#wanda maximoff

[merkiriart]

just Wanda and Yelena, just because I love those girls <3

[wandasaura]

AMERICAN HONEY

summary — there’s a wild wild whisper blowing in the wind, and it wraps around you tightly in the form sunshine and strong hands.

warning(s) — established relationships, polyamorous relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, bdsm dynamics, daddy kink, mommy kink, butt plugs, slight anal play, public play, exhibition kink, exposed positions, verbal humiliation, light dumbification, degradation, pool party, bathing suits (wink wink bikinis), pussy inspection, praise, hair pulling, prolonged edging, begging, crying, ruined orgasms, fingering, teasing, alcohol consumption, smoking, whining, threat of pussy spanking, kitchen sex, kitchen counters, face grabbing, name calling, mention of subspace, elements of aftercare, fluff if you squint?, truly just depraved 4th of july smut, men/minors dni

authors note — i wrote this in between a million different activities, high noons, and cart hits… so please forgive me for being late, im just a girl trying her best under hard circumstances. this was almost named courtesy of the red, white, and blue… btw

Sunlight gleams down upon already sparkling water, rippled currents in the pool blown wild by the sweet whisper of wind that sneaks into the open landscape backyard. Not many trees conceal the happenings of your residence, nor does the white picket fence that only comes up to Natasha’s waist, but there’s an unspoken solitude regardless — a safety when they’re around. 

Your unwavering trust in them is sensational — one of a kind most certainly, if you ask them at least. It’s evident now, as the breeze swings through the backyard and creates ripples in the west traveling current, and Natasha drags an eight-foot spa skimmer along the surface. She’s creating tension and simultaneously breaking it. She knows that too. 

The classic blue-and-white gingham pattern sitting over your shoulders is timeless, a staple piece for a holiday so proudly rooted in historical achievements. That’s not the reason you chose it though. The pattern reminds you of picnic blankets and comfort; Wanda’s comfort. She’d been in your mind when you purchased it. You’d considered her opinion when you’d noticed the triangular top and tie-side bottoms emphasized by a ruffled trim that would undeniably catch her attention. Wanda had been your thought three weeks ago, but Natasha takes up your brain now. 

The breeze is warm, twinged with a feels like temperature of 91°f, but it feels cold as it blows against vulnerable inches of soft, glistening skin. Natasha notices the involuntary shimmy from across the pool, and her eyes sweep over the gleam on your skin with captivation. A smirk crawls onto her lips. It’s smooth, simple, discreet enough to leave you unsure if it happened at all. 

“Cold, baby?” Her voice carries over the pool with the breeze, and it hits you with a force that has your hips rocking in desperation you can’t hide. You should be embarrassed, humiliated that you’d ever let yourself be pinned to this situation, but they’ve had you like this for hours now, and you’re beyond the point of really giving a damn. Still, your cheeks flame at Natasha’s supposed indifference. Scratch that, just her indifference. Natasha doesn’t feel bad for you. She loves you, she wants the world for you by her fingertips and only hers, but you made your bed, and she’s always been keen on natural order. 

A whine pulls up from somewhere deep and soft in your belly. Your hips rock, searching for pressure, pleasure, anything. All you manage to accomplish she pressing the plug deeper into your ass, the flared base stretching deep within a hole they’re still waiting patiently to fuck. Natasha’s going to be first. Wanda’s already given her that promise for when the time comes. The fleeting thought doesn’t help your flustered and highly strung state, but somehow you find a response. Simple words. “I don’t know.” There’s a whine in your tone, a tremble of petulance that comes with your utmost submission. It’s walls crumbling down, thought slipping away, replaced with natural impulse. 

“You don’t know?” Natasha huffs when the spa skimmer passes through a single handful of leaves, blown over the fence from Agatha’s yard where Rio tends to flagpole cherry blossoms — the only reason you know specifically because Agatha makes sure to correct everyone on Rio’s behalf. She’s barely even paying attention to you right now, huffing beneath her breath as she slams the skimmer into the grass, and it drives you further up the wall of desperation. 

“No?” It’s a question pointed at her when it shouldn’t be. It’s your body, not hers, she has no way of knowing what you perceive as cold if you don’t communicate as such, but you find yourself asking her anyways, and Natasha finds it cute; amongst other things. 

“Don’t know much of anything right now, do you? Too hard to think with your cunt on display for me?” She doesn’t yell the words, but they’re definitely not a whisper either, and your cheeks flame with heat as the breeze seems to project her tone through the yard. You wonder if Agatha heard, if it carried over distinctly enough for her to really pick up on it. Natasha’s probably wondering the same, though nowhere near as muted with nerves. 

“Yes, Daddy.” A hushed whisper, involuntary and soft. You’re exactly where she wants you, but she can’t help but want to push a little harder, keep you here a little longer. Nobody’s set to start arriving for another three hours, so she has at least two to break you down however she pleases. “Please.” 

“Please what, malysh (baby)? Please touch you, please make it feel better, please come over there and spank my pussy because I know I told you to keep your legs fucking spread, so why are they closing?” Natasha’s glare hardens, deep and cold as she narrows her gaze and wills her eyebrows together until they’re scrunched and misshapen. It was an unconscious thing, but still shame pools in your belly and heat flames in your core as you peel your thighs open, further this time, and give her access to all of you. 

The matching gingham bottoms, adorned with a band of ruffles along the top that sits right at your navel tightly, is discarded on the lounge chair to your immediate right — already wet, but not from the pool. Natasha had directed you to take them off twenty minutes after you’d joined her out in the sun, sent away by Wanda who needed to shower without your needy wandering hands, and they’d remained there dutifully for what you suspect is going on an hour. 

The chair is becoming damp beneath you, slick with arousal that drips out of your wanting entrance teased and taunted relentlessly by the fullness in your ass that’s incessant and unmoving, so insufferably understimulating. Natasha can see the pearls of need glimmering on your lips, and your thighs, not just sweat that lights you up with glittering sparkles and radiant beams. Need for her is what unmakes you, and it feels heavenly to have that reassurance in just the way you let it happen like this at all.

“Go find, Mommy.” She directs, pulling her attention away from your cunt, letting it drift to your eyes, and the way you stare at her lazily, drunkenly, blissfully and submissively. So many words to describe the stars in your eyes as the words register in your head, but there’s not enough time in the day for Natasha to prattle off every synonym. 

“What?” You stutter, harping on the simplicity of her statement because certainly she’s not sending you away right now, not like this. When you’re ready and willing to eat out of the palm of her hand and she hasn’t even done anything more than push that plug into your ass bent over the bathroom countertop. 

“Is that head too fuzzy?” Natasha scoffs, shaking her head. Her hair is twinged with strawberry highlights from the sun, a soft shade of golden pink that feels neatly on with the darker auburn curls that frame her face wildly. “I said, go find Mommy.” 

A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue. A strong-willed declaration that you hate the idea of leaving her and will not be doing anything of the sort of your own volition, but then her eyebrow raises at you challengingly from across the pool, and the butterflies already in your belly are plunged into boiling oil until that flutter and flap about uncontrollably. 

“Bottoms on first, dorogoy.” Natasha smirks when she notices the faint twitch of your muscles beneath your skin — intention budding to the surface, mere seconds away from leaving you exposed to whoever in Westview glances over the picket fence paces away. A scarlet hue twinges your cheeks, and Natasha laughs sweetly as she shakes her head and watches you dress with anxious movements and mousy fingers. “So eager you were gonna prance right through the yard all exposed? By all means, baby, I love seeing that cute little plug, but that’s a little desperate, no? Even for my little slut?” She’s baiting you, teasing you because she can, and it works wonders against you as your skin flushes pink.

“Daddy.” There’s a sickening whine in your tone as it floats with the breeze toward Natasha, a desperate plea for her to do something, anything, clear as day beneath your single utterance of her title — the very one she’d initially had to break you down and coax you sweetly to use. You’ve come a long way since then. They’ve corrupted you in unspeakable ways since the very first night you spent together in the business district of Manhattan. “Please.”

“Inside, dorogoy. Now.” Natasha knows what you want even when you don’t. She won’t deny that you want to cum. She’s known you’ve wanted to be brought over the edge of a blissful orgasm since seven am that morning, but she knows what you want even more that you just can’t see beneath all of that fuzziness in your head. You want to cum, but you want to be broken down and used between them both even more. Your fingers twitch, your knees lock, you're desperate for relief, but even more so for their unwavering control that’s been interlocked with aspects of your relationship from the jump. 

Natasha’s not looking for an answer from you, she’s looking for obedience. The blue-and-white gingham bottoms feel light on your hips, the dangling ties tickle your thighs with every gust of wind that blows past. “Okay.” You concede softly, breath only a whisper as it fights against the changing breeze that throws the submission right back in your face like a brick wall. 

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She just watched how you prance like a baby deer on new legs through the yard because every little step spreads pleasure through your ever slowly frying nerves. It’s a slow process, a tedious game. They have you in a good place, all sweet and pliant, but they could have you somewhere deeper, darker with warmth that feels cold when they leave for too long. She doesn’t say anything, but you hear the aluminum rustling behind you when you reach for the handle on the sliding glass door and strain your eyes for Wanda’s silhouette in the kitchen. 

She brought a High Noon outside with her before you joined. Grapefruit flavor because it’s the one inclusion in the variety pack that you and Wanda turn your nose up at entirely. The watermelon ones, with the green detailing on the front, are reserved solely for you, and the pineapple Wanda. It’s a system that established itself around the third Fourth of July you spent together, and it crushes you like an elephant now as you spare one glance over your shoulder and watch Natasha lift her chin to chase a sip of the fizzling vodka seltzer. 

You think she knows you’re looking at her, lingering by the door with your glassy eyes set solely on her, but she never turns her head to find out. She takes a sip, then two, and then she reaches for the spa skimmer and returns to her task of scooping out leaves that haven’t even fallen into the water yet. She’s meticulous, sometimes annoyingly so, but you know her skin crawls when people come over and mess with her things, so you let her have the one element of control she can grasp with white knuckles unapologetically. 

“Find Mommy.” You remind yourself softly as your attention turns back to the door. You find her easily now that you’re really looking for her. She’s standing by the sink, her back to the living room, face to the window that overlooks the garden she’s packed full of blueberries and roses. The glare from unforgiving sunlight beats down on your back and the door, twinging her slightly yellow and darkening the specifics of her movements, but it allows enough insight for your belly to grow anxious with a desperation for proximity immediately. Your bones feel cold without hands touching your skin, even when sunshine crisps you beyond golden quickly. 

Cold air hits you in the face in an unforeseen ambush that you truthfully should’ve anticipated, and the sound of the door gliding against the track pulls Wanda’s attention to you just as a shiver runs up your already sensitive spine. She looks like she’s about to greet you, coo about the adorable way your muscles twitch when you’re cold, but then her eyes lock onto the ruffles laying over your navel and the swell of your breasts, and she can’t seem to find any words on her tongue at all. 

Your hands curl into tight fists at your sides, stunned to stillness by the drastic change in temperature, her undivided attention on your body, and the fact that she’s standing here in only a bikini that accentuates every curve she’s worked devotedly to maintain. 

You’d known she was going on-the-nose patriotic for a while, but you’d never specifically sought out her choice of bathing suit when you’d been purposefully hiding yours in Natasha’s bottom drawer like a mischievous child. You don’t think she’d intentionally gone to the same lengths of secrecy, but it dawns on you slowly that she’d also probably avoided showing you beforehand with intention. 

“Well hello, devochka (baby girl).” She coos when she gets it together, voice sweet, sickeningly so. Her head cranes just slightly to the left, and the way her hair falls away from her shoulder provides the perfect glimpse at red and white striped straps dangling daintily down the center of her spine, two perfectly formed bunny ears catching your attention from just below her earlobes. “Look at you! Did you get that suit just for me? For Mommy?” 

Natasha doesn’t show you an inch of sunshine until you’ve earned her gentle warmth, but Wanda smothers you in it deep until you can’t even seem to think for yourself without her prompting. She misses no beat even now, her tone sweet like honey, her words curled with such invitation it lures you forward without command. 

“Yes.” You answer, because you know she wants one. You can still think semi-clearly enough to fall in line with the expectations they’ve painstakingly engraved into your subconscious. Your eyes, already glassy from Natasha’s unmaking, already wide with need and desperation, somehow intensify as you drown in Wanda’s appearance. 

You can tell what she’d been doing before you came inside. The counters are clean, the sink dry of any water spots or dishes. But she stands by the sink, on hand on the countertop, the other on her hip. Her chest is angled out toward you, just slightly, just enough to really be able to tell that the cups of her bathing suit are mismatched, mimicking the American flag in a way that doesn’t scream anything overtly annoying or untrue about herself and her views. It’s tasteful, classic, and alluring as you analyze the seemingly crinkled ribbed texture of the two piece. 

“Oh, my good girl.” Wanda preens, humming in satisfaction that you’d only been able to anxiously anticipate seeing for yourself — a fate you chose admittedly, but that’s besides the point. “Come here, come closer. Let me really see it.” She directs, sweet and comforting, her hands coming up to her sides to draw you into her embrace. 

It feels like a waddle as you pad across the kitchen tiles in a pair of flip flops that’s sole purpose is to save the soles of your feet from the blistering concrete out back. Every step jostles the plug in your ass, sparking pleasure that taunts you relentlessly. You’re full, you haven’t forgotten, you can’t forget, but not full in the way you need, not stimulated in the way you’ve been trying to grab onto and secure all morning. Your knees are week, your core throbbing and slickened with arousal that continues to pool out of you at their prolonged nonchalance, and you’re certain that Wanda’s memorizing this wild picture of you to draw inspiration from later on when she has all the time in the world to do this slowly and meticulously. 

“There you are. Come on, come sit.” Wanda smiles sweetly, she holds onto your hips and without any warning lifts you up onto the countertops that are cold to the touch from the stream of air blowing down on them as relentlessly as the sunlight on beige concrete. You shiver again, goosebumps prickling your skin, but it's another sensation that trips you up too. 

