommy huh?” Agatha asks you and Wanda’s blissed out face turns to look at you writhing in your restraints.

“Let me see how wet you are, open those legs for Mommy.” Wanda manages to get out in a fairly casual manner considering Agatha is basically pounding into her now, her hands on her waist, forcing her back onto her cock to meet her thrusts. You do as she says, the wet patch forming underneath you a good enough indicator of how much this was turning you on. 

At the sight of you, to Wanda’s delight, Agatha got rougher with her thrusts, her hand snaking round her body to circle her clit with the tips of two of her fingers. That was all it took, Wanda came crashing around the brunette's cock, her moans unashamedly loud and Agatha looks fairly satisfied with both of your reactions. Before she had a chance to pull out, Wanda lifted her body up with Agatha’s cock still buried inside of her, turning her head to place a kiss against her lips. 

That was only the beginning as the brunette reciprocated, grabbing the back of her neck and tracing her tongue against the surface of Wanda’s, both of them moaning into each other's mouths as Wanda grinded against the base of the strap. That turned you on more than watching them have sex, the way they moulded together in a fierce fight of dominance. Your desperate whines pull them away from each other, both their eyes falling on you. 

To your disappointment, Agatha shimmied her way out of her harness, leaving her wearing her shirt and laced underwear, a small damp patch revealing itself to you and you were ready to give Agatha everything you know she needed. The brunette watched as you licked your lips at the sight of her dampened underwear and she stripped them from her cunt, throwing them to the side before guiding you onto your front, your hands still restrained behind your back. 

“You’re going to make Daddy come as a thank you from me sweetheart.” Wanda said, tucking your hair behind your ear, as Agatha leaned backwards, her legs spread as the redhead helped you into position. She undoes the belt, allowing you to lean on your elbows as you kiss Agatha’s clit, her arousal seeping into your lips. She didn’t like it when you rushed, and you knew how desperate she was for it and how you’d be more likely to get what you want if you please her. 

“Put that mouth to good use slut.” Agatha growls through her desperation, scratching her nails through your hair and digging into your scalp to keep your face in position as you lick swirls through her folds. Unlike Wanda, Agatha rarely made a sound, she just went silent, her eyes always remaining on you through hooded eyes, giving you no satisfaction for making her cum. 

“While you make your Daddy feel good, we’re going to show her what we like to do together when you’re really desperate.” Wanda breathes into your ear, her body slick against yours, biting your earlobe before grabbing your ass and your eyes widened as your tongue worked hard against Agatha’s wet cunt. “Because I can feel how desperate you are.” Wanda smirked, two fingers reaching for your entrance, swiping at your dripping arousal before sucking her fingers into her mouth to taste your desperation plain and simple. 

She starts to push her fingers towards your entrance, before she stops, gathering enough arousal between her fingertips before allowing one of them to graze the rim of your second hole and you groan into Agatha’s pussy, the vibrations making her legs twitch. “You want me in here, don't you love.” Wanda teased, pressing lightly against your asshole, something which you’d never let Agatha do. You nod, your tongue beginning large circles around Agatha’s clit, still remaining slow and composed against her cunt, knowing better than to speed up without instruction.

“I wanna show Daddy.” You say, lifting up to take a breath, but you were immediately forced back down by Agatha’s quick hands and your tongue knows to continue before your brain can tell you to. 

You could feel Wanda shifting her weight behind you before palming the soft skin of your ass a few times before spreading it. The sound which left your mouth and reverberated off of Agatha’s cunt as Wanda pressed her tongue against your asshole was bordering on humiliating. You pussy clenched around nothing, aching at the way she teased your rim. 

Wanda hummed against your skin before pulling back to rub a slick finger against it. “You take it so well, don’t you? You like getting your ass fucked by Mommy?”

The flush she brought to your cheeks had you squirming, but your tongue remained present on Agatha’s clit, the tug she had on your hair made you speed up just a fraction, the tremble in her thighs spurring you on. 

Wanda reached round your body to circle your clit in order to distract you from the way her fingertip dipped inside. She was efficient with it, working it deeper and deeper until you could feel her knuckle against your skin. Your pussy tightened with every gentle thrust as she worked, dripping down to where her other hand slid across your clit. 

By the time she lined a second finger alongside the first, Agatha was letting out the prettiest little grunts. You watched for a while, enjoying the rock of her hips and the wet noises your tongue made against her heat. You groaned desperately when you felt Wanda’s second finger stretching deep inside of you. 

She was working hard to stretch you out, knowing what would be coming next, but you didn’t. Before you could even question why Wanda was preparing you up, Agatha’s chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace and her hands in your hair gripped tightly and you knew she was close. You continued the exact rhythm you’d found with your tongue and within a few seconds Agatha’s thighs were trembling before trapping your head between her legs while you sent her over the edge with a few breathy moans, your head transfixed into face as Wanda stretched you out with her two fingers. 

As soon as Agatha recovered, Wanda gently pulled out of you and before you could protest at the emptiness, the brunette pulled you onto her body, colliding her lips with yours so she could taste herself on your tongue.

“Are you ready to make it up to us like the dirty little whore you are?” Agatha pulled away and whispered into your ear. You nodded desperately and before you could move yourself, Agatha grabbed a fistfull of your hair and forced you onto the floor on your already sore knees. You grunted at the pain, but you received nothing as you watched both women put on harnesses, Agatha's purple one a lot bigger than Wanda’s pale pink dildo.

You sat and waited in anticipation, falling against the heels of your feet, your hands remaining on your thighs. Both women, strapped up, sit themselves next to each other at the foot of the bed, looking down at you on your knees. 

“She’s got so much potential, doesn’t she?” Wanda said and your face flushed pink at the praise, your eyes meeting Wanda’s and you were met with the kind gentle face you were used to. 

“Potential?” Agatha scoffed, “Sure, if you mean as a toy for us to use.” Your face flushed a darker red, changing your gaze to meet Agatha’s unforgiving smirk. “Come on slut , you know what to do.” Agatha smiled, looking down at her cock, waiting for you to clasp your lips around it. 

So you do exactly that, taking just the head into your mouth, licking around the top as if she could actually feel it before bobbing your head down further to take as much of her in as you could. Once you’d adjusted, she grabbed your hair, pushing you further down the shaft until you choked and spluttered against the strap. She lets you up for air, before Wanda guides your face towards her cock, gently forcing you to do the same thing on her. You oblige, not once closing your mouth as the two women take turns in having your lips around their cocks.

“Oh you poor thing,” Wanda cooed as tears began to stream down your face as you spluttered around her dildo for the second time, before Agatha grabs you and forces her cock into your mouth with a harsh thrust. The ache in your core growing and growing. “You needed two of us to take charge and put you in your place, didn’t you.” Despite Agatha's cock sliding further down your throat you manage to nod at Wanda's words. 

“And this is your place, desperately sucking on Mommy and Daddy’s cocks before we fuck you with them.” Agatha jeers and the words make you choke and they stop. You sit against your heels again, a mixture of saliva and tears running down your face as you look up at both of them who just look so unbelievably satisfied with themselves. They’d almost broken you. 

You get pulled back up onto the bed, forced onto your front so your head is buried in the pillows that had fallen out of place into the middle of the bed. Wanda shifted behind you, swinging a leg over your own and steadying herself with a hand against your back. Agatha walks around the side of the bed, sitting against the end, right next to where your head was lying. 

Slick fingers pressed into your asshole again, Wanda was relatively careful, checking with you over and over that you could take her fingers with relative ease before the blunt head of her toy pressed against your rim. 

“Don’t be shy.” Wanda encouraged, looking at how your face was being pushed into the pillows. 

“Daddy wants to see your face when she fills up your ass.” Agatha snarked from above and as much as you rolled your eyes, there was no getting away from it as two fingers pressed under your chin and she forced you to look directly into her eyes. 

The slightest increase against your asshole and you were fighting Agatha’s grip, not able to keep eye contact, but she was firm on you looking at her as Wanda’s hand groped at your asscheek, spreading you even wider so she could see you stretch around the tip of her cock. 

