hapuchika

[hapuchika]

I'M DYING I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OH MY GOD

Wrong Timing, Right Song

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: How Lizzie and Y/N first met.

Word Count: 9,467

Request: Yes

Warnings: fluff, cute, little jealousy.

A/N: I got some requests about how Lizzie and reader met, so here we go!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Los Angeles, Late 2013

Y/N didn’t like these kinds of events.

Too many fake laughs. Too many tight smiles. She felt like a misplaced lyric in an auto-tuned song — polished on the outside, dissonant underneath.

Her assistant, Dani, had shoved the event pass into her hand and practically forced her into a tailored black suit before she could come up with a decent excuse.

“You just hit number two on Billboard,” Dani said, adjusting her collar. “This is your moment. You need to be seen. You need to meet people. It’s all part of the job.”

Y/N had muttered something about rather being home with her guitar and cold pad thai, but no one listened. So now she was here — some upscale West Hollywood event where everyone smelled expensive and talked like they were reading from the same networking script.

She nursed a ginger cocktail near the bar, head slightly ducked, watching the crowd. Most people didn’t notice her, not yet. They recognized her name more than her face — something she was fine with.

And then she saw her.

Elizabeth Olsen.

There was something quiet about her presence — composed, maybe a little detached from the noise. She wasn’t commanding attention, but the way she moved through the room made people notice her anyway. She wore a simple black silk dress, her hair loose and tucked behind one ear. Elegant, but not loud.

Y/N tried not to stare. Really, she did.

But Lizzie caught her eye. Just a glance. Then another. And — against all odds — she made her way over.

“Hey,” Lizzie said when she reached her. Her voice was calm and unassuming. “You’re Y/N, right?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Wow. I mean—yeah.”

Lizzie gave a polite smile. “I heard your single on the radio the other day. It's been in my head since.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, heart bumping once in surprise. “That’s… thank you. I didn’t think someone like you would’ve heard it.”

Lizzie tilted her head slightly. “Someone like me?”

Y/N gave a sheepish shrug. “Movie star. Red carpet regular. You know… cool.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from Lizzie — a short one, more amused than charmed.

“Well, it’s a good song,” she said simply. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

Y/N smiled, relaxing a little. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

She hesitated, then decided to go for it — not bold, just honest.

“You’re beautiful, by the way,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Not just in the obvious way, either. You just… you carry a kind of peace with you.”

Lizzie blinked at that. The compliment didn’t make her blush or smile — not quite. She seemed to absorb it quietly, then offered a gentle, almost apologetic expression.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “But… I have a boyfriend.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a breath, then steadied.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” Lizzie said quickly, and her tone made it clear — no anger, no discomfort, just a line drawn with care. “I just thought it was better to say it now.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I get it. I respect it.”

They stood in silence for a beat — not awkward, just brief — and Lizzie glanced toward the crowd again.

“Well… congratulations on the single,” she said, her tone drifting back toward polite.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied. “And, uh… thanks for saying hi.”

Lizzie nodded once, then turned to go, merging back into the sea of agents, actors, and producers.

Y/N watched her leave, a little hollowed out but not bitter. Just… wistful.

She took another sip of her drink and sighed under her breath.

“She feels like a song I’ll write and never finish.”

And somewhere inside her, the melody had already begun.

---

Lizzie’s POV

Lizzie told herself it was nothing.

Just a fleeting conversation at a crowded party. Polite. Complement exchanged, boundary set. It didn’t have to mean anything.

But Y/N had been… different.

Not in that overstated celebrity way, not like the people who tried to make an impression with oversized energy and manufactured charm. No, Y/N had been quieter. More grounded. She spoke like she actually meant what she said. Looked at Lizzie like she saw her — not the actress, not the photoshoots or the headlines, just… her.

And that wasn’t something Lizzie was used to.

Still, she had Boyd.

They’d been together for almost two years. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t… good anymore. Conversations had turned thin. Affection had started feeling like routine. She used to feel excited when he touched her — now it felt like remembering something she used to enjoy. Like a melody she couldn’t hum anymore.

But none of that had anything to do with Y/N.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

She didn’t mention the singer to Boyd. Didn’t tell her sisters either. It was just a moment. Not worth explaining.

Except…

She kept hearing her voice.

On the radio during a late drive home. On the speakers at a boutique while flipping through clothes she didn’t need. At brunch when her sister queued a playlist she swore was “the best new artist of the year.”

Y/N’s voice was smooth but raw, like silk with a tear running through it. Something about it stayed with Lizzie long after the song ended — low in her chest, just below the ribs.

Then the album dropped.

Lizzie didn’t plan to listen. She told herself she was too busy — press, auditions, appearances. But late one night, after a silent dinner with Boyd and an argument about something she already forgot, she sat in her car in the driveway. Keys still in the ignition. Phone in her hand.

She opened the album. Hit play.

The first few tracks washed over her like rain on a windshield — soft, emotional, honest. But it was track four that split her open.

Met her once, in a room too loud to hear my own breath

She smiled, and I wondered how many galaxies fit in one look

But her hand was held by time I couldn’t reach

So I left her like a song I couldn’t sing.

The lyrics felt like a confession whispered into her neck.

Lizzie’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She didn’t cry — not exactly — but something inside her fractured in the quiet way heartbreak sometimes does: without noise, just pressure.

Was that about me?

No way. They’d only spoken once. But she wish it was.

And she wanted to hear it again.

Not just the track — the voice. That voice that had looked her in the eye and called her beautiful like it wasn’t rehearsed. That voice that had respected her boundary without pulling away in bitterness. That voice that had walked away, but not unfeeling.

The following weeks were restless.

She scrolled past headlines about Y/N’s album hitting platinum. Saw photos of her performing live, always in her element, always with a slightly sheepish smile like she wasn’t sure she belonged there. And maybe that’s what Lizzie couldn’t forget — the humility under all that talent. The quiet.

Boyd noticed her distance. Asked if she was stressed. She said yes. Let him hold her at night even when it felt more like an obligation than comfort.

But Y/N’s lyrics kept circling back, looping in her mind in moments she should’ve been focused on something else.

The girl from the party wouldn’t go away.

She stayed in the music.

And slowly, so slowly Lizzie barely noticed it, her relationship with Boyd started to feel like the wrong key for a song she used to love.

---

The breakup with Boyd was quiet.

There were no slammed doors, no teary confrontations, no dramatic exits. Just the slow realization — mutual, almost clinical — that they were done. That whatever they used to reach for in each other was now… gone.

He moved his things out on a Tuesday.

Lizzie changed the sheets the next day, not out of spite, but because she needed the symbolism. A fresh start. Something clean.

She told herself she was fine. She’d been busy. Press tours for Oldboy, meetings for upcoming projects, family visits. But even in the noise of it all, Y/N's voice followed her like a thread.

The album stayed on her phone. And track four — that song — became a kind of quiet ritual. She didn’t talk about it. Didn’t mention it when her sister caught her humming the chorus. She just let it live in the background. Private. Personal.

She didn’t expect to see her again.

But then came Grammy week. The pre-parties. The overcrowded, overhyped social calendar that came with being in the industry — one Lizzie rarely enjoyed but always attended, out of some combination of politeness and professional duty.

This one was in the Hollywood Hills. Warm evening air, strings of lights above polished concrete patios, drinks with fruit she couldn’t pronounce. Agents. Artists. Everyone scanning the room behind the person they were talking to.

Lizzie was halfway through a conversation with someone she barely remembered meeting before when her eyes caught a familiar silhouette near the patio edge.

Y/N.

She stood just outside the main crowd, talking to a producer Lizzie vaguely recognized. A glass in one hand, her other thumb tucked into her pocket. Her suit tonight was deep maroon with black satin lapels, slightly open at the collar. Her hair was a bit longer than before, swept back in a way that made her jawline sharper, her energy smoother.

She looked composed. Calm. Confident, even.

Lizzie didn’t think. She just moved.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… drawn. She crossed the space between them like someone who’d finally stopped second-guessing.

“Hey,” she said, soft but clear.

Y/N turned — and froze for half a second.

Then came that smile. Like a slow sunrise. “Elizabeth Olsen.”

“Just Lizzie tonight,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Unless you’re mad at me.”

Y/N let out a breath of a laugh, low and warm. “Why would I be? You were honest, and I respect that,” she said genuinely, eyes steady on Lizzie’s.

There was no bitterness. No trace of ego or wounded pride. Just that same quiet grace Lizzie remembered from the first time — the kind that made her feel seen, not sized up.

Still, Lizzie shifted her weight slightly. “Well… I’ve thought about that night.”

Something flickered across Y/N’s face. Surprise, maybe. Curiosity.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” she admitted.

“Same,” Lizzie said. “But then your album came out. Kind of made it hard to forget you.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “You listened to it?”

“I memorized it,” Lizzie confessed, her voice dipping just above a whisper. “Especially track four.”

A pause stretched between them, heavier than the last time. Not awkward — just weighted. Charged.

Y/N looked down for a second, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That one… that one’s personal.”

Lizzie's voice softened. “About anyone I’d know?”

Y/N met her gaze. Steady now. “About a girl I met at an event. Thought she was magnetic. Said she had a boyfriend.”

Lizzie exhaled — a soft, amused sound. “She doesn’t anymore.”

Y/N’s expression shifted again — less guarded now. More open. Her eyes searched Lizzie’s face like she was making sure this wasn’t a game. Like she wanted to believe it, but wouldn’t let herself just yet.

And maybe that was fair.

Because Lizzie had walked away before. With reason. But still — she had.

So this time, she didn’t wait.

“I don’t want red carpets. I don’t want press. I don’t even need it to be a big deal,” Lizzie said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her black trousers, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. “But if you’d still want to… I’d really like to take that offer on getting drinks.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, that same amused spark flickering behind her eyes. She hummed, dragging the moment out in deliberate, exaggerated thought.

“Hmm…” she said, tapping her chin with theatrical flair. “Let me think. Drinks with the gorgeous Lizzie Olsen… who turned me down once, crushed my fragile singer heart…”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself. “Okay, dramatic.”

Y/N grinned wider. “You don’t know the half of it. I almost wrote a sad acoustic trilogy about you.”

“You kind of did.”

“Fair,” Y/N conceded with a wink. “Still, you showing up here, no boyfriend in sight, actually asking me out… I don’t know. I might need a minute to process this emotional rollercoaster.”

Lizzie bit back a smile, relaxing into the banter. “You’ve had four months.”

“And I’ve used them wisely,” Y/N said. “Grew into my heartbreak. Became Billboard’s favorite tragic romantic.”

“You hit number one, didn’t you?”

“Tragedy sells.”

They both laughed then — real, unguarded.

And when it faded, Y/N looked at her again, softer now.

“Yeah,” she said, sincere beneath the teasing. “I’d love to get that drink with you.”

Lizzie’s shoulders dropped the tension she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Good.”

Y/N held out her hand. “Then let’s get out of here. I know a place. No cameras. No crowd.”

Lizzie hesitated just long enough to let her fingers brush Y/N’s before taking her hand fully.

Y/N’s grip was warm, steady — like she wasn’t surprised this was finally happening, like she’d been waiting with quiet patience.

They didn’t make a scene walking out. No dramatic exits. No camera flashes.

Just two women slipping through the crowd unnoticed, away from the noise, toward something that felt a little more real.

Outside, the night was cool, Los Angeles buzz humming in the background. Y/N led them down the sidewalk, still hand in hand, and Lizzie couldn’t stop glancing at her. It was strange — she’d met hundreds of people in this industry, had dozens of conversations that vanished the moment she walked away — but Y/N had stuck. And not just because of her voice or the lyrics that had kept Lizzie company for the last few months.

It was her. Her calm. Her wit. Her gentleness.

“You drive?” Lizzie asked, just to fill the quiet between them.

Y/N smiled. “I do, but Dani wouldn’t let me tonight. Something about me getting recognized at valet and saying something awkward.”

Lizzie laughed lightly. “Is that a regular thing for you?”

“I think Dani just assumes I’m bad at parties. Which… I am. But I’m great at sneaking out of them.”

“Clearly.”

They turned the corner, where a black car idled at the curb. Y/N opened the back door and held it for her.

“I know a little bar in Silver Lake,” she said. “No velvet ropes. No paparazzi. Just a quiet booth and decent drinks.”

“Perfect,” Lizzie said, slipping in.

The drive was easy. Y/N didn’t fill the silence with small talk. She let the space breathe, music low — one of those indie playlists that didn’t scream for attention. Lizzie found herself watching her out of the corner of her eye. Y/N sat relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming against her thigh in rhythm to the beat.

“You always this calm?” Lizzie asked.

Y/N turned slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You caught me on a good day.”

The bar was tucked between a closed vintage shop and a dark café. Low lighting, vinyl booths, wood-paneled walls that probably hadn’t changed since the ‘70s. The bartender nodded at Y/N like they knew her, but didn’t say a word beyond a soft, “Good to see you again.”

They slid into a booth near the back, the kind that let them disappear into the shadows of amber string lights.

“So,” Lizzie said once their drinks arrived. “Are you gonna tell me what Track Four was really about?”

Y/N raised a brow. “You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Y/N stirred her drink once, thoughtful. “It was about… meeting someone who made the room feel different. Who felt real in a place where things gets to be more plastic. But the timing sucked. And I walked away thinking, that’s the kind of person I’d give songs to if the world gave me another shot.”

Lizzie’s throat tightened. She looked down at her drink, then back at her. “You’re dangerously good with words.”

“Comes with the job,” Y/N said, then softer, “Also helps when you mean them.”

Silence wrapped around them again, but it wasn’t awkward. It pulsed with something new — anticipation, gravity, warmth.

Lizzie let herself lean in a little, eyes meeting Y/N’s.

“I’m glad you got another shot.”

Y/N held her gaze, unwavering. “I don’t intend to waste it.”

The booth seemed to shrink around them.

Not from pressure or nerves — just closeness. Something unspoken curled between them, neither of them in a rush to name it.

Lizzie let her fingers trace the edge of her glass. “I have to admit,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”

“So?” Y/N prompted, eyes warm but teasing.

“…Low-key. I don’t know. For someone whose song is literally everywhere, you have this… grounded energy. It’s unfair, really.”

Y/N chuckled, resting her chin in her hand. “I think I’ve spent so much of my life not fitting in, I stopped trying. Now I just aim for peace. Anything that feels like peace, I chase.”

“That’s kind of beautiful,” Lizzie murmured, meaning it more than she meant most things she said at events.

Y/N looked at her then — really looked. Not with heat or hunger, but with that same soft interest Lizzie remembered from the first night. Like she was a person worth pausing for.

“Peace doesn’t always look like stillness,” Y/N said after a beat. “Sometimes it walks in wearing a black pantsuit and orders a whiskey sour and makes me forget how bad I am at flirting.”

Lizzie felt herself blush — she hadn’t done that in years. “You’re not that bad.”

“Oh no?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I asked you out the first time and got shut down. That feels like a pretty solid L.”

Lizzie laughed, biting her lip. “You weren’t bad. You were just… honest. And timing was the problem, not you.”

“That’s what everyone says before they disappear for good.”

“I didn’t disappear,” Lizzie said, nudging her shoe lightly against Y/N’s under the table. “I just… rerouted.”

Y/N smiled. “And now?”

“Now,” Lizzie said slowly, “I’m sitting here wondering how I got lucky enough to have a second chance at this.”

---

Later that night, outside the bar…

The air was cooler now, and quieter. The city had begun to fold in on itself.

They walked slowly, neither of them mentioning their cars, their schedules, the fact that the night had become something neither of them planned for.

Y/N’s hands were tucked in her pockets, but every once in a while, they brushed arms — lightly, accidentally on purpose.

Lizzie stole glances. Y/N had that kind of face that changed with the light — sharp lines softened by calm eyes. She wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. But when she looked at you, you felt seen.

“I thought about messaging you,” Lizzie said, voice low. “After I heard the album.”

Y/N glanced at her. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to make it about me. What if I was wrong and it wasn’t about me? Or worse — what if it was, and I missed the window?”

Y/N stopped walking. Gently took Lizzie’s hand. “Hey. If I wrote it, the window wasn’t closed. It was just… waiting.”

Lizzie looked down at their joined hands. It felt like an anchor. Like something real in a sea of fleeting things.

“Would it be crazy if I said this feels good?” Lizzie asked. “Like, too good?”

Y/N smiled. “It doesn’t have to be crazy. It can just be… what it is.”

“Which is?”

“Something worth staying awake for,” Y/N said simply.

---

The street outside Lizzie’s place was dim and still. She turned to face Y/N who had come out of the car to walk her up the stairs.

Y/N didn’t push. Didn’t assume.

So Lizzie took the step.

She leaned in slowly, letting her hand rest gently on Y/N’s chest — over her heart — before brushing the softest kiss across her cheek.

Not rushed. Not claimed.

Just offered.

When she pulled back, Y/N’s eyes were already closed for a beat, then opened with that same slow, sunrise smile.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered.

Lizzie grinned, a little crooked. “So are you.”

Neither of them said good night right away.

But when Lizzie finally opened the door, she turned one last time and said, “Don’t disappear, okay?”

Y/N held her gaze. “Not unless you want me to.”

And Lizzie knew, without question, she didn’t.

---

Lizzie woke before her alarm.

The sun was barely up — a soft gray glow peeking through the curtains, like the world hadn’t fully decided to be awake yet. She blinked against her pillow, slow and calm, her body unusually relaxed.

Then she remembered.

The walk to her door. The warmth in Y/N’s eyes. That last look before Lizzie had stepped inside.

And the text she’d asked for.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a familiar message from the night before.

11:09 p.m. — Y/N:

Made it home. Still smiling, by the way. Sweet dreams, Lizzie.

Lizzie smiled without meaning to. Let the words settle in her chest like a warm drink. She reread the message, then tucked the phone against her chest for a beat before sitting up.

7:42 a.m. — Lizzie:

Glad you got home safe. And that you’re smiling.

I might be too, but I’m blaming the coffee.

She hit send, then padded into the kitchen barefoot, pulling her sweater tight around her shoulders. Coffee was the plan, sure — but distraction was the real goal.

Because her brain wouldn’t shut up.

Y/N’s voice was still in her ears, not singing this time — just talking, low and thoughtful. That dry humor. That look she gave when she was listening to someone like they were the only person in the world.

God, and that smile.

Not movie-star smile. Just… real. Like she meant it.

Lizzie shook her head and poured her coffee like a normal person. No big deal. Just a very grounded, casually giddy morning.

Her phone buzzed.

8:03 a.m. — Y/N:

You’re blaming the coffee? Wow. You wound me.

For the record, I blame you. The girl with the best damn smile in L.A.

Lizzie bit her lip, almost laughing into her mug.

She typed, then retyped.

8:05 a.m. — Lizzie:

Smooth. Is that a lyric in progress?

8:06 a.m. — Y/N:

Not yet. Want to give me more material?

8:06 a.m. — Lizzie:

You trying to flirt with me, rockstar?

8:07 a.m. — Y/N:

Trying? Ouch. I thought I was doing pretty well.

8:07 a.m. — Lizzie:

You are.

She hit send before she could second-guess it.

And for the rest of the morning, Lizzie moved through the world differently.

Lighter. Quieter inside her head. Like something had shifted in her orbit.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t fast.

But it was something.

And she hoped — without quite letting herself admit it — that it was only just beginning.

---

They didn’t see each other for two weeks.

Not for lack of wanting to — just timing. Lizzie was knee-deep in press days and fittings. Y/N was bouncing between studio sessions and late-night rehearsals. LA traffic didn’t help, and neither did the cameras that seemed to wait for Lizzie every time she stepped outside.

But the silence never returned.

They texted. Every day.

Sometimes flirty.

Y/N:

Woke up with a melody stuck in my head. Either it’s genius or it’s your fault.

Lizzie:

If it’s bad, I’m blaming your coffee habits. If it’s good, I accept full credit.

Sometimes soft.

Lizzie:

Long day. Just needed to say hi.

Y/N:

Hi. I’m here.

And sometimes, it was calls. Usually late, when the world had gone quiet.

Y/N’s voice in Lizzie’s ear, soft and familiar. Lizzie’s laugh making Y/N pause mid-sentence just to hear it again.

They talked about nothing at first — music, travel, bad lighting on red carpets — and then everything. What scared them. What surprised them. The weird quiet that came with fame. The ache of always being “on.”

One night, Lizzie said, “I think people forget I’m not my characters.”

Y/N was silent for a second. Then: “I don’t.”

And that stayed with her.

---

The tension never turned impatient. Just… curious. Warm.

It felt like they were building something.

Lizzie started keeping her phone closer. Checked it between takes. Fell asleep with Y/N’s messages still glowing on her screen.

Y/N started writing differently. Slower. More thoughtful. She didn’t say it was because of Lizzie, but her producer raised a brow when she started showing up with lyrics about green eyes and quiet bravery.

They were, in every sense, circling each other. Orbiting. Waiting for time to line up.

And then — finally — it did.

Late Friday. Lizzie had just stepped out of the shower, hair damp, face bare, oversized shirt clinging to her shoulder.

Her phone rang.

Y/N’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” Lizzie answered, a smile already blooming.

“You home?” Y/N’s voice was warm but edged with something playful.

Lizzie blinked. “Yeah… why?”

There was a beat. A pause just long enough to quicken her pulse.

“Can you open your front door?”

Lizzie nearly dropped her phone.

She hurried barefoot through the house, heart thudding, and pulled open the door.

And there Y/N was. Leaning casually against the frame, a few takeout bags hanging from her hands.

“Hi,” she said, smiling like the whole week had led to this.

Lizzie stared, stunned for a breath. “You’re— What are you—?”

“You said your favorite Thai place was this little hole-in-the-wall in Los Feliz, right?” Y/N lifted the bag. “I went. I got us enough food for three people because I panicked.”

Lizzie blinked at her, then laughed. It spilled out of her like breath.

“You drove all the way across the city at 8 p.m. on a Friday?”