The lounge chairs out back are threaded with a flexible net, one that shapes to your body even just a little bit. You hadn’t realized how forgiving that flexibility had been on the plug, but now that her hands hold your hips firmly against the counter, driving the plug further into your ass — deeper — you can’t avoid the pleasure and the devastating disappointment of your cunt remaining empty. 

“Did you have fun out there? You put on quite the show for Daddy. Who taught you those things, devochka)? To sit with your pretty pussy on display for anyone to see and touch. That’s so naughty. Not for little girls who listen to their Mommy’s.” Wanda tsks, and your belly drops with a feeling you can’t name in this haze. Your eyes glisten, tears stinging your waterline as your bottom lip pouts at her sweetly. Oh, how she loves to see you cry for her. “You listen to your Mommy, don’t you, milaya devochka (sweet girl)?”

“Yes.” Your head bobs unconsciously, the answer falling off your tongue before you can even process what she’s asked. You’re already proving your point, her point. Wanda smiles in satisfaction, an amused hum falling into the air around you as she tangles her curious fingertips into the strings at your hips.

“Lift your hips for me, baby. Mommy just wants to check something really quick.” Wanda directs gently, but there’s no room to argue with the tone she sets, especially not as it wraps around you tightly and turns all that remains of your proud independence into pitiful codependency that lingers for hours. It doesn’t occur to you that floaty and clingy is how they want you, but it’s the honest truth. The strings come undone with one testing pull, and in seconds Wanda taps the inner section of your thigh with enough intention to sting, and has them off and in the air before you can even blink dazedly. “Oh my, did Daddy let you take a dip in the pool?” She asks, and your eyebrows furrow innocently. 

“No, Mommy.” Your head shakes, strands of hair that escape your cowboy boot shaped claw clip tickling the nape of your neck and your cheeks as the motion swings them easily in the manufactured breeze. 

“Then why are they all wet, my love? Certainly it’s not all because of that little cunt.” Wanda frowns, tracing her manicured nail over the patch of wetness that’s not entirely visible through the waterproof material, but is still easily identifiable when fingertips graze the sodden garments. Your cheeks flame, and while your thighs had never truly been spread to acclimate the presence of her between them fully, they squeeze tighter shut with her condescending attention on your aching core. “Oh, but that’s what it is, isn’t it, my good girl? You’re just too needy, you can’t even help it — can’t even go one morning without needing somebody to make it all better for you. That little cunt just always wants some attention, doesn’t it?” She’s overwhelming you with questions she doesn’t really want answers to, but she likes to see you squirm at the imagery she lays brazenly at your feet without pity. She might be burning alive without her tongue between your thighs, lapping up any evidence of your arousal, but she’d happily burn with the knowledge that she’s dragging you down with her just because she can; because you let it happen. 

“Yes, Mommy.” You squeak, voice high, officially floaty as it takes on a pitch Wanda hadn’t thought possible before she met you. Her eyes are wild with lust and affection, wild passionate affection that can’t be stifled or diluted by decades of learned self control. She’s a tamed beast, a trusted shot in a war, but sometimes she breaks free of the chains she made for herself to preserve her fragile heart, and when it’s let out on you, there’s no coming back from the heaven she creates out of syllabus and taunting curls. 

“Does it hurt, baby? Is it achey?” Wanda crones, her eyebrows pulled taut with faux sympathy, but even with the knowledge of experience, you can’t see past her sweet questions and gentle movements despite the crudeness of her commentary. 

“Yes.” You whisper, head bobbing. Your eyes trace her face. Her eyes, her freckled cheeks, her nose. The trail across her jawline, the sharp cut of her cheekbones. Her hair falls over her shoulders, not untamed, but rather unconfined; free. 

“Look at me, malysh.” Soft, hard, firm. She cuts through the air and the fog of your mind with one clear order, and when you find her eyes again, deep green and glowing beneath the yellow lighting Natasha’s been itching to switch out for LED, they’re so much darker then you remember, pupils blown wide with lust and glittering refractions of light dusted across the enter dazzling orb. “Open your legs.” 

Your thighs fall open instantly, and your core that’s no longer concealed by the gingham pattern of your bottoms is exposed to her without a barrier now. Your clit pulses at the exposure to cold air, hard and pebbled from tension that nobody’s been kind enough to relieve. Your entrances clenches and unclenches, no rhythm, no reason, just begs whimsically for something to probe it unkindly and brutally. Your lips are puffy, swollen and red. How much of the glow comes from unforgiving sunlight or arousal Wanda’s uncertain, but for the moment she’s captivated by the effortless beauty of your pussy as it begs her for anything. 

“Oh, so eager already?” Wanda groans, before her attention is pulled to your clot when it throbs unabashedly at her condensation. Your cheeks can go flush, your brain can go fuzzy, but your pussy is the biggest tell of them all. “Aw, that must feel so icky, princess. Yeah?” 

“Mommy!” Your feet kick against the countertops petulantly, a whine pulling from somewhere in your belly that’s only explored when they can get you there; here. Wanda’s eyes harden, her jaw clicks at the audacity you somehow still have even halfway to the moon and out of touch with everything else. 

“We do not kick.” She scolds, sharp and clear, and your throat bobs with a thickness that somehow even burns in your eyes. “Now be quiet and let me check. God only knows what your Daddy did while I wasn’t watching you both.” Wanda rolls her eyes, and before you can even really process what she says, her fingers pull your lips apart, exposing your clit and clenching hole. It’s another level of exposed, a deeper shudder of pleasure that runs up your spine and shakes you just enough to shift pressure on the plug. “God, look at this pussy. So pretty, baby girl. Remind me, whose pussy is it again?” 

It takes a second, more like three, for you to find an answer in your head as her fingers continue to simply hold your pussy open for her eyes to marvel at, but eventually you do, leaning closer to her unconsciously as your eyelids bat heavily. “Yours.”

“And what’s my name, baby?” She hums, half satisfied but wanting more. She always wants more, she’s as insatiable as you, though neither one of you can compete with Natasha. 

“M-Mommy!” You gasp when her fingers brush your clit, just once, just hard enough to really feel how pebbled and click your pulsing bud is with arousal right now, before anyone really even touched you. A whine of disappointment falls off your lips when she doesn’t make a move to repeat the action. 

“Yes, milaya devochka?” She smirks smugly, and it’s a miracle that your muscles don’t move on their own accord and thrash against the countertop in petulant frustration that’s been building for hours on end now. One push too far and you fall down a spiral they need undivided attention to pull you out of, but if you continue to glide just right, they know there’s heaven in your future — all of your futures. 

A strangled whine falls off of your lips, your hands reaching out to grapple at the strings of her bikini. You know Natasha’s planning on wearing a white top and black athletic shorts that she has no reason to take off before she jumps into the pool, but it won’t be as captivating as how Wanda looks right now. 

“I wonder how desperate this pussy is for me. If I just press right here… yeah, just like this, oh fuck, baby. Not even pushing into you and this tight little cunt is just beginning for more.” Wanda moans beneath her breath, her eyes closing tightly for only a second before they focus on your core again. “Let’s see what happens if I do…this.” She questions, and then she eases that one single digit into your entrance and nothing else matters anymore.

A high pitched whine escapes you, and despite the stillness that follows her quick intrusion, the complete fullness that finally settles something in your bones sparks you into all encompassing pleasure quickly. Your hips don’t rock on their own accord, they’re infuriatingly still despite the pleasure blooming in your core halfway, and Wanda knows that you won’t be able to move until something lightens up, but you don’t want that either. You want whatever she gives you, whatever gets you there. 

“So responsive for me, baby.” She teases when you gasp again, and when her finger curls, pointedly and with clear intent against that spongy part of your walls that’s buried just perfectly behind your clout, it’s all over for you as your forehead drops to her shoulder and you gasp out ragged breaths. “Oh, does my pussy like that? Do you like it when I finger you here? On the counter, with your legs all nice and spread open. Fucking hell, you’re close already? Just from this?” Wanda groans, her eyes screwing closed, concealing the aroused amazement that floats in her eyes as she feels your walls contract around her finger tightly. Just the one, she hasn’t offered any more. 

“Please!” It’s the only thing you’ve managed to say, to bring yourself to ask in minutes, and Wanda feels so smug to know that in darkness, the one grain of light you found was the expectation to ask before you cum. She knows you’re not really asking though. You’re telling her you’re cumming, falling over the edge into her single finger that doesn’t even fuck you, just curls up and against your g-spot every few seconds without rhyme or reason. This was never about fucking you. She’d never told you that, nor led you to believe it. But what your mind made up on its own was none of her concern when she’s told you time and time again to let her do the thinking. “Nu uh! No! No! Please!”

Wanda’s fingers pull away from your cunt quickly, just as she felt your walls tightly so impossibly around her knuckle that even she knew any second longer and you would’ve fallen over the blissful edge into paradise. Instead, her palm slaps against your core, still exposed despite how your thighs tremble hanging off the edge of the countertop. Wanda coos, she grabs your ankles between delicate fingers, guiding your legs up until your chin rests on your knees and the soles of your feet are firmly against the marble, your core still open and exposed to her eyes, but the slight cant of your body now leaning to engage more core support opens up an entrance that Natasha’s left untouched since the early morning. 

Wanda doesn’t even address the ruined orgasm, but she watched how your cunt pulses and clenches with need and desperation. She groans when a single tear falls down your cheek, your bottom lip bitten and a picture of desperation. Your clit pulses with the beat of your heart, and despite the heavy feeling in your bones and the way this position has you still, your hips try to chase the sting of her palm slapping against you mercilessly. 

“Daddy picked such a pretty plug for you, malysh.” Wanda coos, her manicured fingers tapping against the jeweled plug in your ass, adding to the sensitivity that bites at your exposed nerves and core. Your hips try to jump, but they can’t with the way your hands hold your ankles tightly, having taken Wanda’s place with quiet submission. You know what she wants, and sometimes you give it to her without question. “But it’s time for it to come out now. We’re all done playing.” Wanda tells you firmly, the boundary now drawn clear, but you still whine in defeat as excitement bubbles in your belly and becomes twinged with anxiousness at the prospect of going all day unsatisfied. You need her, all of her, and she’s only giving you what she wants. 

“Please! Please, I don’t want to be all done!” It’s almost a wail, definitely a whiny plea, but it’s silenced by fingers grabbing at your cheeks until your lips pucker like a fish. Wanda’s hold is unrelenting, tight and dominating. She’s all done toying with your body so boldly, but her control hasn’t wavered for even a second. 

“We are all done. I’m going to take the plug out of your ass, and then we’re going to put another layer of sunscreen on before Maria and Yelena get here. Do I make myself clear?” She let’s go of your face only so that you can nod freely, your hand coming up to rub away the itch on your face from where the tear had slowly fallen with cinematic timing. “Words.” 

“Yes, Mommy.” You whine, and she allows it, only because you look so sweet fucked out and scolded on the counter, a puddle beneath you that you either have noticed, or aren’t aware enough to be embarrassed about. Satisfied with your answer, Wanda pulls you off the counter and spins you around under the edge of the marble digs into your belly, right above where the ruffled fabric lays against your navel. 

“Relax for me baby. Take a big deep breath in.” Wanda’s fingers find your clit at the same time as the other hand fings the base of the plug, and as you breathe in through your nose, she rubs tight loose circles around your still throbbing bud and works the plug out without teasing. She wasn’t kidding. You’re all done playing. But it still disappoints you that she didn’t at least try and drag it out any longer. “Good girl. Good job. Now, put your bottoms back on and wait for me.”

“Why do I have to wait?” You pout, wanting only to be wrapped up tightly in her embrace at the very least if she wasn’t going to work you through a mind blowing orgasm. The only thought on your mind is her, her and Natasha, but the redhead is still locked away outside, still treating the pool and skimming the water and putting off getting dressed because that’s the very last thing she has control of before chaos ensues for hours. You think that vaguely, but it doesn’t hold much weight. Nothing outside of earning her praise and her attention holds any weight to you. 

“Because, you made a mess on my countertops after I just cleaned them.” Wanda scoffs, and your cheeks flame, and you whispered a muted ‘Oh’ because what do you even say to that, and she smiles mischievously over her shoulder as she drags a paper towel over the mess and then reaches for the all purpose cleaner that smells like lemons and vanilla all at once. “Yeah, oh.” She giggles before she throws the paper towel away and turns her attention back to you, sighing softly when she sees you’ve made no effort to reclaim the still untied bottoms on the ground and redress yourself despite the time ticking by faster and faster.

“You feeling okay? Just a little floaty? A little needy?” Wanda asks, assuring that you know she already knows where your head is at, but wanting to make sure nothing else had breached the surface of your little paradise found in her arms as she wraps you up tight in her embrace, forgiving eye contact for only this moment as you snuggle in deep and use her for all the warmth and comfort that she packs in her body. 

“Okay. Just wanna be close.” You muse, eyes closing, but you’ve never known Wanda or Natasha to let you rest after a session, and without fail she tugs your head and begins guiding you down the hallway to the bathroom, directing you to pee while she sifts through the sunscreen in the cabinet until she finds the one specifically for you. 

It doesn’t dawn on any of you until hours later that the plug was left in the kitchen, right in plain sight on the countertop, but you’re eternally thankful to Maria who moved it without question after noticing, and only brought it up to Natasha with smugness three times throughout the night.

[lizzieolsenobsessed]

I miss these little cuties together ❤️

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑀𝑒

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: You decide to pay for your sugar mommy's meal, and she reminds you of your place.

content warnings: BDSM, impact play, hair pulling, restraints, cunnilingus, fucking machine, buttplug, dumbification, subspace, edging, orgasm denial

word count:  7.4k+

masterlist

“Baby?” Wanda calls, “Are you ready?”