Wanda pressed deeper, but not by much. Her hands wrapped around your hips, caressing the skin while her cock rocked gently. 

“More please Mommy.” You grunt, pressing your ass back to heighten the intensity. You met Agatha’s smirk and with a few more gentle rocks you whined at the feeling of her hips pressed against your ass, the way her strap stretched around you, and the clench of your empty pussy. There was a temptation to bury your face into the pillows, but you’d never seen Agatha’s eyes light up the way they were right now. 

“Tell Daddy how much you like it when Mommy fucks you like this.” Wanda gasps, wrapping her hands around your hips, working her cock steadily until there was no stretch to speak of, just the rhythmic shift of her. 

“I love it when Mommy fucks me like this.” You stutter through breathy moans, but there was a reason Agatha had started moving towards you and you knew what was coming. 

You were aware of how your cunt was dripping onto the sheets, your spread knees meaning it had no stimulation whatsoever as Wanda fucked your other hole. Agatha kneed her way closer, “Look at you, this is the sluttiest I’ve ever seen you.” 

You whine as you let their hands coax you up until you are sandwiched between them. Your back arched, pressing your bare chest against Agatha as she pushed the pillows out of the way. One hand held her shoulder, the other reaching back to feel Wanda's strong grip on your hip as she kept her gentle rhythm. 

“You’re dripping you fucking whore.” Agatha sneered, teasing your opening with her fingers. Her grin was wolfish and unforgiving.

“Daddy.” You panted.

Her fingers pulled back to circle over your drowned clit, just the slick slip of her skin against yours was driving you insane. She was drinking in the desperate buck of your hips as the head of her cock brushed past your folds as Wanda kept a tight grip of you as she fucked your ass. 

“Please Daddy, I wanna be full, I want both of you inside of me-” 

Before you can finish begging, Agatha guides her strap into your entrance and your eyes roll to the back of your head, your skull resting back on Wanda’s shoulder as Agatha works her way inside of you, both of them finding the same rhythm with each other. 

“You’re so lucky to have both of us, you know that right?” Wanda pants as she watches in awe at the way your body trembled as both women thrust inside of you at the same time.

“Fuck yes.” You gasped.

You could barely breathe, you could’ve cried at the sensation. Not fast or aimed enough to be pleasurable, but deep enough to make you crave them both. Every shift of Agatha’s cock inside of you was a reminder of the other one. 

“You act like a whore you get treated like a whore, is that why you did this?” Agatha asks, leaning down between thrusts to lick at your nipples teasingly while her hand dipped between your legs and kindly circled your clit. You nod, earning you a swift sharp thrust into your pussy making you whine in pleasure as they sped up their adjoined rhythm. “You’re nothing but our filthy whore, this is what you deserve, this is what you were made for, having all your holes filled like this.” 

“I’m so full.” You whined, feeling the low thrum of an orgasm approaching, but every time you felt it you couldn’t chase it because of a different sensation on your body. 

“Not full enough.” Agatha growled into your skin, her fingers tracing your lips before you allowed her in, your tongue immediately sucking at her fingers. “My god, you’re so fucking dirty.” She breathed, looking at the way your body was crumbling under the pressure. Agatha held your hips and started bucking up harder into you and you keened at the rough treatment, but once Wanda matched the relentless pace, the feeling had your eyes squeezed shut. 

“You let us do whatever we want to you. Good little girl.” Wanda praised as you kept getting louder and louder, no longer caring what you sounded like. They were both working in and out, but once Agatha’s fingers found your clit again and rubbed tight pressured circles against it, you felt your body untense as the pain subsided and all you could feel was an intense amount of pleasure. But it was too much, there was no way you would ever catch up to the orgasm that kept building and fading.

“We’re not going to stop. You can be a good whore and come on our cocks now, or you can take it for another hour, we can do this all day.” Agatha spat, getting impatient with your disobedience, but Wanda traced love hearts on your back and the combination of the two relaxed you. 

“Breathe, just take it honey.” Wanda whispered, and it took a second for your brain to kick into gear again, to fight the fuzziness that was stopping your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck Mommy I’m-” You gasped, “Daddy please can I-” 

“Oh I know.” You could hear the smile on Wanda’s face. 

“You better come like a filthy little whore all over our cocks,” Agatha ordered, rocking you up and down until your brain went blank and the sheer height of it took over. “Now.” 

You felt like you were there forever, eyes squeezed shut, nails dug into both womens arms. After a few more thrusts and circles of your clit, it all crashed down. Burning hot pleasure ripped up your spine in controllable waves, the heat between your legs spreading everywhere. They didn’t pull out until you were jerking violently, painfully aware of how tight you were clenched around you. 

They gave you a minute before warning you that they were pulling out and you fell against the mattress in a pathetic sweat, your body shaking as the two women took off their harnesses and sat enveloping you between them.

Agatha was the first to get you water, her harsher techniques meaning her aftercare was incredibly important to her. She helped you sip it slowly while Wanda cradled you in her arms. 

“You know we’re thankful you were two timing us, right?” Agatha laughed, kissing your sodden forehead, brushing your wet hair from your face. 

“So wait, I don't have to choose?” You say in a thankful shock, leaning into both women. 

“Haven’t we just proved you can have both of us.” Wanda said, her head cocked to the side and her eyebrow raised as the flush of your cheeks. 

“Like we said, you’re ours now.” Agatha smirked, twirling your hair around her fingers. “Come on let's get you cleaned up.”

“Give me a minute, I don’t think I can walk.”

[bluelaidlyworm]

Burdened with Glorious Purpose.

"I know what kind of god I want to be."

[shybluebirdninja]

Fury

Summary: When Bucky's jealous of Steve, there's only one way to calm the storm— and it involves taking you hard and fast.

Pairings           : Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Note                 : rough sex, blowjob, jealousy

The tension was suffocating the second you walked back into the room. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear the grinding. He didn’t even need to say anything. His eyes—stormy, dark, and fixed on you��were enough to tell you what kind of mood he was in.

You didn’t do anything wrong, at least not intentionally. Steve had been the one who came over, his usual friendly self, maybe standing a little too close, maybe cracking one too many jokes. But it wasn’t like you were encouraging him. Hell, you barely even noticed until you saw the way Bucky’s eyes tracked every single move Steve made around you, like a predator sizing up his prey. The moment Steve walked out of the room, Bucky’s whole demeanor shifted—dangerous, possessive.

And now, here you were, the air thick with the kind of jealousy that could either end in a fight or something way more explosive.

He finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “You looked real comfortable with Steve, huh?”

You froze. Bucky wasn’t one for idle jealousy—when he got possessive, it was something primal, something that burned hot and fast, a storm you either weathered or drowned in. And right now, you were treading water.

“It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. But you knew that wouldn’t fly. Not with him.

“Wasn’t it?” He pushed off the wall, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. “Looked like he couldn’t keep his fuckin’ eyes off you. And you? You just let it happen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he gave you shut it right down. His hand was on you in an instant, his metal fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You think you can let Steve get that close to you and I wouldn’t do something about it?” His breath was hot against your skin, his voice thick with that dangerous edge. “You’re mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, feeling that familiar pull low in your belly, the one that always came when Bucky got like this—jealous, furious, and desperate to remind you just who you belonged to.

“Bucky—” you tried, but his grip tightened just enough to stop you.

“Shut up.” His words were sharp, demanding, and your knees felt weak. He spun you around so fast you barely had time to catch your breath before you were pressed against the nearest wall, his body pinning you there, hard and unrelenting. “I’m gonna fuckin’ show you what happens when you let another man get close.”

His hand slid down your back, over the curve of your ass, gripping it roughly before he yanked your jeans down in one swift move. You gasped, your palms flat against the cold wall as he kicked your legs apart with his foot. His hand came down on your bare skin, a sharp slap that sent a shockwave of pleasure and pain shooting through you.