“I missed your voice,” Y/N said simply. “Figured it might be even better in person.”

Lizzie stepped aside without hesitation. “Come in. Immediately.”

---

Inside, the vibe shifted — from surprise to comfort.

They ate barefoot on Lizzie’s couch, food containers spread out on her coffee table, some forgotten rom-com playing muted in the background. Their conversation picked up like it hadn’t paused. Somewhere between mouthfuls of drunken noodles and red curry, Lizzie leaned her head back and sighed.

“This is the best surprise I’ve had in months.”

“I was nervous,” Y/N admitted, glancing sideways. “Didn’t know if it’d be too much.”

Lizzie turned her head to meet her gaze. “It’s not. It’s perfect.”

Y/N smiled and went quiet for a moment, like she was holding onto something delicate.

Eventually, after the food was picked over and their hands had brushed more than once, Y/N stood to leave.

Lizzie walked her to the door, slower than necessary.

There was a pause there too, one filled with everything neither of them wanted to rush.

“I’m really glad you came,” Lizzie said, her voice soft.

“Me too,” Y/N replied.

Lizzie hesitated just long enough to let her fingers brush Y/N’s before taking her hand fully.

She squeezed Y/N hand once before letting go. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

And she did — just a simple message.

Y/N:

Home safe. Still smiling.

Lizzie stared at it for a long time.

Lizzie:

Me too.

---

They didn’t talk about it the next morning — the handholding, the smile lingering on Lizzie’s lips, or the way she kept checking her phone like Y/N might text again. She did, of course. Just a “Morning :)” and a photo of the empty takeout bag with “proof I didn’t let your curry go to waste” scrawled under it.

They stayed in each other’s orbit that weekend, still texting, still calling — but something had shifted. The silence between them felt different now. Full of yes instead of maybe.

It was Y/N who asked this time.

Y/N:

What are you doing Thursday night?

Lizzie:

Canceling whatever I had.

Y/N:

Don’t cancel. Just... reschedule for something better.

Lizzie:

Better, huh? Confident.

Y/N:

Hopeful.

Y/N showed up just after 6:30.

No driver. No black SUV. Just her own Jeep, windows down, wind in her hair, and a playlist drifting softly through the speakers — hers and a few artists Lizzie had mentioned liking. She wore a deep navy button-down, sleeves casually rolled, her usual rings catching the last of the sun.

“You’re already killing me,” Lizzie said as she slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door closed behind her.

Y/N smiled without turning. “I haven’t even started.”

The restaurant was tucked into a quiet stretch of beach, half-hidden behind windswept palms and a weathered wooden sign. It didn’t scream exclusivity. It whispered comfort. The kind of place locals kept to themselves.

Inside, the lighting was warm and dim. Low ceilings. Mismatched chairs. Candles flickering in repurposed glass jars. The ocean was visible through the windows, the horizon blurring into the dusk.

“I used to come here after gigs,” Y/N said as they were led to a quiet corner table. “When no one knew who I was. Still feels like the only place that never changed.”

Lizzie glanced around, then back at her. “I can see why you kept it.”

Dinner was easy. No scripts. No performing. Y/N was quieter than Lizzie expected, but when she did speak — stories about tour buses and bad interviews and how she once accidentally fell asleep during a podcast taping — it made Lizzie laugh with her whole body.

And when Lizzie talked, Y/N listened. Not nodded-along listened. Listened. Like she might take each word home and put music behind it.

After dessert — espresso and a slice of almond cake they split — they walked along the restaurant’s back deck, the sound of the waves folding into their footsteps.

“You always like this on dates?” Lizzie asked, arms folded against the breeze.

Y/N grinned at the ocean. “Not even a little. I usually fumble through half a drink and wish I’d stayed home.”

Lizzie stopped walking, just enough to turn toward her. “You nervous right now?”

Y/N’s smile softened. “Only when I think too much about how pretty you are.”

That earned a blush. A real one.

Lizzie didn’t hide her blush, but she did try to brush it off with a small laugh. “You really know how to time that, don’t you?”

Y/N took a step closer, not pushing — just shifting the air between them.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she said softly, eyes fixed on Lizzie like she was the only thing that existed on that beach. “And I don’t say them unless I want them remembered.”

Lizzie’s breath caught just slightly. “That sounds like a lyric.”

Y/N’s voice dropped an octave, barely more than a murmur. “Might be. You inspire a few.”

A wave crashed in the distance, soft and slow, and neither of them moved for a moment. Then Y/N extended her hand — not to take, but to offer.

“Walk with me?”

Lizzie slipped her hand into Y/N’s, and this time, there was no brushing. No hesitation.

They walked the curve of the deck until it ended in soft sand. Y/N led them down, the boards creaking beneath their steps before giving way to the cool, shifting beach.

Lizzie shivered as the breeze swept past, and without a word, Y/N let go of her hand only to slip out of her jacket and drape it over Lizzie’s shoulders. She didn’t ask. Didn’t make a show of it. Just did it like it was obvious.

Like it was hers to give.

“Thank you,” Lizzie said, holding it closed. The fabric smelled like her — cedar, clean laundry, and something warm and hard to name.

They stopped where the surf reached just close enough to wet the tips of their shoes. The stars had started to scatter across the sky, reflected faintly in the water.

Y/N turned to face her fully. “I know we’ve both been busy. That it took a while to get here.”

Lizzie looked up, eyes catching the flicker of moonlight in Y/N’s gaze. “Worth the wait.”

That made Y/N smile again — slow, sure, almost cocky. But it softened as she reached up, brushing Lizzie’s hair back behind her ear again, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, her voice low but certain.

Lizzie didn’t answer with words.

She stepped in, lifted her chin, and closed the space between them.

Y/N met her halfway — firm but unhurried. Confident. Her hand settled against Lizzie’s waist, the other cupping her jaw with delicate pressure. It was a kiss that didn’t ask, didn’t wonder — it simply was.

And Lizzie melted into it.

Everything about Y/N — the way she moved, held her, kissed like she had all the time in the world — made Lizzie feel undone in the safest possible way. Like she could just let go.

When they finally pulled back, Lizzie stayed close, her forehead resting against Y/N’s.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, breathless.

Y/N’s thumb traced the line of her jaw. “Only in ways you want me to be.”

They stood there for another few minutes, the waves and the stars wrapping around them like a secret. Until Y/N finally murmured:

“Let me drive you home?”

Lizzie nodded, but didn’t move. “Only if you stay a while.”

Y/N’s grin returned — low, knowing, impossibly fond.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

---

The drive back to Lizzie’s was quiet — not from awkwardness, but from comfort. Lizzie’s hand rested in Y/N’s on the center console the entire ride, her thumb tracing slow circles like she was memorizing the feel of her.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lizzie didn’t move right away. Neither did Y/N.

“I’m glad you called tonight,” Lizzie said, finally breaking the silence.

“I was tired of orbiting,” Y/N replied softly. “I wanted to land.”

That earned a smile — tired, warm, full of something bigger than either of them had said aloud.

Inside the house, the air felt different. Not cold, not empty. Just... waiting.

Lizzie slipped off her shoes, watched as Y/N did the same, and then led her into the kitchen.

“Tea?” Lizzie offered. “Or something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Lizzie reached for the kettle, and Y/N stepped in behind her — not touching, just close enough that Lizzie could feel the heat of her body against her back.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was presence.

When the mugs were filled and the lights dimmed, they ended up on the couch, legs curled under them, sitting closer than before. The tea went untouched on the table.

“So…” Lizzie began, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “What happens now?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, not kissing her again just yet — but brushing the back of her fingers along Lizzie’s cheek, anchoring her gaze.

“Now I stay awhile. If you want me to.”

Lizzie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Y/N nodded once, then leaned forward and kissed her again — slower this time. Less about need. More about promise.

Lizzie leaned into it, her fingers sliding up to rest at the nape of Y/N’s neck, drawing her closer. Y/N shifted just enough to deepen the kiss, guiding it like she already knew what Lizzie liked — soft pressure, lingering, lips slightly parted like she wanted Lizzie to chase her just a little.

When they pulled apart, both of them breathing heavier, Lizzie’s eyes fluttered open and met hers. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’d like to,” Y/N said, brushing her thumb along Lizzie’s jaw. “But we don’t have to rush anything.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Lizzie said gently. “I just… want you close.”

That, more than anything, seemed to strike something in Y/N. Her expression softened as she nodded.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

They ended up curled together in bed — not tangled, but held. Y/N spooned behind Lizzie, her arm wrapped firmly around her waist, nose tucked into the back of her neck like she belonged there.

And Lizzie, for the first time in months, maybe years, fell asleep with her chest warm and her mind quiet.

---

The Next Morning

Sunlight crept in through the curtains, soft and golden. Lizzie stirred first, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked herself into awareness. She didn’t move right away. She didn’t want to.

Y/N was still asleep behind her, one arm snug around her waist, their bodies molded together like the night hadn’t shifted them at all. Lizzie could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, warm against the back of her neck. Safe.

She smiled to herself, eyes closing again for a moment, savoring it.

But then — a soft groan. Y/N shifted, tightened her hold briefly, and murmured, “You’re awake, huh?”

“Barely,” Lizzie whispered.

Y/N pressed a slow, feather-light kiss to her shoulder. “I can fix that.”

Lizzie laughed, her voice still sleep-rough. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it,” Y/N teased.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” Y/N mumbled, and nuzzled into her again.

A minute passed like that — unhurried. Then Lizzie turned in her arms to face her. Y/N blinked, still a little sleep-hazy, and tucked a strand of hair out of Lizzie’s face.

“You sleep okay?” Y/N asked, softer now.

Lizzie nodded. “Better than I have in a long time.”

The look Y/N gave her was quiet, almost reverent. She didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned in and kissed her — short, sweet, and sleepy.

Eventually, they made it out of bed, mostly because Lizzie insisted on making breakfast and Y/N insisted on watching, perched on a barstool in one of Lizzie’s old t-shirts.

The kitchen filled with the scent of coffee and eggs, the kind of domestic calm that felt… significant.

“So,” Lizzie said casually, plating the food. “You’re just going to pretend track four wasn’t about me?”

Y/N paused, then smirked. “Is that what you think?”

“I know it,” Lizzie said, setting her plate down with a raised brow. “Galaxy eyes? Loud room? A girl with a boyfriend?”

“Damn,” Y/N said, laughing as she took a bite. “You really did memorize it.”

Lizzie leaned on the counter, watching her. “You gonna deny it?”

Y/N swallowed, then met her gaze fully. “No. I’m not.”

That silenced them both for a beat.

Then Lizzie smiled — small, full of something she didn’t quite know how to name yet. “Good. I liked that one.”

Y/N’s voice dropped to something sincere. “It was always yours.”

They ate in silence after that. Not awkward — just full. Full of words they weren’t rushing to say, and a comfort they both knew they didn’t want to lose.

Outside, the day was starting. But inside, the world was just the two of them — coffee mugs, shared glances, and a song that had always belonged to Lizzie.

---

A Few Days Later

It hit Lizzie on a quiet Thursday afternoon.

She was back from a costume fitting, sipping tea that had gone cold, half-scrolling, half-daydreaming — when the headline caught her eye.

“Pop’s Golden Girl Off the Market? Y/N Spotted Holding Mystery Woman Close Outside L.A. Lounge”

She clicked before she could stop herself.

There it was. Y/N, surrounded by paparazzi, one arm wrapped tightly around a girl’s shoulders — drawing her into her side like a shield. The woman’s face was turned away, tucked into Y/N’s chest. Y/N’s expression was hard to read beneath her baseball cap, but her body said everything.

Lizzie stared at it too long. Her heart thudded once, deep and unsure.

Because just three nights ago, Lizzie had kissed her.

She’d kissed her with fingers curled in Y/N’s nape, lips tentative at first, then bolder, braver — as if weeks of near-misses and late-night calls had finally found release in one soft, breathless moment. And Y/N had kissed her back like she’d been waiting since the first hello.

They hadn’t said much afterward. Y/N had stayed the night, curled against Lizzie under her quilt, the kind of quiet closeness that spoke more than labels ever could.

So seeing the picture now — the closeness, the protective touch, the optics — felt like ice water.

Her phone buzzed.

Y/N: You probably saw the photo. Can I explain?

Lizzie didn’t respond right away.

She stood up, paced her living room, phone in hand, trying to swallow the ache of uncertainty. Her thumb finally tapped a reply.

Lizzie: Yeah. I’d like that.

The doorbell rang less than a minute later.

She blinked.

Y/N: I’m outside.

Lizzie’s chest tightened. She walked slowly to the door and opened it.

Y/N stood there, cap low, hoodie zipped, but eyes open — completely open. Not defensive. Just… here.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t want to text it,” Y/N said. “Not after… everything.”

Lizzie didn’t move. “She looked close to you.”

“She is,” Y/N nodded. “She’s my cousin. Chloe. She just moved to L.A., and she showed up to the wrong entrance. The paps swarmed, and I—” her voice softened— “I went into big sister mode. That’s all it was. I swear.”

Lizzie studied her, reading the truth in her eyes, and something in her cracked open again.

“I know I don’t have a claim on you,” she murmured.

Y/N stepped in, closer. “You kinda do, though.”

Lizzie blinked.

Y/N cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. “I didn’t kiss you like that just to have something casual.”

The space between them narrowed.

Y/N leaned in, slow, giving her time to pull away.

Lizzie didn’t.

Their lips met again — not like the first time, not rushed or uncertain — but sure. It was a kiss that felt like an answer, like this is what I choose. Y/N pulled her closer, arms around her waist, deepening it just a little, enough to make Lizzie melt into her.

When they broke apart, Lizzie’s voice was small, hopeful. “So I can call you mine?”

Y/N smiled, forehead resting against hers. “Only if I can call you the same.”

A beat passed, and then Lizzie nodded. “Deal.”

Y/N’s thumb still lingered at the curve of Lizzie’s jaw, her touch steady, grounding. The door shut behind them, and in the quiet hush that followed, something shifted — the space between them, electric and waiting.

“I should’ve called sooner,” Y/N said, her voice low and earnest. “Or warned you. I hate that you had to see that photo like everyone else.”

Lizzie stepped in, close enough for their chests to brush. “I didn’t want to assume anything. But yeah… it messed with my head. Especially after…”

Her words drifted off, but Y/N knew what she meant. Especially after the night we kissed. After you held me in your bed and didn’t let go.

“It’s you, Lizzie,” Y/N said, her hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the soft hair there. “It’s been you.”

Lizzie tilted her head back to meet her gaze — vulnerable, a little breathless. “Then show me.”

The kiss came hard — not rushed, not clumsy, but hungry. Y/N crashed into her like she couldn’t hold back anymore, her mouth hot and insistent. Lizzie let out a soft gasp as her back hit the door, her fingers clutching at the front of Y/N’s hoodie. Y/N kissed her like she’d been starving for it, like Lizzie was air and water and the only thing she’d ever want again.

Y/N’s hands slid down Lizzie’s sides, gripping her hips, thumbs pressing just beneath the hem of her shirt. Lizzie arched into her, moaning quietly when Y/N bit gently at her bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue.

She was melting — dizzy from the kiss, the warmth between them, the week of wanting that built into a fire now roaring in her chest.

They stumbled toward the couch, barely breaking apart. Y/N sat first and pulled Lizzie into her lap, her hands greedy but careful — thumbs grazing under her shirt, mouth dragging from her lips to her jaw to the hollow of her throat.

“God, I missed you,” Y/N breathed against her skin, voice ragged.

Lizzie’s hands found their way under Y/N’s hoodie, palms splayed over bare skin. “You could’ve fooled me,” she teased breathlessly, hips shifting just enough to draw a groan from Y/N.

“Keep doing that,” Y/N whispered, her voice rough, dark with promise, “and I won’t be able to stop.”

Lizzie kissed her again — slower now, deeper — and smiled against her lips. “Then don’t.”

Lizzie’s kisses didn’t slow.

If anything, they deepened — more intent, more searching. Her fingers brushed under the hem of Y/N’s hoodie again, spreading over warm skin, anchoring herself in the feeling of Y/N’s body beneath hers. Every now and then, her hips shifted — not intentionally, not even consciously — just following the rhythm of want building between them.

Y/N's hands gripped Lizzie's waist, but there was tension now, the kind that wasn’t from desire alone.

She broke the kiss suddenly, breath catching. “Wait—just…” she said, voice strained.

Lizzie froze. Her heart dropped. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”

Y/N shook her head, eyes closed, jaw tight. She inhaled deeply, like she was trying to ground herself. “No. God, no. It’s not you. You’re just…”

When she trailed off, Lizzie shifted slightly again in her lap to look at her fully—only for Y/N to let out a rough groan, like she’d been punched in the gut.

And that’s when Lizzie felt it — the growing bulge against her thigh. Her breath caught.

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, gaze heavy with frustration and something tender. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Hey,” Lizzie said softly, brushing a hand against Y/N’s cheek. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because…” Y/N laughed nervously, head falling back against the couch. “We were just kissing. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to take it somewhere without asking. Or that I can’t control myself around you.”

Lizzie blinked, then smiled — genuinely, warmly. “Y/N. I’m literally straddling you. I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

Y/N looked back at her, still a little cautious. “So… you’re not weirded out?”

Lizzie leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “No. I’m flattered.”

Y/N chuckled, exhaling like the weight of the moment had lifted just slightly. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only to you,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “But if you need to slow down, just say the word.”

Y/N nodded, her hands steadying on Lizzie’s hips again. “Not tonight. Not yet. I just want to hold you.”

Lizzie curled in closer, letting her body relax into Y/N’s. “Then hold me.”

And in the quiet, wrapped around each other, they stayed — pulse still fast, hearts still learning this rhythm. But safe. Honest. And slowly falling.

---

Bonus Chapter

Lizzie had slept over at Y/N’s place the night before.

Nothing had happened — not like that — but something had shifted. They’d kissed until the moonlight faded, tangled up in each other under Y/N’s old college blanket, whispering sleepy jokes and quiet things that didn’t feel safe to say in the daylight.

That morning, Y/N had kissed her temple with a low, warm hum. “Quick check-in at the studio. Be back in an hour. There’s coffee and leftovers if you get bored.”

Lizzie stayed wrapped in the oversized hoodie Y/N lent her, curled up on the couch with a mug and her phone. She was halfway through a crossword when she heard the front door open.

No knock. No callout.

Just keys turning and the door swinging wide like someone owned the place.

Who the hell is this!? Lizzie thought to herself 

She set her mug down too hard and stood quickly just as a woman stepped into the apartment — sunglasses on, tote bag slung over her shoulder, like she’d done it a hundred times.

Lizzie froze. Her heart thudded.

The woman paused too, eyebrows lifting as she took Lizzie in.

“Ohhh,” she said, dragging out the syllable like she was amused. “You’re not Postmates.”

Lizzie crossed her arms, subtly adjusting the hoodie sleeves. “No. Who are you?”

The woman raised her sunglasses to her head, revealing familiar eyes. “I’m Chloe. Y/N’s cousin.”

Lizzie blinked.

Chloe.

The name clicked.

The one from the photo.

Oh.

Lizzie’s shoulders relaxed a little. Cousin.

Still, she couldn’t help the flicker of tension. “Sorry, I just… you came in kind of fast.”

Chloe gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I’ve had a key since before she got famous. Didn’t realize she had company, or I’d have knocked.”

Lizzie gave a tight, polite smile. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect… anyone.”

Chloe wandered in like she owned the place, her movements easy, familiar. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, looking at Lizzie with open curiosity. “So. Are you the girl who’s making my cousin smile like a stupid?”

Lizzie blinked, caught somewhere between defensive and bashful. “I—um. I don’t know. Maybe?”

Chloe grinned, clearly entertained. “That’s not a no.”

Lizzie exhaled, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug in her hand. “You’re very… direct.”

“Yup,” Chloe said without apology, cracking open the water and taking a sip. “Family trait. Especially when Y/N gets all weird and dreamy over someone and refuses to give details.”

That made Lizzie perk up. “Wait—she talks about me?”

Chloe tilted her head, smirking. “She doesn’t shut up. But in like, a tragically subtle way. You kind of have to read between the lyrics.”

Lizzie flushed again. “So she’s written about me?”

“God, yes. Green eyes? Quiet bravery?” Chloe leaned forward, one brow raised. “Dead giveaway.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to answer, but the truth caught in her throat—because she knew the lyrics Chloe was talking about. She’d played them on repeat more than once.

Chloe noticed the flicker of emotion on Lizzie’s face and her teasing expression softened.

“Hey… I should probably say this before we go any further.” She shifted her weight, suddenly a little less casual. “I’m sorry about the paparazzi mess. That photo? It blew up way bigger than it was ever supposed to.”

Lizzie blinked, startled by the unexpected apology. “You mean the one of you and Y/N?”

Chloe nodded, wincing a little. “Yeah. I had just gotten out from the wrong entrance and the paps surrounded us immediately. Y/N stepped in, did the whole human shield thing. Classic protector mode. But the angle, the lighting, the timing... it looked like we were on a damn date.”

Lizzie gave a small, understanding laugh, though her voice was still tight. “And the internet went wild.”

“Didn’t help that Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She was trying to keep your name out of the fire, not knowing it’d burn this way instead.”

Lizzie looked down, the memory of those two days — the ache in her chest, the doubt she hadn’t wanted to admit — still sharp around the edges. “I thought it was real. The photo.”

Chloe stepped closer, her tone quieter, more careful now. “I get it. It looked convincing. Hell, if I didn’t know me, I might’ve thought it too. But I swear, there’s nothing between us but childhood trauma and an unhealthy love of spicy ramen.”

Lizzie let out a soft laugh despite herself, the tension loosening a little more. Chloe smiled, then reached for a stool at the kitchen island and plopped down like she’d always belonged there.

“You know,” Chloe added casually, “this reminds me of the time Y/N and her twin tried to sneak out past curfew and ended up locked out in nothing but boxers and mismatched hoodies. It was like watching two feral raccoons fight over a stolen pizza.”