Something falls in the bathroom, Wanda’s eyes flicking over to the door in mild concern. You appear, your cheeks lightly flushed as you hold a towel loosely around your body. Wanda can’t help but trail her eyes down your frame, raising her eyebrow in a silent command. 

You drop the towel, biting your lip as you make your way over to her. “Sorry, I dropped my lotion.”

Green eyes lock on yours, Wanda’s pupils dilating as she takes in your nudity. Your nipples are already hard, your skin soft and smelling faintly of her vanilla-scented body wash. She loved it when you used her products. 

It was one of her rules, actually. You were required to use any product Wanda instructed you to, which consisted mainly of her own -expensive- things. You didn’t mind, you loved being taken care of, in every way. 

Leaning down, you gently kiss her, smiling as her hand makes its way to your waist, her fingers digging in and urging you closer. This is your favorite side of her, the one that craves you. You love her fingers pulling you in, her lips on your skin, her eyes solely on yours. 

“I’ve laid out a dress for you,” she murmurs, her voice husky and low. It sends a pleasant warmth down your spine that pools in your gut. “Go put it on.”

Her tone is firm as she gently pushes you toward the bed. You catch her eyes lingering on your nude form, glancing over you through the mirror as she applies the last bits of her makeup. Grinning to yourself, you decide to put on a show for her, swaying your hips as you saunter over to the bed. 

There it is. The dress she’d picked out for you. It was beautiful, dark red and lacy, a long slit in the side that practically reached your hips. It had a neckline that dipped dangerously low, enough to tease the sight of your chest but not too much to expose you indecently. Just the way Wanda liked it. Lying next to the dress was a pair of black heels, the bottom of them painted bright red, a sight you’d become accustomed to. 

Biting your lip to hide your excitement, you slowly pull the dress over your head, moving your hips slowly to fully pull it over your body. You note the lack of panties or a bra on the bed, your cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of sitting through dinner without any undergarments. Luckily, the dress supported your chest well, your breasts sitting comfortably with the extra padded support. 

“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, having spun around to watch you. 

Smiling, you bask in her attention as you slowly spin around, adjusting your hair slightly. Your zipper has been caught halfway up your back, the small piece of metal resting just below your shoulder blades. 

Wanda gestures to you, a silent command. 

You obey, snagging the heels from off the bed and padding toward her. You feel giggly, and a bit like you’re playing dress-up, but Wanda looks at you with utter adoration; her normally serious expression is nowhere to be found. Her eyes are wide and unguarded, her hands firm as she beckons you closer, but not stern and unforgiving as they usually are. 

Biting your bottom lip, you decide that you quite like this side of her. It was almost… adorable. 

As if she could read your thoughts, Wanda’s eyes snap up to yours from where they’d been lingering around your neckline. “Sit on my lap, darling.”

Blinking, you clear your throat as a strange shyness creeps over you. 

“Now.” 

Wanda’s tone turns slightly icy, her eyebrows furrowing slightly at your hesitance. She doesn’t like to be disobeyed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur, noting the way her face smooths at your words. Quickly, you drop onto her lap, sitting sideways since your dress won’t allow you to straddle her as you usually did. The heels slip from your fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thump as Wanda’s hand snakes around your waist. 

Her green eyes peer into yours, studying your face. You notice the subtle makeup she’s put on, her eyelids darkened seductively with dark gold eyeshadow, her black eyeliner small and precise. Her lips are also dark, a matte red color coating them. You wonder if it would stain your skin, then promptly push that thought to the back of your mind, lest you leak through your expensive dress. 

“I have some jewelry for you,” Wanda murmurs, her other hand coming up to trace the thin gold chain fastened permanently around your neck. She’d gifted it to you last year, her initials subtly engraved into the chain, a private sign of her ownership of you. Wanda wore a similar necklace, your initials also engraved into the silver metal glittering around her neck.

Smiling, you lean in until your lips are mere inches from hers, “I love it when you dress me, Wanda.”

“I know you do,” Wanda smirks, her hand dropping to grip your thigh possessively for a moment, before she reaches for some jewelry she’s laid out on the vanity in front of her. Her fingers send heat down your spine as she grazes them lightly across your skin, clasping a few necklaces around your neck. She adjusts them, laying the metal perfectly on your chest before she taps your hands in a silent command. 

Obediently, you raise your hands, watching her slip various rings on them. Somehow, Wanda always manages to match your jewelry to your outfit perfectly. You’re in awe every time, and you no longer protest when she demands to dress you. 

Green eyes flit over your ears, Wanda nodding slightly in approval as she takes in your various earrings. “Perfect,” she mutters, her hand coming back down to your thigh. 

“Yes, you are.”

“Don’t deflect, darling. What do you say when I compliment you?” Wanda’s tone is light, but her eyes are intense, her fingers squeezing your thigh. 

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smirking, Wanda releases her hold on your thigh. “Good girl.” She moves to stand, helping you off her lap and adjusting your hair to fall perfectly over your shoulders. “Now put those heels on and meet me by the cars.”

Wanda lightly kisses you, careful not to ruin her lipstick -or yours- before she playfully squeezes your waist and walks out the door. 

The heels slip on quickly, perfectly molded to your feet. You take a moment, looking at yourself in the mirror and willing your blush to go away. You’re unsuccessful. 

Wanda is beautiful. She stands next to the passenger door of her favorite car, opening it and ushering you in. The exterior is gleaming, the dark red gloss standing out. The interior is even nicer, somehow, all black leather with red trim. It smells as fresh as the day she bought it. 

Taking a moment, you admire Wanda’s outfit, her silver jewelry and sharply cut jacket. She’s several inches taller than you, her heels clacking softly on the ground as she shuts the door softly before rounding the car to the driver’s side. 

The drive to the restaurant is relatively short. You steal glances at Wanda the entire time, loving the comforting weight of her hand on your thigh. 

You’ve grown used to being pampered by her. She makes a lot of decisions for the two of you, and you love her control over you. You love providing for her as well, insisting on cooking meals whenever you can. Between your part-time job at a bookstore and your relationship, you were pretty okay with your life. 

Wanda would have preferred you to be home all the time, especially when she often worked from her home office, but you’d insisted on keeping your job. You liked it, there was a bookstore cat named Freckles, and your manager was really nice. Plus, you loved being surrounded by books all day. 

Shifting in your seat slightly, you bite your lip in excitement as you feel your credit card sitting snug between the fabric of your dress and your breasts. You’d been saving up for months, knowing that Wanda had expensive tastes. This restaurant was meant for upper-class patrons, so you’d prepared well in advance. You wanted to surprise her tonight; after all, it wasn’t often you got to return the favor of spoiling Wanda. 

Wanda never lets you pay for anything. You'll be changing that tonight. 

The restaurant is just as you remembered. Low lighting and soft voices that help you relax further into Wanda’s hand on the small of your back. It feels safer this way, more intimate. 

“Right this way, Ma’am,” the waiter says, his voice quiet as he gestures for Wanda to follow. Her hand is splayed on your lower back, the warmth from her fingers propelling you forward as the waiter leads you to a table near the back. 

The chair doesn’t make a sound and Wanda slides it out, gesturing for you to sit. Her hands briefly touch your shoulders before she pushes the chair in firmly, her stride elegant as she walks to the chair across from you. 

“Two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, from the Robert Mondavi Winery Reserve,” she murmurs, the waiter nodding dutifully before striding away. 

Those green eyes stare into yours, a soft smile playing on Wanda’s lips. 

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” you whisper, blushing at the praise. You briefly touch the necklace resting between your collarbones. “I think you look amazing.”

Wanda smiles warmly at that, her hand sliding across the table to clasp yours. Her fingers are soft as you idly play with her rings. 

The waiter returns, showing the bottle before Wanda nods at him. He pours the wine, standing still as Wanda takes a sip. His eyes are nervous, but Wanda simply nods again before quietly ordering food for the both of you. 

You knew what she was going to order. You’d meticulously saved up in order to cover the bill, plus a generous tip. A flood of relief fills you when she doesn’t stray from her usual order, but you cover it up with a smile. 

“How was work?”

Wanda begins speaking, her thumb running over the back of your hand as she does. You listen diligently, unsure of half the things she’s referring to but enjoying yourself nonetheless. The waiter returns some time later with steaming food, and you and Wanda make idle conversation while you eat. 

It is one of the best meals you could have asked for. Perfectly cooked salmon with a side of quinoa salad and rice. There are complementary breadsticks, and you eagerly take two. The wine pairs nicely with the food, but you’re not a huge nerd about it like Wanda is. She knows all the best combinations. 

Truly, it all tastes the same to you. But, you’d never tell her that.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you say, wiping your mouth politely. 

Wanda simply nods, sipping her wine. You’re a much faster eater than she is, and this is one of the times you’re grateful for the skill. Squeezing her hand briefly, you stand up and walk toward the restrooms. 

Once you’ve rounded the corner, your heart begins to race. Glancing back, you see Wanda taking a small bite of her salad. 

Perfect.

“Excuse me,” you say quietly, walking up to the waiter standing near the kitchen window. He looks up, surprised. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks, politely averting his eyes when you dig into your dress for your credit card. 

“I’d like to pay for my wife’s and my meal.”

He nods, gingerly taking your card. You try not to giggle, smoothing your face over when he nods and briskly walks into the backroom. Casually, you fix your hair, careful not to lean against the wall. Wanda had helped you with your posture, and you could still remember her lessons in the back of your mind. 

“All set, ma’am.” The waiter returns, handing you your card back. 

“Oh, thank you,” you murmur, placing it back into your dress and biting your lip to stifle your smile when he looks away again. You pull out two hundred-dollar bills, handing them to him. “Thank you.”

He smiles politely as he accepts the bills, nodding at you.

“I’d prefer you keep this from my wife until the end of the meal,” you say, watching his eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m surprising her.”

“Ah,” he smiles wider this time. “Always happy to be a part of a surprise, ma’am. My lips are sealed.”

With that, you walk back to your seat. You make sure not to walk too quickly, lest Wanda becomes suspicious. She always has a way of figuring out what you’ve been up to.

“There you are, darling,” she smiles at you and stands, pulling your chair out again. “I was beginning to worry.” 

You flush, sitting down again and turning to look up at her. “Just decided to freshen up a bit, I wanted to look my absolute best for you.”

Leaning down, Wanda places a soft kiss against your cheek. “You always look wonderful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smiling at you, Wanda returns to her seat and grasps the stem of her wine glass. You mirror her action, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a deep sip. You’re going to need some liquid confidence to get through the night once Wanda discovers what you’ve done. 

One thing you’d learned early on in your relationship was that Wanda liked to be the one in charge of things. You didn’t mind, especially in the bedroom, but you’d always felt just a tiny bit disappointed when you wanted to spoil her and she’d refuse. She’d just offer her own card, raising an eyebrow at you and firmly reminding you that she was there to take care of you. 

Sometimes it felt like you weren’t contributing anything of worth to the relationship. 

“Darling?” Wanda’s green eyes are piercing, locked on your face. “Are you alright? You look… morose.”

You shake away your thoughts. You’re sitting here with the beautiful woman that you married, on a nice date that you’ve just paid for. Get a grip.

“Yes,” you say, smiling reassuringly at her. “I just got lost in my thoughts, you know how that happens sometimes.”

Laughing slightly, you watch Wanda’s lips quirk up slightly, but something tells you that she won’t let the subject go that easily. You reach across the table, grabbing her hand and making sure she can see down the front of your dress. 

“Baby, I’m fine. Really.”

Green eyes flit down, before they glance back up at you, her eyebrow raised. “Alright. Just stay present with me, okay?”

You nod eagerly, smiling brightly at her before sitting up again. 

Under the table, you feel the top of Wanda’s heel brush against your leg, advancing slowly as it makes its way above your knees and further up your thigh. “You’ll pay for that stunt,” Wanda murmurs. 

Your heart stops for a moment, your mind flashing back to your credit card, before you realize she’s talking about your adventurous moment when she got a nice full look at your chest.  

“I understand,” you quip, adjusting in your seat to spread your legs further just slightly, watching the way Wanda’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. That’s right, two could play this game. You smiled victoriously. 

“How do you feel about going to the speakeasy a bit further downtown?” Wanda asks, finishing the rest of her wine. You mirror her actions, feeling the pleasant buzz under your skin. 

You nod, and Wanda smiles at you, grabbing her clutch. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Watching her leave to find the waiter, you wait anxiously. You can just barely see her across the restaurant, her red hair glowing slightly in the warm lighting. She’s exchanging low words with the waiter, before he gestures over towards your table. Two sets of eyes turn towards you, one apologetic and the other unreadable. 

You’re focused on the green pair, barely noticing the cash Wanda hands the waiter as a tip. 

She advances slowly, moving through the restaurant as her gaze never leaves yours. “Darling…” she says when she reaches your seat, her hand on your shoulder. It’s firm, not painful, but her fingers dig in just enough to express how she’s feeling. 

“Surprise,” you say, smiling up at her. You’re proud of yourself; your voice didn’t even waver. Standing, you bite your lip as you gaze at her, assessing her expression. 

She reveals nothing, her hand snaking around your waist and guiding you toward the front door. What would normally be a comforting action sends pleasant shivers down your spine. 

Wanda remains silent all the way to the car, opening the passenger door and ushering you in. Sliding into the driver's seat, she starts the car before letting out a breath. 

“Explain.”

“I wanted to treat you for once,” you say stubbornly. You might as well have crossed your arms and pouted, but you didn’t. 

Looking at you, Wanda sighs. “Darling, why do you always fight me on this topic?”

You don’t answer, looking out of your window as Wanda begins backing up the car, the low hum of the engine comforting. The city flashes before you as she drives, people milling about, and different lights hitting your eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” Wanda says, something in her tone telling you to turn and look at her. “You know that I appreciate it when you want to pay for me, don’t you?” 

You furrow your brow. “I… well, I always thought it just annoyed you.”

“It does annoy me,” Wanda shoots a look at you. “But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

Then, she sighs. “In this relationship, you do so much for me. One of the only ways I feel that I can take care of you is by paying and making sure you don’t have to worry about anything financially. Do you understand?”