“Fuckin’ Steve...” he muttered darkly, another slap making you bite back a moan. “Think he can look at you like that?” His breath was hot on your neck. “Hear that, baby? You’re gonna scream for me, so loud, I want him to hear you.”

Before you could process the thought, he was pushing your face down against the wall, his fingers finding your heat, rough and fast, teasing you until you were a mess of whimpers and gasps. “Already so wet, huh?” he growled, pressing himself against you from behind, letting you feel just how hard he was.

You pushed back against him, needing more, needing him to just take what he wanted already, but he wasn’t giving in that easy. He always liked to make you wait, drag it out, make you beg for it. And you were close—so close to begging. But he didn’t give you the chance.

“Fuck this,” he growled, and then he was inside you, hard and fast, filling you completely in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but there was nothing but the cold, unyielding wall in front of you.

“Bucky!” His name tore from your throat, a mix of pleasure and pain as he fucked you, each thrust harder than the last. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him with every rough movement, your body jerking forward from the force of it.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Steve hear you. Let him know who fucks you like this.” His voice was dark, gravelly, and full of possessive fury.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. Bucky didn’t let up, didn’t slow down—he was relentless, driving into you with a raw, animalistic need. And fuck, you loved it. Loved the way he lost control when he got jealous, the way his hands gripped you so hard you were sure they’d leave bruises. Loved the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were close, so close, and Bucky knew it. He could always tell.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” His hand slipped down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. “Gonna scream for me?”

You were already screaming, your body trembling, barely holding on as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. And when you finally fell, it was like a fucking explosion, your whole body shattering as you came hard around him, your cries echoing in the small space.

But Bucky wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your back, and before you could catch your breath, he was pushing you down to your knees.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. You did as you were told, your lips parting just in time as he pushed himself past them, rough and demanding. You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but he didn’t care. He was too far gone, too consumed by jealousy and lust.

He fucked your mouth with the same intensity he’d fucked you before, his hand gripping the back of your head, guiding your movements as you sucked him. You could feel him twitching, hear his breath coming out in harsh pants as he neared his release.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward as he came, spilling himself down your throat. He held you there for a moment, making sure you swallowed every drop before finally letting go.

You collapsed against him, your legs weak, your body trembling, and Bucky pulled you up, his arms wrapping around you possessively.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear, his breath still ragged. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[bubbarnes]

“... so mr. barnes, are you still having nightmares?”

[bebs-art-gallery]

The Green Knight. Artists: Emile Corsi & Welder Wings

Special post: art that reminded me of Victor von Doom because today is the birthday of Julian McMahon, aka Doctor Doom himself

Dear Julian, happy birthday. I love you so much. You will always by my Victor and most importantly, my source of comfort and inspiration ♡ Words can never come close to describe how much you mean to me. I love you always.

[juiche]

I wanted to draw the winter soldier for years but never dared to, I thought I’d definitely mess it up. Late to the party as always, but I finally dared to do it 😊

This one is based on a photo that Sebastian Stan took by chance prior to the Civil War film, having no idea what’s about to come :> I thought it’s wonderfully angsty 😌💅

get your own print here ❤️

[wwillywonka]

☆GET TO KNOW ME♡: [11/?] Favorite Characters

LOKI - Marvel Cinematic Universe (2011-2023)

- I don't enjoy hurting people. I... I don't enjoy it. I do it because I have to- because I've had to. -Okay, explain that to me. -Because it's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. -A desperate play for control. You do know yourself. -A villain. -That's not how I see it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic. 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing. 

[buck-star]

“Don’t you love me?” | Bucky Barnes

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Soft!Dark!Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Bucky asks you for play with your pussy a little longer because he just loves it.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 568

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, using of a toy, overstimulation, manipulation

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> Gimme soft!dark!bucky + sex toys please, I need my man as I build my drawers❤️ @imtryingbuck

𝐀/𝐍 -> Filthy, Soft!Dark!Bucky for you, bestie. Hope you enjoy. And Enzo could build the drawers with you together.😂❤️

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Give me one more, doll. I know you can do it.”

You shake your head, sweat running down the sides of your head. Your body is shaking, and you're overstimulated. Only whimpers and broken moans are leaving your lips while the toy he holds tightly in his hand is pressed against your clit. His other hand, grabbing your waist, is holding you in place. Bucky sits on his knees between your legs, smirking at you, while he looks from your pussy into your eyes and back at your pussy.

“Don’t you love me? Would you love me then you would come for me again.”

Bucky removes the toy from your clit and you take a shaky breath. His blue eyes roam over your body until he reaches your face. He pouts and looks so disappointed that you don’t love him. Or at least not as much as he loves you because you don’t want to come again for him. Not even when it’s what he loves so much to see your eyes roll back and your slightly parted lips. The way you grip the sheets or his arm when your walls clench violently, he adores your red cheeks, and the way you scream his name while moans leave your lips. But don’t you love him enough to do what he is asking for - just one more orgasm this night.

“Bucky, please. Don’t look at me like that.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“I-I do love you. B-but-“

“Then let me make you come once again,” he says, pleading with the way he looks at you.

You shake your head, tears filling your eyes. You love Bucky, you really do, but your pussy is so sensitive already. You don’t know if you could handle another orgasm just yet.

“Please, doll.”

Bucky will make you come if you say yes or no. But he will be gentle when you give him permission to make you come once again. He isn’t someone who asks, and especially not someone who says 'please', but with you, he is a softie sometimes. Seeing the way your eyes light up when he is all soft and lovely to you warms his heart. But in bed, he still prefers to be in control, making sure you know who you belong to. He leans closer, kissing your tears away, then he kisses along your jawline. His eyes are still focused on yours while he waits for you to answer his question. And you do when you nod your head softly, giving him permission to make you come once again.

“That’s my good girl. So pretty! I love when you come for me. Then we can take a nice, warm bath. I will take good care of you and of my pretty pussy, doll.”

He then smirks and places the toy against your clit, turning it on and enjoying the way your back arches. Your fingers dig into the sheet, and your eyes roll back. The softest moans leave your lips; your pussy hurts, but the pleasure that is growing in your belly is way too good to make him stop playing with your clit.

"Please, c-can I come?” You ask, breathless, but he shakes your head.

“Let me enjoy my view a bit longer, doll. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl. I love you so much. Look at her; she is dripping; she needs my attention,” he says in awe and looks at your entrance, which is glistening from your arousal.

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77

[w4ndal0ver]

teacher's pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

W4NDALOVER'S KINKMAS | 2024

dec 6: teachers pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

KINKMAS MASTERLIST | 2024

summary: Professor Harkness has always wanted you, but when you don't give into her advances she decides to use an enchanted quill in order to sway you in her direction.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon, enchanted quill, strap-on, begging, choking, mommy kink (used cautiously), slight breeding kink, kind of edging if you squint hard enough

teachers pet.

Agatha sat at her desk, a carefully measured distance between herself and the papers that lay before her. She had long since learned to enjoy the quiet moments alone in her office, the brief respite between the chaos of the outside world and the controlled environment she had created here. It was a sanctuary, a place where she could indulge in her thoughts. Thoughts of you.

She’d noticed you from the very first day you stepped into her office and over time, the quiet ache of her desire had only grown. Your eagerness, the way you were always the first to arrive at class, sitting at the front with a notebook in hand, always eager to ask questions, always searching for her approval. You were the perfect student, disciplined, careful - but there was something in the way you looked at her, something that went past mere respect.

She watched as you entered her office, just as you always did - tentative, but eager. Your hand, delicately rested against the doorframe for a moment before you stepped inside, a slight hesitation hanging in the air. Your gaze flickered toward her before quickly looking down at the floor, and Agatha’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. 

You were still shy, still so innocent, but there was something undeniably captivating about you. The way you moved, so aware of your body, and yet, you couldn’t help but draw attention to yourself. The tightness of your skirts that gripped so perfectly to your ass, and she couldn’t deny that she’d caught a glimpse of you more and more. Your carefully chosen attire, always polished and proper, but undeniably teasing. 