Lizzie blinked. “Wait. Twin?”

Chloe grinned, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Oh my god. She didn’t tell you?”

Before Lizzie could respond, the front door opened, and Y/N walked in with a tote bag slung over her shoulder and a confused frown already forming.

She froze the second she saw them—Lizzie still wrapped in her hoodie, perched on the arm of the couch, and Chloe mid-story, laughing with her mouth full of coffee she definitely hadn’t asked permission to make.

Y/N’s voice came sharp and incredulous. “Chloe.”

Chloe didn’t even flinch. “Y/N.”

“You still have a key?”

“I always have a key.”

Y/N put a hand on her hip. “We talked about this. You can’t just show up like this.”

Chloe sipped her coffee, unimpressed. “You say that every time. Never change the locks though.”

Y/N turned to Lizzie with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. She’s like a stray cat. You feed her once and she assumes the place is hers.”

But Lizzie was smiling now, clearly amused. “You didn’t tell me you have a twin brother.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t?”

Lizzie shook her head, teasing. “Nope. Kind of big info to skip.”

Y/N groaned and shot a look at Chloe. “You told her that story?”

Chloe beamed. “Only the highlights. Don’t worry, I left out the part where your boxers had ducks on them.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Chloe winked, then hopped off the stool and made her way to the door. “Alright, lovebirds. I’ll leave you to your cohabitating. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t—wait, never mind, that list is too short.”

She opened the door and stepped out, calling over her shoulder, “Call me when you’re ready to admit I’m the fun cousin!”

Y/N sighed as the door clicked shut and turned back to Lizzie, who was clearly holding back laughter.

“I really am sorry,” she said, flopping down beside her. “She’s a menace.”

Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling. “She’s kind of great. But I like you better.”

Y/N smiled, wrapping an arm around her. “Good. Because I’m keeping you.”

"So...Why were you and your brother only wearing hoodies and boxers?" Lizzie asks with a playful smile.

Y/N groaned as she leaned back against the couch, covering her face with one hand. “I can’t believe she told you that story.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “And why were you and your brother only in hoodies and boxers?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she settled back into the couch. “Okay, here’s the thing. We thought we were being sosneaky. Tried to sneak out past curfew by climbing over the neighbor’s fence.”

Lizzie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Uh-oh.”

Y/N groaned again, biting her lip to stop from laughing. “Yeah, well… turns out the neighbors had an alarm system. It went off as soon as we started climbing.”

Lizzie giggled. “Oh no!”

“Exactly. We panicked, tried to hide, but my pants got caught on the fence and ripped as I fell.”

Lizzie covered her mouth, trying to hold back a laugh.

“And that’s how our parents found us—me with my pants ripped off, standing there in my duck boxers, and Jay, my brother, trying to pull me away like I was some kind of escaped convict.”

Lizzie burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Do you still have the duck boxers?”

Y/N peeked at her through her fingers, clearly suffering. “Why would you ask me that?”

Lizzie grinned, smug now. “Because I need to know what I’m working with here.”

Y/N dropped her hand with a dramatic sigh. “First of all, they were comfy. Second, I was sixteen. And third… maybe.”

Lizzie gasped. “You do!”

Y/N tried to play it cool, but her ears were pink. “They’re in a drawer somewhere. For emergencies.”

“What kind of emergency requires duck boxers?” Lizzie teased, nudging her.

“The kind where I want to remind myself never to let Chloe live here again.”

Lizzie laughed, the sound bright and free, and she curled closer into Y/N’s side. “Well, if I ever see them, I expect a full fashion show.”

Y/N looked down at her, faux-serious. “Only if you’re wearing that hoodie again.”

Lizzie smirked. “Deal.”

They sat there like that for a while, tangled up in teasing and warmth — and for once, nothing felt rushed.

---

[hapuchika]

Mommy Wanda restraining you to the bed until you can barely move an inch and positioning a fucking machine between your spread thighs, setting the speed to random while she sits on your face ♡

You'd moan and whine, sucking her clit and sloppily eating her out while she grinds her hips further into your mouth, the thick dildo on the fucking machine making you desperate.

Sometimes, it goes rough and fast while you moan and gasp for air. Other times, it moves painfully slow, moving in and out of your slick pussy while you try and make Wanda cum.

Wanda fucking loves it. She loves how your hips try and thrust into the dildo while your tongue movements become erratic. She moves her fingers quickly over your protruding clit at times, making you gasp and whine into her.

"Keep going, baby. Make Mommy proud."

"If you do a good job, maybe Mommy will let you cum. You want that? Oh, yes you do. Keep sucking, slut."

"Oh, fuck. Yes, darling keep going... awww, look at you. All desperate while Mommy cums all over your face. Keep going."

[hapuchika]

she’s leaning back against the kitchen counter and i’m standing in front of her, kinda leaning over her, my hands gripping the counter on either side of her. she’s got her arms around my neck, her hands in my hair. she leans up to kiss me and kinda pulls me down towards her. i wrap my arms around her waist and lift her on to the counter so we’re closer to the same height now. my hands are on her waist and then her hips, her skirt riding up around her thighs a bit from moving against the counter. i kiss down her jaw to her neck and when i bite her, she lets out a little gasp. i kiss the spot and start to pull back, but she holds me in place and whispers in my ear that she wants me to take her panties off. i smirk at her and kiss her once more before crouching down until i’m able to pull at the material with my teeth a little. she whimpers when i press my tongue against the fabric, right over her clit. i kiss the wet spot before reaching for the waist band. i hear her sigh with relief as she lifts her ass off the counter and i finally slide her panties down. i’m standing between her parted knees, my fingers gripping the insides of her thighs, while we kiss a bit longer. until i feel her start to lean back a bit, urging me to move my mouth back down to where she needs it most. we lock eyes one last time, before her head is falling back and i’m sucking her clit between my lips. her hands in my hair again, holding me in place, as she grinds herself against my tongue

THIS IS A POST FROM A LESBIAN NSFT BLOG. CISHET MEN AND MINORS DNI.

[hapuchika]

Whispers of the Dead - Part 2

Warnings: None really, some angst, little jealousy.

A/N: I was surprised by how many people enjoyed the story. Here's the second and final part. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

The moment Wanda regained consciousness, she felt her heart ache. Sometime during last night, she must have passed out in your arms in front of the painting. You must have picked her up and carried her to your bed.

She could feel the warmth next to her, your warmth. Unlike before, Wanda didn’t hesitate to nuzzle into you. She needed your warmth- she craved it.

She melted further into you when she felt your arm wrap around her and pull her closer.

“Rest, sweetheart. You’ve earned it,” you said gently.

Wanda simply squeezed you tighter. She raised her head, red-rimmed eyes meeting ever-gentle soft ones.

Fresh tears made their way down Wanda’s face. It wasn’t simply grief. No. It was release. The pain. The sorrow. They wanted to be heard. They needed to be felt.

You simply caressed her cheek, wiping the tears with your thumbs. Wanda crumbled, falling back into your arms. 

X—X—X—X—X

When Wanda woke up for the second time, she was initially scared you’d gotten up and left. These thoughts were immediately resolved when she felt you breathing underneath her, making her realise the position she was in.

Her entire body was on top of yours, limbs intertwined with yours. Your one hand was on her head, gently caressing her.

Wanda looked up at you, a slight flush in her cheeks as she felt your breasts underneath her. You held a book in one hand, looking at her with those adoring eyes.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hi.” Wanda croaked, throat parched.

Wanda briefly thought of feeling self-conscious; her hair must have been a nest by now, she had been sleeping for what felt like weeks, and she most definitely had morning breath.

Yet none of those thoughts bothered her. She knew, in your arms, none of that mattered.

Wanda slowly rose, limbs aching. She stretched a little as she sat back.

A little squeak made her open her eyes. She looked at you as you blushed furiously, eyes darting from one place to another.

The witch’s eyes widened as she realised she was straddling your waist, wearing last night’s PJS, an oversized t-shirt and underwear.

An idea formed in Wanda’s mind as she smirked. She spread her legs a little wider, truly settling down on you, and stretched her hands upwards, effectively exposing her underwear and abdomen.

It took all she had in her to avoid giggling at the expression you made, avoiding looking down, yet unable to stop yourself.

“You okay down there, detka?” Wanda asked with as much innocence she could muster.

You nodded your head vigorously, multiple forms of confirmation left your lips.

Unable to help herself, Wanda bent down. Hands on either side of your head.

Your eyes widened and darted between Wanda’s eyes and lips as she got closer. 

The witch whispered in your ear, “You’re adorable, detka,” and kissed your nose before getting off.

She mentally danced at the sound you let out, showing just how affected you were.

X—X—X—X—X

“So.. did you two do it?” Nat asked

Wanda shook her head; she wasn’t really in the mood to talk about what happened two nights ago. Her chest had stopped hurting; it just felt hollow. She wasn’t numb, not by a long shot. But she wasn’t spontaneously crying either.

Natasha sighed, her legs swinging as she sat on the counter. She had decided to give Wanda some company, given that Wanda was cooking brunch.

“You’ll get a chance tonight at the party. Better take it before somebody else does.” Nat stated offhandedly.

Wanda froze, her deathgrip on the ladle causing Natasha to let out a soft giggle.

“So where’s your girl now?” Nat asks, sneaking a few chocolate chips before Wanda could catch her.

“She said she’s going for a workout,” Wanda said simply, wondering the same thing.

Nat frowned, “Are the hundred state-of-the-art gyms in the compound not good enough?”

Wanda shrugs again, slapping Nats' hand when she goes to get more chocolate chips. The spy simply waits for Wanda to turn around before taking a fistful of chocolate chips.

Wanda sighs. Once the pancakes are done, she asks FRIDAY to call whoever is at the compound right now.

Sam and Tony enter, followed by Bucky, Steve, Bruce, and Clint.

“So.. where’s the newbie?” Sam asks, inhaling the pancakes in front of him.

Before Wanda could answer, you burst into the kitchen wearing your standard Scarlet Witch hoodie and Winter Soldier sweatpants.

“Hi, I’m here!” you say breathlessly, unaware of the attention you're drawing. When you stand straight, your eyes widen as you look at the people in front of you.

Wanda was the first to get up, much to Natasha’s delight. She ushered you to sit down right beside her.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sam,” said the pancake inhaling machine.

You grin at him, “It’s delightful to meet you, Sam. And Clint, and Bruce, and James.”

Clint looks at you in confusion for a moment before Nat pokes him in the ribs and gestures to your Scarlet Witch hoodie. He nods in understanding. A fan.

“So what’s your name?” Bruce asks.

“Oh right, I’m Hades,” you say as you add an unholy amount of syrup to your pancakes.

Bucky and Bruce frown at you.

“Like the god of the dead?” Bucky asks.

“Underworld, actually,” you say as you add every topping available on the table. “But I’m not actually the god of the underworld. I wasn’t really given a name, so I chose this one. It suited me with my abilities. Speaking of, can you pass me the red thing?”

Bucky hands you the plate of bacon bits with a slightly confused face.

“So what can you ac-“

“How about we save getting to know her for tonight’s party.” Steve interrupted.

“Oh right,” Tony comments, “The dress code wi-“

“Oh my god, this is amazing, " you exclaim, having taken the first bite of your pancakes.

Wanda blushes under your raving, wordlessly adding more pancakes to your plate as you finish the first portion in record time.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you say, “What’s it called?”

Wanda frowns, “Have you never had pancakes, detka?”

You shake your head, “I haven’t exactly eaten a lot or a large variety throughout my life. I was pretty much just eating whatever I could find on the streets up till a few weeks ago before I joined.”

There was a momentary beat of silence as everyone digested what you said, until everybody moved simultaneously. It was comical, yet endearing, how quickly everybody began filling your plate with piles of pancakes with different combinations.

You looked at them with wide eyes as everybody started making a list of different cuisines for you to try.

“This won’t do,” Tony said, shaking his head. “FRIDAY, ask the caterers to add Mexican to tonight’s food menu.”

“Indian, too,” Bruce added, smiling at the enthusiastic nod Tony gave him.

“Actually,” you said gently, “I was wondering if I could try some authentic Sokovian food?”

Wanda felt her face burn at the dozen eyes that snapped to her, expressions of understanding and mischief took over the group.

“You know what, I think witchy here should be the one to make it for you then,” Natasha said with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, her food is delicious.” Clint chimed in.

A chorus of encouragement was heard from the group, even Bucky added a ‘it’s pretty tasty’.

Wanda turned to look at you and nearly melted into her chair at the look you gave her; a shy, adoring little smile.

“I’ll see what I can make up.”

A round of cheers was heard around the table.

“I can’t wait to have some of your famous paprikash,” Sam says.

Wanda tilts her head at him, “Who says you’re getting any, Wilson?” she teases.

Once brunch was done and cleaned up, everyone began to leave to go about their days.

Wanda watched Natasha approach you as you cleaned the dishes and talked to you. She strained her ears, attempting to listen to your conversation with the spy, trying to look as nonchalant as possible while she pretended to listen to whatever Sam was saying.

She frowned a little as you froze and spun to Nat, a look of panic across your face, before Natasha said something that calmed you down.

When you began to leave, Wanda got up, steeling her nerves as she approached you.

“Hades?” Wanda called out.

You turned to her, smiling as she approached you.

“I wanted to ask you something…” Wanda said, her heart beating faster as she tried to steel herself.

You looked at her expectantly, continuing to walk.

“I- uh… I was wondering..” Wanda began nervously.

“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the party tonight?”

“As my date.” Wanda clarified.

The look you gave Wanda had her hopes plummeting.

“Actually, I.. Uh.. I had asked Tony if I could bring a plus one.” You said softly.

Wanda gave you her fakest, real comforting smile.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have realised. Anyway, I’ll see you later at the party. Bye, Hades.”

“Wanda wai-“

Wanda was out of earshot before you could finish.

X—X—X—X—X

“I just didn’t know she was seeing someone,” Wanda said, nursing her second martini of the night.

The party had started less than an hour ago. Natasha, having gone to the other side of the bar, decided to give Wanda an extra-strong Martini.

“You don’t know that,” Maria said reassuringly, “All she said was plus one, right?”

Wanda nodded miserably, “I just- she never mentioned having a girlfriend.. or anything about her life outside the compound.”

“Well, you’ll get a chance to ask her tonight because she has just arrived with her ‘plus one’,” Natasha said, looking at the entrance.

Wanda whipped around to see you, only to have the breath leave her. You were wearing a stunning burgundy suit, the colour of which perfectly matched Wanda’s dress.

“I take it this was your doing?” Maria asked her girlfriend.

Natasha simply replied with a noncommittal shrug.

“The girl didn’t have anything to wear except Avengers merch. I mean, seriously. Who buys so many Captain America caps?”

Maria snorted.

“Though I will say,” Natasha said slowly, “I am curious to see her wear those black widow mini shorts of hers.”

Maria rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to you. Her eyebrows shot up as your date entered the room.

“Damn.”

Wanda had to agree, your date was just… damn. She was wearing a dark green vest with a white shirt unbuttoned too much to be appropriate. The woman had green eyeshadow that popped under her dark brown hair. She seemed to have this dangerous aura to her. The crowd automatically parted as the two of you made your way to the women at the bar.

Your eyes never left Wanda, ignoring everybody who was in your way. When you arrived, you simply stared at her, ignoring Maria and Natasha entirely.

“Wanda.. you look.. breathtaking, " you said, unable to take your eyes off the witch.

Wanda, equally affected, said nothing. Her gaze stuck to you. The tension between the two of you was undeniable. She could taste it.

The sound of Natasha clearing her throat broke the moment. You blinked rapidly, looking embarrassed.

“You look nice,” Natasha comments.

You grin, “Thank you, I had help.”

Natasha hums noncommittally before moving her gaze to your date.

“Oh, right, everyone. I’d like you to meet my.. um.. date. Rio Vidal.” You say almost embarrassed.

Rio simply raises her eyebrow in greeting.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rio,” Natasha greets pleasantly, “What would you like to drink?”

Rio simply shrugs, “Whatever is your most expensive bottle of whiskey.”

Natasha takes action. Rio looks at Wanda, completely ignoring Maria.

You clear your throat nervously, causing both women to look at you.

“Right, so. Rio, this is Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch. Wanda, this is Rio Vidal; the- uh.. the Green Witch.”

Wanda tilts her head at Rio, who matches her gaze.

“So you’re a witch, huh?” Wanda challenges.

Rio snorts, “I am the witch, kiddo.”

Wanda’s nostrils flare as an irritation flashes across her face. Her expression falters when she feels your hand touch hers.

“Wands… I was wondering if you could spend some time with Rio, today?” you ask nervously.

Wanda frowns, “Bu-“

“Please?” you ask, “for me?”

Wanda simply nods. For you.

“So..” Maria says finally, nursing her drink in her hand, all too amused at the interaction. “How do you two know each other?”

You look at Maria before grinning. Wanda can tell you’re nervous about something.

“We grew up together, actually,” you say, sitting next to Maria, leaving Rio and Wanda to fend for themselves.

“So you’re the one Hades can’t shut up about, huh?” Rio says, leaning against the counter with a glass of whiskey in her hand and the bottle on the counter beside her.

Wanda frowned. “Hades spoke to you about me?”

Rio lets out a laugh, “You’re the whole reason I’m here, Wanda.”

Wanda wasn’t sure what it was about Rio, but there was something incredibly unsettling. It was as though there was something Rio knew that Wanda didn’t.

“What does that mean?” Wanda asked, downing her drink in one go.

“That doesn’t matter.” Rio dismisses.

“Right… So you and Hades are childhood friends, huh?” Wanda says, using all her patience to make conversation with the very vexing being in front of her.

“Ohh yeah,” Rio drawls. “We go way back. Even dated for a bit.”

Wanda has to physically refrain from throttling the woman in front of her. A fact Rio was well aware of, given her smirk.

She has to calm down. You asked her this. With everything you did for Wanda, the least she could do is get along with your date.

Wanda takes a deep breath and relaxes her body. She can do this. When Rio’s smirk widens, Wanda is forced to use every single thing Natasha has taught her about body language to stop herself from smacking Rio.

Rio swirls her third glass of whiskey.

“She’s not easy to care for, you know. She has too much heart. She carries the burden of all her.. ghosts.”

Wanda narrows her eyes. Just how much did Rio know about your powers?

“You sure you can handle her? I don’t know how much you know about her. Frankly, I don’t care. But do you think you could handle it? Being with someone who remembers every soul, every past, every loss? Do you know what it’s like?”

Wanda feels her heart clench at the thought.

“I don’t.” She says, “But I know what it's like to be left behind. To be the only person remaining as everyone leaves.”

Something flickers across Rio’s face.

“She’s not what she seems.” Rio warns, “Everybody sees the smiles. The jokes. Everybody wants what she gives. Comfort, advice, safe passage. But one look under the veil and poof. too much. gone.”

Wanda doesn’t hesitate. “I’m not running. She doesn’t scare me. She never has. She could be literal death, and it wouldn’t change how I feel about her.”

Rio snorts at that, downing her glass.

“I have to say, you’re holding yourself pretty well for someone who just watched their whatever show up with her ex.”

Wanda gives Rio a tight smile, “It’s not a competition. I know what I feel for her is real. I feel it in my soul. There’s no need for me to be threatened because at the end of the day, it’s Hades. I know her.”

“Do you?” Rio asks, leaning closer. “Do you really? Has she told you about who she really is? What she really is? She’s keeping a lot from you, you know.”

“I know. I don’t care.” Wanda says firmly, “She’ll tell me when she’s ready. I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes.”

Rio leans in closer, her eyes darkening.

“Would you, though? Would you wait for years? How about a hundred? A thousand? What about when the dust settles on this measly planet? When your sun burns out and your stars fade. Would you wait till then?”

Wanda looks at you talking to Natasha and Maria. The way your eyes twinkle when you make a joke. The way you laugh. Every little snicker at something you found funny. And when your eyes met hers, like they always eventually do. She knew. She knew deep in her bones. There would never be anyone else.

“I will.”

Rio stared at Wanda for a heartbeat. Her gaze seemed to bore into Wanda’s soul. 

Having seemed to find what she was looking for, she rested her glass on the counter, grabbing the bottle of whiskey instead. She smirked at Wanda and stood back up.

“Let’s hope you’re worth what she’s risking. I’ll see you on the final night, when the dark prevails.”

Rio steps closer to Wanda, resting a hand gently on the witch’s shoulder.. Her gaze softens as she looks at you. 

“Hold her close, Wanda Maximoff. She needs it more than either of you know.”

Wanda simply nods. She watches Rio swagger to you, lightly touching your shoulder. You look at Rio with hopeful eyes. Rio simply gave you a short nod before you squeal and hug her tightly. Rio rolls her eyes and pats your back. When you two break apart, Rio looks at Wanda one last time, giving her a curt nod before walking into the crowd. Wanda tries to find Rio in the crowd, it seemed like the woman just vanish into thin air.

X—X—X—X—X

The rest of the party is a blur. Wanda sits next to you as you talk to the others. A hand on her knee or some part of her at all times. But something was different. There was a slight, faraway look in your eyes.

When the party came to a conclusion, you and Wanda headed back to the compound together. The air felt thick and suffocating with words unsaid. Wanda had no idea on how to resolve it.

So lost in her thoughts, the witch didn’t notice you calling her. By the third try, she finally heard you.

You looked at her, eyes filled with vulnerability.

“Wanda..” you began, “I… I was wondering… if you’d do me the honour of going on a date with me?”

The witch felt her heart flutter; she wanted to say yes. She really did. But she was scared. She didn’t want you to ask her because you felt bad about today. She wanted you to ask her because you wanted her.

Hades… I-I don’t want you to feel like you have to ask me just because you said no today. I’d love nothing more than to say yes… but only if you want this. I promise. I can wait, detka.

You shook your head.

“I- I know how I feel, Wanda. I lo- I’d love it if you’d accompany me to a ball a week from now?”

Wanda looked deep into your eyes, searching for any signs of hesitancy or regret. She found none.

“Are you sure?” Wanda asked.

You nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

Wanda smiled, “Then yes.”

She giggled at the way you jumped, pumping your hands in the air. You stood back, attempting to retain a modicum of decency.

“Oh, and Hades?” Wanda said as they reached your door.

“Hm?” you said, looking at her.

“You looked breathtaking, too.” She said softly.

Wanda giggled to herself as she walked away, the sound of you spluttering and trying to figure out what to say.

She couldn’t wait for the date.

X—X—X—X—X

The week building up to your date was horrible. Wanda barely saw you the entire time. She knew you weren’t avoiding her, but anytime she asked you where you kept on going, you’d give her a gentle smile and tell her it was for the date. 

Her concern skyrocketed on the days she saw you covered in scars and gashes that had a slight dark mist emanating from them. She was excited for the date, sure. But she never wanted you to hurt—not for her, not for anything—no matter how invincible you seemed.

The night before the big day, she found a letter that had been slipped under the door.

Hello Wanda,

I know the past week hasn’t been the easiest. I have not ignored the concern or frustration you experienced. I know it may seem as though I am pulling away. I know you have questions.

I promise you this, Wands. Everything will be clear tomorrow night. I don’t say this to build suspense, but because it would be impossible to explain everything on a piece of paper. Many have tried. They all failed.

Tomorrow night will be our date, a night to remember. You and I shall be going to a ball, one I have organised myself. Due to certain reasons, I will not be able to take you; you shall have to find your way there yourself. But I promise, I will be waiting.

Be well, Witchy.

Regards,

Hades <3

X—X—X—X—X

Wanda was close to freezing. The place you had chosen was a mansion, an hour's drive from the compound. The place was overlooking the ocean. It was late in the afternoon, perhaps an hour or so from sunset.

Despite being the middle of summer, Wanda felt goosebumps on her skin the moment she entered the property. There wasn’t a living soul as far as she could see. As she approached the gate of the mansion, she expected to see you there. However, the moment she raised her hand to knock, the door opened by itself.

She would have felt creeped out. She had every right to. But she knew you were there. She could feel you.

She stepped in and felt the temperature drop even further. It felt similar to when you used your powers on that one mission. Her breath fogged; there was something in the atmosphere. Her powers felt sharper, somehow.

She felt a pull to the stairs, one she followed. She climbed, each step felt as though she was wading through water. Her powers felt as though they were being stimulated; sparks of red could be seen from her dress and hands.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she was met with an enormous door. She knew instinctively that you were behind it.

Before she could push it open, it opened on its own. Revealed to her was a gorgeous ballroom, instead of the usual cream, gold, red theme, this one was dark. Similar to your bedroom, the walls were a dark green, accents of black around the walls. There was an empty long table in the corner, a grand piano graced a corner of the room, and a few couches were scattered along the walls. In front of her was the door to a balcony, giant windows giving her a view of the ocean and the sun slowly meeting the horizon.

Wanda looked around the room, stilling when she saw a figure she was all too familiar with. A woman with dark hair wearing a cloak similar to yours, except hers was the deepest green she had ever seen. Rio.

Wanda approached the woman, Rio’s eyes on her the entire time. The green witch let out a low whistle as she took in Wanda’s attire.

“Nice dress, Red,” Rio said.

Wanda gave the woman a tight smile. Frowning when Rio stood up with a sigh, walking towards Wanda. She tried not to step back when Rio got into her personal space.

“You know,” Rio said lowly, “I have known Hades forever.”

Wanda nods, “I know, the two of you grew up together.”

Rio gives her a humourless chuckle.

“No, Wanda. I have known Hades forever. The beginning of time. Before creation. Before the gods. Before the fall. All of it. I have seen her watch universes rise and realities crumble. I have watched her bring celestials to their knees with a mere mention of her name. And you know what, Wanda? Not once, in all those aeons, has she bowed her head, begged. Not for the creator. Not for the gods or titans. Not even for me… Until you. 

You aren’t the first Scarlet Witch to be forged. There have been countless before you. There will be countless more. So tell me, Wanda. What makes you so special? Why would Hades go so far for you?”

The air was filled with a suffocating silence. Wanda said nothing. What was there to say? She had suspected. But this? She could never have imagined this. 

To her surprise, she felt nothing change. Her heart remained steadfast. She knew you, even if she didn’t. She knew your being. Wanda may not have spent an eternity with you, but she knew. She knew she’d burn the cosmos, give up her powers, raze reality to the ground to be with you. 

How a person she’d known for a little over a month could make her feel this way, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Somehow, it didn’t surprise her when she saw Rio’s true form. It made sense, if anything. Death. Eternal and unflinching.

She looked Death in the eye as Rio raised her arm, gesturing towards the balcony.

“She’s waiting for you.”

X—X—X—X—X

You looked celestial. There was no other way to describe it. Wanda watched you leaning onto the balcony, looking at the sunset. A view you had seen time and time again. A view you would outlive.

You turned towards Wanda as she approached. An adoring, gentle smile on your face that made everything worth it. It confirmed how Wanda felt.

“You came,” you said softly, raising a hand towards Wanda.

“I did,” Wanda said, smiling as she took your hand, stepping closer.

You hummed, looking back at the sunset. The sky a burning orange.

“So Rio told me a few things.” Wanda joked.

You chuckled.

“A big talker, that one,” you replied.

Wanda laughed, resting her shoulder against you. It was a beautiful sunset, but all she saw was you.

“She left out a couple of things, though.” Wanda continued. “She made it clear that she was death. Which- I mean, no surprise there.”

You let out a soft laugh, gently squeezing her hand.

“She didn’t, however, tell me what you were,” she said.

You gave a teasing smile, still not looking at Wanda.

“Hades.. What are you?” she said, cupping your face.

That made you look at her; the intensity of your gaze left her breathless. There was a deep green glow in your eyes as the final embers of the sun ran out.

“I’ve gone by many names, Wanda,” you said softly. “The guardian of the Quiet. Mistress of the Crossing. The Mourning Horizon. 

I am what separates life and death. 

I am the way to damnation and salvation. The stillness between the last breath and the first silence. 

I am the Duat. I am Erebus. I am the Bardo. The Mist. 

I am… the Veil.”

Wanda saw you—really saw you.

Not just the friend, not just the comforter, not even the warrior.

She saw the ancient, unknowable stillness that lived within you.

The part of you that was known by all but given to none.

And yet, instead of fear, she felt something settle.

Not a pit. Not an ache.

But contentment.

Something clicked—quiet and sure—inside her.

She cupped your face and placed a gentle kiss between your brows.

“Well then, Ms Veil,” she said softly, her face a hairs breadth from yours.

You chuckled, “Hades is fine, darling.”

Wanda smiled.

“Hades… I believe there was some talk of dancing?”

You leaned back, your eyes glowing a brilliant green. You smiled at her.

“That’s true, there was. And I will,” you said

“However..” 

A pause, your eyes seemed to glow even brighter. Your gaze flicked past her.

“I believe there’s someone who already reserved the first dance.”

Before Wanda could ask, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

She turned.

And her world stilled.

That frame.

That silver hair.

That teasing smirk.

“Pietro,” she breathed.

X—X—X—X—X

“Sestra,” Pietro said, taking Wanda’s hand and pulling her back into the hall.

Wanda gripped him, unable to comprehend.

He felt so real. So.. alive.

“How..”

Pietro smiled, holding her hand and resting one on her waist.

“That girlfriend of yours is pretty cool.” He said as he began to sway to the music.

Wanda’s eyes glistened. He was here. He was actually here.

“Piet.. I..” she whispered, tears falling. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry. I- I should have paid attention to Ultron. We neve-

Pietro shushed her.

“No tears, Wanda.” He says gently, swaying her. “Tonight is a gift. Lets enjoy it, huh?”

Wanda sobs, resting her head on her brother as they danced. Breathing him in.

Pietro simply holds her tight and continues to sway.

“Did.. did it hurt?” Wanda asks, scared of the answer.

Pietro thinks for a moment. 

“Only for a bit,” he replies, “She was there, you know. Your girlfriend, Hades. She helped me. She held me as I watched our home fall.”

“She told me how sometimes, when souls have something they need to do. Something so strong they can resist the passing. She helps them.

And she did, sestra.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I just knew I had to take care of you.

You know.. being your older brother,” he teased.

Wanda let out a watery chuckle as she smacked his chest.

“By thirteen minutes.”

He chuckled.

“Hades helped me. When I missed home too much, she painted it for me. For years, she stood, painting that mural of hers. She went as far as using a witch to make sure it went wherever she did.

And now, this.”

Wanda couldn’t help but fall for you even more.

“Enough about her,” Pietro says with a smile. “Tell me about you.”

And Wanda does, she tells him everything. The fall. Thanos. Vision. The Hex. 

By the time she’s done, two songs have passed.

Much to Wanda’s confusion, Pietro steps back.

Fear grips her heart as she holds on to Pietro.

“Don’t leave. Not yet. Please?” Wanda begs.

Pietro grins. “I’m not going anywhere yet. But there are a couple of people who want to meet you.

Wanda looks around for the first time to see that the ballroom was actually pretty full.

She couldn’t believe it. Everyone was here. Her parents. The woman who helped her and Pietro after the bomb. Everyone.

She spent hours talking. Healing.

“She’s something else, huh?” Her father tells her.

Wanda blushes and nods, a plate full of her favourite hometown dishes.

“You know, your mama and I were resting. It’s a beautiful place. We were waiting for you and Pietro. Then suddenly, your girlfriend bursts in, bleeding all over the place and dirtying your mother’s favourite carpet. She told us what happened. And asked us if we could come here for you.”

Wanda smiled, well, that explained your behaviour and state over the past week.

“Keep her, draga.” Wanda’s mother says gently.

The witch simply smiles. She catches sight of Pietro on the balcony, talking to you. The two of you looked like friends.

In her heart of hearts, she knew you were the one. The end. Her beginning.

She approached the two of you, but by the time she reached, you had vanished.

“Looking for someone?” Pietro asked gently.

Wanda rolls her eyes. “I was looking for Hades.”

“Bored of me already?” Pietro gasps mockingly, clutching his chest.

She slaps his shoulder gently, leaning against him and overlooking the sea. 

She knew instinctively that the sun would rise soon.

But this time.

She didn’t fear it.

“I will miss you, Piet,” she says sadly.

Pietro hums. “I know,” he replies cheekily.

She chuckles, nestling into her brother.

“I’ll miss you too, sestra,” he replies softly. “Take care of each other, yeah?”

Wanda nods, turning to see her brother.

Pietro grins, “You don’t look scared anymore.”

Wanda smiles.

“I’m not.”

Pietra chuckles, looking at her as the sky begins to brighten.

“I guess you’ve learned to be faster than fear.”

Wanda grinned.

“Goodbye, Piet.”

“Goodbye, Wanda.”

X—X—X—X—X

Wanda finds you walking around the buffet with a plate full of Sokovian food. 

She giggles when you two make eye contact, the way your cheeks are stuffed with food, yet you smile, eyes lighting up.

“How wa-“ Wanda cut you off with an embrace, breathing in your scent.

“Thank you, Hades,” she says.

She feels you hum, tightening your embrace and rubbing your back with one hand.

You set the plate aside and hold both of Wanda’s hands.

“So Ms. Wanda Maximoff,” you tease.

“I believe I owe you a dance.”

Wanda smirks, “I believe you, Ms… one of the thousands of names”

You laugh, a full, throw-your-head-back kind of laughter.

Your eyes sparkle as you ask her, “Want to do the honours?”

Wanda grins and snaps her fingers, the grand piano beginning a classical song neither of you cares to name in the moment.

You drag Wanda to the centre of the dance floor, gently placing your hand in hers, and begin to waltz slowly.

“Hades?”

You look at her, “Yes, Wanda?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, my Scarlet Witch.”

X--X--X--X--X

Taglist: @seventeen-x @miky40s

I really hope y'all enjoyed. Please let me know what you think!

[hapuchika]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☁︎︎༅

➜ Dark!Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader [Blurb]

TW: Breeding strap-on, breeding kink, degradation, mild dubious consent, mild degradation/humiliation, praise, brief nipple play.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

✵ ❧𖦹☙ ✵

Strong hands pinned your shoulders down on the bed, the scent of vanilla invading your nostrils. Heavy pants fanned over your cheek with every thrust Yelena gave you; pornographic wet sounds echoed throughout the bedroom.

“Yelena— Yelena, slow down—” you tried to protest, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes that begged for mercy. But of course, you found none.

A smirk tilted her lips from above you, and for just a brief moment she paused, her strap still buried deep into your cunt. “You want me to slow down, princess? That’s not what your pussy says. In fact,” Yelena paused, moving a hand away from your shoulder to part your slick folds.

Your cheeks flushed as she stuck her finger in between your folds with a careless swipe, before pulling it out and showing it to you with a cruel grin. A string of wetness connected Yelena’s fingertip to your desperate hole until she broke it.

“You’re drenched, love.” Without warning, the digit was pushed past your parted lips, your own juices violating your taste buds. Yelena resumed fucking you, every thrust of her strap-on hitting your sweet spot.

And when Yelena withdrew her fingers from her mouth to rub small circles on your swollen clit, a low moan escaped you against your will. “Yelena, please, I’m gonna cum,” you warned her with a broken voice, your hips chasing hers.

“Oh, you’re going to cum? You’ll cum like a dumb girl all over my cock?” Yelena mocked, the hand that wasn’t toying with your clit moving away from your shoulder to rest on your throat. It wasn’t enough to cause any pressure, but enough to warn you of your place. “I’m going to fill you up so good, baby.”

Pride had left you the moment you felt your peak starting to creep up, a coil in your stomach beginning to tighten. “Yes, yes I am, I’m gonna cum for you,” you whined, your walls clenching down on Yelena’s strap.

With one final thrust, Yelena’s cock hit your sensitive spot once again, spurting hot white ropes inside of you. Her guttural groans fanned against the shell of your ear as you let go, your release mixing with the cum slowly leaking out of you.

“My good breeding bitch,” Yelena crooned, pulling out of you and rolling over next to you, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close, your front against hers.

Soft lips met your own and you found yourself melting into it, the sensation of her tongue in your mouth with her cum dripping out of you almost too much to handle. Pebbles nipples brushed with your own.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll take care of you,” Yelena murmured, your eyes starting to droop as her head rested in the crook of your neck.

You could have swore you felt the tip of her strap began to tease your used hole, but exhaustion took over before you could protest.

[hapuchika]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ☁︎︎༅

-> Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader [Drabble]

TW: Manhandling, overstimulation, faux sympathy, mild degradation, praise, strap-on sex.

MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

✵❧𖦹☙✵

Hot breath tickled your ear as another orgasm washed over you, your legs trembling. The counter was cool against your cheek while you bent over. Agatha’s strap abused your sweet spot, sloppily pounding in and out.

Porngraphic moans echoed throughout the kitchen as she fucked you harder, and a low whine escaped your lips when a thumb started circling your clit. “Please, I can’t cum again, it’s too much,” you tried to beg.

“Yes you can, sweet girl,” Agatha cooed into your ear, her thumb pressing down on your slippery clit. A string of juices hung from your used cunt, dripping onto the tile floor. “Oh poor thing, your pussy is just begging for it, isn’t she?”

Your face flushed at the degradation. You could feel another orgasm approaching as Agatha applied more pressure to your throbbing button, and your pussy clenched around her strap.

“I can barely pull out, you’re gripping me so hard,” Agatha groaned into your ear, one of her hands leaving your forearm to firmly tug on your hair. “Are you going to make a mess again? Make another dirty mess on the floor for me?”

Humiliation pooled in your stomach as you nodded desperately, your hips bucking. “Yes, I’m going to make such a big mess for you,” you moaned as your peak hit you.

Agatha helped you ride out your orgasm with steady thrusts, never letting up with the soft touches on your clit. “There we go, such a good girl for me. I knew you’d cum again. You always do, bunny.”

[hapuchika]

Dommes!Wandanat x sub!reader blurb || SMUT

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked) you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

You weren’t a stranger to their touches or lingering eyes, in fact you knew when they were particularly fed up with your attitude or your whining. One day Natasha had come home from another one of her mission debriefs only to find you over Wanda’s lap on the couch. Wanda’s handprint evident on your skin as you whined into her thighs.

“Whine all you want malysh, but that mouth of yours is why your ass is red and there’s a cute little mess on my lap” the Sokovian all but growled as she lazily pumped her fingers in your pussy. A groan left your lips as she pulled her fingers out and circled your clit teasingly.

“What did the brat do now” Natasha chuckled amusedly as she set her meeting notes down and took a calculated seat beside Wanda. She gave Wanda a quick welcome kiss and leaned down to kiss your nose as you grumbled onto the outside of Wanda’s thigh. Her hand giving you a quick spank on your pussy, reprimanding you.

“Decided to take her frustration out on her astronomy project and quite literally became like some rabid raccoon. Go see the study” Wanda rolled her eyes as you tried to grind your hips onto Wanda’s now flat palm. Natasha raised her eyebrows in slight amusement at Wanda’s description before retreating to the study, humming in a tone that made you shiver. Yeah you deserved this punishment.

It wasn’t your fault. You had been cooped up in there for hours, trying to finish some project for college when Wanda came in asking if you needed help. She was your tipping point. The last thing you needed was her coddling you and so you took it out on your study. Papers were scattered across the hardwood floors, the scaled down model of some constellation was crushed and thrown messily into the bin. Worst of all? Wanda had just stared at you. All she asked was if you needed a break but no, you got all defensive, barked out a few regretful words and quite literally threw a tantrum. A tantrum that ended up over Wanda’s lap.

“Well, seems like we did have a feral stray visit the study” Natasha glared at you, slinking back down on the couch next to Wanda. “I was upset” you retorted bitterly, earning a firm chin grab from the Russian. “Watch your fucking tone pup” she narrowed her eye further as you held her gaze. “I understand you were upset, clearly by the state of that room, but you need to communicate that. Not crash out like goddamn toddler” she let go of your face when she caught the slightest shift behind your eyes.

You hated feeling like this. Hated how sometimes you didn’t know how to express yourself in these moments and they knew that. The only reason Wanda gave out the punishment was what you had said, not what you did. “Why is Mommy spanking you anyway kotenok, normally we’re able to settle your battles before they get too ugly” Natasha ran her nails through your hair as you sighed into the touch.

“I said some mean things” you mumbled but squeaked when Wanda landed another sharp spank to your now sore bottom. “Speak up zaya” she soothed the pain with two fingers once again slipping into you. “I said some mean things to Mommy” you whimpered as you tilted your head at an angle to look at Natasha. The redhead tilting her head and urging you to continue. “I told- I told Mommy I didn’t need her help all the time and she was being too controlling and that- and that she needed to back off” you stuttered and moaned your way through the confession as Wanda focused one had on your clit and the other scissoring you open shamelessly.

“That’s not the word you used dorogaya” she chuckled as a delicate hand tapped your clit as a warning. “Mphf- I told her- I told her she needed to fuck off- oh” you managed to moan out, hips chasing Wanda’s fingers as Natasha didn’t look the least impressed by your confession. “That mouth of yours I swear- maybe Mommy should just leave you high and dry. Seeing as your greedy little cunt is enjoying this” Natasha growled as she heard and saw your slick coat Wanda’s fingers.

Wanda hummed in amusement as she pulled her fingers out of your messy cunt, bringing them up to Natasha’s lips. The redhead taking them in her mouth instantly, sucking them clean. “I think it’s time for Daddy to have her fun too” Yeah, you were well and truly fucked for the night.

[hapuchika]

Hungry Hotties

Summary: Her entire life as a vampire, Reader has successfully drank animal blood to sustain herself. What happens when her body craves the blood of a particular witch?

Warnings: Blood (it's a vampire fic.. there's gonna be blood.), graphic violence, smut, angst/fluff, lil hurt/comfort, thigh riding, magic strap on, soul bond, all the vampire warning things.

Relationship: Wanda Maximoff x Vampire!Reader

A/N: this was an absolute brainrot fic that I wrote cause I was sleep deprived and horny.

Words: 8,925

Main Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

In all honesty, you could’ve been a lot nicer. You did need help after all. But you just had possibly the worst day of your “immortal” life.

Which led you to right now. Avengers Compound. The lounging room. With guns, repulsers, and… wiggly red fingers aimed at you.

“Wait, I come in peace!” You yelped, raising your hand and dropping the milkshake onto what is probably a pretty expensive rug.

“We just had that cleaned..” Black Widow mumbled to herself.

“You have five seconds. Explain.” Iron Man said, his repulsors charging up.

Your eyes widened as you looked at the repulsors on his hands “Wait, wait, five seconds is not nearly eno-“

“Three seconds.” He warned..

“I’m being hunted by the vampire hunter who killed all my family and friends, " you yelled, squeezing your eyes shut.

The silence and lack of pain implied either that you were atomised so quickly you didn’t even realise it.. or they didn’t shoot.

You braved to open one eye and were met with eyes filled with confusion, suspicion, and of course, Iron Man’s mask.

“You’re… a vampire?” Captain America asked hesitantly.

You nodded slowly, taking your time to lower your hands. You tensed at the feeling of someone’s consciousness against yours.

Your eyes flit to the Scarlet Witch, who was looking at you with a slight frown. You let out a soft sigh and lowered your mental barriers, allowing her to see.

-

Your mothers’ 803rd wedding anniversary.

All the guests and friends.

The sole man dressed in all black.

The burning. The horrific smell and screams.

Both your moms staring at you, apologising as they pushed you off the cliff.

Your scream as the Ebony Blade cuts them both in half.

-

You blinked away the tears as the memory faded, only to find equally watery eyes right in front of you.

“She’s telling the truth. She’s not dangerous.. to us.” Wanda said, with a slight hoarseness in her voice.

You felt her hand gently squeeze your knee.

” I’m so sorry, sweetie.” 

You don’t flinch at her voice in your head. It was the first nice thing anyone had said in the past seventy-two hours.

“This will be a fun dinner party.” You heard Tony’s voice, breaking the silence.