“I- but I don’t do that much for you?” 

Wanda laughs then, the sound surprising you. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea, do you?”

Shaking your head, you watch her as you wait for an explanation. 

“Lift up the hem of your dress.”

It’s a command, and you blink at the sudden turn of events. Still, you know better than to disobey Wanda. Slowly, you drag the hem up until the tops of your thighs are revealed. 

“Spread your legs.”

“Wanda…”

She shoots you a look. You spread your legs. 

“Touch yourself.” 

At that, you suck in a breath. Trailing your fingers down, you collect some of your arousal on your fingertips, surprised at how wet you are. Then, you begin circling your clit, nice and slow, just the way Wanda likes it. 

“Good girl. Keep doing that.” 

Wanda smiles, glancing down at your fingers every so often as she makes her way out of the city. You want to ask about the speakeasy, but choose to remain silent. She seems to be proving a point somehow, and you wait for her to explain.

“We’re going home, where I’m going to make us some drinks and you’re going to sit on my lap while we make a new rule. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Smiling at that, Wanda reaches over, placing a hand on your thigh. It makes your skin buzz hotly, and you resist the urge to circle your clit faster. 

“This is one of many things you do for me, darling. Your submission is everything to me, and you offer it so willingly. I’ve been able to freely express my dominant side with you, and you’ve never judged me for the things I desire in a sexual dynamic. You were made for me.”

You nod, realization creeping into your mind. Wanda isn’t finished. 

“You have your job, which I allowed because I know how happy it makes you, and I want you to have a life outside of me. As much as I would like to keep you for myself, I know how much you adore that bookshop. At home, you cook for me, not because I’ve asked you to, but because you genuinely enjoy cooking. That is something you provide for me.”

Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you. “When I get home, what is the first thing you do?”

Blushing, you respond, your words slightly breathy. “I take your coat and purse, give you a kiss, and walk with you to your home office while you tell me about your day.”

Nodding, Wanda continues. “That is another thing you provide for me, sweetheart.”

She continues to list things, small, mundane things that you hadn’t considered to be a big deal. Evidently, they meant the world to Wanda. The way you helped her with laundry, when you’d rub her shoulders after a long meeting, make her a drink in the evening, and especially when you’d follow her orders.

“Like I said, you were made for me. You do so much for our relationship.”

“So do you,” you protest, stopping yourself from saying more when she shoots a sharp look your way. 

“One of the main ways I feel that I can contribute and take care of you in this relationship is with my income. You know I make a lot, darling, I’ve never hidden that from you. I work long days so that I can come home and make your life comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say, finally understanding. 

“Please, darling. Let me use my money on you. That’s why I work so hard.”

You nod, unable to speak as you realize why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. 

“I see you finally understand,” Wanda says, glancing down again. “Go faster.”

Blinking, you circle your clit faster, biting your lip at the pleasure it brings. You take a deep, shuddering breath, sure that you’re leaking through your dress. The air in the car becomes warm, and the next time that Wanda looks at you, her pupils are blown. 

“Keep going,” she murmurs, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “If you cum before we get home, your punishment will be worse.”

You whine, nodding as you keep your pace. You try desperately to think of anything other than the woman seated beside you, her grip firm on your thigh as you feel your pleasure building. 

The fingers on your thigh grip harshly as you slow your pace slightly, trying to stave off your incoming orgasm. 

“What did I say?” Wanda hisses, her eyes glancing sharply at you. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

You shudder, feeling little bolts of pleasure crashing through you. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” Wanda pretends to think, watching as you increase your pace again. “I don’t think that’s a strong enough title, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Wanda smiles, satisfied. “Good girl. Keep going. Please your Mistress.”

You let out a low moan at her words, feeling your pleasure increase tenfold as she calls herself that title. You try to stop it, your orgasm. But Wanda is talking, telling you that you’re doing so well for her as her fingers slowly inch up your thigh, her vanilla scent engulfing you as your muscles spasm, white-hot pleasure overtaking you. 

You fingers stall, your orgasm coursing through you as your clit pulses. Wanda makes a noise, her fingers grabbing yours and moving them back to your raw clit. “Did I tell you to stop?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Continuing, you let your fingers wring every last drop of pleasure from you, aware of the fact that you’ve just made your punishment worse. You truly couldn’t help it. I mean, it’s not your fault that your wife was insanely hot and her words were able to bring you to orgasm, was it?

You’re working your way up to a second orgasm when Wanda pulls into the driveway of your shared home. As the garage shuts behind you, she turns the engine off, her hand grabbing yours and gently pulling it away from your swollen clit. 

Wrapping her fingers around your wrist, Wanda brings your hand to her lips, maintaining eye contact with you as she sucks the arousal off of your fingers. 

“I can smell your arousal,” she murmurs, releasing your fingers with a soft pop. “I’m going to get changed. By the time I come back, I want you nude and kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, with two drinks in your hands. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” You watch her exit the car and round the side to open your door. 

Wanda disappears into the bedroom, and you quickly make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients to make Wanda’s favourite cocktail. 

It isn’t long before you’re finished, garnishing each drink with a maraschino cherry. You walk carefully to the living room, setting the drinks on two coasters near the couch. Wanda didn’t like it when you forgot about the coasters. You didn’t blame her, all of the furniture in your home was expensive, much of it was hand-crafted. 

Stripping out of your beautiful dress, you fold it neatly and place it on the chair nearby, your heels sitting next to it. You remove all of your jewelry, except for the permanent gold chain around your neck. 

Grabbing the drinks, you kneel in front of the couch, facing the cushions. It’s a position that Wanda had trained into you, and you’re well aware of the wetness clinging to your center as you wait. 

Footsteps sound out, heels clicking towards you. As much as you want to, you don’t dare turn from your position, knowing that Wanda liked the thrill of suspense. 

“I hope you enjoyed that orgasm in the car,” Wanda says, stepping around you to sit on the couch. Your mouth waters as she comes into view. “It will be your only orgasm tonight.”

Your eyes snap up to hers, but you remain silent, her eyes hard and unforgiving. The lingerie set she’s wearing is gorgeous, all black with a lacy corset. There are accents of dark red throughout the whole piece, and you can feel yourself getting worked up as you take her in. 

Wanda’s hand grabs one of the glasses, sipping from it as she makes a small noise of appreciation. Setting it to the side, she grabs the cherry and pops it in her mouth, before she leans forward to grab your jaw. 

“Open.”

You can smell the cherry and sharp hints of alcohol on her tongue, and you obey. Wanda’s fingers reach into your glass, grabbing the cherry and bringing it to your parted lips. She rubs it over your top lip first, then your bottom lip. You remain still, watching her eyes as she slowly presses the cherry onto your tongue. 

“Chew and swallow, dear.”

You obey, looking into her eyes as you do so. 

Wanda smirks, satisfied with your obedience. She grabs your glass, tapping her knees in a silent command as she brings the glass to your lips. You rest your hands on the tops of your thighs, palms facing up as she tips the glass forward, the sweet drink flowing into your mouth. 

She has you drink until the glass is empty, your stomach warm from the alcohol and lips buzzing from the way she’d wiped them with her fingers once she was done. Wanda sits back, watching your flushed face as she sips on her own drink.

“There is going to be a new rule implemented, darling.” 

You nod, tilting your head slightly. 

“When we are together, I will pay for everything. If you wish to make a purchase, you will talk to me beforehand. You know how I hate it when you disobey or trick me in public.” Wanda’s eyes soften. “Occasionally, you can buy some things when we are together, I won’t deny you that. But, let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod. The decision is easy now that you know the real reason why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. Besides, it was nice to be taken care of. 

“Good girl.”

Wanda finishes her drink, setting it next to your glass. “You know that I have to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” You hang your head slightly, wondering what type of punishment Wanda has planned. Strong fingers grip your chin, wrenching your head up. 

“You know why, don’t you?”

“Because I went behind your back, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes flash, a pleased smile adorning her face. “Exactly, sweetheart. You know that what you did was wrong, and you know how I hate it when you are dishonest with me.”

At that, Wanda stands, still gripping your face as you crane your neck to look up at her. “Who owns you?”

“You do, Mistress.”

Wanda’s fingers tighten on your jaw, forcing your mouth open. She spits, letting her saliva drip into your mouth, and you swallow obediently. 

“Crawl,” she commands, before turning and walking slowly to the bedroom. 

You obey, your eyes glued to the sway of her backside as her footsteps click down the hallway. The hallway is carpeted, something you’re grateful for as you crawl behind Wanda. You can feel your arousal running down your inner thighs as you crawl, and sharp arousal mixed with soft humiliation mixes deep inside you. 

You reflect on your choices as you crawl, satisfaction that Wanda had finally explained why she liked to pay working its way through you, even as regret pools in your stomach. You truly hated going behind Wanda’s back, and although it was meant as a thoughtful surprise, you now understood why it meant so much to Wanda to take care of you financially. 

Wanda stops, wordlessly pointing at the bed. You blink, having not realized that you’d made it to the bedroom already. You follow Wanda’s instructions, crawling onto the bed as she shuts the door behind you, a few warm lamps lighting the room. 

“Sometimes I forget…” Wanda begins, sauntering back over to the bed, a glint in her eye. “I forget that good girls like you need discipline to keep them in line, isn’t that right?”

You nod. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes hardened. “Yes, Mistress… what?”

“I-” your eyes dart around the room, unsure of what Wanda wants you to say. The woman reached behind you, grabbing two velcro cuffs and attaching them to your wrists while you fumble for an answer. 

“What do good girls need, sweetheart?” Wanda finally says, testing the cuffs to make sure they’re secure but not too tight. 

“Oh, um. Good girls need their Mistresses to discipline them to remind them of their place.” You turn to look at Wanda, hopeful that you’ve supplied the correct answer. Wanda smiles at you, tracing a finger down your face as she nods. 

“Very good,” she murmurs, grabbing a piece of metal and attaching your wrists together on your lap. You know that you can’t escape, so you don’t even test the strength of the restraints; you just watch Wanda. 

Tapping your lower back, Wanda urges you into position. “On your knees, ass up, darling. I want your arms straight up so your face is on the mattress.”

You obey, stretching your arms out and presenting your backside. Wanda’s hand lands on the back of your head, ensuring that you stay in place, before she strokes your hair and trails her fingers down your spine. Her lips caress your ear, her vanilla scent washing over you as she whispers, “Count for me.”

You barely have time to question it before a resounding crack echoes through the room. You register the pain a second later, a burning sensation multiplying the humiliation and arousal inside you. 

“One, Mistress.”

Wanda is relentless, using her hand first, until you no longer squirm when she spanks you. She lets out a frustrated noise as your voice remains steady, stalking over to the closet and emerging with more toys. 

“I want to see you break,” she hisses, grabbing the roots of your hair and twisting your head until your wide eyes meet hers. She relishes the wide look of anticipation and trepidation on your face, before she roughly shoves your face back into the mattress, one hand steadying your back while the other raises a paddle and brings it down sharply with a twist of her wrist. 

“T- twenty-three, Mistress,” you moan, feeling tears form in your eyes as your head starts to become fuzzy. This was the headspace that you loved the most, and Wanda knew just how to get you there. 

Wanda resumes, switching between the paddle and a soft cane, the low whistle in the air before it strikes you, causing your arousal to spike. 

“God, I love how much of a masochist you are,” Wanda says, her voice slightly raspy. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you say, your voice slightly muffled from the way your face is pressed into the mattress. 

Wanda delivers one final blow, the crack jolting your body forward as your fingers grip the comforter tightly, a muffled sob sounding out. Her cool fingers gently trail over your raw, red ass, her voice whispering in your ear, “Color?”

“Yellow, Mistress,” you moan. “I just need a moment.”

“Good girl,” she responds, rubbing your backside for a moment before walking back into the closet to retrieve more toys, letting you catch your breath. 

She remains in the closet for a suspiciously long time, but you don’t dare raise your head. You can hear her rummaging around, her heels making a soft thud on the carpet as she returns, the weight of the bed shifting as she deposits whatever items she collected. 

There are some more noises, near the foot of the bed, and you feel yourself craning to hear what she might be doing. 

“Turn around, darling,” Wanda commands. “On your knees, facing the headboard.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you mumble, quickly following her order. You can feel her attaching cuffs of some sort to your ankles, and you realize that you’ve been restrained with a spreader bar. Flexing your ankles for a moment, you realize that you’re well and truly stuck. It sends a rush of arousal through you.

“You like this, don’t you,” Wanda murmurs, dragging a finger through your dripping slit, an appreciative moan telling you that she licked your juices from her finger. 

You can’t do much but whimper, hearing her chuckle from behind you. 

The feeling of something thick prodding at you makes your heart stutter for a moment, before you feel Wanda’s fingers spreading lube all over what you presume to be a dildo. She makes sure to spread some on you as well, her fingers scissoring inside you as she ensures you’re well lubricated. 

There’s a click, and then you hear the soft hum of machinery. A thick dildo presses against you, and you moan as you feel it start to penetrate you. 

“Hold still,” Wanda commands, and you obey, feeling her adjusting the machine. The dildo presses deep inside you, hitting that spot inside you that causes pleasure to bloom, and you groan into the mattress. 

“Perfect.”

Wanda rounds the bed, the machine slowly thrusting her favorite dildo deep inside you, the sounds of your wet pussy being slowly fucked sending her own arousal soaring. She grips your hair again, pulling your head up to admire the glassy look in your eyes. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“I- mmmph,” you manage, your eyes gazing into hers, not a thought behind them. 

Chuckling, Wanda presses a button on the remote, the dildo moving slightly faster. Your mouth opens, your cheeks coloring further as a deep flush emerges. 

God, it feels amazing. Wanda’s cool hands on your cheeks as your body is set alight with pleasure. She’s moving, pulling off her lingerie as she manoeuvres herself to sit against the headboard. 