“Professor, you wanted to discuss my project?” You say, your voice soft, a little hesitant, as though you weren’t entirely sure how to be in her presence. Agatha had heard that tone before. It was the sound of someone trying too hard to act professional, to hold onto some semblance of control, when in reality, they were anything but composed. 

She tilted her head, letting her eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way your fingers nervously played with the hem of your skirt, how your lips pressed together just a little too slightly. 

“Of course, come in darling.” Agatha responded, her voice smooth. She gestured for you to sit, and as you settled into the chair across from her, she couldn’t help but notice how you shifted slightly, tugging your skirt down as though it might betray you. She bit back a laugh and how you were so unaware of how you made her feel.

Your hands rested on your lap, fingers curled slightly, the faint tremble just noticeable enough for Agatha to catch it. She knew what you were trying to do, trying to appear professional, trying to act as if this meeting was no different from any other. But she had seen you enough times to know the difference between what you showed and what you truly felt. The way your gaze lingered on her when you thought she wasn’t looking, the slight quiver of your lip when you asked a question that was a little too personal, a little too loaded.

Her gaze drifted to your face, watching as you shifted again, glancing down at your notes, a lock of hair falling across your forehead. Agatha could feel the pull between you both, an invisible thread that kept drawing her attention to you, to the way your lips parted slightly when you spoke, as though you were unsure of the words coming out, unsure of yourself.

“Everything seems to be progressing well with your project,” Agatha said, her voice smooth, but her mind already elsewhere. The light in your eyes, the way your shoulders were just a bit too stiff for someone so young, so open. You wanted something more. She was sure of it. You didn’t have to say it, Agatha could see it in every small gesture, every fleeting glance.

You were so careful, always so careful, never pushing beyond the boundary you had drawn around yourself. But Agatha knew, in her quietest moments, that you wanted to. She had seen it in the way you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, the way your eyes lingered on her just a fraction longer than was appropriate. 

Her eyes fell to the desk, where the enchanted quill sat waiting. It had been in her possession for years, a relic of a past she tried to leave behind, and yet it called to her now, with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. With just a flick of her fingers, she could make this moment more than what it was, more than just a professor and her student. She could make you feel things, things that neither of you had ever allowed yourselves to feel before.

Agatha’s fingers brushed the edge of the quill, her gaze flickering over to you again. You were so beautiful in your innocence, so unaware of the depth of your own desire. But tonight, that would change.

“You’ll need to sign this for me,” Agatha said, breaking the silence, her voice suddenly sharper, more purposeful. She reached for the parchment, her fingers brushing against the edge of the quill as she pushed the document toward you. Your eyes followed her every movement, and she couldn’t miss the way you shifted in your seat, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than before.

You reached for the quill, your fingers brushing against the smooth, cool surface. Agatha’s heart skipped a beat. There it was. The magic would begin, slowly at first, unnoticed. But it would build, and when it did, you would have no choice but to acknowledge what you both had been avoiding for far too long.

The moment your fingers brushed the enchanted quill, a shift occurred in the room—subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Agatha’s pulse quickened, her gaze locked on you with a quiet intensity as you signed your name on the parchment, the ink swirling a little too smoothly beneath your hand. She watched, savoring the way your shoulders tensed, the slight shift in your posture, as if something deep inside of you had stirred to life.

You didn’t know it yet, of course, but Agatha could already feel the subtle change in the air. The magic was working its way through your system, slow and steady, like a gentle tide pulling you under. You were still unaware, still looking down at the paper with a furrowed brow, your expression unreadable. But Agatha saw the smallest signs, the flush creeping up your neck, the way your breath seemed to catch in your throat.

“I also wanted to ask you about this part of your essay. It's a really interesting take.” Agatha says, wanting to confuse you even more as your head becomes fuzzy with the lust enchantment, knowing that the more you think about what to say, the more sensitive and desperate you’d become. 

You placed the quill back on the desk, the delicate tip still glimmering in the dim light of the office. Agatha leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping the edge of her pen, watching you closely. She could hear the soft rustle of your skirt as you shifted in the chair, the sound of your breath growing just a touch heavier with each passing moment. It was subtle, but it was there. The tension. The pull.

“You seem restless,” Agatha said, her voice low, almost a purr. She watched as your eyes flickered toward her, a brief hesitation before you met her gaze. The flush on your cheeks had deepened now, and Agatha couldn’t help but revel in the shift she had caused. She had always been so good at reading people, at sensing the smallest changes, and now she could see the effects of her subtle manipulation working its way through you.

You shifted again, this time more noticeable, a shift of your legs that made your skirt rise slightly, just enough for Agatha to catch a glimpse of the delicate skin beneath. She bit her lip, but only for a moment, as she kept her focus entirely on you. The way you crossed and uncrossed your legs, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, each motion a sign of the growing discomfort building within you. You weren’t just restless anymore; you were beginning to feel the weight of something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Is everything alright?" Agatha asked, her voice soft, but her eyes sharp, taking in every little detail. She could see the way your eyes darted to her lips for the briefest of moments before you quickly looked away. The way you swallowed, throat bobbing, as though trying to push down something you didn’t know how to acknowledge.

"I - I think so," you murmured, but your voice was different now. The words came slower, as though you were struggling to keep your thoughts in order. Agatha saw it. The way your hands gripped the edge of your chair a little too tightly, the way your legs shifted restlessly beneath the table. There was no denying it now, the magic was working.

She leaned forward, just enough for her presence to feel closer, more palpable. She could see your chest rise and fall more quickly, your pupils dilating ever so slightly as she made the smallest movement, as though testing the waters.

"Are you sure?" Agatha's question hung in the air, almost teasing, but never fully pushing. She wanted to see just how far you would go, how much you would reveal before you could no longer control it. She had always watched you, watched you closely. She knew you were waiting for something, something that only she could give you.

You shifted again, a slight tremor in your hand as you placed it on the table, as if trying to steady yourself, but it only betrayed you. Agatha saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your eyes refused to meet hers, no matter how hard you tried to regain some semblance of control. You couldn’t hide it.

The air between you both was thick now, taut with something neither of you could name, but both of you could feel. The silence stretched for a moment before Agatha broke it with a soft, knowing smile.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," she said, the words laced with an almost untraceable sweetness. She could see the way your breath caught at the sound of her voice, the way your eyes flickered to her lips again, only this time, you didn’t look away.

You were slipping, Agatha realized, and she couldn’t help the small thrill that coursed through her. This was it. She had waited so long to see you like this, to watch you come undone before her eyes, and now, the anticipation of it was nearly unbearable.

You shifted in your seat once more, and Agatha’s eyes followed the movement, the way your body reacted to the growing heat between you both. She could see the slight sheen of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the way your breath was becoming more shallow, more labored. The quill had done its job, heightened your awareness, your sensitivity to every small movement, every fleeting touch.

"I- I think I need a moment," you whispered, your voice trembling now, no longer the calm, collected student she was used to.

Agatha’s lips curved upward, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. She could feel the weight of your desire, could almost taste it in the air between you. She knew exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t yet understand it yourself.

"You can have all the time you need," she said softly, her voice a mere breath of sound, knowing full well that the moment had already passed. The spell had already begun its work. And there was no turning back now.

Agatha lets her gaze drop to your hands, noting the way your fingers curl just slightly, as though the movement is automatic, as if you’re trying to hold onto something—anything—to stop the flood of feelings threatening to overwhelm you. You’re so close now, so close to giving in, and Agatha relishes in the control she holds over you, the way every little gesture of yours betrays your struggle.

“Are you feeling... uncomfortable?” Agatha asks, her voice soft, like silk. She leans forward ever so slightly, just enough to see the way you flinch, the way your breath catches in your throat, like you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way she’s watching you. Her eyes linger on your lips, and she can feel the subtle tension in your body as you fight not to follow her gaze, not to let the heat between you both become too obvious.