X—X—X—X—X

When Mr. Stark mentioned a dinner party, you should have expected this.

No, this was absolutely, one hundred per cent on you.

You stared at the tens of people in the hall. All of whom were either avengers or friends and family.

“Like the view, quackula?” Came Tony’s voice from behind.

You grimaced, “You do realise the last party I went to, everyone I love-loved ended up dead, right?”

Tony’s face fell.

“What..” He asked.

You frowned, “That dickbag hunter come to my moms’ wedding anniversary.”

He looked at you for a moment in disbelief before he turned around, muttering to himself.

“Goddamn witch and her silence treatment. FRIDAY, tell Happy to stop the guests from coming. Only Avengers. Yes. Ask them to come to the third-floor lounge.”

You looked at him, stunned, before calling out to him, “Wait. Mr. Stark- Mr. Stark?”

He was too far away for him to hear you, so you simply walked quickly and stood in front of him.

“Mr. Stark wa-“

“JESUS CHRIST, " he yelped, his eyes widening as he flinched backwards.

You frown, confused.

He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath.

“So I take it vampire speed is real.” He said, glaring at you.

You give him a sheepish nod. Honestly, being surrounded by vampires your whole life, you’d kind of forgotten humans can't do that.

“Also. Call me Tony.” He said as the two of you walked to the door. “Mr. Stark was my father. Plus, I’m sure you’re nearly as old as Sparkles.”

You give him a nervous laugh, “Actually, I-“

“Alright, here we go.” He interrupted, walking into the lounge.

You could feel yourself tense as you entered a room with fifteen or so people, all of whom stopped what they were doing to stare at you. Only to resume the conversations moments later.

You must have been standing at the entrance for too long because Wanda walked up to you and bumped her shoulder against yours.

“Hey.” She said softly.

You gave her an embarrassed smile. “Hi.” You say with equal softness.

“Is it too much?” She asked.

You simply shake your head, “I’m just.. It’s been a few days.. Yet somehow, it feels both like it just happened and that it happened decades ago.”

She gave you an understanding nod, “I know what that’s like. It… doesn’t really change with time.. at least not for me.”

“Hey, quackula,” you hear Tony call you from the bar. “Want a Bloody Mary?”

You and Wanda burst into giggles as you walk to the bar.

“Quackula?” Wanda asked as the two of you sat on stools.

You shrugged, pulling your jeans up a little, exposing your socks that were covered in ducklings.

The laugh Wanda let out at the sight practically had you melting.

You needed to hear that laugh. For the rest of your hopefully very long life.

You saw a plate of canapés nearby and let out an excited squeal. Wanda looked at you, amused, and tried to follow your line of sight.

Her eyes widened as you disappeared right in front of her with a gust of wind, appearing in front of the poor, frightened server.

“Oh my god, can I have some, please?” You asked him excitedly.

“Y-yes ma’am..” He said, his hands trembling.

Your smile fell when you saw his terrified expression.

“Are you okay? Your heart’s beating really fast.” You ask, taking a step towards him, freezing when he takes a few steps back.

“I-Yes. I’m so sorry. I..” He stammers before letting out a whisper. “Please don’t eat me.”

Before you could react, you felt Natasha casually slide up next to you.

“You doing okay, Gibby?” She asked.

The man visibly relaxed at the sight of her, nodding as he let out a deep exhale.

“Why don’t you head to the bar, Gib?” The spy said, taking the plate from him with practised ease. “You’ve earned a drink.”

He nodded all too eagerly and scampered off.

You stare at the space where he was standing moments ago, your eyes looking far away. You’re only brought back to the present when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Natasha looks at you with a gentle smile, the plate of Canapés in her hand.

“Want some?” She asks.

You take a deep breath in, not because you needed it, but because the simple act of breathing helped clear your mind.

You open your eyes and smile, nodding.

You grab one and are about to eat when you hear Sam Wilson’s voice.

“Wait, that has garlic.”

Natasha doesn’t move fast enough; you’ve already chomped down on a handful of them with a pleased expression.

Sam comes jogging up to you, ignoring the looks from strangers.

“Are you okay? That had garlic..” He said, concerned.

You look at him confused, “Yes..?”

He freezes for a second, “Is.. garlic not.. fatal?”

You tilt your head in confusion, “Like, am I allergic? No. I’m not really allergic to anything.”

“No, that’s not.. You know what, never mind.” He says, looking particularly embarrassed.

Natasha said nothing, watching the entire interaction with amusement.

The three of you continued to talk (you, in particular, asking about the Avengers) until Wanda joined the conversation.

“You forgot this,” Wanda said, holding a glass filled with a Bloody Mary.

You snickered, taking the drink into your hand and were about to take a sip when you noticed the three of them very obviously staring at you, or rather, your mouth.

Self-conscious, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“What?” You asked, eyes darting between the three of them. “Do I have something on my mouth?”

They had the decency to look embarrassed.

“It’s not that, kravyshka,” Wanda said, her ears burning.

You glanced at Natasha, who was looking at Wanda with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk.

“We.. We were wondering if you had fangs… like in the movies.” Wanda finished, her face pink.

You giggled, finding a flustered Wanda an adorable Wanda.

It wasn’t soon that the four of you were pulled into a circle where the game of truth and dare started.

You giggled, “I didn’t know Avengers played high school party games.”

Many cracked smiles at that.

“Alright, Quackula. Truth or dare? This game is for us to get to know you and you us.”

You smiled, “Truth.”

A few cheers were heard. Even Wanda smiled. Tony grinned satisfactorily.

“Alright then. A question everyone is dying to know. Do you, or vampires in general, consume blood?”

You nod immediately, “Yes. But, not human. Well, not unless they’re your.. partner.”

Tony looked intrigued. “Explain?”

Your eyes flitted to Wanda’s curious ones.

Clearing your throat, you began. “Well.. you see, the thing is. We don’t really produce blood on our own. And we need it for.. actually, I’m not sure, cause it’s like some science and magic stuff, but basically we need blood to survive. But most of us use animal blood that’s delivered to us.”

You see some pouts and smile reassuringly,

“Don’t worry. These animals are having the time of their life. It’s like a blood donation from them. Enough that they don’t really feel it, but also we have plenty. As for human blood.. well, I’ve been told consuming human blood has.. Um.. strong effects for both vampire and human. Our venom kind of creates.. um..”

You were definitely blushing right now, one glance at Wanda told you that she knew exactly what you were talking about.

“It’s like vampires in kingdom of immortal lovers..” Natasha asked.

You looked at her, stunned.

“By Ruby Roe?” She clarified.

You nodded slowly, gulping.

“Um.. yeah. Something like that.”

While some nodded in understanding (based on their smirks), the rest were left more confused than when the game started.

You cleared your throat, “Okay, um.. my turn.”

Your gaze automatically flits to Wanda.

“Wanda, truth or dare?” You ask gently.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, the rest of the group collectively rolled their eyes and smirked at the scene.

“Truth.” She said, not breaking eye contact.

You gulped again, feeling your face heat up at a simple glance.

“Um.. Are- are you single?” You ask, face practically on fire.

Your embarrassment flares exponentially when the group begins to laugh and whistle at your question.

Wanda gives you a smirk as she nods, “Yep. I am not currently in a relationship.”

“Good to know.” You whisper, staring down at your now-empty plate of what used to have canapés.

The game continued, Wanda asking Sam, Sam daring Steve, Steve daring Tony, Tony asking Bruce, Bruce asking Natasha, Natasha daring Sam.

When Sam’s dare of giving the ex-winter soldier a lap dance ended, he sat back on the couch and looked at you with a smirk.

“Dare or dare?” He asked you.

You giggled, pretending to think.

“I guess dare?” You say teasingly.

“Fangs,” he said confidently. “Show ‘em.”

If you weren’t embarrassed before, you certainly were now. “I.. I can't.” You said.

Bruce frowned. “Do vampires not have fangs?”

You nodded, “They do... but um... they’re hard to control if you don’t have experience.”

“What do you mean by experience?” Steve asked in a polite tone.

“So the thing is, you have to be over three hundred to be able to control your fangs properly…”

Natasha leaned forward, intrigued. “How old are you, then?”

You smiled sweetly, “I turned twenty-six two months ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re a baby,” Tony said, shocked.

You snorted, “Technically, I’m a legal adult.”

“Barely,” Steve said, frowning.

“Okay, okay, but we still want to see the fangs,” Sam said, his smirk remaining the entire time.

You looked at him confused, “but.. I can't control them.”

“That’s okay, when do they come out naturally?” Bruce asked inquisitively.

“Oh, um, when things get intense, like anger, near-starvation, and um… yeah, that’s it”, you said, cutting yourself off.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“You sure that’s all?” She asked teasingly.

You nodded frantically, “Yep. That’s it. Starving and Angry.”

The spy hummed, her eyes twinkling.

“Wanda, Sam, come here for a second.” She says.

The two walk to her, intrigued. They huddle together before Wanda pauses for a second and turns to you.

You were innocently sipping your Bloody Mary (which annoyingly didn’t have blood or alcohol) when she called out to you.

“Detka, you wouldn’t happen to have super hearing, would you?” She asks sweetly.

You should probably have applied more sunblock to your face, considering how much it was heating up.

“Um.. maybe?” You say shyly.

“Hmm. Just to be safe, then.” She turns, linking Natasha and Sam telepathically to her.

They discussed for a moment before Wanda let out a chuckle, looking at you with a smirk.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you leaned towards Bucky, who was initially suspicious, but seemed to have changed his mind once you gave your age.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” You whispered to him.

He looked at you, huffing out a breath with a slight smirk. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough, kiddo.”

You sat back, pouting.

”Patience, detka. We’re almost done.”

Hearing Wanda’s voice in your head nearly made you jump. When you glanced at her, the look she gave you made your tummy flutter and something.. deeper inside you tingle.

The conversation was apparently over because the three nodded and sat back in their seats, except for Wanda, who began walking over to you.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Sam announced theatrically, “Who’s ready to potentially see vampire fangs?”

You frown, about to call out, but that’s when Wanda sits beside you.

“Detka,” she says softly. “I’d like to kiss your cheek and maybe your neck if that’s okay with you?”

You had to wait. You told yourself you had to wait long enough that you didn’t seem desperate. Given Wanda’s smirk at your frantic nodding, it didn’t work.

Your eyes flit nervously to the group, only to find all of them smirking and cupping their hands over their eyes.

All except for Natasha, who was smirking at you, arms folded over her chest.

“You ready?” Wanda asked softly.

“Yes, please.” You breathed.

“Good girl.” She said with a smile, leaning in and placing her lips gently on your cheek.

It was a good thing you were sitting because the mere feeling of Wanda’s lips on your skin sent a shockwave down your body, making your legs and most of your body feel like jelly.

She placed her hand on your thigh for balance as she proceeded to make her way down to your neck. The goosebumps that made their way across your skin left tingles in their wake.

When Wanda’s lips brushed against a particular spot on your neck, you inhaled sharply, chastising yourself since you didn’t even need to breathe.

Wanda seemed to appreciate the sound because her grip on your thigh tightened, and she bit that area lightly, making you gasp.

It was enough to make your insides clench and feel a sudden burst of pressure on your gums.

Wanda must have felt you tense because she pulled back, almost pulling a whine from you with her.

Her eyes flitted down to your open mouth, her gaze darkening as she let out a slow, breathy ’fuck’.

You stared at her, unaware of anything other than her. The sweet vanilla perfume. The thrumming of her pulse. The sound of her heartbeat made you dizzy. You could feel it. The hunger. Not just for blood. For Wanda.

The movement of Wanda’s lips brought you back to the present.

“..me? Detka?” She said softly.

You blinked a few times before returning your gaze to her.

“You okay?” She asked softly.

You tried to give a reassuring smile but winced when your fangs cut through your lower lip.

A whistle made you look around.

“Those babies are sharp”, Sam commented.

You licked the blood off your lower lip, the wounds healing within seconds.

“When will they retract?” Bucky asked, concerned.

You gestured ‘around five minutes’ with your hand.

You turned to Wanda and froze; her heated gaze was locked on your lower lip, where your tongue had been seconds ago.

You reached for Wanda’s hand, snapping her out of her daze and looking at you with a reassuring smile.

She sat beside you, making you hyper aware of every point of contact as the next round of the game continued.

Eventually, you took out your phone and began scrolling through the food delivery app.

“Hey, Mr. St- Um, Tony. What should I put in for this place's address? I need to order food.��� You said.

Tony frowned, “We have a fully stocked pantry here, why- oh.”

You nodded, “Yep.” You said, popping the P.

“Wait, you can order blood from your phone?” Steve asked, intrigued.

You nodded, “Yeah, there’s an app for it.”

“What’s it called? The app?” He asked.

“Uh.. Uber Eats..” You said, confused.

“They give blood??” Sam asked, laughing.

You nodded sheepishly, thanking Tony when he gave you the address.

When the blood arrived, you were grateful nobody was staring at you directly, even though you knew everyone’s attention was on you.

The blood had been delivered in a flask, and you were currently making a proper Bloody Mary.

You had made two glasses worth and were walking back to the couch. Wanda smiled at you as you sat down and eyed the two glasses with intrigue.

“You wanna try?” You offered the first glass.

She hesitated before nodding.

“What should I expect? What kind of.. blood is in it? What does it taste like?” She asked, looking at you nervously.

“It won’t taste bad.” You promised, “I asked for pig’s blood from one that had been fed honey-based treats. So the blood itself should be sweet. Although you shouldn’t be able to really taste the blood since your palate isn’t built for it.”

Wanda nodded, breathing deeply and then took a sip.

You looked around to see that the small group was staring at Wanda, waiting for a reaction.

The witch’s eyebrows shot up, and she gulped.

“Well..? How was it?” Natasha asked.

“It was.. sweet.” Wanda said, “Like.. It just tasted like a slightly sweeter Bloody Mary.”

She turned to you, eyes wide. “Wait, does this mean I could be turning into a vampire?”

You giggled, shaking your head. 

“No, Wanda. It just means I’m an amazing mixologist.”

Wanda gave you a shy smile and nodded, “Right.”

“Okay. Witchy is alive.” Tony declared, then eyed the drink. “Hand it over. I want to have a go.”

It was a good thing you made a spare because it turned out that everybody wanted to try the vampire diet.

When the glass was returned to you, it was almost empty, and you hadn’t even begun. There was a strange hunger in you that you didn’t want to risk expanding.

You took a sip and hummed at the rich flavour that exploded on your tongue only for it to dissapate fairly quickly.

You frowned, finished the drink and drank the second glass. The hunger wasn’t abated.

“Is something wrong?” Wanda asked.

“I’m.. not sure. I think so?” You said hesitantly, downing the second drink too.

“What is it, detka?” Wanda asked, placing her hand on your thigh.

You tensed as the hunger intensified, the sound of Wanda’s pulse got louder, and her scent became stronger.

Oh.

X—X—X—X—X

It had been three weeks since the party. Three weeks of avoiding Wanda Maximoff. The moment you figured out that she was the source of your hunger, you stood up and said you had to head in for the night.

You had been consuming ordered blood almost as often as humans drank water. Which is to say, nearly every other hour or so.

It came to the point that by the seventh day, Tony had spoken to the company that sourced the blood and gotten a weekly shipment of a truck full of blood.

You knew Wanda knew you were avoiding her. You weren’t subtle about it. You would use your speed to run off the moment she entered the room. It made training an embarrassing affair.

Speaking of, that was another thing you started. Physical training. While you were leagues and bounds ahead of even the super soldiers, you were simply a 26-year-old girl by vampire standards.

Since nobody currently on the team (except the Hulk) could match your speed and strength, Tony had suggested using hard-light holograms and the Iron Legion for your sparring while Natasha worked on your actual stances and form.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Tony had been gathering information about vampires from you that was necessary.

-

Sun? Manageable with sunblock. Won’t die, but you get sunburn pretty easily.

Garlic? Tasty.

Stake to the heart? Hurts like a bitch but not fatal.

Decapitation? Surprisingly, not fatal.

Thrown into the sun? Well, who wouldn’t that kill.. not vampires, but still not recommended.

Healing factor? Near instantaneous.

Holy Water? Yeah no.

Silver bullet? Hurts as much as a lead one.

Heart? Stopped beating at twenty-three.

For all intents and purposes, vampires were immortal unless facing particular magic or cursed weapons.

-

You were smiling at Natasha, who was telling you about how Bruce used some of the thicker blood in the fridge instead of ketchup and not realising it as he ate his fries. In his defence, his return from the Hulk transformation always left him in a terrible state. Since then, despite everyone’s insistence, you started keeping the blood in your brand-new room’s pantry.

You thought you were getting better at hiding. Given that Wanda was knocking on your door at 3 a.m. proved otherwise.

By the sound of the witch’s heartbeat, you could tell she was feeling some kind of intense emotion. Given your behaviour, you were pretty sure it was frustration.

You barely opened the door when Wanda stormed in and sat on your bed, wearing an oversized tee and distractingly short shorts.

“Explain,” Wanda demanded, folding her arms.

You gulped. Grabbing a bottle of sleeping cow’s blood to calm your undead nerves and stave your hunger, you sat down on the other side of the room.

“The letter-“ you began.

“Yes, yes,” Wanda said impatiently, summoning the letter in her hand. “Dear Wanda,” she began reading aloud.

“I know you must be wondering about the reason behind my absence. I know it must feel like I’m avoiding you.

That’s because I am 

The reason is that I am undergoing some vampire stuff that makes me a danger to you. I promise you, I do not feel any negative emotion towards you. I simply need to figure out a way to cope with what's going on with me. Once that is done. I promise to spend as much time as I, and hopefully you, want to with each other.

Thank you for understanding <3”

You look at her confused, “Which part of that was not un-“

“All of it,” Wanda complained.

She took a deep breath and looked at you, her expression softening.

“Sweetie, I need you to tell me if I am hurting you in some way.” She pleads.

“N-No, it’s not that..” You stammer. “Then what?” She asks, desperation lacing her tone.

“I crave you..” You said, finally breaking.

Wanda froze, “W-what?”

You sighed, using your vampire speed to sit next to her. You place your trembling hand on hers.

“I.. crave you, Wanda. Ever since the party.. My body.. it feels this.. hunger that I can't extinguish no matter how much blood I consume..”

You look at her with a helpless expression, then run your hands through your hair and stare at the ground.

“Then take it.”

Your head snaps to her, eyes wide.

“Take it.” She repeats, “Drink my blood. Cause that craving? I feel it too.”

You shake your head, “No, Wa-“

“Do you like me?” She asks, grabbing your hands and pulling you closer.

You nod, your gaze flitting to her lips and back to her stunning eyes.

“Do you want me?” She whispers, leaning infinitely closer to your face.

“More than you could fathom.” You whisper back, her face so close that you could feel her breath on your skin.

“Then take my blood, detka.

She could feel you stiffen. You let out a sigh, resting your forehead on hers. “It’s not that simple… if.. if I were to drink your blood, it would bond me to you.” You whispered, your voice cracking. “I.. I would be bonded to you forever. Animal blood wouldn’t work anymore. I would be yours for the rest of eternity.”

“How can you be sure?” She whispered.

“Because,” you said with a sad smile. “That’s how it was for my moms.”

X—X—X—X—X

“So… you ready for your first mission?” Natasha asks you, sitting beside you on the quinjet.

It had been a little over a month since the party. A few days since the confession and the decision that you and Wanda would take it slow. Very slow.

You nodded, looking at the ground through the window.

A simple mission. ‘A girls' trip’, as Natasha called it. Just you, Wanda, and Natasha. The three of you were meant to enter the Hydra base, collect information, and destroy it.

To be honest, it was more of a test for you. Since the vampire hunter hadn’t surfaced for a month, it was kept on the back burner.

You were sipping on your third bottle of blood. At this point, you didn’t care about the flavour. Wanda looked at you and gave you a sad smile, one you reciprocated.

When the quinjet began to creak as it landed, you had to cover your ears. It was when Natasha turned the Quinjet off that you were able to let out a sigh of relief.

Natasha gave you a sympathetic look, “I’ll ask Tony to make you some vampire-grade noise-cancelling headphones when we get back, okay?” She said comfortingly.

You nodded, standing up and stretching a little as you admired your ‘superhero outfit’.

Given Tony’s sense of humour, he gave you an outfit similar to Wanda’s. The difference was that it was (to Wanda’s annoyance) far less booby and completely black with blood red accents. On your sternum was a ruby red symbol of vampire fangs.

“Nice costume,” Wanda commented, appreciating how the fabric hugged your figure.

You simply blushed, giving a soft thanks and practically ran outside the quinjet.

In hindsight, it was a good thing that you were the first one out because the bullet that ripped through your abdomen would’ve proven fatal to the other two.

“OW.” You yelled, falling to your knees.

“Detka!” You heard Wanda cry out, running to you.

“FRIDAY, barricade!” You yelled as you watched the bulletproof door of the quinjet slam shut.

You stood, the bullet popping out as the wound healed itself. You barely made it another step when another one pierced your shoulder, ripping chunks of flesh as it went through you.

Growling, you used your vampire senses to find the shooter, spotting him almost immediately.

He may have been wearing white to match the snow, but you could smell him from a mile away. That and the smell of gunpowder clung to him.

You sped to him, not giving him time to react, and punched him in the face, just as Natasha had taught you.

You hadn’t, however, accounted for your vampiric strength. Eyes widening as your fist simply went through his face, splattering blood and brain on the tree behind.

The sight of his blood on your hand made you freeze. Then, the smell hit you. Your vision blurred, and your knees buckled as ravenous hunger shot through your body, your fangs pushing out.

You didn’t move when the door of the quinjet blasted open, standing unnaturally still. You didn’t move when you heard Wanda call your name, nor when she ran up to you.

“Oh.. detka, I’m so sorry.” She said as she took in the sight before her, kneeling in front of you.

“I-I killed him..” You whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

Your eyes moved to Wanda’s sympathetic ones.