You can smell her, so you drop your gaze down to her perfect pussy, licking your lips at the glistening arousal you find there. 

“Go on,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the haze. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster and deeper. “Make Mommy feel good.”

At that, you dive in, not needing to be told twice. Eating Wanda out was something you’d never tire of. She smelled divine, and tasted even better. You’d told her once that you thought she compared to the nectar of the Gods, and she’d been so pleased that she allowed you to eat her out during an entire workday from home. It had been one of the best days of your life. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wanda breathes out, feeling your tongue expertly wrap around her clit, stimulating her in that perfect way of yours. Her hand makes its way to your hair, gripping tightly. It would be uncomfortable, but you loved the pain as she pulled on your roots slightly, pushing your face further into her. 

Your hands are still uselessly cuffed together, but your fingers manage to find Wanda’s nipples. You pinch them in that way she likes so much, and you feel her clit pulse beneath your tongue. 

Wanda has never been very vocal during sex, but you’ve learned how to read her all the same. You can feel her breath stutter beneath your fingers, and you continue to stimulate her nipples, rolling and pinching until her muscles twitch. She subconsciously thrusts harder into your mouth, and you eagerly accept. 

When she comes, it’s quietly, with a low moan and her fingers gripping your hair like she never wants to let you go. You moan with her, your pleasure building as the dildo continues to fuck you slowly, sliding in and out of you until your brain can’t focus on anything else.

“Fuck,” Wanda whispers, pulling your head up to gaze at you. “I want to fill you up, darling.”

Your eyes widen, but you nod, the pleasure making your mind fuzzy. Wanda knows this. She knows how easy you are to manipulate and follow her every word when you’re desperate to cum. 

Smirking, Wanda caresses your cheek for a brief moment before she slides out from under you, grabbing another toy from the nightstand. 

It’s a beautiful buttplug, made of pure gold with a dark red gem at the end. It’s one of Wanda’s favorites, and you like it well enough. It’s not too big, just enough to stretch you out and make you feel full, and you love it when Wanda claims every part of you. 

“Relax, baby,” Wanda murmurs, gently squeezing some lube onto your ass. You obey her, the pleasure from the dildo making your muscles weak. Wanda presses on the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster, pleasure erupting inside you. 

Slowly, Wanda inserts the buttplug. You can feel the stretch, the slight burn as the thickest part of the plug makes it past your rim, the sensation of being full making you pant and moan. 

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I claim every one of your holes, hmm?” Wanda asks, twisting the buttplug so it’s covered in lube as she slowly inserts it. 

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, bucking your hips into her hand. This causes the dildo to fuck deeper inside you, and you practically melt into the mattress, your muscles going limp from pleasure. 

Wanda chuckles, inserting the buttplug fully and relishing the way you whine at the fullness you feel. She admires you for a moment, the dark red gem glinting back at her as your arousal drips down your thighs while the machine fucks you relentlessly. 

Grabbing a soft towel, Wanda slips it underneath you, grabbing your ass when she’s finishes and kneading your hot flesh. You moan, full twinges of pain only adding to your pleasure. You can feel an orgasm starting to emerge, your heart racing as pleasure builds within you. 

“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding out next to your ear. 

You moan in response, too weak to do much else. 

“Aww,” Wanda coos, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “My pet is too dumb to respond correctly, isn’t she?”

Her words reverberate around your skull, the warm vanilla scent engulfing you as your mind grows hazier. You can’t offer much other than soft whimpers and moans, your head turning to tearfully look at your Mistress. 

“Well,” Wanda begins, her hands caressing your sore backside harshly. “Since you can’t form a correct response, I suppose I’ll have to punish you.”

You would protest, but you can barely think of any words to say. Wanda’s hand comes down, gentler than her strikes before, but the impact on your already red ass makes you yelp, your mind breaking fully. 

Wanda is gentle, but persistent. She spanks you in a rhythm you can’t decipher, unable to anticipate when she’ll strike next. It thrills you, and sends your mind deep into that vanilla headspace you’ve grown to love. Pain mixes with pleasure, the dildo fucking you slowly enough that you feel your orgasm growing, but never quite enough to tip you over the edge.  

“P-please,” you manage, after you feel yourself edge again, Wanda monitoring your body’s reactions and slowing the dildo down whenever you grow too close to an orgasm. 

“Use your words, darling. Full sentences."

“I-,” you moan loudly, the dildo speeding up. 

“Pathetic,” Wanda murmurs, her hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head up. Green eyes meet glazed ones, and she smirks. “You can’t even beg properly anymore, you’re completely mine, aren't you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, unable to say anything else. 

“Good girl,” Wanda releases your hair, letting your head press into the mattress weakly. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you harder than before, the sound of your arousal making it’s way to your ears as you feel pleasure growing once again.

Your orgasm is close, your knuckles white as you grip the pillow, your muscles tense. You’re so close, and Wanda knows it. 

“Tell me, darling,” Wanda begins, sitting next to you, stroking your back gently as the dildo fucks punishingly into you. “What lesson did you learn today?”

“I- um… to… to let you, mmphh fuck, to let you pay for me…”

Wanda smiles. “Exactly.” Then, she stands, reaching back to slowly grab the buttplug, pressing it even further into you. You moan, a broken, weak sound that makes Wanda pulse with need. 

“You’re going to obey me.” Wanda pulls the buttplug slightly out, before slamming it back into you. “You will never question me or go behind my back again, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you yelp, moaning as you feel your orgasm creep closer. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I just want to take care of you, right?” Wanda’s voice is sickly sweet. “That’s all I want. And you just need to learn your place.”

You nod frantically, your submissiveness clicking firmer into place, your role reestablished in your mind.

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan. “I know my place, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll never disobey you again.”

“I doubt that,” Wanda murmurs to herself, before smiling at your wrecked form. “One more edge, baby, then we can be done for the night.”

You nod, moaning as Wanda clicks the remote higher, the dildo fucking you faster and rougher than it had previously. You’re almost overwhelmed with pleasure, Wanda’s hands on your face and ass, her presence everywhere. You love it. 

“I- m gonna…”

Wanda clicks the remote, the dildo stopping immediately. 

You moan in slight frustration, feeling your arousal leaking around the dildo as it drips down your thighs. Everything happens in a haze, Wanda removing the dildo from you and slowly taking your buttpluge out. She unclips your restraints, leaving you boneless on the bed as you embrace the comfortable haze in your mind. 

The shower is nice, warm, and smelling of vanilla as Wanda washes your body and hair, whispering sweet things into your ear while you slump against her. It’s not until you’re wrapped up underneath the covers that you finally begin to emerge from that comfortable headspace, your limbs entangled with your wife’s.  

“I love you, darling. Thank you for your trust in me.”

“You always make good decisions for us,” you say, yawning slightly and burrowing further into her. “I love you, too.”

Wanda smiles, making a contented noise as you hear her breathing start to grow softer. 

“Hey, Wands?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m paying for ice cream tomorrow.”

And with that, you ignore the soft, happy sigh your wife lets out, letting her vanilla scent engulf you completely. 

Your life truly couldn’t be more perfect.

—-

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[brutlia]

kurt and wanda coffee date commission 🫶

[legalandnotease]

People acting like the New Avengers are evil incarnate whilst pretending the og team were paragons of virtue is hilarious to me.

Like you don't get to be all outraged about Alexei being a "child trafficker" whilst ignoring how Wanda slaughtered an entire temple full of teenage magic acolytes & tried to kill another teenager all in an attempt to kidnap the childen of her variant.

You don't get to condemn Walker for "killing an innocent man" to avenge the murder of his best friend, but also be fine with how Tony tried to brutally murder Bucky despite (and shot him in the back) knowing he was mind- controlled.

You don't have a right to complain about Yelena "continuing to kill after she was freed" and yet make excuses for Clint having gone on the rampage as Ronin and killed hundreds of people during The Snap.

Edit for Ironheart ending: You also don't get to complain about the Thunderbolts "making a deal with the devil" or "working for the bad guy" when Riri Willians made a deal with a literal demon to resurrect the AI version of her friend.

The people condemning the Thunderbolts don't have the moral high ground here. They're just revealing themselves to be hypocrites.

[lanalover666]

the way Rio CHOSE not to show her skull face so that she didn’t scare Nicky and told him to kiss his mom and held his hand ??!!! i’m in tears

[dahlibae]

OUR ETERNAL SUNSHINE.

wandanat x female!reader 🌞 𐙚₊˚⊹♡

summary – You noticed her in the quiet of the library: mysterious, magnetic, and seemingly lost in a world of romance books. What began as a fleeting curiosity quickly spirals into something deeper when you cross paths once more. But just as you begin to imagine the possibilities, you learn something unexpected: she’s not just unavailable – she's already married. To another woman.

warning(s) – none: slow(ish) burn, this chapter is just rlly setting the pace!

word count - 4.3K

CHAPTER 1 - intro (end of the world)

The weekends are never free.

You work those two days at the local library. It’s a quiet, well-kept branch tucked between the city’s community centre and an old record shop that nobody other than the elderely frequent. It doesn’t get much foot traffic except on rainy days and school holidays. You like it that way. The silence helps.

Shuri works here too. She's the one who got you the job. You’ve been friends since undergrad, when the two of you ended up as lab partners in an elective you barely remember registering for. She talks fast, moves faster, and always seems to know what she’s doing. When she found out you needed a weekend job to stay afloat between lectures and placements, she cornered the head librarian and handled it. That’s just how she is.

And Shuri’s graduating this year. Engineering major, already accepted into MIT for grad school. You’re not surprised. She’s been designing micro-robotics in her free time. You’re in a different lane entirely – currently in your second year of law school.

You transferred from your hometown university last year to pursue a better legal program. Born and raised in a little city on the West Coast, the kind of place that never really felt small until you left it. Your family’s still there – your father, who works in accounting, and your younger sister, who’s finishing highschool. Your mother’s out of the picture. She left when you were eleven. The need for freedom had outweighed her love for you and your sister. You don’t talk about her much, but you remember that year like a turning point. That’s when you started thinking seriously about what justice means – what it looks like when someone walks away and no one holds them accountable.

You don’t come from money. Your tuition is covered by scholarships, student loans, and part-time work. You’ve never minded working. Law is expensive, but the work feels worth it.

The library job is manageable. You clock in on Saturdays and Sundays, help with cataloging, and shelve returns. Between that and your classes, your schedule is tightly packed, but routine keeps you focused. Besides, it’s peaceful here. Predictable. That’s not something you get a lot of as a law student.

Shuri calls it your “mental detox zone.” She’s not wrong. And when she’s working the same shift, the two of you make time pass quicker. You argue about your favourite movies, and alternative endings. You quiz each other on useless trivia. You swap snacks behind the desk. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This morning, she corners you behind the returns trolley.

“Don’t bail tonight.” She says without preamble.

You glance at her over a stack of fiction. “On what?”

“My brother’s housewarming party. I told you last week.”

You pause. “Thought that was just a small thing.”

“It is. Small enough that you can blend in. Big enough that you’ll meet some interesting people. A few new lawyers from his firm will be there.”

You shake your head. “I have readings – ”

“No,” she interrupts, “you have excuses.”

She gives you a pointed look, like she already knows you’re not saying no for academic reasons. “You’re always saying you want to get your foot in the door. How hard it’s going to be for you to succeed because of your background. My brother has the door. And the house the door is attached to. Go talk to people. Make a contact or two.”

You sigh, but you’re listening. Because Shuri’s been trying to help you since the day she found out you were serious about law. She keeps pushing you in T’Challa’s direction – panel discussions, court hearings, networking mixers, anything that might be useful.

“You’re lucky.” She tells you. “Most people don’t have a direct line to someone already working in their dream field.”

She’s not wrong. But you’ve never been great at the social side of this. Networking feels like performance. You prefer doing the work, not selling yourself.

You don’t give her a firm answer, which means she’ll bring it up again by the end of the shift.

You look at the clock above you.

It’s around 11:10.

Almost time.

For the woman.

Blonde. Tall. Usually dressed in casual layers – sweaters, cardigans, jeans, boots. She carries herself like she has somewhere else to be but chooses to be here instead. Sometimes she’s with another woman, blonder, smaller, serious-looking. Other times she’s alone.

Today, she’s alone.

You notice the titles she picks up. Always romance. Sometimes older classics, sometimes newer ones. She lingers on pages. Reads the back covers. Often sits by the windows with one or two open in her lap but doesn’t always check them out. She seems to read for comfort, not completion.

You don’t know her name. You haven’t said a word to her. But she’s been showing up regularly, and her presence hasn’t gone unnoticed.

When she’s here with someone else, you keep your distance. When she’s alone, you find ways to be nearby. Pretending to sort paperbacks in the next aisle. Adjusting spine labels. You haven’t crossed the line into conversation, but you've come close. You’re curious.

Shuri caught you looking once. She didn’t tease. She just said, “You should probably say something before she catches you checking her out while alphabetising.”

You still haven’t.

…

It’s another Saturday. The weather is a little colder. Still temperamental between the shift from Spring to Summer.

Shuri isn’t working. She texted earlier - family stuff. Earlier this year you found out that they’re not happy Shuri has decide to pursue engineering instead of following her brother’s footsteps into the legal world. Her brother sticks up for her but their mother still disproves.

You’ve got the shift with Mrs. Harkness, who’s perched at the front desk wearing a fitted purple blazer, hair wild, and her signature dark lipstick.

You pause when you see her outfit.

“You’ve got plans?” You ask.

“Date at two.” She says, adjusting her glasses. “Rio’s back.”

From what little you knew about the woman, she was the only lesbian in town. Her girlfriend - well on and off girlfriend - is Rio Vidal, who you were pretty sure was married to a man a few years ago. She was in the miliatry and was always stationed overseas. She was not much younger than Mrs Harkness, but she radiated very childish energy whenever you saw her. Her and Mrs Harkness constantly argued, and no one ever knew if it waa serious or not.