Your breath comes in shallow bursts now, faster than before. You shift in your seat again, a little more urgently this time, and Agatha watches as your legs move restlessly, the hem of your skirt inching higher, revealing the delicate curve of your calf. It’s an innocent movement, a natural shift, but Agatha’s eyes track it like a predator eyeing its prey. The magic of the quill hums in the air around you both, thickening the space between you, and she can feel the way it pulls at your resolve, making every small motion feel more intense, more charged with that irresistible pull.

“I, I don’t know what’s happening,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now, strained with the effort of trying to hold onto whatever control you have left. Your eyes flicker to hers for a fleeting moment, then quickly dart away, like a moth too afraid to fly too close to the flame.

Agatha feels her lips part in the smallest of smiles. You think you’re losing control, but she knows better. You’ve been wanting this, she tells herself, even as she watches you struggle against the tide. You want this. You just don’t have the courage to admit it yet.. Your hands clench tighter, your body swaying just slightly in your seat as though you can’t quite decide whether to move closer to her or flee. But Agatha knows. She knows you’ll stay. 

You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve had moments of embarrassment, the familiar flutter of nerves when speaking with Agatha, but this? This is something else entirely. It’s not just your heart racing; it’s something deep inside you, something primal that you can’t name. You feel hungry, in a way that’s foreign, unrecognizable, and yet you know it’s her. Her presence, the way she watches you, the way her eyes seem to follow your every move.

It’s all too much.

Agatha, on the other hand, remains completely oblivious to the chaos she’s unwittingly caused. Her fingers continue their idle drumming on the desk, her posture relaxed, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. She’s staring at the pile of papers in front of her, her attention seemingly elsewhere.

It should be comforting, the way she remains so calm, so controlled, but it only seems to fuel the fire within you. The longer she remains unaware, the more your body betrays you, the more desperate you become for her. You can’t think straight anymore, can’t focus on anything except the ache between your legs, the burning need that has taken root deep inside you.

Finally, you can’t take it any longer. You stand abruptly, your hands trembling as you push the chair back from the desk. Agatha doesn’t notice, her eyes still focused on her notes, still completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading. The sight of her so composed, so calm, is the final straw. You take a shaky step forward, the distance between you and her now feeling insurmountable, like something invisible but real is keeping you apart.

Your voice cracks when you speak, the words escaping before you can stop them. “Professor, I- I need you.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze. You hadn’t meant to say it. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so desperate, so raw, but the confession is out there now, hanging in the air between you. You swallow hard, your throat dry, as you dare to look up at her.

Agatha blinks, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks at you. For a moment, you wonder if she didn’t hear you properly, if she’s just playing it cool, trying to maintain the authority she always does. But then, slowly, her eyes shift from the papers on the desk to you, and she seems to take in the way you’re standing, how tense you are, how your breathing has changed. She pauses, her lips parting slightly, as though she’s unsure what to make of your admission.

“I-" she begins, her voice soft but still steady. "I’m not sure what you mean. Is something wrong with your project? I thought we were making good progress.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening with each passing second. This isn’t about the project. Not anymore. You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, your mind clouded by the sensation of wanting her, of needing her. Your body is practically shaking with the intensity of it, your fingers curling into fists at your sides to keep from reaching for her, to keep from pulling her closer.

“No,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a plea. “I need you. I don’t, I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t- I can’t control it anymore.”

Agatha’s eyes widen slightly, the confusion in her gaze evident, and for a moment, you think she might laugh it off, dismiss it as some odd outburst. But the longer she stares at you, the more she seems to realize that you’re not joking. That this isn’t some fleeting moment of embarrassment or an impulsive comment. This is real. And the realization crashes into her like a wave.

For the briefest of moments, there’s a flicker of something in her expression—something unreadable. Her lips part, but no words come out, as though she’s unsure of how to respond, unsure of whether she should push you away or give in to the pull that seems to be growing between you both.

You take a step closer, the sound of your shoes echoing in the silence. Your body is drawn to her as if it’s not your own anymore, each movement an involuntary reaction to the desire swelling inside you. You’re so close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating from her body, see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It feels like there’s an invisible force pulling you both together, and you’re powerless to stop it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” you say, your voice trembling now, the words tumbling out in a rush. “But I can’t think. I can’t think of anything but you.”

Agatha is silent for a long moment, her gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign that this might be a trick. But there’s no mistaking it now. She can see it, the desperation in your eyes, the way your body is trembling with the weight of your own need. She can feel it too, the way the air between you has shifted, charged with something neither of you can deny.

And still, she remains quiet, her fingers resting on the desk in front of her, her expression unreadable. For a brief, agonizing moment, you wonder if she will reject you, if she will turn away and pretend this never happened. But then, finally, she speaks.

“I see,” Agatha says, her voice almost too soft to hear, but there’s no mistaking the authority in it. “And what is it that you want from me?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, the tension palpable as Agatha stands still, her gaze unwavering. You can feel the heat pooling in your chest and between your legs, crawling up your neck, suffocating you. Every part of your body aches, an unfamiliar hunger gnawing at your insides, growing with each second that passes. You can’t think straight anymore. You can’t stand it.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and your hands shake as you finally break the silence. “Please, Agatha,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you. It hurts. Please, make it stop.” Your words spill out in a rush, a frantic plea, and you take a step forward, drawn to her as though you have no control over your body. “Please I don’t know what’s happening, but it hurts. I can’t think straight, I don’t know what to do, I don’t.”

You’re rambling now, desperation clear in your voice, your entire being trembling with the weight of your need. You’ve never felt like this before,so lost, so vulnerable, so exposed. You don’t know how much longer you can stand this unbearable pressure, this overwhelming heat, this need for her.

Agatha’s gaze softens slightly, and you see something flicker in her eyes, a flicker of understanding, maybe even something else. But her expression remains controlled, her facade still intact. She was corrupting you and it felt so sweet.

“Sit,” she commands, her voice calm but firm, her fingers tapping lightly on the top of her desk. The sound echoes through the room, and for a brief moment, you think she’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll obey, if you’ll listen to her.

Without thinking, your body moves before your mind can even catch up. You move quickly, too quickly, as if your limbs are not entirely your own, and you sit on the edge of the desk in front of her chair. The surface is cool beneath you, but it does nothing to quell the burning ache inside.

“I need you,” you say again, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. “It hurts so much, I can’t take it. Please, Agatha, please, I need you to, to make it stop.”

Your words are frantic now, desperate, each one laced with an urgency that makes your breath catch in your throat. You can’t think. You can only feel. Your body is on fire, your pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is beg.

Agatha leans back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on you, and for a long moment, she says nothing. Her fingers rest lightly on the arms of her chair, but the way she holds herself now is different, less rigid, less controlled. Her gaze moves slowly over you, and you feel it like a physical touch, every inch of her attention focused on your trembling form. She’s watching how your skirt has rode up your thighs, your dampened underwear on show to her, this is exactly how she wanted you. 

“I don’t think you understand,” she murmurs, her voice low and tender. But there’s no mistaking the edge to her tone, the quiet power behind her words. “You’re asking for something you don’t fully grasp. Something you won’t be able to walk away from.”

“I don’t care,” you say, the words coming out before you can stop them. “I don’t care. I just I need you to touch me. I need to feel something, anything, to stop this burning inside me.”

You’re on the edge of breaking, and it’s almost too much. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and the ache between your legs is unbearable. You need her. You need her so badly that the thought of being without her, of not feeling her, is enough to make you feel dizzy, lightheaded.

Agatha stands suddenly, her movement fluid and deliberate. You barely register it before she’s right in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from her body. Her fingers graze your knee as she steps closer, and the touch is electric, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you.

Her lips part slightly, and she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need,” she says softly, almost coaxing, but there’s an undeniable authority in her voice now, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t hesitate. You can’t. “I need you to fuck me.” you gasp, the words slipping out as though they were the only thing holding you together. 