“I didn’t mean to.” You repeated, your tone more frantic. “Wanda, I swear I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just doing what Natasha- I-oh my god I’m going to be sick.”

You ripped yourself away from Wanda, standing a little ways away as you once again fell to your knees.

You heaved, nothing coming out.

“Baby.. I believe you. I promise.” Said the witch, gently caressing your back.

“I’m sorry..” You said between heaves. “The smell..”

Wand immediately knelt next to you, put a hand on your shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you saw a red bubble form around the two of you, and the scents and sounds of outside the bubble vanished.

Simultaneously, the blood and brain matter on your hand burned away, leaving you as fresh as when you stepped out.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to feel Wanda’s embrace, her scent, the feel of her pulse under your fingers. Your mouth watered as you inhaled deeply.

“…Detka, I need you to open your eyes,” Wanda said, her voice a lot closer than you previously heard.

When you did, you realised that Wanda was in your arms, your face was nuzzling her neck, nose millimetres from her pulse point.

You yanked yourself back, scrambling to get away. Wanda slowly approached you, her voice more reassuring than anything.

“You’re okay krasyvaya. I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong. Then or now. I could have pushed you away if I wanted.” She said gently.

You nodded, forcibly trying to retract your fangs but whining when they refused to budge.

“I know, detka. Give it time, okay?” She says gently, caressing your knuckles.

You nod again, and the two of you walk back to the quinjet where Natasha stands, waiting.

“You okay, utyónok? (Duckling)” Natasha asked, frowning as she took in your demeanour.

You nod, “I, uh.. I accidentally killed the guy who shot at us.”

“Ah, I see.” She says in understanding.

The spy approached you and gently held your hand.

“I know you don’t need to, but I want you to breathe with me and repeat what I say, okay?” She says.

You nod and mimic her breath.

“I am safe.”

“I am safe.”

“It was an accident.”

“I-It was.. an ac-accident.”

“I am okay.”

“I am okay.”

“I am loved.”

“…I.. I am loved.”

Nat smiles as the two of you finish.

“Now,” she says gently. “Would you like to stay, or are you okay to continue?”

Your eyes flit to Wanda, who simply gives you a comforting smile.

“I’d like to continue.. um.. just.. can we avoid the blood? It.. It makes me feel a little weird right now.” You say hesitantly.

The two women nod.

“Of course, utyónok,” Natasha says reassuringly.

-

Turns out, the Hydra base had been expecting the three of you. There were twice as many guards as initially intended.

The scene was a hailstorm of bullets, magic shots, punches and sirens. In the midst of it all, you ran as fast as you could, grabbing guns and weapons away from unsuspecting agents and pushing aggressors as gently as you could. Even though they still flew backwards and hit the wall, crumpling to the ground completely unconscious, they were alive.

Somehow, the three of you made it to the main room to gather intel unharmed. You and Wanda stayed near the door while Natasha accessed the mainframe.

“So, how are you finding this mission so far?” Wanda asked, eyes monitoring the corridor.

Your gaze flicked to her before returning to monitoring.

“The beginning was a little rough..”

You bumped your shoulder with hers.

“…But I’m enjoying it now.” You said with a smile.

“How’s the hunger?” She asked softly.

Your smile faded. You could feel your veins screaming at you, tightening at the lack of blood.

“Much more than before.” You admitted.

“Well, at least you’re not hungry enough to fang out.” She supplied.

You smirked, “It’ll take a lot more for me to ‘fang out’ than this level of hunger… although I’m getting a little too close to it for comfort.”

Wanda looks at you, reflecting your smirk.

“I’m considering making you fang out for completely different reasons.” She said huskily.

You snapped your head to her, the hunger in your expression nearly made the witch falter.

“If you two are done flirting, how about we get out of here?” Natasha asked right behind you, making the two of you jump.

You nodded sheepishly. Your face fell when you were about to move. Taking a sharp sniff, you began coughing.

“Trouble?” Natasha asked, taking her guns out of the holster.

“Yes. Different.. Weird.” You said, exhaling sharply from your nose so the scent doesn’t linger.

“Enhanced?” Wanda asked, summoning her magic. “Must be because I can’t sense anybody.”

You shrugged, trying not to get distracted by a magic-wielding Wanda. “I can't tell the specifics. I just know there’s a handful of.. things nearby.”

The three of you cautiously made your way out of the suspiciously empty building. Even the unconscious people were nowhere to be found. Natasha stated that whatever was waiting for them must be outside, perhaps even near the quinjet.

Given that you were more durable than the other two, you opted to open the door. The only reason Wanda was okay with it was because you agreed to her using a magic shield just in case.

When you kicked the door open, you saw three men standing there, two of whom were holding what appeared to be unusual guns.

You got into a fight position, but none of them moved. You could feel Wanda linked to your consciousness, allowing her to see what you were seeing.

The man in the centre began to move his hands, making weird symbols appear. You were confused before Wand and Natasha burst past you, pushing you out of the way.

“Detka, Watch out!” Wanda said before the symbols the man was conjuring exploded, creating a shockwave that echoed around all of you.

“No magic, Scarlet Witch.” The man sneered.

The man on the right fired thrice, shooting a weird device that attached to your neck. The man on the left holding a shotgun aimed at you, hitting you dead centre in the chest.

You collapsed on the ground in pain, writhing in pain. The collars began beeping on you and Wanda. “No more enhanced powers, mutants”, the man spat.

Natasha was fighting another man, they seemed evenly matched to the point that Natasha couldn’t fire her guns even if she wanted to.

That was when the man in the middle took out a remote and pressed a few buttons. Natasha and Wanda crumpled, and you felt electricity coursing through your body.

“Toss them into the truck.”

The bigger guy walked to you, ignoring Wanda. The witch grabbed his ankle, attempting to stop him from reaching you.

“Get off me, Mutie.” He snarled, kicked her in the face and broke her nose.

Then the smell hit you. What you had been craving for a month now. Wanda’s blood.

The feeling was unlike any you had ever experienced. Rage and hunger overcame you, but instead of clouding your vision, it sharpened it.

You stood up, glaring at the man. Your fangs announced themselves as you snarled at him.

“What the fuck are you?” He said, shocked, pulling out a remote and increasing the intensity of the electricity on your collar.

You glared at him, unflinching. Reaching for the collar, you grabbed it with one hand and pulled. The metal warped and snapped with little to no effort.

“That shouldn’t be possible.” He breathed. He turned to aim the remote at Wanda but found you standing right in front of him.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He shrieked.

You grabbed his wrist, hard. You ignored the sound of his yells and his bones cracking under your fingertips.

“Shut up.” You growl, ignoring your fangs cutting into your lips and claw at him, ripping his head from his body.

You heard his teammates approach.

“Hey what the fuck..” Said one guy, looking at two passed-out women and a headless friend.

His eyes widen as he registers what’s going on, but it's too late. Before he could blink, you were behind him, your fist poking through his chest.

You let out another snarl as you ripped him in half. The scent of their blood no longer fazed you. 

Once you disposed of the last man, you sped your way to Natasha, who was breathing heavily, trying to move but unable to because of the collar.

You use both your hands to rip the collar off and let her gasp for breath. When she looked at you, her eyes widened.

“Utyónok (duckling).. are you..” She breathed.

“I’m okay,” you reassured, your voice tense.

She nodded, exhaling in relief.

“Natasha.. I.. I need you to free Wanda. I can’t.. her blood.” You strained, your muscles taut.

Natasha nodded, scrambling to stand. 

“Yes, of course. It’s okay. How about you go to the quinjet? I’ll bring her.” She suggested.

You speed off without a word, reaching the quinjet. You stare at your blood-soaked reflection, watching your hands. They’re perfectly still. But your head? It’s screaming.

Your hunger is pulsating, your veins constricting. After changing and wiping off the blood, you began drinking all of the blood storage in the quinjet. Including the emergency stash.

That’s when you heard FRIDAY’s voice.

Mr. Stark wishes to speak with you. May I let him through?

When you give the affirmative, you hear his voice through the speakers.

“Hey kiddo,” he says casually. “Nat just told me what happened. Wanda’s okay, the collar just knocked her out, okay?”

You feel your body sag in relief.

“Thank you, Tony..” You whisper.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Now tell me about you, Nat said that you were hungry?”

You nodded, “Yeah, it's.. I’m craving, um, human blood. It’s..”

You cut off, another pulse of hunger.

“It’s really strong, Mr. Stark.” You whisper, gritting your teeth.

“Hey, do you remember the contingencies we kept in place for occasions like this?” He asked suddenly.

You nodded before realising he couldn’t see you. “Um.. yes, sorry.”

“Alright, so Bruce kept an emergency sedative that should keep you calm for a few hours. Once you come back, we’ll set up a quarantine for a few days, okay?”

You take out the syringe and plunge it into your chest. The effect was immediate; your hunger abated, but nowhere nearly enough.

You began to tremble, “Tony, it-it’s not working. I.. I’m still hungry..”

You hear him swear under his breath, “Fuck okay. Natasha and Wanda are almost there. Do you think you’ll be okay with Wanda in the quinjet with you?”

“I-I think so.. It’s just three hours, right?” You ask timidly.

You hear him huff out a laugh.

“I think we can do better than that, kiddo. The quinjet can go hypersonic, so you should be home in a little over an hour.”

“Okay..” You said, holding yourself still. “Thank you, Tony,” you whispered, “And I’m really sorry.”

“No need for apologies. Trust me, you’re a delight to have around.. unlike the big guy here.”

You hear some scuffling before you hear Bruce’s voice.

“Hey, kid.” He says.

You’re about to say hi, but Wanda and Natasha enter the quinjet at that moment, the witch’s scent making you freeze.

You were so focused on Wanda that you didn’t hear Bruce or Natasha calling you for almost an entire minute.

When you do snap out of it, you turn to Natasha.

“I need you to restrain me.” You tell her honestly.

Natasha blinks, nodding.

While she searched for high-strength tension cables, you saw red mist surround you, binding your hands and feet.

“Only I get to tie you up, detka”

Your head jerked to where Wanda was sitting. She looked at you with a dark gaze.

“I’m sorry for running away..” you think.

Her face softens, ”I know why you did it, baby. I understand. How can I help?”

You try to shrug, but her binds keep you in place. Despite the situation, you can’t help but feel a spark of thrill at the act. The same thrill intensified your hunger tenfold.

When your fangs made their appearance, Wanda looked at you sadly.

“Wanda..” You gritted out. “I need you to-“

“I know, detka.” She said softly, walking to you and cupping your face. “Rest now.”

You closed your eyes and passed out as the scent of vanilla took over your senses.

X—X—X—X—X

Two days. Two. Fucking. Days. You finished a month’s worth of blood in 48 hours.

Your quarantine was meant to be a day long, but with your hunger unable to be satiated, you decided to extend it.

It was late at night when you finished the supply in your room, sighing to yourself. You needed more. The only reason you risked going to the pantry in the kitchen was because everyone was out, either on a mission or at a party.

You could not have been more wrong. You took one step into the kitchen and found Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda.

Oh god.

Wanda called out to you, but it was too late; you had rushed back to your room, closed the door and went to the farthest corner of the room possible.

There was a knock on the door, the sound making you flinch. You knew who it was. Of course you did.

You didn’t need to open the door, Scarlet Magic encased it, and Wanda just walked through it.

“Wanda, you-“ you pleaded.

“Okay, sweetie. I need you to listen to me, okay?” She said, slowly taking a step further.

You nodded slowly.

She sighed in relief. “Okay, whatever is going on with you. I can no longer just sit and watch. If you need my blood, then take it. I promise you it’s okay.”

“But-“

“No buts.” Wanda insisted.

She floated to you, sitting on your lap. She let out a sharp inhale when you grabbed her waist.

“You’re my good girl, aren't you?” She asked huskily, leaning closer to your face.

You nodded, eyes flickering to her lips and back.

“Then drink.” She whispered.

You frowned, freezing when the scent of her blood hit you. She raised her hand, a cut on her palm, a few droplets of blood made their way down her wrist.

Unlike before, you barely felt your fangs protrude, eyes glued to the claret drops. You looked at her once to make sure she was certain.

She brought her palm closer to your mouth. If you weren’t drooling before, you certainly are now. You gently held her arm with shaking hands and brought your mouth closer.

“Do it,” she breathed. “Please..”

You licked the drop of blood tentatively.

The effect was immediate.

Flavour bursts on your tongue. The very essence of Wanda made its way into your system, making you practically euphoric.

You let out a moan, licking up the droplets and began sucking from the source. You heard Wanda’s breathy whimper, her pants, her pounding heart.

You looked into her eyes as you licked the wound, your body buzzing and heating up underneath hers.

Wanda was similarly affected. The sight of you tasting her blood turned her on to no end. And when your tongue touched the entrance of the wound, a shockwave of pleasure echoed through her, making her arch her back.

Wanda looked at you with hooded eyes as she felt her insides clench around nothing.

“Baby,” she panted. “I need you.. now.”

You nodded frantically, cupping her face and kissing her hard.

It was everything you dreamed it would be. Wanda’s hands went into your hair, gripping tight, making you moan.

You felt your body heat up; your core fluttered as Wanda’s blood spread through your system. You felt her begin to grind on your thigh, groaning in frustration when she wasn’t able to get enough friction.

“Clothes,” she gasped, as you kissed your way down her neck. Her head lolled back when you kissed her pulse point. “Off. Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice; with little to no patience, you grabbed her t-shirt and pulled, easily ripping the fabric. Her jeans and underwear received the same punishment.

You gasped when you felt her core directly on your thigh. The sneaky witch had poofed your clothes away at the same time.

You grabbed her hips and began moving her back and forth against your thigh. Your core clenched when she gasped out an ‘oh fuck’.

Her hands moved to grip your shoulder as you continued kissing down her neck, across her clavicle.

“Baby.. fuck” she whimpered when you flicked your tongue against her nipple.

You sped up the movement of her hips, making her cry out and arch her back.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “That feels so good, don’t stop.”

Mindful of your fangs, you began flicking your tongue against her hard nipple. Groaning at how much of a mess the witch was making on your thigh.

“Can I go faster?” You asked affectedly.

She nodded, her head falling on your shoulder, crying out a long moan when you increased to an almost superhuman pace. With how wet she was, you didn’t need to worry about her getting hurt.

“Baby- fuck.. fuck.. I-oh my god… I-I’m close.” She panted between moans.

Your mouth began working on the other nipple as you kept up the pace, her moans increasing in pitch and frequency.

“Fuck fuck fuck Imgonnacum oh fuck baby baby” she cried out, her hands gripping your shoulder so tight they would have pierced the skin had you been human.

You stop your assault on her nipple for a moment so you can whisper in her ear, “Cum for me, Wanda.”

Wanda tenses, her mouth open in a silent moan as her orgasm crashes into her. The witch’s eyes roll back as you slow down the movement of her hips, making sure you don’t completely stop to prolong her orgasm.

She jerks forward with a gasp as she suddenly becomes oversensitive, her legs shaking with effort.

She collapses onto the bed, panting, giggling.

“You’re still hungry, aren't you?” She asked with a smirk.

You nodded wordlessly, now that you’d tasted Wanda’s blood. You knew instinctively that no other blood on the planet would do it for you.

Her expression softened as she looked at you.

“I wouldn’t want you to settle for less anyway.” She said.

You frowned for a moment before realising what had happened. The bond. You and Wanda were now linked for the rest of existence. Being an empathic witch, Wanda could turn the bond into a two-way street instead of just you being bonded to her. She tested it and gasped, suddenly able to feel your hunger. “Oh.. baby, is this how you’ve been feeling?” She asked, strained.

You nodded, leaning over her. “I need you, please.” You whispered.

Wanda grinned mischievously, “Since you’ve been such a good girl. Here’s a little gift for you.”

You frowned before arching your back at a sudden sensation in your core.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, pleasure licking up your spine.

Wanda grinned, “Look down, baby.”

When you did, your eyes widened. You were sporting a deep red, pulsating strap. One that Wanda was rubbing her slick over.

You shivered when she spread more, gasping at the way she gripped it. You could feel everything.

“Now,” Wanda said lowly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to fuck me. You’re not going to stop fucking me until you can’t move. And everytime either you or I cum? You’re going to feed from me. You’re not going to worry because I can use my powers to replenish as much blood as I need, okay?”

You nod.

“Any questions?” She asks.

“I.. uh.. I’ve never actually.. done this. I don’t know if I’ll be any good.” You said softly.

Wanda cupped your face with one hand, smiling as you nuzzled into it.

“My sweet girl, you just rocked my world two minutes ago. By pure instinct. All I’m asking is for you to do it again and again. There’s no getting it wrong, okay? We’ll take it slow, and if one of us doesn’t like something, we’ll just change it, okay?”

You nod, determined to make her feel good. When she nodded in return, you slowly pushed the head of the strap into her. Both of you inhale sharply at the feeling of you filling her up.

“You’re so tight. Fuck, it feels so good.” You said, screwing your eyes shut and trying not to cum immediately.

Wanda doesn’t respond; she was experiencing something similar. It had been a while since anything felt this good.

You almost collapse on top of her when you’re all the way in. You and Wanda stare at each other with wide eyes, neither of you moving an inch. The sheer proximity, her breath against yours, her moulding to yours. All of it felt so.. right.

Slowly, much too slowly for Wanda’s liking, you began to move. Your hands were framing her head, fingers already pierced the pillow as you held in your desire.

“Detka, move.” She said.

That was all it took; you snapped your hips, shoving the entire length into her suddenly, making her arch her back and cry out.

You rolled your hips, faster and faster, harder and harder. The bed creaked at the sheer force.

Wanda had given up all pretence of composure; her mouth was agape as moans flowed freely. Her nails dug into your back as you leaned closer to her, your fangs practically throbbing as much as your insides were.

You were one big nerve ending; every single movement sent molten pleasure through your body. You knew at the back of your mind that this was the result of Wanda’s pleasure echoing through the partial bond. You needed more of her blood. From the source.

Your speed intensified, as did her moans. The way she clenched around you told you that she was close, with the way your pleasure was building to an overwhelming degree, you weren’t far behind.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby, I’m going to come. Feed from me. Now.”

She exposed her neck, shutting her eyes tight as the pleasure crescendoed. Unable to hold yourself back, you clamped down on her neck as soon as you came.

The two of you shattered the boundaries of time and space as you came. Wanda was sent hurtling through an orgasm so intense she lost her grip on reality. Then you sucked, the simple act of you sucking her blood made her cum again, making the witch scream.

This continued for a while, each time you sucked in more blood, your fangs released more venom, and each time, Wanda came harder than she ever had before. Her screams turned into hoarse groans until she lost her voice, and all she could do was tremble limply as another wave of pleasure took over her frayed senses.

When you withdrew your fangs, they retreated automatically. You rest your head against Wanda’s chest, freezing when you notice how shallow her breathing is.

You looked up frantically to see Wanda’s glossy eyes as she stared off into nothing. Her skin was scarily pale.

“Wanda?” You whispered, panicking. “Baby, please.”

Remembering the one time your mothers had briefly told you about vampire blood, you summoned your fangs and cut into your wrist.

You placed the cut above her mouth and watched the blood drip into her mouth. You jolted when Wanda clenched around the length of your strap inside her.

She grabbed your wrist and sucked blood, moaning as she drank more. You sighed as a hazy pleasure took over you, and the bond between you two strengthened as it began to naturally flow both ways without Wanda’s magic.

The colour in Wanda’s skin returned, and she let go of your wrist, and you two stared at each other.

“I.. I feel it.” She whispered.

You nodded, “I wasn’t sure, but I remember my moms had mentioned something about a two-way bond.”

Her eyes glistened with the weight of her emotions. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

You nodded with a smile, “You’re mine just as much as I am yours.. for the rest of eternity. Once your mortal body dies, you’ll emerge as a vampire.”

Wanda gulped at the sheer intensity of love she felt for you, grabbing your face and kissing you hard.

The movement made you shift deeper inside her, making you both moan in surprise.

You two stared at each other and grinned.

“Wanna-“

“Absolutely.”

You two began kissing again as you flipped her over and she rode you with fervour.

-

Tony sighed, checking his watch.

“It’s been almost two weeks..” He muttered incredulously. “They’ve been at it for two weeks.”

Natasha smirked as another loud crash sounded on the floor above them.

“I’m telling you, Tony…

Vampires be fucking.” X—X—X—X—X

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3

[hapuchika]

She Only Comes When It Rains | WandaMaximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda only shows up when it rains, and you always let her in, even though you know she'll break you. You're not together, not really, but her hands know your body better than your own. You try to tell her you can't keep doing this. She proves you wrong. Again.

Word count: 3.6k

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, smut, toxic relationship, angst, manipulation, magical restraints, rough sex, crying during sex, dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, marking and bruising, light choking, praise and degradation

The rain started around midnight.

You heard it first in the pipes, a low groan, water moving like something waking inside the walls. Followed by the first tap against the window. Gentle and hesitant. A warning. And then, all at once, it was there; loud, constant, swallowing everything. A sound that made the room smaller, your skin tighter. It was pressing in from the outside, asking to be let in.

You don't get up from the couch. You sit there, legs curled under a blanket that still smells faintly like her. The hoodie she left two visits ago, before she remembered to take it or maybe chose not to, lies draped over the back of a chair. Still damp from when you washed it. Still sacred. Still poison.

The rain keeps falling, and you keep waiting.

Because she only comes when it rains.

You told yourself the last time was the last time. That you'd change the locks. That you wouldn't open the door. That you'd leave, go anywhere, check into a motel and let the night swallow her knock.

But when the thunder hits, low and foreboding, your body flinches like it remembers her mouth before your mind does.

She's ruined you, not just in the bedroom, not just in your bed, but in your existence. The way you sleep half-dressed, waiting. The way you keep your lights low in case she needs the dark. The way you leave water bottles on the nightstand, painkillers in the drawer because you know she comes bruised. You know she comes hollow. You still want her full of you.

Your phone vibrates once. You don't look. It's not her. It's never her. She doesn't call.

She knocks.

01:13 AM.