Clearly not if they're still together.

“Still going strong?”

She shrugs, ruffling her hair out once more. “Not really. But the sex is amazing.”

With that, you leave her to her own devices – it only takes one person to work the counter anyways – head toward the back shelves. The library is slow today. Midday sun filters through the front windows. You’re in the aisle near the romance section, moving slowly through a restock.

Then you hear the familiar sound of the front doors opening.

You glance up. She’s here. Alone again.

You turn back to your cart, pretending not to notice, but your focus is gone. You restack a few books that don’t actually need restacking. As you reach to put one on the shelf, it slips from your hand and drops to the floor with a solid thump.

You stoop to grab it, but a voice beats you to it.

“So…” she says, calm and deliberate, “are you finally going to come talk to me, or should I drop one too?”

You freeze, slowly straighten up, and look at her.

She’s standing a few feet away, arms folded loosely, watching you.

You try to say something coherent. “I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t – uh – “

She gestures toward the reading nook near the back window. “Come on.”

You follow.

She takes the seat near the window, legs crossed. You sit across from her, still trying to decide how to play this. You couldn't gage if she was bad or upset with you.

“I’ve noticed you.”

You look up. “Uh?”

“You hover. Rearranging books that are already in alphabetical order.”

You give a small nod. “That obvious?”

She shrugs. “A little. But not in a bad way.”

She leans back, then introduces herself. “I’m Wanda.”

You give her your name in return.

That seems to be enough to start.

She asks about your job. How long you’ve been here. Then your studies. You explain that you’re in your second year of law school. She doesn’t seem surprised. She asks what kind of law interests you. You say civil rights, maybe criminal defense. She listens, asks a few practical questions, none that raise your suspicions, doesn’t offer advice unless prompted.

She doesn’t offer much about herself, only that she works downtown. Her job keeps her busy. A few notes about her school days, and that, she used to come here with someone, but that changed. She leaves it there, and you don’t push.

It’s a calm conversation. No pressure. She speaks with the sort of confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself. You’re still surprised you’re sitting here at all.

Then her phone buzzes.

Wanda glances down, then stands. “I have to head back.”

“Back where?” You ask.

She adjusts her bag. “The office.”

You frown slightly. “You work weekends?”

She nods. “Work doesn’t really stop when you’re a lawyer.”

That catches your attention. “You’re a lawyer?”

“Mhmm.” She gives a small smile. “Didn’t expect that?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t usually advertise it.” She laughs, glancing around the library. “But yeah. I’ve been practicing a few years now.”

You nod slowly.

“Well,” she says, stepping back, “it was nice to finally meet you, little librarian.”

And with that, she turns and walks out.

You remain where you are for a moment.

It’s not exactly a conversation you expected to have today. But it happened.

Next week, you’ll probably still be behind the romance shelves.

You hope not just watching.

…

Next Tuesday, you arrive at T’Challa’s new house just after 8 p.m. The place is sleek – glass and concrete, warm lighting through tall windows, filled with quiet music and well-dressed people holding glasses of wine. You feel a bit out of place in your kitten heels and messily-ironed silk dress, but Shuri gives you an approving nod when she sees you.

She’s holding two drinks when she meets you at the door. “Good. You made it.”

You smile faintly. “Yes. Unfortunately a car didn't run me over on the way as I so wished for.”

She ignores your annoying sarcasm. “Well, this is how you build your future,” she says, handing you one of the glasses. “You meet people. You show up. You don’t jump into oncoming traffic.”

You follow her through the house. The crowd is mostly professionals – people who talk fast and laugh quietly. You recognise two professors from your legal ethics class. Mr Killard and Mrs Bernard. Strict professors. You try to avoid eye contact.

Shuri weaves through a group near the kitchen, waving at her brother.

T’Challa sees you both and steps away from his conversation. “Ah! You must be the infamous law student friend of my sisters, who’s apparently always got her head in a book.”

You shake his hand, trying not to sound nervous. “Yes, ha! Thanks for having me.”

“I’ve read your paper on civil reform through municipal courts.” Your hand is still holding his. “Shuri forwarded it to me. You’ve got a sharp mind.”

You blink. “She did what?”

Shuri sips her drink, smug.

T’Challa laughs. “Don’t worry. I trust my sister. She’s a good judge of talent. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out from the entryway.

“T’Challa!” It’s a woman – familiar, confident tone, sharp heels clicking on hardwood. You turn and watch as two women approach from the hallway. One is a lean redhead in a tailored black suit. Hugging all curves as well as exaggerating the bulge of her built muscles. The other—

You freeze.

It’s Wanda.

She’s in a dark grey dress, elegant but simple, her long hair usually flowing in waves over her shoulders is now sleeked back into a ponytail and her messy bangs now parted in the middle where they sit unshaken. She looks nothing like she does at the library – all sharp and rough angles – and yet she’s unmistakable. Your heart lurches unexpectedly.

She’s smiling at T’Challa, standing beside the redhead as they greet him affectionately.

He turns down the hallway, back to where the rest of the party remain. “Ah! Everyone – meet the newest senior partners at the firm. Mrs Natasha and Wanda Maximoff. As of this week, they’re officially ours!”

The announcement draws claps and scattered murmurs of approval. Wanda and Natasha both nod politely to the room. Wanda smiling more brightly than the redhead. Her hand rests lightly on the small of Wanda’s back.

Wait. Mrs? They’re married?

Shuri leans in. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

You’re still staring.

“I knew it! She says, eyes wide, louder than you’d like. “She’s the library girl.”

“Her name’s Wanda.” You mumble.

“Okay… Wanda. She’s a partner now? Damn. She must be good.”

You nod faintly.

You hadn’t expected to see her here. Definitely not like this.

Standing in a room full of high-profile legal professionals…

Introduced as a senior partner…

With someone on her arm…

It almost hurts how attractive Natasha is. Of course Wanda would be with someone like her.

Shuri nudges you. “Go talk to her.”

You shake your head. “She’s… with Natasha. They’re married.”

“How do you know? They could be sisters…? And you know what they say, ‘don’t let your wife stop you from meeting your girlfriend.’”

You glance again, ignoring Shuri altogether. The way Natasha’s hand lingers. The way Wanda leans into her slightly. The way they exchange a look when someone jokes about work-life balance. You don’t know for sure. But it’s enough to make you stay where you are.

They’re definitely not sisters.

They’re definitely together.

You keep your distance the rest of the night. Wanda never spots you – you hope. You watch her from across the room for a few minutes, then slip out early, telling Shuri you’re tired, and to thank her brother once more for the invite.

She doesn’t stop you.

…

Another week or so passes. The rhythm of lectures, late-night reading, and outlining arguments continues. Your calendar is full, your inbox overflows with reminders and reading lists, and the only place that still feels manageable is the library. Your father and sister have been trying to facetime you for the past week or maybe longer, and each time, you’ve been busy catching up on sleep or working.

And you've not had much time to think about the blonde woman, about Wanda. Any and all thoughts lead you back to that night at T’Challa’s. The hand around her waist. The dazzling wedding bands you managed to miss initially – you’d argue due to shock – around their fingers.

Back at the library, the romance section looks the same. The shelves are still in perfect order. The same sunlight pours through the largewindows.

Although, something feels different.

Shuri doesn’t work today. You’re alone at the front desk, catching up on reading. Around 11:15, you hear the front door open.

You don’t have to look. You already know it’s her.

She moves with the same quiet ease, dressed casually in jeans and a long coat.

You don’t approach. You don’t acknowledge her. You don’t shelve books near her like you usually would. You stay at your post and keep your head down.

She makes her way through the library like always, stopping in the romance aisle, waiting for your arrival.

After a few minutes of waiting, she walks toward the front, pausing a few feet from the desk.

You glance up.

She meets your eyes. “Hi.”

You nod once. “Hey.”

She tilts her head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” You say, quieter than intended.

She waits, like she’s deciding whether or not to say something else.

Then: “I didn’t expect to see you at the party.”

You blink.

So she had noticed you…

“Uh yeah, I didn’t expect to see you there either.”

“How do you know T’Challa?” She asks curiously.

“I’m a family friend.” You answer without hesitation.

Wanda’s expression doesn’t shift much. But she seems to register the tension.

There’s a short pause. She starts to say something, then changes her mind. “Well… I’ll be around.”

You nod again. “Have a good morning, Mrs Maximoff.”

She gives you a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then walks off toward the far side of the library, leaving her usual seat empty. Leaving the safety of the romance section.

You’re not sure what you feel. Just that something that felt simple now feels complicated. And you’re not ready to step back into it yet.

…

Saturday rolls around again. Another week of avoiding your family’s calls, of avoiding Shuri pulling you into another of her brother’s event. The next even more extravagant than the last. You vowed you wouldn’t be going into any more situations where Wanda and her wife would be.

But, of course, you manage to forget about the library.

Your job.

Where you can’t avoid her.

It’s mid-morning. You’re seated behind the desk once again, half-reading another case file you don’t have to finish until Monday, when the door creaks open.

You look up out of habit.

Wanda walks in – alone again.

She hesitates this time. Not much. But enough that you notice it.

Her eyes scan the room. She spots you. Pauses.

And then she walks toward you – directly, slower than usual. More cautious. Like she’s not sure if she’s welcome.

You close your book quietly.

“Hi.” You beat her to it this time.

“Hey.” She stays standing a few feet from the counter, hand loosely twirling her hair. “I wasn’t sure if I should come today.”

You meet her eyes. “Why not?”

“You seemed… done with me. Last time.”

You shake your head, exhaling through your nose. “I wasn’t done. Just... thinking.”

She gives a small nod, accepting that. Her gaze lingers on you, searching for a signal. Anything.

You give her one.

“You want to sit?” You ask, nodding towards the back reading nook.

Relief moves through her, quiet and clear.

“Yeah.” She says. “I’d like that.”

…

“You ever get tired of this place?” She asks, gesturing faintly around the room. The nook of course empty except for you both, occupying each side.

“Sometimes.” You admit. “But it’s predictable. And easy for now. I like that.”

She tilts her head. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes predictable.”

You smirk faintly. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

“The fact that you’ve been giving me this look for two months and only talked to me after I practically backed you into a corner.”

You try to look unbothered, but she’s not wrong.

“You were intimidating.”

“I was reading Persuasion in sweatpants…”

You shrug. “Still counts. You’re like 6 foot tall. And really pretty.”

That earns a soft laugh. Her eyes linger on you a little longer than necessary.

Blushing, you change the subject. “So… what made you finally pick law?”

She stumbles uncharacteristically, not expecting your question. “I – uh – what?

You chuckle at her. “Why’d you switch from psychology?”

Wanda blinks. You weren’t supposed to know that.

“You mentioned it.” You remind her. “Our first conversation. The one thing you had actually told me about yourself.”

“Oh. Right.” She rests her elbow on the armrest. “Well, I loved psychology. Still do. But at some point I realised I didn’t want to study behavior. Instead, I wanted to change the systems that shape it.”

You nod, quietly impressed. “That sounds like a very Wanda Maximoff answer.”

She gives you a curious look. “You say my full name like you’ve repeated it in your head a few times.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you say mine like it’s a secret.”

She laughs, fully now, hands up in surrender. “Okay. Truce. No more calling each other out for the rest of the conversation.”

“Deal.”

You both settle into a steady rhythm. The conversation turns lighter. Books, favourite cities, law school horror stories. Wanda tells you about her first deposition and how she accidentally said ‘we object’ instead of just ‘objection’ because she got flustered by the opposing counsel’s cologne.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been talking until the light in the windows starts to shift. No one else has seemed to step in the library. If they did, neither of you noticed.

At one point, you shift slightly in your seat and she watches you with a subtle smile, eyes following the motion. She’s leaning in more now. Not physically – but her energy is tilted toward you again.

Familiar. Intentional.

“Do you do this with all the women in the romance aisle?” She asks casually, folding one leg under the other.

You raise an eyebrow. “What? Talk to them?”

“Sit with them. Ask about their careers. Quote Austen to them when you think they’re not listening.”

Your mouth curves. “Only the ones who hover too long on Brontë.”

“Mm. Dangerous category.”

“You think?”

She leans forward a little, voice quieter now. “You tell me, little librarian.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s quiet. Interesting.

Wanda glances toward the desk, her phone lighting up at the exact moment, then back to you. “How long until your shift ends?”

You check your watch. “About twenty minutes. I’m closing today.”

“I can wait.” She says.

“For what?” You tilt your head subtly.

Wanda finds it adorable.

“Let's go for a walk near the park across the street.”

And twenty minutes later, you’re walking out the building. She holds the door open without saying anything, and you step through, turning to lock up.

The air outside is cooler than expected. It smells faintly like pavement and fresh rain.

When did it rain?

“You ready?” She asks.

You nod, before heading across the road towards the park entrance.

…

You walk side by side down the edge of the pavement, neither of you in a rush. The streets are quiet. Just a few parked cars and the occasional distant bark of a dog within the park.

Wanda tells you she grew up near a forest, which you somehow believe immediately. She says her family moved around a lot when she was younger, and that she didn’t really know stability until law school forced her to stay in one place. You can tell she is speaking much more freely with you now. No longer guarding her replies. A foreign accent slipping between the lines of her words.

At one point, she glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You always think this much?”

You give a half-smile. “You always talk like you already know what I’m thinking?”

“No,” she says, “but I’m usually close.”

That gets a small laugh out of you. Then the conversation shifts.

You don’t plan to ask. The words just arrive.

“So… how are you finding it? Being a partner now?”

She looks ahead, hands tucked into her coat pockets.

“It’s good. Busy.”

“That’s it?”

Wanda exhales slowly. “It’s a lot of pressure. I mean, being a lawyer is always pressure, but there’s a different kind of expectation when your name’s next to the firm title. There’s less room to mess up. Less room to breathe, sometimes.”

You nod. “I imagine it’s intense. Especially with someone like T’Challa.”

“He’s fair.” She says. “Smart. Trusts his team.”