There’s a moment of silence, just a beat, a breath, before Agatha’s fingers press lightly against your chin, tilting your head up so that you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are dark now, and there’s something predatory in them, something that makes your heart race even faster, makes your body ache even more.

Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing against your forehead, soft at first, gentle, before she pulls back slightly, her eyes still locked on yours. “You’re sure this is what you want?” she asks, her voice low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind the question makes it impossible to ignore.

You nod fervently, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with desperation. “Yes, yes, Agatha. I need this. I need you.”

Agatha’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s reconsidering, if she’s going to push you away, make you leave. But then, slowly, her lips curl into the faintest of smiles—something dark, something knowing.

“Good,” she murmurs, her voice almost satisfied. “Then I’ll give you what you need.”

With that, she steps closer, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer to her, the closeness nearly overwhelming. She doesn’t speak as she moves, doesn’t need to. There’s no need for words now. Her actions say everything. And you, desperate, trembling with need, can’t help but give in completely.

You reach for her neck, unable to contain yourself anymore, pulling her face closer to yours, trying to connect your lips together in a desperate scramble to feel her on your body. Agatha complied, that same smirk she always wore not once leaving her face as she finally had you sat on her desk, your legs spread round her body, doing anything you could to get her to touch you. 

She doesn’t dare resist your scrambling, instead letting you pull her into a deep kiss, her lips sliding against yours in a messy rhythm, not able to find any relief in how you were feeling. Agatha was anything but gentle with you but you were not complaining, her tongue started to trace your bottom lip and you opened up immediately, letting her explore you with her tongue. You groaned loudly into her mouth, your legs wrapping around her waist, trapping your professor between your legs. She took this opportunity to test your waters, her teeth scraping against your bottom lip before pulling it away from your face, her teeth digging into your skin. When she was met with a muffled moan, it was the prettiest sound Agatha had ever heard and she was thankful for how much rougher you were going to be able to take her now she’d enchanted your emotions and more importantly your body. 

You start to grind your hips up against Agatha’s crotch, you couldn’t work out what was making you feel like this, you’d never acted like this with anyone, and even though you’d imagined it with your professor, you never thought you’d be in this position. The harder you grinded against her, it became more apparent that she was packing something underneath her trousers and the thought of your professor wearing a strap beneath that suit was making you feral.

“You found something you’re looking for?” Agatha teased as you reached your hand to grab the bulge that lay underneath, a moan tumbling from your lips, your legs wrapping around her tighter to feel her cock against you. 

“Do you always wear that?” You ask breathlessly, confused momentarily for why your professor would be wearing a strap to just sit and grade papers in her office. Before you could question it further, Agatha snaked her hand around to touch you through your soaked underwear, hiking your skirt further up your legs and you couldn’t pass out at the feeling. 

“Fuck you’re soaked.” Agatha groaned, the sound of your breathy moans something that she couldn’t ignore, she wanted to devour you, but there was something about leaving you in this state, so whiny and desperate that was particularly appealing, but when she looked at your pleading eyes she realised she couldn’t ever do that to you. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Agatha cooed as she pushed your underwear to the side, looking in awe at your pussy dripping in arousal. You looked so pure and untouched, everything about how your folds trembled in the anticipation to be touched was drawing Agatha in more than she thought she could be.

“Professor please I need you to fill me up.” You whine, the cold air hitting your arousal making you realise just how worked up you’d become. You must’ve said something right, because Agatha let out a breathy grunt before working her index finger towards your entrance, her other hand coming up to grasp at your throat before she pushed her entire digit inside of you. Your strangled moan was even prettier than Agatha expected and when you pushed your neck further into her grip and started to lift your hips to slide her finger in and out of you, she shook her head in genuine disbelief at how pathetic you looked like this. 

You start whining when Agatha doesn’t match your thrusts, wanting nothing more than for her to start pounding her fingers into you, but instead she just slips another finger inside you with ease, stretching your tight pussy around her fingers instead of thrusting into you. You were squirming up against her touch, your clit burning at how it was being ignored by her. Your doe eyes looking up at her as her grip tightened around your neck. “You’re just too tight, I need to warm you up doll.” You groan at her words, knowing for a fact that you could take her. 

“Professor I can take you, I need to take all of you now.” You say desperately, thighs shaking around her waist. You take it into your own hands, unbuckling Agatha’s belt in a chaotic scramble to see her strap that was waiting to be buried inside of you. Normally Agatha wouldn’t tolerate this desperate behaviour, but considering she was the one that put the spell on you, she let it slide, watching in awe as you undressed her bottom half, waiting for the cock to spring out and when it did your eyes widened. “It’s huge.” You gasp, not expecting the sheer girth and length of the purple cock to take you this much by surprise.

“Yeah and you’re gonna take it.” Agatha grins at the scarlet flush on your cheeks, expecting some level of protest, but instead she is met with your hands scrambling at her hips, trying to push her towards you. Agatha chuckled with a low hum at the familiar eagerness that first drew her to you. She doesn’t waste any more time, spitting down onto her hand before rubbing it up and down her strap a few times before slapping the head against your pussy, drawing out a string of desperate whines, your hips bucking wildly at the feeling. “Keep still princess.” She whispers, holding your thighs down onto the desk as she slightly pushes into you, careful not to hurt you. 

You didn’t care, you needed to feel your Professor's cock deep inside you and when she can feel the tremble of your thighs trying to get yourself further onto her strap, she does it for you. She enters you with one single thrust and your fingernails dig hard into her back as she starts to pound harder into you, her hands now gripping your waist, pulling you harder onto her to meet each movement. 

Agatha could see how swollen your clit had become, it was basically begging to be touched, but she knew if she did so much as swipe her finger across it, you’d come and be way too sensitive to go again. The enchantment usually had that effect, but you weren’t letting this end here. You were way too shy to ever come back to her after you remember how pathetic you were asking, so she was going to drag this out for as long as she could. 

She kept pounding into you, your pretty moans had turned into guttural gasps and grunts as you felt the burning in your clit, wanting nothing but to reach down and touch yourself, but you knew better than that, even with the intense feelings you were having, you weren’t about to mess this up. 

You could feel something building inside of you, you’d never come without clitoral stimulation, it was different, but you were craving some sort of relief. Agatha could feel you trembling beneath her, and before you knew it you were empty again. You felt like crying, but before you had a chance to react, her hands were gripping at your scalp, pulling you off the desk and hitting the ground with a thump. Your knees were aching from the drop, but when Agatha turned to look at you, her strap eye level with you, you couldn’t feel it anymore, the only thing you could focus on was the fire in your core begging to be put out. 

“Come on doll, you know you want to.” Agatha smirks at the way your eyes were gleaming at the strap that was glistening in your arousal. Her hand was gripping around the base, guiding it towards your closed mouth, moving the head against your lips until you gave in and your mouth fell open, your tongue immediately attacking Agatha’s cock. 

You wanted nothing more than for her to grab your head and force her cock down your throat, so you tried to do just that. Taking as much of the length into your mouth as you could and Agatha groaned as if she could feel it, her head tilted back as she grabbed the back of your head, helping you as you desperately tried to take the entire thing down your throat. You started to choke as she thrusted into your mouth, she tried to pull out but you gripped the back of her thighs. You suddenly had an intense desire to have your throat fucked raw, something that you’d never even really been into before, but this felt so different. 

“God you’re such a whore,” Agatha spluttered at how keen you were to please her, “You’d do anything as long as I’m pounding into you.” With each word she thrusted harder into your mouth as you nodded at her assumption, moaning and spluttering around her cock, saliva dripping down your chin. 

This time she pulled out of you, sitting back onto her desk chair leaving you on your knees, your brain fuzzy and your face covered in saliva. “Come sit on my lap, you can do the rest of the work if you’re that desperate.” Agatha said casually and she’d never seen someone scramble to get up so quickly. You were dripping down your thighs, your mascara running down your cheeks and combining with the saliva dripping from your chin. 