You're pacing because you're afraid if you sit still for too long, you'll shatter.

You catch your reflection in the window. Rain streaking down the glass, city lights blurred behind you like faded memories. You look tired, like someone who's rehearsed a hundred conversations and still forgets to say no.

You stare at the door, and tell yourself that she's not coming, and if she does you'll tell her to go.

Three soft knocks.

Your breath leaves your body in a rush. You don't move. The rain muffles everything. The room feels to small.

Another knock.

Three, again. It's always three, asking for permission to fall apart.

You open the door.

She's soaked, not just wet, drenched. Like she stood in the storm and let it drown her on purpose. her hair sticks to her cheeks, red strands plastered over sharp cheekbones. Her hoodie clings to her chest, sleeves soaked past her wrists. Her eyes glassy, dark-circled, jaw tight. She doesn't speak. She doesn't look at you. Maybe she doesn't remember how.

You don't step back. You don't invite her in. You just wait.

She's the one who breaks first.

"I shouldn't be here," she says, voice rasping like it hurts to use it.

"Yet here you are."

Her breath catches. her lips tremble, only a little. She's not crying, not yet.

You tilt your head. "Why did you come?"

She looks down. her hands shake. She fists them in the sleeves of her hoodie like she needs something to hold onto.

"You know why."

You do. That's the worst part.

The storm howls behind her, but you're not ready to let her in.

You don't ask where she's been. She wouldn't tell you. She never tells you anything real.

But you see it; how her shoulders slump, how her hoodie drips onto the floor and she doesn't care, how she look at you like you're both a relief and a curse.

"You're always awake when I come," she says, brushing a wet strand behind her ear.

"I don't sleep well anymore."

"I know." A pause. "I hate that."

You snort. "Do you?"

She flinches. Looks away.

She steps toward you.

Her jaw tenses, biting down on something she doesn't want to say. Her eyes flick to the floor, then behind you where her old hoodie still sits, an unspoken testimony to all the things she leaves behind. Her hands, still damp, curl at her sides. For a second, she doesn't look like Wanda Maximoff at all. She just look like someone who's lost. Someone who doesn't know how to be wanted without hurting the wanting.

She breathes in. Shaky. Halting.

Then, she steps toward you. One step. Then another. Like she's not sure you'll let her make the last.

Her eyes are glassy when they find you again. She opens her mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to beg, but nothing comes out. She just stands there, barely inches from you. There's a storm still caught inside her skin, rain dripping from her body, guilt radiating off her in form of heat.

You close your eyes.

Because it's easier not to look at her.

Because looking always undoes you faster.

And when she presses her forehead against yours, when her breath hitches and her fingers close around your arm like she needs your more than air–

You give in.

You always do.

Her mouth is on yours before the door clicks shut. Desperate, drowning, breathless. She kisses you like she's starving and you're the only thing left. Her hands grip your face, not gentle. She's clawing, trembling. She hates herself for wanting this and still wants it anyway. Her mouth is hot and wet and open, and she moans into you like it hurts.

You don't kiss her back, not at first, because you said you wouldn't.

But then she whispers it against your mouth. Not please, but your name. Like it's the last thing she'll ever say, already mourning you.

You shudder.

And you kiss her back.

Her hips press into you. Her hands fist in your shirt, dragging you forward, walking you backward toward the bedroom with wild, erratic steps. She stumbles once, swears, kisses your jaw, your neck, bites down on your collarbone hard enough to bruise.

"You're mine," she breathes, fingers curling in the fabric over your ribs. "You were always mine."

You don't speak.

She doesn't want your words, not yet. She wants your submission, your silence, your body unraveling under hers. You see it in her eyes: red-rimmed, dewy, twitching with the glint of her magic.

When you reach the doorway to your bedroom, her breath ragged, her pupils blown, her lip split from some fight you'll never know the details of, she finally pulls back. Just an inch. Just enough to look at you.

"You don't get to touch me tonight," she says softly. Her voice shakes, but not from fear.

From restraint.

Your breath hitches.

"What–"

Before the question fully forms, her eyes glow red, and you're thrown backward. Not violently, but with forceful deliberation, with all the terrifying grace of her power. Your body hits the mattress hard enough to bounce. You gasp, limbs sprawled.

Then, the binds form. Not ropes, not leather. Magic.

Wanda's signature crimson glow wraps around your wrist and ankles like a lover's embrace; soft at first, then tightening, locking you down. You squirm, breath punching out of your lungs.

You can't move, not even an inch.

"You let me go every time," she says, stepping into the room, slow and dangerous, Her hoodie is gone, discarded somewhere down the hall, and her tank top clings to her from the rain, sheer and soaked. You see the marks on her ribs. The faint shimmer of older bruises. The sharp curve of her collarbone.

She's full of war and grief and sin.

"And then you wait," she continues, eyes never leaving you. "You wait for me to come back. You pretend you hate it, but you're always wet when I walk through that door."

You open your mouth.

She flicks her fingers.

Binds tighten around your throat, not choking, not painful, but silencing, just enough pressure to remind you who you belong to.

Her.

Even when she leaves you. Especially when she leaves you.

"I need to taste it," she whispers. "The way you ache for me. The way you'd cry just to make me stay."

Something between shame and need claws at you from the inside. It's unbearable how much you want her even now, with her voice laced in harshness, with her promise half a threat. The words twist something inside you, sick and tender. And god, it's true. You would cry. You'd beg. You'd let her destroy you if it meant she'd keep coming back. The humiliation of it burns in your chest. it still makes your hips tilt up, desperate for any kind of contact. You're dizzy with it. Drunk on the sick devotion you swore you'd kill.

She crawls onto the bed, over you. Her knees press to either side of your hips, and she sits heavy on your pelvis, grinding down once, measured and punishing. You arch up instinctively, desperate for friction, but the binds keep you pinned. Her magic flares hot.

She leans down and her lips brush your ear.

"No touching," she whispers, reminding you with a voice that's both cure and poison. "You just lie there and break for me."

You whimper. Pathetic.

She laughs, sharp and cruel and breathless.

"You're already close, aren't you?" she purrs, biting your earlobe. "I haven't even fucking touched you yet."

You shake your head, try to lie, try to preserve whatever pride you have left.

But she doesn't let you.

Her hand slides between your thighs. Her fingers press against your core, soaked through your underwear. Drenched. Absolutely ruined for her.

She hums, pleased.

"So needy," she whispers. "You'd let me destroy you and still beg for more, wouldn't you?"

You glare at her. Or rather, you try to.

Your eyes are already full of unshed tears.

When she pulls your panties aside and dips two fingers between your folds, you sob. Not from pain, though. From the way her thumb teases your clit. From the way her fingers curl so perfectly, so violently inside you. From the sick, sacred way she kisses your chest while she ruins you, mouthing at your skin like she's praying.

"You always let me hurt you," she says, breathless against your sternum. "Why?"

You whisper her name.

"No," she snaps, eyes shining. "Tell me."

"Because–" you choke. "Because it's the only time you allow yourself to feel anything."

She stills. Her fingers stay inside you.

Her head lifts. her eyes search yours. there's something ugly and shattered in her expression.

But then, slowly, like it burns, she starts to move again.

Rougher. Faster. You cry out.

She kisses you. Hard. Swallows the sound.

"Good girl," she pants. "Break for me."

Her magic glows brighter.

Your thighs shake.

And you come, with her hand on your throat, her mouth on yours and your body arched as an offering.

But she doesn't stop. She never stops.

You gasp, a high, desperate sound, as she slips her fingers out of only to push your thighs farther apart, spreading you wide. Her breath is hot against your inner thigh, her hands, glowing faintly with magic, pin you still even without the binds.

You're already twitching, already oversensitive, already spent.

But that doesn't matter. It never mattered.

Wanda doesn't want comfort. She comes for confessions, and your body is the alter.

She leans in and licks a long, devouring stripe up your wetness, and you jolt like she's electrocuted you.

"Still so wet," she murmurs, her breath fanning over your swollen clit. "Still mine. Always mine."

"Wanda, please–"

The binds on your throat ease just enough to let the words spill out, but she doesn't answer.

She buries her face in you like she's trying to disappear, her tongue pushing deep, her fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. She moans against your core, the sound vibrating though you, and your entire body arches like a bow.

"Too much," you whimper, trying to twist away. "I can't–"

"Liar."

Her voice is muffled by your skin, but the accusation cuts like glass.

"You love this," she growls, licking you open again. "You love when I make you sob. You love when I use you."

You shake your head, crying now, but your hips are still moving, still chasing her mouth.

She sees it.

"God, you're pathetic," she says, cruel and biting. "So easy. So desperate for me to hurt you."

She wraps her lips around your clit and sucks, strong.

You scream.

It's raw, crooked, half a sob, half a surrender. Your wrists flex in their magical restraints, legs trembling. She doesn't ease up. She keeps sucking, licking, biting, until you're coming again with a broken cry, tears streaming down your cheeks.

But even now, it's not enough for her.

No matter what you do, no matter what you offer and sacrifice.

It's never enough for her.

Only when your hips jolt again and your throat is tight, she finally pulls away. Her chin is slick with you. Her eyes are fever-bright.

"Are you crying yet?" she asks, like she can't tell.

You are. Loud and clear. The sound echoes, only quietened by the storm outside.

Her magic tightens around your wrist again, not to mock, but to show her possessiveness.

"Wanda, please," you whisper, words slurred as you blink through the blur. "I can't– I can't–"

She climbs back over you, straddling your waist. Her hands frame your face. Her body simmer with hear. Her pupils are blown wide.

"You said I don't feel anything, but you're wrong."

You try to speak, but she kisses you. It's deep and messy and full of everything she can't say.

"I feel you." Her voice breaks. "I feel this, and I hate it."

You choke on a sob.

"I love you."

She flinches like you slapped her, and for a second, you see her, really see her. The girl underneath the power. The grief underneath the violence.

She growls, low and torn. "Don't say that."

Your eyes are searching hers, voice breaking. "Why not?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

She pushes you down. Hard.

Her hand finds your throat again. her lips hover just above yours.

"I ruin you," she whispers. "And you let me."

The unspoken why lingers dangerously in the space between you. She looks at you, searching for an answer that you can't give her.

You nod, agreeing. Tears drip from your chin onto the pillow. You're still shaking, still aching, still tied. You don't care because even now, even when she's broken you open wit her hands, her mouth, her guilt, all you want is more.

More time.

More her.

More feelings.

"Do it again," you rasp. "Please. Use me."

She breaks.

Something shatters behind her eyes. She kisses you like a punishment, like an apology.

Like a goodbye.

Her hand slips between your legs one last time and you don't resists.

You break for her again.

And again.

Until the edges blur. Until your throat is raw from sobbing. Until she's crying too.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against your ear, fucking you with her fingers through the aftershocks. "I'm so sorry."

It doesn't stop her, and you wouldn't want her to.

This pain, this ruin, this madness... it's all she's ever given to you. It vicious and burns, but god, at least it's all yours to keep.

You lose track of time.

How many times you come.

How many times she apologises mid-thrust or mid–cry.

How many times she says your name like it's a death sentence.

How many bruises she kisses into your skin, or scratches carves into your hips.

Your body stops fighting. Your sobs go silent. the binds don't even need to hold you anymore, you wouldn't move if you could.

And she knows it.

"I shouldn't be here," she breathes again, forehead pressed to yours, hands cupping your face now like she's trying memorise you from the inside out.

"But you are," you rasp, barely a voice left.

Her breath hitches. She kisses you again. It's gentle, but just for a second. Then it turns.

It always turns.

She flips you over, onto your stomach. Your muscles tremble. You're limp, pliant, raw. You hear the sound of her shirt hitting the floor, then her breath catching when she sees the mess she's made of you.

You feel her weight slide back over you. her mouth to your shoulder. Her fingers, red with power, ghosting over your bruises.

"Say you want it," she pleads.

You nod.

"Say it."

"I want it."

"Say you want me."

"I always want you."

She moans, broken. "Even when I leave?"

"Yes."

"Even when i come back just to ruin you again?"

You hesitate, but the truth burns too loud to deny.

"Yes."

She cries then, not loudly but cutting. It's quiet, shaking. her tears mix with the sweat on your back as she kisses your spine, tender, reverent, regretful.

"I'm so fucking sorry," she whispers, over and over, as she enters you again with her fingers, slower this time, but deeper, more intentional. "I don't know how to stop needing you."

You arch, moan. Sobs choking your throat.

"I don't want you top stop," you admit.

Your bodies find rhythm again. An agonising, aching one. She moves inside you like she's desperate to leave a part of herself behind, like she thinks if she fucks you hard enough, she'll be able to stay.

"Tell me you love me," she pants.

You do.

Over and over.

You tell her even as you shake, as you splinter, as your orgasm rips through you one final time and you scream into the sheets.

She comes with you, not from your body, but from the sound of you breaking. Her forehead pressed to your shoulder, her hand bruised between your thighs, her sob a strangled apology into your skin.

You're both crying when it's over.

When her body collapses beside you, shaking.

When her hand finally lets go of your throat, your hips, your heart.

You turn your head to look at her.

She's already looking at you.

But there's something gone behind her eyes. A dimming. A shadow.

You know that look.

You've seen it before. Countless times.

It means she's already leaving.

You reach for her and she lets you this time. Her fingers slide through yours. Her palm is warm.

You fall asleep that way. Clinging. Spent. Bruised.

Still hoping.

You wake up before the sun.

The room is cold.

At first, it doesn't register.

You're curled on your side, one arm reaching across empty sheets that still smell like her skin, like rainwater and sweat, like her pulse against you lips. For a moment, in that strange space between sleep and waking, you pretend she's in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen, pouring water, padding barefoot across the floor.

But the silence is too clean.

Too final.

You blink up at the ceiling. your wrists ache, a dull soreness, familiar now. the bruises on your thighs throb in time with your heartbeat. Your breath fogs slightly in the early morning chill, and the blanket is barely covering you.

You sit up.

The other side of the bed is cold.

Your stomach drops, slow and sick and deep. The air tastes different.

Your gaze slides toward the chair.

Her hoodie is still there, not thrown carelessly this time, not half-forgotten, not draped over you lamp like a ghost of her. This time, it's folded. Purposefully. Tenderly.

A final offering. A grave marker.

You stare at it for a long time.

Eventually, you stand.

Your legs shake when you walk to the kitchen. The clock on the stove blinks: 06:04. You pour a glass of water with trembling hands and drink it all without tasting it. The glass stays on the counter, like everything she left behind, waiting to be cleaned up.

You go back to the bedroom, but you don't lie down.

You just stand there.

The window's still cracked open from when the rain first started. the wind lifts the curtain gently. the sky is overcast but dry now, the storm passed sometime while you were sleeping.

She always leaves before the rain stops.

It's tradition by now. A twisted kind of ritual. A storm brings her. The silence takes her.

You throat aches, not from the blinds, not from her hand, but from the sob caught there, stubborn, raw and cruel. You won't cry, not yet. Not while the echo of her mouth still lingers between your thighs. Not while the bed is still warm with her absence.

You pull the hoodie from the chair.

You don't put it on.

You just hold it. bury your face in it. inhale her. Close your eyes.

It's different this time.

It feels over. Not in the dramatic way you swore it would be after the last time, or the time before that. But in the soft, terrifying way people stop calling. The way they fade. The way silence stretches too long.

She folded it. That's what you keep coming back to. She never folds anything.

You sit on the floor.

The hoodie clenched in your fists, knuckles white, nails biting into fabric. You rock once, twice, breath shallow.

The sob comes eventually.

You cry like she kissed you; desperate, broken, unwilling.

You cry until your voice gives out.

Eventually, you lie back against the hardwood, hoodie clutched to your chest, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers.

You know she won't come again.

Not until it rains.

If it rains.

And even then, maybe not.

Maybe she left something to grieve properly.

But maybe, and this is the crulest thing, maybe leaving it behind was her apology. Her goodbye. Her way of saying: I can't keep coming back.

And the worst part is...

You still want her too.

[hapuchika]

slowly dragging your fingers up and down over her dripping wet entrance, fully ignoring her swollen clit until she’s whimpering and grinding into the air, telling you how bad she needs you to touch her, begging you to stop teasing her. slowly pushing your fingers in and out a few times before using them to gently circle her clit. alternating back and forth, forcing yourself to keep a slow, steady pace, until she’s arching her back and crying out “p-please don’t st-stoppp” her thrusting her hips to try and make you go faster but you keep the pace, drawing out her orgasm and making her legs shake uncontrollably

THIS IS A POST FROM A LESBIAN NSFT BLOG. CISHET MEN AND MINORS DNI.

[hapuchika]

Back to You

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: Y/N is going on a tour for a month and Lizzie has to shoot her next movie during the same time. Being apart for so long for the first time is very hard for both of them. So, Y/N decide to surprise her wife.

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide windows of their kitchen, casting golden rays on the marble countertops. Y/N, still in her cozy post-shower hoodie and sweats, was leaning against the counter, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay,” she began, watching Lizzie stir oat milk into her coffee, “I have news. Big news.”

Lizzie smirked as she set the mug down and turned. “You’re pregnant,” she teased, then added with a wink, “Which would be scientifically impressive.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not quite. But pretty close.”

She crossed the space between them, slipping her arms around Lizzie’s waist and kissing her cheek. “I got confirmed for the European leg of the tour. It’s happening.”

Lizzie froze for a second, then her eyes lit up. “Wait—the tour? The one you didn’t think would happen this year?”

Y/N nodded, smile growing. “We’re talking Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Milan… They want me headlining for twelve weeks. It’s the biggest thing I’ve done. Ever.”

Lizzie squealed, pulling her into a full hug. “Baby, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”

They stood there wrapped up in each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the kitchen warm with the smell of cinnamon from the morning’s muffins.

Lizzie pulled back just enough to look at her. “You know I’m coming with you, right? Europe? With my gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife on stage every night? I wouldn’t miss it.”

Y/N grinned, but her fingers toyed with the hem of Lizzie’s shirt. “It’s gonna be a lot of travel. Not exactly glam.”

Lizzie waved her off. “I’ve been on movie sets in remote deserts. I can handle a five-star hotel in Paris.”

They both laughed—until Lizzie suddenly hopped up onto the kitchen island with a sly smile.

***

“Come here,” she said, curling a finger at Y/N.

Y/N stepped closer, and Lizzie tugged her in by the hoodie strings, settling her wife firmly between her thighs.

“Wanna celebrate?” Lizzie murmured, voice low and wicked as she rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, against the growing heat between them.

Y/N’s breath caught, her hands flying to Lizzie’s bare thighs, gripping them just above the hem of her sleep shorts. “Here?” she asked, voice husky, already leaning in like gravity itself was being rewritten.

Lizzie arched an eyebrow, wrapping her arms loosely around Y/N’s neck. “Kitchen's clean,” she said with a shrug, brushing her lips along Y/N’s jaw. “Mostly.”

Her mouth found the spot just below Y/N’s ear, kissing, then nipping gently as she rocked her hips again—more insistent this time. Y/N groaned softly, grinding back before ducking down to claim Lizzie’s mouth in a kiss that was far from sweet. It was deep, breath-stealing, full of need.

Lizzie moaned into it, legs tightening around Y/N’s waist as her fingers slid beneath the hoodie, skimming over bare skin until they rested on the small of her back, drawing her in closer.

Y/N pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You're dangerous when you're proud of me.”

Lizzie smirked, pupils blown wide. “Then you better keep doing incredible things.”

Y/N’s lips crashed back onto hers, hands slipping under Lizzie’s thighs and lifting her slightly, enough to press even closer. Lizzie gasped, head tipping back, the exposed line of her neck begging to be kissed—and Y/N gladly obliged.

Tongue, teeth, heat.

It was dizzying, desperate, but laced with something soft too. Like even in the middle of their lust, they both knew this was their kind of love: wild, worshipful, and a little unhinged.

Lizzie’s fingers were tugging at the waistband of Y/N’s sweats now, breath shaky. “We have a bed, you know,” she whispered between kisses.

Y/N grinned against her skin. “I thought you wanted here.”

Lizzie's eyes darkened, her legs tightening around Y/N’s hips. “I do,” she whispered. “God, I do.”

Y/N leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, her hands moving under Lizzie’s shirt to trace over soft skin. She took her time, even through the haze of need—because Lizzie deserved to be worshipped.

But then Lizzie rolled her hips up again, grinding against the unmistakable pressure beneath Y/N’s sweats, and it pulled a low, raw sound from Y/N’s throat.

Lizzie gasped. “Fuck, baby…” Her hand slid lower, palming Y/N through the fabric with a confident ease that only came from knowing every inch of her. “You’re so hard for me already.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered. “I can’t help it. You climb up on a counter and start grinding on me—what do you expect?”

Lizzie gave her a wicked smile, fingers slipping under the waistband to wrap gently, lovingly, around her. “I expect my wife to give it to me right here.”

Y/N groaned, hips twitching into her touch. “You really don’t fight fair.”

“I’m not trying to.” Lizzie leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “I just want you inside me.”

That undid her.

Y/N pulled Lizzie to the edge of the counter, yanking her own sweats down just enough to free herself, her heart pounding at the sight of Lizzie—flushed, ready, needing.

She held Lizzie’s gaze as she guided herself to her entrance, rubbing teasingly against her folds, both of them trembling with anticipation.

Lizzie whimpered, nails digging into Y/N’s arms. “Please, baby.”

Y/N pushed in slowly, watching Lizzie's lips part in a soft cry as she sank into her inch by inch. The tight heat, the way Lizzie clung to her—it stole the breath from her lungs.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, anchoring them together. “God, yes—don’t stop.”

Their bodies rocked in rhythm, the marble counter cool under Lizzie’s thighs, the heat between them burning everything else away. Each thrust was met with a gasp, a kiss, a whispered I love you.

Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, murmuring her name like a prayer, each movement deeper, more desperate. She reached between them, circling her thumb over Lizzie’s clit until Lizzie cried out, head thrown back, body trembling hard around her.