“Still. That’s a big adjustment.”

“It is.”

She doesn’t mention Natasha.

You don’t ask.

The name hovers there – unspoken but present.

Neither of you go near it.

You keep walking, turning down a quieter street shaded by rows of trees. A few brown leaves scatter across the sidewalk. The silence between you now feels heavier. Not awkward still – just fuller. Like there’s something there neither of you wants to admit you’re walking toward.

Eventually, Wanda slows, and you both come to a stop at a quiet corner. There’s no one around. No traffic. Just the wind nudging branches overhead.

She turns toward you, one hand still in her coat pocket, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression is softer now, more private.

“You know,” she says quietly, “this has been the best part of my week.”

You feel it in your chest before you can respond. A quiet, nervous twist. “Yeah,” you murmur, “mine too.”

You’re both standing a little too close now.

Close enough that if either of you moved even an inch forward…

Wanda shifts her weight slightly. Her voice drops, nearly a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you more than I should.”

You swallow. “Wanda –”

Her hand brushes lightly against your sleeve. Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, just for a second, then back to your eyes. You feel everything tighten – lungs, throat, heartbeat.

The space between you thins to nothing.

She leans in, just enough that you can feel her breath on your skin.

Then you say it.

“Wanda,” you breathe. “You have a wife.”

The words land like a thread snapping in the air.

Wanda stops. Pulls back – not harshly, but all at once.

Her eyes flicker, just for a moment, like she wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Like she wanted to believe that, if you didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t true here. Not in this moment. Not outside this library, not on this quiet street.

She looks away.

“I know.” She says. Quiet. Measured. Not defensive.

Neither of you moves.

The silence is different now.

You step back half a pace – not because you’re afraid of her, but because you need the room.

She straightens slightly. Clears her throat. “It’s complicated.”

You nod once, “But still. I’m not going to be the other woman.”

She lingers another second, another flinch. Then walks close once more, coat catching the breeze. “It’s – it’s not like that.”

She looks so unravelled, so unlike her.

“It’s not like that.” She repeats quietly. “What we have – it’s complicated, but it’s not what you think.”

You hesitate, still caught in the weight of her words.

What does she even mean?

How could it be complicated?

Wanda takes a slow breath. “Look… if you want, come by our place sometime. Meet Natasha. See for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. That was not what you was expecting her to say.

She gives a small, hopeful smile. “No pressure. Just… maybe it’ll help clear things up.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say.

With that, she passes you her phone, and asks you to put your number in. “I’ll text you later. We’ll set up something, okay?”

Once that’s done, she steps back, offering a last, quiet smile before bidding you goodbye, and turning down the street.

You watch her go, your mind racing.

What have you got yourself into?

[ngatwa]

ELIZABETH OLSEN and KATHRYN HAHN Marvel Studios’ Assembled: The Making of WandaVision

[screaminglygay]

Professional distance (my ass)

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you start driving your younger sister to therapy, you don't expect the real challenge to be resisting her therapist.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mild language, themes of mental health and therapy, bad flirting, mentions of self-worth and responsibility, a healthy dose of yearning:D

an: to everyone who’s sent requests - I see every single one and I’m so grateful for your ideas and support. I’ll be writing them throughout the summer, so stay tuned and thank you for reading!

☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️

The waiting room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the sound of your sister nervously picking at the edge of her sleeve. You nudge her knee gently with your own.

"Hey," you murmur, offering her a small smile.

"If this therapist doesn’t vibe right, it’s okay. We’ll try someone else. No pressure, okay?"

She exhales shakily and nods, though her hands are still fidgeting.

You continue, light but sincere, "Worst case scenario, she’s a weirdo who makes you draw your feelings with crayons. Best case… she’s actually helpful and everything will get a little bit better."

That earns a little laugh, which feels like a victory. You loop an arm around her and pull her in for a quick side hug. She leans into it, her forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"You’ve got this, Ellie," you whisper, pressing a kiss to her head. "I’ll be right here when you’re done."

The door opens behind you before she can answer, and a soft voice says, "Elena? Hi, I’m Dr. Wanda Maximoff."

You turn, and- oh.

Okay, wow.

She’s beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, soft eyes, a calm, composed presence that makes you shift a little straighter. Her hair is perfectly styled, her voice warm and level, and she’s wearing a blouse that does deeply unfair things to your focus.

You stand with your hand out, easy smile already in place. "Hi. I’m her sister. Thank you for seeing her."

Wanda takes your hand in a gentle shake. Her skin is warm. "Of course. It’s nice to meet you."

You watch the two of them disappear down the hallway, and you can’t help but think, yeah… we’re in trouble.

Forty-five minutes later, Ellie walks back out with pink in her cheeks and a calmer step than before. You put your phone away and stand, watching her approach.

"So?" you ask, walking with her toward the exit.

She shrugs, but she’s trying not to smile. "She’s nice. Like… really nice. And she doesn’t talk down to me. I actually talked more than I thought I would."

You bump your shoulder into hers, "that’s what I like to hear."

"She said I did well. That I should be proud." Ellie glances at you. "And she asked about you."

You blink, "me?"

"She said you seemed very… supportive," she teases with a smirk.

You grin, "did she now?"

Ellie groans, "oh my god, don’t flirt with my therapist."

You throw your hands up, mock-offended, "I didn’t! I just said hi!"

"Uh-huh." Your sister knows you too well.

You nudge her again, laughing, "I´m just being nice."

Ellie rolls her eyes but leans into you anyway as you walk down the steps to the car. You unlock the doors and both slip in, and for a moment, there’s a quiet stillness. She’s staring out the window, a thoughtful look on her face, and you glance at her before speaking again.

"I know I say this a lot," you start, voice softer now, "but I really am proud of you."

She doesn’t look at you, but her shoulders rise like she’s holding in emotion.

"And I know when I say it all the time it might sound less… important," you continue, "but it’s not. I mean it every time."

Ellie turns to look at you now, eyes a little glassy.

"I’m really happy your session went well," you say, smiling at her gently. "But I understand you want someone else to talk to so… You deserve to feel safe, and seen."

Ellie blinks rapidly, "you’re being weirdly perfect right now. It’s gross."

You snort, reaching over to ruffle her hair, not really caring she´s almost an adult now, "yeah, yeah. Let’s go home."

The next week you pull up to the same office building, Ellie next to you sipping from a smoothie you grabbed on the way.

"You sure you’re good?" you ask.

She hums around the straw, "yeah. Just gotta pee first."

"Again?," you tease.

She hops out of the car and hurries into the building ahead of you while you trail behind, phone in one hand, sunglasses perched on your head. You’ve barely had time to sit down in the waiting room when you hear a familiar voice.

"Is Elena here?"

You look up. God. She’s in another dangerously well-fitted blouse today. Burgundy, soft silk, her hair tucked behind one ear. Her tone is professional, her posture easy, but the moment your eyes meet, something crackles.

"She is," you answer smoothly, standing. "Just in the bathroom."

Wanda nods politely, "I see."

You shift, hands in your pockets. “Thank you for being so… patient with her. This is like… our fourth try. Every other therapist made her feel weird or shut down. It’s been hard."

Wanda’s expression softens. "That’s not uncommon. It takes time to find the right match."

"Yeah, well," you say with a small grin, "I’m just glad you’re making her feel safe. It means a lot. To both of us."

There’s a pause. A quiet kind of understanding settles between you.

"You two are very close," Wanda says gently.

"She’s my little sister. It’s been just the two of us for a while now. I think she gets tired of me hovering," you say with a smirk, "but that’s the job."

Wanda smiles, and something flickers in her eyes, warmth, maybe. Curiosity.

You tilt your head slightly, grin sharpening. "I should probably thank you with something more formal. Do therapists accept bribes in the form of coffee?"

Her brow lifts, but her smile grows, "not usually, no."

"Shame," you say, just as Ellie steps out from the hallway.

"I’m ready," she says, tossing you a look like she knows what you’re doing. "Okay, thanks, sis," she says, then adds with extra emphasis, "I’ll see you later."

You smile more innocently this time and just nod, "see you later. Dr. Maximoff." You give her last smile for now. Your sister snorts and disappears into the hallway with Wanda, who glances back once at you, just for a second longer than necessary.

And you smile to yourself. You’re definitely in trouble.

You and Ellie have made a little ritual of it now, smoothies on the drive, music just loud enough to sing over your nerves, and a whole playlist Ellie insists on cueing up just right so she doesn’t walk into her session with sad girl energy. Even though it wouldn´t be a bad thing.

You drop her off at the front again, waving as she disappears into the building. Usually you hang around in the parking lot, scrolling on your phone or grabbing a coffee from the coffee shop nearby. And it was ritual that neither of you mind. And you weren´t really upset since you got to see such a pretty lady like Dr. Wanda Maximoff herself.

Another week later you’re halfway across the street, sunglasses on, when you spot her.

Wanda.

She's in line at the coffee shop, where you often came to, dressed down this time, dark jeans, flats, and a tucked-in navy blouse. She’s holding her phone in one hand, eyes skimming the menu above the counter.

You walk up to her, "didn’t think I’d run into you outside your natural habitat," you say-

Wanda glances up, mildly startled, then her lips curve. "It’s just coffee. Even therapists are allowed that."

"Really? I had this theory you only drink existential potion with a bit of widsom."

She huffs a quiet laugh, and it’s adorable, even if she tries to smother it,"funny."

You offer an exaggerated shrug, "I have to use my charm somewhere. Otherwise it just leaks out."

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately, just tilts her head at you, lips pressing together like she’s trying very hard not to smile.

"You’re still being professional. Even away from your office? That’s commitment."

"I try," she says dryly.

"Impressive," you murmur. "I’d be more impressed if you told me your coffee order, though. For future bribery purposes."

She narrows her eyes at you, "I thought I told you, bribery doesn’t work on me."

"Oh, I know," you say, taking a step closer, eyes flicking from her hand to her amused expression. "You’re far too composed for that. But I also know you’re currently analyzing me, aren’t you?"

Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink, keeping her expression unreadable. "You’re charming, confident, and used to getting your way with a well-timed smile. You flirt to test boundaries, not to disrespect them. It’s calculated, but not cruel."

You blink, "whoa…"

She shrugs lightly, "occupational hazard."

You recover quickly, tilting your head with a slow smile. "Well, I hope you can also tell I don’t just… let things go that easily."

Something flickers behind her eyes at that, interest, maybe. She hides it fast, covering it with a sip of her coffee. Still, the tiniest smirk curls the corner of her mouth.

"I’m sure you don’t," she says smoothly. Then, almost teasing, "have a nice day, (Y/N)."

That smirk widens just a little when she sees the reaction her saying your name does to you.

You grin, "you too, Dr. Maximoff."

She nods and starts to turn, and you casually call out, "almond milk latte with one pump of vanilla, right?"

Wanda glances back over her shoulder and rolls her eyes.

"What can I say? Occupational hazard."

That earns you a soft, amused laugh she doesn’t quite manage to suppress. She shakes her head as she walks away. You’re not crossing the line. But you’re dancing on it and she’s dancing right back.

Once again Ellie sits beside you on the curb outside the coffee shop, fidgeting with her phone while you wait for her session time to come up.

"You okay?" you ask, nudging her with your elbow.

She sighs, resting her chin on her hand, "yeah. Just… more nervous today, I guess."

You glance over at her, chewing her lip, shoulders tense and place a reassuring hand on her back. "Hey, no pressure, okay? If you just sit the whole time, that´s okay too."

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans into your side a little.

Ellie hums, "I feel like not going, but I know I should."

"You know you´ll feel better, you always do." You softly say.

Ellie hums once again, "I wouldn´t go if you wouldn´t be here."

"Oh I know."

"I´m glad you do tho. At least I don´t have to walk home."

"So now I´m just taxi to you?" That makes her laugh, then you glance at the clock. "Come on, sweetheart. Go do your brave thing."

Later, after the session Ellie gets in the car with a light step and a kind of glowy calm around her.

"Go well?" you ask.

She nods, buckling her seatbelt, "Wanda was really understanding and helpful with her methaphors"

"I´m glad."

Ellie watches you for a second, her eyes narrow.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says. "Just… do you always smile like that when I say her name?"

You raise an eyebrow, "like what?"

"Like you’ve got a crush in a high school and you just spotted her across the cafeteria."

You laugh, "Ellie-"

"I’m just saying. You’re subtle, but I´m not blind."

Next session, mid-conversation in Wanda’s office Ellie hesitates, pulling her sleeves over her hands, "can I ask you something?"

Wanda’s tone is calm, encouraging, "of course."

"Let’s say… hypothetically… there’s this woman."

Wanda tilts her head, smiling slightly, "alright."

"She likes someone. A lot. But she’s scared they don’t really see her because… well, she acts all tough. Like a jock. Real confident, sarcastic. But inside she’s, like, soft. An actual marshmallow."

Wanda’s brows lift with interest. "So, she thinks the person she likes might not notice the vulnerable side of her?"

"Exactly," Ellie says. "And she flirts. Like, all the time. But she’s scared to be real because what if the other person just thinks she’s joking?"

Wanda’s expression softens, "well… I’d tell her to be honest… carefully. To show the vulnerable side when she feels safe. To let the person she likes see her. Because no matter how charming someone is, people can tell when it’s real."

Ellie nods, thoughtful. Then Wanda pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly, but there's amusement there too.

"This is about your sister, isn’t it?"

Ellie bites her lip and shrugs. "… hypothetically?"

Wanda exhales a slow breath, hiding a small smile behind her hand, "I see. You two are truly sisters."

Ellie tilts her head, "what’s that supposed to mean?"

Wanda chuckled lightly and gestured for them to continue, "let’s get back to you, shall we?"

Ellie later slides into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt over her chest and giving you a look that's way too smug for someone who just left therapy.

"What´s up with that smile?" you ask, starting the engine.