Agatha couldn’t help but put her hand on your face as you straddled her lap, lowering yourself down onto her strap. She wiped the saliva from your chin, her eyes not leaving your cunt as you finally took the entire thing and before you could even adjust you started bouncing up and down on it, chasing the orgasm that had been ripped from you. Agatha would’ve usually sat back and watched you struggle, but there was something so endearing about your primal desperation to be fucked that she decided to help you out, thrusting her hips back into you as you moved down against her. 

“Fuck Momm-” You stopped yourself, “Professor sorry that’s what I meant.” That did it, Agatha moaned at your words, picking you up off of her cock and slamming you against the desk, forcefully bending you over and spreading you open before thrusting her cock back into you as you moaned gutterally against the desk. 

“You take Mommy’s cock so well princess.” Agatha growls, spreading you further so she could watch her strap disappear inside of you. She grabbed both of your hands, pinning them behind your back to give her some leverage as she thrusted harder into you than before. You could barely see, the pleasure overwhelming you to the point of no return. 

“Mommy my clit, please I need to cum all over your cock, please let me.” You whine, your words barely forming as each time you spoke your body was being shoved hard into her desk, her ungraded papers getting crumpled beneath you, but neither of you seemed to care. 

Agatha obliged, letting go of your hands, slipping one of hers between your legs to harshly brush circles against your clit, her other hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging on your neck so she could see the faint reflection of your fucked out face in the black screen of her computer. 

It wasn’t going to take much more, Agatha was sure she could feel you clenching around her strap and the moans that were leaving your mouth were scratchy and tired, your throat burning from where she was thrusting into you. 

“Mommy, i-’

“Come now pretty girl or you won’t be coming tonight.” Agatha insisted and like magic, you felt every single muscle stand on the edge, your entire body freezing in pleasure as your head went completely blurry. It was like you were in that space forever, before it all came crashing down, every movement, every touch, built upon the last, your rhythm synchronized, bodies attuned to one another. Your breath hitched, a tremor coursing through her frame as the sensation intensified.

Suddenly, it was as if your body had given in completely to the waves of pleasure, an uncontrollable release coursing through you. A warm surge followed, unexpected and thrilling, but it came washing all over you and Agatha’s desk. You fell against the surface, your body soaked with your own arousal. Your professor scoffed at how you’d just squirted all over your fellow students' papers, finding it nothing but amusing. 

“Feel better?” Agatha asks as you nod hard enough to break your neck, the enchantment beginning to wear off as you felt the embarrassment reach your cheeks. 

“I am so sorry, I’ve ruined all these papers.” You say in genuine panic, lifting yourself up and trying to stack all the papers together before a hand touches your wrist, stilling your hands. 

“The only thing ruined here is you.” Agatha smiles, her hand reaching for your chin, her thumb pressing into your cheek as she tries to get you to calm down a little bit. 

“I didn’t know I could do that.” You laugh nervously, your usual demeanor falling back into place and Agatha smirks at how the familiar shyness build back up into your voice. 

“I have my ways.” Agatha smiles, placing a kiss against your forehead as you tug back at your skirt, trying to stop it from riding up your soaked thighs. 

“What like using enchanted quills on your favourite student?” It was your turn to smirk, watching as Agatha’s smile dropped, her brows furrowed in confusion to how you could even know what she had done. 

“How did you-”

“I think you forget how good of a student I am.” You grin, knowing that you’d done your research on witchcraft heavily for your final project, you basically knew every trick Agatha had up her sleeve, “I knew from the moment I picked it up.” You blush, your eyes dropping, almost ashamed to be admitting that you liked the thought of your professor being so desperate to fuck you that she’d go as far as using centuries old enchantments just to be able to do it. 

Agatha smiled at you, her own cheeks slightly flushed pink at being found out, but delighted in the fact that you let the spell take over you, knowing exactly what you were going to get if you did. “God you’d really do anything wouldn’t you.” You nod in response, both of you smiling widely at each other. 

“I think I need another meeting about my project.”

“Tomorrow, 6pm, I’ll be waiting.”

[wandaslittleweirdo]

A/N: just a little idea I had….. this is kinda intense, so viewer discretion is advised :p — masterlist.

tw: jealousy, toxic relationship, wanda holds your head under cold water, heavy dom/sub dynamics, pet names (darling, little angel, sweet girl, etc), dirty talk/coaxing, possessiveness, age gap > reader is 23 wanda is 36

dark!mommy!wanda ༝༝ fem!reader

ೀ The cool evening air clings to you as you step into your home, the light scent of rain sneaking it’s way through the open door. You had spent the day out with a friend, laughing and sharing stories that made your heart feel lighter than it had in months.

The air is heavy with the scent of incense and candle wax, and you assume it was Wanda trying new spells while you were away. You sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders as you kick off your shoes, your socks sliding along the wooden floorboards.

You pad your way into the kitchen and over to the fridge, the hum of its motor the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You cracked it open, the chill rushing out as you grab a bottle of water.

Wanda's embrace is sudden but comforting, her arms slithering around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder as she breathed in your scent.

"How was your day, my sweet?" She asks as she sways you in her arms.

Her eyes look for yours in the reflection of the fridge door, a silent demand for details. You twist the cap off the bottle, the plastic crunching under your grip. "Hey, Wands," you smile, turning to face her and leaning against the fridge. “My day was nice. Met up with a friend, had dinner, watched a late movie. All that jazz.”

Wanda’s smile remained, but her grip tightens around your waist. "Which friend was this?" The sweetness in her voice now has a brittle edge to it, like a thin sugar coating ready to crack under pressure. You hesitate, the chill from the fridge seeping into your bones as your mind scrambled for the right words.

"A random one," you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. She raises her brows expectantly, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "It was just a guy from work."

Her eyes narrow slightly, the green in them darkening like a storm approaching. "A guy?" she repeated lowly. "What's his name?”

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath through your nose in an attempt to hide your rapidly increasing anxiety. "His name is Alex."

Her eyes search yours, looking for any sign of deception. "Alex," she murmured, tasting the name as her eyes fell to the pendant of your necklace. "I don't recall you mentioning him before.”

You feel your throat tighten, looking down at your hands and squeezing the bottle nervously. "He's a new friend. I've only talked to him a couple of times."

She purses her lips, running her tongue over her teeth. "And why didn't you tell me you were going out with this Alex guy?"

"Because it’s not like that, Wands—“

“Do you expect me to believe you went to a movie theatre, alone with a man, and that’s all you did? You just watched the movie and came straight home?” Her tone is accusing, her hand moving to play with the neckline of your dress, the action feeling more threatening than playful.

“Yes! He’s not like that, and you know I’m not.”

“You probably wanted him too. Because that’s what you sluts want, right?”

Panic floods your chest, your mind racing to find a way to reassure her. “Please, you know that’s not true!”

You try to pull away, but she holds you still, tutting you when she sees your lip quiver and your eyes water in fear of what she might do to him, or you. Her thumb traces your cheekbone, the gesture eerily gentle despite her harsh words. "You know I can read your mind," she reminds you softly, her fingers coming up to caress the side of your forehead. "So tell me the truth, Y/N—“

“I am, I didn’t do anything! Just fucking drop it Wanda!”

Your reaction surprises the both of you, her eyes widening and her hand pulling back slightly. You feel the blood drain from your face as you realise what you had said, your heart picking up its speed. A moment passes, and your words seem to finally sink in, watching as her jaw clenches and her nostrils flare.

Suddenly, her hand flies up, and she grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you forward and pulling you away from the fridge. You gasp, stumbling as she drags you across the kitchen, the floorboards protesting underfoot. She stops at the sink, her grip unyielding as she twists the faucet handle.

The cold water gushes out, and you feel the first droplets hit your face, the chill of them making your breath hitch. She bends you over the sink and stands behind you, your shaky hands gripping the cold counter to keep yourself steady. “What are you doing?" you choked out, your eyes wide with horror.

“It seems to me you’ve forgotten your place, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice deceptively calm. "Maybe after this, you’ll remember to watch your mouth."