She shrugs, "nothing." She leans her elbow against the door, looking out the window with a faux-innocent tone. "I was just trying to figure out how someone like you might… I don´t know show her true self, since I´m understanding myself better, I figured you should do the same. So I simply just ask the one and only."

Your jaw drops, "you didn’t."

She grins, "I might’ve."

"Oh my God, Ellie."

"Relax! I didn’t say it was you. I was just describing a certain type of woman who might wear tank tops too tight on purpose and smirk a lot."

You glance at her with mock scandal, "you're trying to psychoanalyze me with your therapist’s help?"

"I would never," she says, putting a hand over her heart. "I’m just looking out for your emotional well-being."

You snort, "oh right."

Some days later you tap your fingers against your thigh while the line moves slowly forward. Something about the quiet hum of the place, the soft clink of ceramic cups, and the smell of espresso is making you more fidgety than usual. You glance over your shoulder. Then again. When you finally turn around, you spot her again, Dr. Wanda Maximoff, halfway through the line, her hair shining in the light, eyes glued to her phone.

Your breath catches for half a second. You try not to grin. You step to the barista. "I’ll pay for the lady in the black top," you say casually.

The barista glances over, "you know them?"

"Uh-huh." You pay. No big deal. Just a small, innocent coffee. That’s all.

Wanda doesn’t look up until she’s called forward to order and the barista says, "You’re all set. Your drink’s been paid for."

She blinks, "oh?"

The barista points, "by them."

Wanda follows the gesture. Your eyes meet. You raise your cup in silent greeting, smirking just enough to get under her skin. She stares at you for a long moment, her lips parting like she’s about to say something. Then, to your surprise, she walks over.

"I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you look," she says lightly.

You lean back against the chair, eyes warm. "And yet, you came over."

Wanda exhales, a soft puff of a laugh, "maybe I was curious."

You raise your brows, sipping your coffee. "Careful, Doctor. Curiosity can be dangerous."

Her lips twitch, "so can charm."

You grin, "I wouldn’t know. I’m just a supportive sister making small talk with my sister’s therapist over overpriced caffeine."

Wanda leans slightly forward, her eyes scanning you like she’s doing more than just looking. "Do you always deflect with humor?"

That stops you for half a second. The coffee cup stills in your hand.

"That’s a real question," you say, laughing, half-caught off guard.

She smirks and tilts her head, waiting for your asnwer, that she already knows.

You tilt your head, thoughtful for a beat. "Maybe. But sometimes I just think life moments are too heavy not to laugh through it."

She hums, "that’s… fair."

You sip your drink again, a little slower now, like the air between you shifted. Not tense. Just more… present.

Wanda glances at your cup, then back up. "So, what is this little moment to you?"

You don’t even hesitate, "definetly a date." You smirk at her.

She blinks, "this is what you call a date?"

You shrug, playful. "Two attractive women, coffee, soft lighting, emotionally probing questions? Sounds like a date to me."

Wanda leans back with a smile that’s far too amused for her usual clinical composure. "Interesting definition."

"Oh, come on. What would you call it?"

"An ambush."

You laugh, "you’re not running."

She raises an eyebrow, "not yet."

You grin wider, satisfied, "so, you’re saying there’s a chance."

She shakes her head, but the fondness in her eyes lingers, "you’re relentless."

"And you’re still hereee," you chuckle, stretching the word with a teasing grin.

Wanda sips her drink again, not looking at you this time, "maybe I’m just being polite."

"Mm," you tilt your head, eyes still fixed on her. "I don’t know, you don’t seem like the type to do anything just out of politeness. Especially not sit through my very charming advances."

She raises an eyebrow, finally looking at you again, "is that what this is? Charming advances?"

You gasp, mock offended, "you wound me, doctor. I’m doing my best."

"I can tell," she says, her tone still calm, measured, but the corner of her mouth betrays her, tugging up just slightly.

You lean in a bit, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something softer, "I know I joke a lot, but I’m not… messing around."

That earns you a pause. Her eyes flicker, searching. You can see it, how part of her wants to keep the wall up, to gently but firmly redirect the moment. But another part of her… is just enjoying this.

"I’m not supposed to enjoy any of this," she murmurs.

"But you are," you whisper back.

Before she can respond, your phone buzzes. You glance down and see Ellie’s name light up the screen. Your smile falters, just for a second. Wanda notices.

"Go be a good older sister," she says gently, nodding toward your phone.

The way she says it, soft, but knowing, catches you more off guard than the text itself. You look back up at her, blinking.

"Right," you clear your throat, "yeah. Duty calls."

You grab your coffee and stand, still a little stunned by the shift. Wanda’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable now.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder and shoot her a softer smile. "Thanks for the not-a-date."

She doesn’t respond right away, just watches you. Then, finally, "drive safe." You nod, then head out the door.

Weeks passed like clockwork. Drop-offs. Pick-ups. Quick coffees. Soft smiles. Glances that lingered a little too long. Your routine with Wanda had become a rhythm a familiar song that played each time you brought Ellie to her session. The flirtation had grown playful, easy. And maybe a little dangerous.

Today felt the same, until Wanda opened her office door and as Ellie went out Wanda waves her hand at you.

"(Y/N), could I ask you to stay for a moment?"

You blink, surprised, nodding as you went it, when the door close you speak up, "so we gonna finaly talk about a date, hm?"

Wanda’s lips curve up slightly, but she leans against the table with that same unreadable calm. "I’m here to talk to you. About Ellie. She said it might help her… to have me speak with you."

Your smile falters, warmth settling into something more serious, "oh, of course."

She pulls a chair beside yours, angled just slightly. "She asked me to talk to you because she wasn’t sure how," Wanda starts, gentle but direct. "She’s been carrying something. And she’s afraid you’ll dismiss it or reassure her… instead of really hearing it." Wanda sits down, on her chair.

You straighten a little, heart tightening, "what is it?"

"She’s worried about you," Wanda says. "Not in a way that suggests you’re doing something wrong. But… she feels like she’s taking up too much space in your life."

You blink, frowning, "that’s ridiculous. I want to be here. She’s-"

"I know," Wanda interrupts softly, hand resting on her knee. "But that’s part of the problem. She knows how much you love her. She knows you'd move mountains for her. And she’s grateful, she really is. But… she feels like you're putting your entire life on hold. Like her healing is coming at the cost of your freedom."

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, "I don’t see it that way."

"I believe you," Wanda says. "But she does. And it’s heavy for her to carry, the idea that she might be holding you back. That because it’s just the two of you, you’ve felt like you have no choice but to be the strong one all the time."

You glance down at your hands, flexing them once in your lap, "she’s all I’ve got."

Wanda’s voice softens even more, "that’s exactly why she’s scared of being the reason you lose yourself."

You nod slowly, "I never wanted her to feel like that."

"I know. That’s why I agreed to talk to you. So you could hear it without her breaking down trying to say it herself."

You let out a quiet breath.

"She’s trying. And so are you. But she needs to feel like you’re living your life too, not just existing to keep hers stitched together."

You nod, pressing your fingers to your brow, "I should talk to her." You glance at her. "You’re good at your job."

She smiles, wry and warm, "I try."

You nod, pushing yourself up. But just before you open the door, you glance over your shoulder. "…Thanks, Doc."

Wanda raises an eyebrow, playfully, "you can still call me Wanda."

You give her a tired, affectionate smile, "okay. Thanks, Wanda."

Then you step back out, into the hallway, where Ellie waits, pretending not to look anxious, even though her fingers are twisting the strap of her bag. The drive is quiet for a while. You don’t turn on the radio. Just the soft hum of the engine and the muted sound of traffic outside. Ellie’s curled into the passenger seat, legs pulled up slightly, her head against the window. You glance at her every few seconds, hands firm on the steering wheel.

Eventually, she speaks. "I didn’t mean it like… I don’t want you around."

You exhale gently, "I know. Wanda told me."

She looks at you, visibly nervous.

"She said you asked her to talk to me. Said you were worried I’d just brush it off if it came from you."

Ellie shrugs a little, "you always joke when stuff gets heavy with yourself. Or change the subject. Or pretend you're fine." You nod, "I guess I do."

There’s a quiet beat before you pull into a quieter street and park under a big leafy tree. You turn the engine off and sit in the quiet stillness.

"I never saw it like that, El," you say softly. "That I was giving up anything for you. I just wanted to be the one thing you didn’t have to worry about. The one constant."

"I know," she whispers. "But sometimes it feels like you're holding everything together and forgetting you're allowed to want things for yourself too. We came from the same fucked up parents, so we both need therapy."

That makes you laugh, fair point. "I guess that is true, yeah." Then you look over at her. "And I do want things."

She turns her head once again, one eyebrow raised, "like what?"

You shrug, half a smile, "... buy a motorcycle, a dog, a wildly inappropriate amount of chocolate."

Ellie snorts, "okay, serious things."

You hesitate, then say, quieter, "a life that’s more than surviving. Something real. Someone real."

She watches you for a moment, then leans her head against the seat, "that’s why I think you should go for it," she says.

You blink, "go for what?"

Ellie doesn’t look at you as she smirks, "ask her out."

"… ask who out?"

She turns slowly, eyes narrowed in the most sarcastic way she can muster. "Hmm, I don’t know. Just someone you’ve been making eyes at for weeks. Subtle as a truck."

You scoff, grinning, "okay, rude."

She smacks your hand lightly. "Come on, you’re not even trying to hide it! You go all heart-eyes when she says your name."

"I do not!"

"You literally look like a school girl!"

"I´m just being polite!"

Ellie rolls her eyes dramatically, "just ask her out, dummy. She likes you too. I can feel it."

You lean back with a groan, dragging your hands down your face. "Great. Now I have my little sister coaching me through my love life."

Ellie crosses her arms, smug, "well, someone has to make sure you don’t die alone with your motorcycle and dog."

You chuckle, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. "Fine," you say, nudging her arm. "But only because you’re such a convincing therapist."

"Damn right," she grins. "Now buy me a smoothie and we never speak of this again."

"Deal."

You both laugh, the kind that sounds like something settling back into place.

Another week passes. The routine has become something comforting - morning traffic, Ellie’s music in the car, Wanda’s smile at the door. You don’t say it aloud, but things feel…lighter. Like whatever storm the two of you had been walking through is finally easing into something warm.

Ellie’s session is about to end when you glance at the clock and stand from your spot in the waiting room. Your heart’s thudding a little louder than you’d admit. When the door opens, Ellie walks out with her usual post-session softness, tired but calm. You meet her with a smile.

"Mind waiting in the car for a sec?"

Ellie raises a brow, but then realizes, "oh- of course!" She winks at you and head out.

Wanda appears in the doorway, immediately sensing the shift. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," you assure, gently. "Nothing’s wrong. Ellie’s doing amazing. You’re amazing, honestly. I just… I wanted to talk to you for a second."

Wanda steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. Inside the office, it’s quiet, comfortable. Wanda stands near her chair, arms crossed gently, gaze curious but cautious.

You breathe in, "I know this isn’t how things usually go. And I don’t want to make anything weird for Ellie or mess with boundaries. I just… wanted to ask you something."

Wanda tilts her head slightly, "go on."

You smile, trying not to fidget, fuck this is harder than you thought it would be, you exhale softly, "would you like to go on a date with me?"

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Wanda blinks, "oh."

"I mean- no pressure," you add quickly, hands lifted in surrender. "Just… you are really phenomenal."

She arches a brow, amused despite herself, "phenomenal?"

"In every way," you say, voice softer now. "And if it doesn’t work out after one date, that’s okay. But… I know it will."

Wanda exhales a short laugh, shaking her head as if trying to hide the smile creeping up, "you’re confident, aren’t you?"

You grin, "like I said… I’m not backing down."

Another quiet moment. Her expression shifts, not flirty this time, but thoughtful. Then she nods small, but real. "Alright," she says, "one date."

You´re suprised, "really?"

"Really," she replies. "Though I’m starting to think Ellie’s not the only one I’ll end up analyzing."

You chuckle and back toward the door, "we’re a package deal."

As you exit the office and walk back to your sister, "well?" Ellie stares at you.

You try to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Ellie narrows her eyes. "No. No, no, no- don’t you dare try and be cool right now- well?!"

You turn to her, grin slipping free, "she said yes."

Ellie gasps, "WOOHOO!" She fist-pumps the air and nearly knocks over her water bottle in the process. "Yes! My matchmaking era!"

You laugh as she cheers again, pounding her hands on the dash with unfiltered joy.

Back inside the office, Wanda hears the muffled noise through the door and smiles quietly to herself, shaking her head.

Then suddenly, Ellie’s voice cuts through the joy like a knife, "wait a minute."

You glance over, "what?"

Ellie turns toward you slowly, horror blooming in her expression. "Holy shit. Does this mean I have to change therapist again?!"

Thank you for reading!:)

[miss-carter]

AGATHA ALL ALONG 1.05 - Darkest Hour Wake Thy Power WANDAVISION 1.09 - The Series Finale

[gzb-ari]

The exact moment when she asked "you can do that?" is the moment she had a brief hope that Wanda's power could somehow bring Nicky back. If only that'd be possible she'd do anything to have her son. Despite everything Agatha does, she's a mother. A grieving and loving one that cherish her child above anything else.

The story about how she traded her child for a book was not only made to make her look like a ruthless villain and build her legend but she also wanted to punish herself.

She was conatantly draining witches when Nicky was around and he didn't like that. She could've enjoy their time together more. She could've spent those few years doing what Nicky really enjoyed and create a better life for him.

Instead she was gaining more power and lost her aon. She couldn't defy death. Death who gave her Nicky in the frst place.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT

[avengerscompound]

The Avengers

Astonishing Spider-Man Infinity Comic (2024) #33

[scarletwitchwandasblog]

The Scarlet Witch and Deadpool.

#ScarletWitch

#WandaMaximoff

#Deadpool

[hadesisqueer]

who wins in a fight though mcu scarlet witch or mcu sentry

They don't fight. They're chatting in the therapist's waiting room