Without warning, she plunged your head under the stream of icy water, holding you there as you sputtered and squirmed. Your lungs burn as the shock steals your breath away, the world around you reduced to a muffled roar as the water fills your ears.

“Shh, you’re okay. Mommy’s got you,”

“The more you fight me, the longer I hold you here.”

“I know it’s cold, honey, but it’s for your own good. Just a little longer,”

“Sweet girl, why do you always push me to this point?” Her voice is a mix of feigned disappointment and pity as she continues to hold your head under the frigid water. You struggle, your hands slapping against the sink and counter, trying to break free, but her grip remained firm. Your eyes squeeze shut as you choke on the liquid invading your nose and mouth, each gasp for air met with more water.

"I'm sorry, mommy!” you manage to gasp out, your voice high and desperate. She doesn’t flinch hearing you beg, cruelly watching the water soak your hair and distort your features.

Wanda didn’t move until your struggles weakened and your body went limp. She pulls you up from under the water, and you gasp for air, your vision blurry and your hair plastered to your face. You cough violently, a mix of water and blood splattering back into the sink.

"Look what you made me do," she murmurs, looking down at you with faux empathy. "You know better than to speak like that to me. If this happens again, you give me no choice but to teach you a lesson. Do you understand?”

You nod, hysterical as tears stream down your cheeks. Wanda turns off the faucet and tugs your head up, her voice like steel. "I said, do you understand?”

You let out a hiccup, your voice trembling as you nodded again. "Yes, mommy. I understand. I only want you, no one else, I promise.” The corner of her lips twitch into a small, proud smile hearing your frantic response, the storm in her eyes finally starting to simmer down. Her thumb strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara trails that the water had left.

“My little angel," Wanda whispers, her grip on your hair loosening. "You always know just what to say to make me happy."

She gently pulls you up from your position over the sink to turn you around, wrapping her arms around you and pulling your trembling frame close to her chest. "I know you don’t like when I hurt you, but mommy just wants what’s best for you, okay?”

"I know, I'm sorry," you murmured into her blouse, another sob rocking through you. “I won’t see him again.”

Wanda visibly relaxed hearing your words, letting out a soft sigh as she stroked your wet hair.

"That’s my girl.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[icarusredwings]

Watching interviews from the olden days and finding gold.

Finding out that Hugh Jackman having to "be the alarm clock" for James Mcavoy and Micheal Fassbender because of how hung over they were is simply hilarious.

Also finding out that James slammed them into a Lexus (only doing 12 miles an hour) got thrown 10 feet, immediately got up and looked back to see Micheal (who was once on the back of the golf cart) now sitting upright in the drivers seat after smacking his head on the seat and got a gash scar on his leg from it- Only to start "maniacally laughing" and literally RAN AWAY once blamed, Is also so young cherik coded.

These crack heads definitely were getting into some nonsense trouble.

Micheal saying he thought the scene from the strip club with charles and angel "I thought we looked like the two old men from the muppets"

Micheal calling the x men "Charlie- boy's kids". Perfection.

Also the way James looks at him when ever Micheal just bursts out into song is so pure. The "wow this idiot... thats my idiot." Glitter in his eye.

James finding out that Micheal isn't american by driving up to him on a vespa, and screaming at him in his normal voice is so funny.

"Fuck you erik-"

"His names derik."

"How long has he name been derik?"

"Since the begining- you just keep calling him that."

Even the bloopers of Hank and Charles are such a vibe.

"Hold your breath but make it look like you aren't holding your breath" Man these leather suits gave them so many problems fr.

"I already said im not a man. I cant jump this damn wall!" I think storm says as the director goes right up to hugh and is like "Litsen when I say so youre gonna jump this wall" and hughs like idk about that mate. "Ill be talking to you through the big microphone that everyone hates" says the director. "Were gonna take the batteries out if it" says someone else.

Hughs stunt double: *screams*

Hugh: Let it go sis

Hughs stunt double: *dies*

Something about how the directors talk to hugh and how hugh speaks directly to multiple set members makes me feel like half the cuts they had to make was because of him joking and being a silly theater kid LMAO

Everyone randomly dancing all the time, including old magneto.

James too. The blooper of him violently killing a bug on the chess set in the plane scene is so "insane charles" iconic.

Also poor Evan peters. He kept slipping everywhere. And theres so many shots where hes just standing there in charater getting absolutely soaked while charles and Logan do some ridiculous shit lol. Him at panels is so awkward too. Describe your character " hes a little weird uhhhh hes fast. Hes quick. He talks fast he runs fast..... uhhh its like at the atm waiting for the bastard infront of you to move out the way" "I wish my dad magneto could try these 😀" "thats my dad"

Evan also wishes they would have done the scene in apocalypse where he tells him hes his son and all the metal in the room drops. Im someone has written this already but that sounds great.

"THATS MY SON, QUICKSILVER!" Shouts Micheal multiple times. "My boy!" "Its in the genes darling." "I had him when I was very young 😁"

[perseidlion]

Streaming in Kaos

Well, it happened. I can't say that I'm surprised that KAOS has been cancelled by Netflix. I am a little surprised at the speed at which it was axed. Only a month after it aired, and it's already gone.

That has me wondering if the decision to cancel was made before the show even aired. We have to remember that marketing is the biggest cost after production. If the Netflix brass looked at the show and either decided (through audience testing, AI stuff or just their own biases) that it wasn't going to be a Stranger Things-level hit, they probably chose at that moment to slash its marketing budget.

That meant there was pretty much no way that KAOS was ever going to hit the metrics Netflix required of it to get a season 2.

What makes me so angry about this (other than the survival of a show relying on peoples' biases or AI) is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you decide before a show is ever going to air that it won't be a success, then it probably won't be. If you rely on metrics and algorithms and AI to analyze art, you will never let something surprise you. You'll never let it grow. You'll never nurture the cult hits of the future or the next franchise.

Netflix desperately needs people behind the scenes that believe in stories and potential over metrics. Nothing except the same old predictable dreck is ever going to be allowed to survive if you don't believe in the stories you're telling.

The networks and streamers have a huge problem on their hands. They need big hits and to build the franchises of the future to sustain their current model (which is horribly broken.) But people have franchise fatigue and aren't showing up for known IPs like they used to. The fact that Marvel content is definitely not a sure thing anymore is a huge canary in the coal mine for franchise fatigue. People aren't just tired of Marvel, they're tired of the existing worlds both on the big screen and the small one. Audiences are hungry for something new.

It is telling that the most successful Marvel properties of the last few years have been the ones that do something different. Marvel is smart to finally pull out The X-Men because that is a breath of fresh air and something people are hungry to see more of.

There's pretty much no one behind the scenes (except for maybe AMC building The Immortal Universe) that is committing to really taking the time to build these new worlds. Marvel built the MCU by playing the long game. That paid dividends for a solid decade even if it's dropping off now. That empire was built not with nostalgia for existing IP (don't forget the MCU was built with B and C tier heroes) but with patience. Marvel itself seems to have forgotten this in recent years.

Aside from that, I think people really want stories that aren't connected to a billion other things. That takes commitment on the part of the audience to follow and to get attached to. People WANT three to five excellent seasons of a show that tells its own story and isn't leaving threads out there for a dozen spinoffs. We're craving tight storytelling.

KAOS could have been that. Dead Boy Detectives could have been that. So could Our Flag Means Death, Lockwood and Co, Shadow and Bone, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Willow, and a dozen other shows with great potential or were excellent out of the gate.

If you look at past metrics, you only learn what people used to like, not what they want now. People are notoriously bad about articulating what they want, but boy do they know it when they see it. Networks have to go back to having a dozen moderate successes instead of constantly churning through one-season shows that get axed and pissing off the people who did like it in a hamfisted attempt to stumble on the next big thing.

The networks desperately need to go back to believing in their shows. Instead, they keep cutting them off at the knees before they ever get a chance because some algorithm told them the numbers weren't there.