Watching Lizzie fall apart like that, because of her, always felt like magic.

And when Y/N finally let go, spilling deep inside her wife with a groan and a shudder, it was less release and more surrender—like giving everything she had to the one person who knew how to hold it.

They stayed tangled there, chests heaving, lips brushing in soft, messy kisses.

***

Lizzie chuckled against her mouth. “Okay... that was the hottest tour announcement I’ve ever heard.”

Y/N smiled, nose brushing hers. “Guess I’ll have to break big news more often.”

Lizzie grinned, pulling her close again. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave for Europe without fucking me on every surface in this house.”

Y/N laughed, still breathless. “Challenge accepted.”

---

They made good on that promise—every surface in the house. More than once. The weeks leading up to the tour were a blur of suitcases, setlists, and stolen moments. They counted down the days with sticky notes on the fridge and late-night planning under the covers, falling asleep in each other’s arms like they always had.

But life had its own plans.

A few months before the tour, Lizzie’s shoot got moved up. Her production dates now overlapped with Y/N’s European leg. Neither of them said it out loud at first, but they both felt it—the weight of what it would mean.

It would be their first time apart for more than a week since they got married.

There were tears. There were reassurances. There were phone alarms set across time zones and shared calendars meticulously color-coded to make sure they carved out every possible moment to connect.

Y/N left first.

Lizzie drove her to the airport before sunrise, wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies and clutching her hand until the last possible second. The kiss they shared at the gate was long and silent, full of promises they already intended to keep.

And then she was gone.

Three weeks later, Y/N wrapped the final show in Milan with confetti in her hair, sweat on her brow, and her heart beating a little too fast—not just from the encore, but from the ache to go home. To her.

Lizzie didn’t know yet. As far as she was aware, Y/N still had one more week of press and travel.

But plans could change. And Y/N? She needed to see her wife.

---

Lizzie tugged at the zipper of her jacket, irritation flaring in her chest. Wanda’s costume was heavy, her feet hurt, and she was emotionally drained from a particularly harrowing scene with Paul. She’d just finished take twenty-three and was desperate for a break—physically and mentally.

The director called for a 15-minute pause. Lizzie wandered toward the edge of the set, phone in hand. She had a new message from Y/N:

“Hope today’s going smooth. I miss you like crazy. I know it’s only a few more days, but God, babe, I just want to come home.”

Lizzie smiled, bittersweet. She responded quickly, fingers flying across the screen.

“I miss you more. We’ll survive this. We always do.”

"Hey, Liz," Sebastian’s voice called behind her.

She turned, expecting him to tease her or invite her to coffee. Instead, he was grinning in that over-the-top way of his.

“What?” she asked warily.

“I brought you something,” he said, stepping aside.

And there she was.

Y/N. Dressed in a leather jacket, hair a little messy from the plane, guitar case slung on her back, and that familiar smile that melted Lizzie’s world like it was made of ice.

Lizzie’s heart stopped.

Then her whole body moved.

She didn’t walk—she ran. Through the lot, past crew, past cameras and cables, into Y/N’s arms with a force that nearly knocked them both down. The guitar case hit the floor with a thud, forgotten.

Y/N caught her. Held her like it had been years, not weeks.

Lizzie wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist and buried her face in Y/N’s neck. “You—are the worst—for not telling me,” she whispered, voice shaking with tears.

Y/N smiled into her shoulder. “Surprises work best when you don’t see them coming.”

“I hate surprises,” Lizzie murmured, laughing and crying.

“You love me,” Y/N countered.

Lizzie leaned back just enough to cup her wife’s face and kiss her—slow, hungry, real. A kiss that made the crew collectively forget what professionalism meant for a second.

When they broke apart, Y/N whispered, “God, I missed you, Lizzie.”

Lizzie pressed their foreheads together. “I missed you more. Don’t you ever do three weeks again.”

“Never,” Y/N promised. “Next time, I’m packing myself in your suitcase.”

“Or I’m flying out to your next show. I don’t care where. Antarctica? I’m there.”

They laughed quietly, wrapped in each other. Time paused.

Then Lizzie glanced around, suddenly aware of the dozen people watching.

Y/N grinned. “Guess I stole the scene, huh?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Well, you are my favorite view.”

Lizzie kept her arms looped around Y/N's shoulders, unwilling to let her go just yet. But awareness of their audience finally kicked in as a wave of murmurs and amused chuckles rippled across the set.

“Is that…” someone whispered.

“That’s Y/N,” another confirmed.

“The Y/N?”

“Oh my god, I love her music.”

Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s hair, then gently lowered her back onto her feet. Lizzie adjusted the collar of Y/N’s jacket with an affectionate tug, smoothing down her hair like she was still trying to process that she was actually here, in the flesh, after three painfully long weeks.

Sebastian approached first, clapping Y/N on the back like they’d been friends for years. “And the mission is complete. Welcome to Berlin, Rockstar.”

“Thanks for the assist,” Y/N grinned, bumping fists with him. “I owe you a drink—or five.”

“Hold you to that,” he said, then turned to Lizzie. “You should’ve seen her in the terminal. Girl looked like she was walking into battle.”

Lizzie beamed. “She kinda was. My heart’s been a war zone since she left.”

Scarlett walked over next, arms crossed but a huge smile on her face. “You must be the wife we’ve heard all the love songs about.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her hand. “Guilty. And you must be the legendary Natasha Romanoff.”

Scarlett gave Lizzie a teasing look. “She’s got charm, Olsen. I like her.”

One by one, the cast and some of the crew trickled over—curious, kind, and in awe. Anthony Mackie gave Y/N a bear hug and immediately launched into a full review of her latest album, asking about the production on track three. Paul Bettany was all warm politeness and British humor, asking if Y/N would ever consider scoring a film. Even the director stopped by to greet her, joking that if she ever wanted to try acting, she could contact him.

Y/N took it all in stride—humble, funny, endlessly gracious—but her hand never left Lizzie’s. Their fingers stayed twined like gravity couldn’t pull them apart again.

At one point, a young crew member shyly approached with a folded piece of paper and a pen.

“Um… Miss Y/N? Could I… maybe get your autograph? My sister’s a huge fan.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Of course. What’s her name?”

“Isla.”

“To Isla,” Y/N wrote, “your sister’s amazing, and so are you. Stay loud. Love, Y/N.”

Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, watching with pride so visible it might’ve been neon. She whispered, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

Y/N looked down at her. “Takes one to marry one.”

Lizzie laughed, light and bright. “You’re seriously staying the rest of the week?”

Y/N nodded. “I rearranged everything. I’ll fly back when you do. I didn’t want to miss another night without you.”

Lizzie’s eyes glossed with emotion, but she blinked it back quickly.

“Lunch break’s in twenty,” someone called out from across set.

Y/N raised a brow. “Wanna sneak away for twenty-one?”

Lizzie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go before Mackie tries to third-wheel our reunion.”

They laughed as they jogged off hand-in-hand, slipping into Lizzie’s trailer. The cast watched them go with soft smiles, and someone muttered, “They’re disgustingly perfect.”

Sebastian just smirked. “Yeah. And totally in love.”

---

The door slammed shut behind them, and before Y/N could even drop her guitar case to the floor, Lizzie was on her.

She pushed Y/N gently but firmly against the door, hands tangled in her jacket, eyes wide and full of fire and longing. Y/N barely had time to gasp before Lizzie crashed her lips into hers—no hesitation, no room for words, just raw, hungry need. 

It wasn’t a soft reunion kiss. It wasn’t careful or choreographed. It was messy, overwhelming, desperate—like Lizzie was trying to make up for every missed second, every lonely night, every phantom touch that hadn’t been enough.

Y/N groaned into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around Lizzie’s waist as their mouths moved like they’d never been apart. Lizzie’s fingers gripped at Y/N’s collar, pulling her closer, closer, like she needed her inside her skin. 

When they finally broke apart for air, both were panting.

“Three weeks,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “Three goddamn weeks without you. Do you know what that did to me?”

Y/N cupped her cheek gently, brushing her thumb across Lizzie’s flushed skin. “Felt like I was missing oxygen, Liz. Every show, every night—I couldn’t sleep without your heartbeat next to mine.”

Lizzie let out a shaky breath, eyes already tearing up as she stared at her wife. “I kept reaching for you in bed. Waking up to nothing. I’d just… lie there. Hoping your voice would show up in my dreams.”

Y/N pressed her lips to Lizzie’s temple. “I’m here now. For as long as you want me.”

Lizzie pulled back, just far enough to see her face. “Always. I always want you.”

Then she kissed her again.

This time slower, but still just as full of heat. Her hands slid under Y/N’s jacket, palms mapping the familiar shape of her wife’s body, needing to *feel* her, not just see her. Y/N’s hands roamed too, holding Lizzie like she was fragile and precious and everything that ever mattered.

Clothes stayed on—for now—but the emotion between them was utterly naked.

Lizzie guided them toward the tiny couch without breaking the kiss. They collapsed onto it, tangled limbs and soft laughter as they settled in. Lizzie curled up half in Y/N’s lap, fingers now laced gently with hers.

“Promise me something,” Lizzie whispered, kissing the inside of Y/N’s wrist where her pulse still raced.

“Anything,” Y/N breathed.

“No more three weeks. Ever.”

Y/N nodded. “Never again. We’ll figure it out next time. If I have to sing to you from the back of a set or sleep on tour buses parked outside your trailer, I will.”

Lizzie smiled, heart too full, eyes glassy again. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love,” Y/N corrected, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s. “Deeply. Stupidly. Helplessly.”

Lizzie kissed her again—gentler now, like she finally felt safe again. Whole.

Outside, the world kept moving. But in that trailer, time bent just for them.

The kiss had settled into something slower now—softer presses of lips, lingering touches, and the kind of silence that only came when hearts were beating in sync again. Lizzie was curled into Y/N’s side on the tiny couch, one leg draped over her lap, fingers lazily tracing circles on the singer’s thigh.

Y/N’s eyes, though, kept wandering to the corner of the trailer… to the rack of wardrobe pieces hanging near the vanity.

And more specifically—to one bold, dark red corset with leather details and a plunging neckline that practically screamed chaos magic dominatrix. 

She raised a brow. “Is that Wanda’s new costume?”

Lizzie followed her gaze and immediately groaned, dropping her forehead to Y/N’s shoulder.

“Oh God. Don’t even start.”

But it was too late. Y/N was already smirking.

“No, I’m not judging—” she began, clearly judging just a little, “—but that thing has more cleavage than an awards show after-party.”

Lizzie looked up, mock-serious. “Marvel’s idea of ‘tactical gear,’ apparently.”

Y/N snorted. “What’s it meant to protect? The power of boobs?”

“Exactly. I weaponized them.”

Y/N gave her a slow, dramatic once-over. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure if Wanda looked at me in that thing, I’d forget how to breathe. She wouldn’t even need powers.”

Lizzie grinned and leaned in close, her voice dropping. “Is it because I’m the one wearing?”

Y/N licked her lips, eyes darkening just slightly. “Exactly!”

“Wanna help me out of it tonight?” Lizzie teased.

Y/N leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Only if I get to help you into it first.”

Lizzie laughed, loud and warm, then kissed her again—short and sweet this time.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You married ridiculous,” Y/N reminded her.

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

They both smiled, their foreheads pressed together. The weight of weeks apart had finally lifted, replaced by flirty banter and the quiet hum of love rekindled.

After a moment, Y/N glanced toward the corset again and muttered, “Still, though. That thing’s basically lingerie with a cape.”

Lizzie smirked. “Funny. I said the exact same thing at my fitting.”

“And they kept it?”

“They said, and I quote, ‘Wanda’s evolving.’”

Y/N blinked. “Into a Victoria’s Secret model?”

Lizzie giggled, burying her face in Y/N’s neck. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, my magical lingerie-wearing wife.”

Lizzie smacked her lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”

“Never,” Y/N said, wrapping her tighter in her arms. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”

---

***

Back at the Hotel

The suite door slammed shut behind them, but they barely made it two steps in.

Lizzie crashed into Y/N with a kiss so fierce it knocked the breath from her lungs.

Fingers tangled in hair. Teeth caught on lips. Hands gripped, pulled, clutched like they were afraid the other might vanish again if they let go for even a second.

Three weeks apart had left them starving.

Y/N dropped her bag blindly to the floor as Lizzie shoved her backwards, lips locked, until they hit the nearest wall. Y/N groaned, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like there was any space left between them.

“I’m gonna lose my mind if you don’t fuck me,” Lizzie whispered, panting between kisses. “I’ve needed you so bad.”

Y/N’s voice was wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me these past weeks.”

She grabbed Lizzie’s ass and lifted her off the ground—legs wrapping around her instinctively, mouths crashing again as they stumbled toward the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe, laughing and moaning at the same time.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and need.

Lizzie rolled them over, straddling Y/N with her hair wild and eyes dark with hunger. She ripped her own shirt off, tossing it blindly, then reached for Y/N’s. “Off. Now.”

Y/N sat up, yanking it over her head as Lizzie attacked her neck with kisses and bites that would definitely leave marks.

Lizzie pulls up the sports bra Y/N was wearing throwing it away behind her. And soon her lips were back to Y/N neck, going down to her breasts. 

When her lips wrap around Y/N nipple, she grinds down on the hardness under her at the same time, making Y/N moan. “Fuck…”

The singer flipped them without warning, pinning Lizzie down with her hands and hips, their breaths hot against each other’s mouths.

Lizzie moaned, arching up. “God, I missed your weight on me.”

“You’re gonna feel all of me tonight,” Y/N growled, her hand slipping down between Lizzie’s thighs, fingers finding her already wet and throbbing.

Lizzie gasped, hips bucking. “Please—please, just—fuck—”

They kissed like it was killing them not to. Like the space between their bodies was a war they refused to lose.

Y/N shoved Lizzie’s leggings down with shaking hands while Lizzie tore at her wife’s jeans like she couldn’t get them off fast enough.

“Need you,” Lizzie gasped, desperate, flushed. “Need you inside me. Now.”

Y/N finally kicked the last of her clothes off and knelt between her wife’s thighs, her breath catching at the sight of her laid out—panting, legs open, eyes wild with want.

She slid inside her slowly—deliberately—watching Lizzie come undone instantly, head thrown back, back arching off the bed.

“Fuck—yes, baby, yes—” Lizzie clutched her tighter, wrapping her legs around Y/N’s waist and dragging her in deeper, hips moving in frantic rhythm.

Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, her thrusts growing fast, rough, needy. They couldn’t stop kissing—between moans, between groans, between every ragged breath. Hands were everywhere—gripping, scratching, holding like they couldn’t get close enough.

The bed creaked beneath them, the air thick with sweat and sex and the sound of skin meeting skin.

Lizzie clawed at Y/N’s back, dragging her nails down hard. “Harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Y/N growled against her skin and obeyed, slamming into her deeper, harder, until Lizzie was shaking, crying out, clinging to her like she’d fall apart without her.

“Come with me,” Y/N gasped, her voice low and desperate. “Please, baby—come with me—”

Their hands found each other, fingers laced tight. Lizzie locked eyes with her—wide, wet, full of so much love it burned.

And then they came—together, hard, loud, overwhelmed by everything they’d held back for twenty-one aching days.

They collapsed, a tangled mess of limbs and trembling bodies, breathless and soaked in each other’s sweat and pleasure.

But even then, Y/N didn’t pull out. Lizzie didn’t let go.

“Again,” Lizzie whispered after a beat, kissing her jaw, her shoulder. “Please.”

Y/N groaned, already hardening again inside her. “As many times as you want.”

“Good,” Lizzie said with a smirk, rolling them over. “Because I’m not done with you either.”

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Lizzie was on top of her again—straddling her hips, nails trailing down her chest, lips swollen, eyes wild with hunger. Her thighs pressed tight around Y/N, grounding her, claiming her.

“You really thought you could show up after three weeks and not be ruined by me?” Lizzie whispered, her voice low, rough, devastating.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Lizzie grinded down against her, slow and purposeful. “I came here hoping everything.”

“Good.”

Lizzie leaned down and kissed her—sloppy and deep, tongues tangling, teeth scraping. She sucked a mark into Y/N’s neck, groaning when she felt her twitch underneath her.

Then she reached between them, guiding Y/N back inside her—slow, deliberate, both of them moaning at the contact like it physically reset their hearts.

Lizzie moved her hips slowly at first, teasing, savoring the stretch, the pressure, the way Y/N looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe.

“You feel so good,” she gasped, her hands pressed to Y/N’s chest for balance. “I forgot how full you make me feel…”

“Fuck, Lizzie,” Y/N growled, gripping her hips, trying to hold on, but Lizzie batted her hands away.

“No. Let me ride you.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, her voice caught in her throat.

She obeyed.

Lizzie started moving faster—messy, desperate, riding her hard and deep, head thrown back, breasts bouncing with every thrust. The room was thick with moans, the slap of skin, the bed creaking beneath their rhythm.

Y/N’s hands hovered at her sides, twitching to touch her, but she held back.

Until Lizzie looked down at her, hair a halo of chaos, and moaned, “Touch me. Please.”

That was all she needed.

Y/N sat up, arms wrapping tight around Lizzie as she started thrusting up into her, matching her rhythm, their chests pressed together, sweat-slicked skin sliding, gasps turning into cries.

Lizzie buried her face in Y/N’s neck, her voice a broken whisper, “I’m so close… don’t stop… please—don’t stop—”

“I’ve got you, baby,” Y/N murmured, kissing her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth. “Let go for me.”

Lizzie shattered in her arms—shaking, crying out her name, clinging to her like her body was the only thing holding her together.

And Y/N let go with her, falling hard, deep inside her, breath caught in her throat as she came with a shuddering groan against her skin.

They collapsed together, still joined, still pulsing with aftershocks, hearts pounding like war drums in their chests.

Minutes passed in silence except for their breathing.

Lizzie finally lifted her head and kissed her softly—slow, lazy, full of love. “I missed you.”

Y/N smiled sleepily. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone the way I miss you when you’re not there.”

Lizzie laid her head on Y/N’s chest, still catching her breath. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through her damp hair. “That’s okay. I’ll kiss it better.”

“Mm. Deal.”

They stayed like that—tangled, satisfied, quiet—for a long time.

And for the first time in weeks… they both finally slept.

***

---

The sun was out, birds chirped somewhere behind the trailers, and Lizzie Olsen looked like she hadn’t just spent half the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.

Correction—she looked exactly like someone who’d spent the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.

And everyone could see it.

“Morning,” one of the makeup artists said as Lizzie walked into the trailer.

“Morning,” Lizzie replied, voice a little raspy and warm, her oversized coffee in hand. She smiled dreamily, then winced the slightest bit as she sat down in the chair.

“You okay?” the artist asked, pulling her hair back gently.

“Totally,” Lizzie said, a bit too fast. “Just… stretched weird in my sleep.”

A beat.

“You sure it wasn’t your wife doing the stretching?” came Scarlett’s voice from behind them, with a classic grin on her face as she leaned against the doorway.

Lizzie gave her a flat look in the mirror. “You know, it’s weird how obsessed you are with my sex life.”

“I’m just saying,” he gestured loosely, “you came in like you were walking on clouds. Which is wild considering how much you were complaining about your back yesterday.”

Lizzie muttered under her breath, cheeks pink. “Mind your business.”

The makeup artist tried—and failed—not to laugh.

Just then, the trailer door opened again, and Y/N stepped in. Black jeans, boots, her vintage band tee barely hiding the bite mark at the base of her throat. Aviators perched on her nose. Calm. Cool. Gorgeous. Effortlessly rockstar. 

Scarlett blinked. “Oh. Wow.”

Y/N smiled, slipping her arm around Lizzie’s chair and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Morning, love.”

Lizzie reached up to touch her wife’s hand, soft and subtle, like a reflex. “Hey. You sleep okay?”

Y/N gave a lazy grin. “Eventually.”

The makeup artist had completely stopped moving.

Scarlett leaned sideways, whispering to no one in particular, “She’s way hotter in person. No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/N deadpanned, then looked at him over her glasses. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen her in bed.”

Lizzie choked on her coffee. “Babe.”

Scarlett looked like she’d just been spiritually ejected from the trailer.

As Y/N leaned down to whisper something in Lizzie’s ear, the red on her cheeks bloomed deeper. She bit her lip and shot her a look that was half affection, half don’t you dare make me walk funny on set. 

Y/N only smirked and backed away, walking out like she hadn’t just made a professional crew question their career choices.

The moment the door shut behind her, the trailer burst into chatter.

“Oh my God,” the hairstylist whispered.

“I thought she was gonna be cool,” one of the costume girls mumbled. “She’s dangerous.”

“I’m suddenly rethinking every romantic decision I’ve ever made,” Scarlett said, still staring at the door.

Lizzie just sighed, hiding her smirk behind her coffee. “That’s my wife.”

---

The sun beat down on the lot, but no one noticed—not with Elizabeth Olsen in costume, hurling imaginary debris like a goddess of chaos.

The camera crew stayed focused. Anthony Mackie was mid-line. The stunt doubles were prepped and waiting.

But Y/N?

Y/N didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

She stood off to the side, arms crossed, sunglasses on, watching her wife work like it was a private show. She’d seen Lizzie in movies. Watched her dominate red carpets. But something about seeing her in action—in full Wanda mode, confidence radiating with every move—made something low in Y/N's chest curl hot.

Lizzie tried to focus.

Really.

But every time she turned her head, Y/N’s smirk was right there. And God help her, it made her spine tingle.

“Cut!” the director called. “Take five!”

Lizzie walked off set, grabbing a water. “You trying to distract me?” she asked under her breath, brushing past Y/N.

“I don’t have to try,” Y/N murmured, lips near her ear. “You keep looking at me like you’re starved.”

Lizzie shot her a glare that was half threat, half plea. “You know what last night did to me.”

“I remember. Vividly.”

---

A half hour later, the entire crew stared in stunned silence as two food trucks pulled in—one serving gourmet Mediterranean bowls, the other dishing out fresh flatbreads, grilled skewers, and handmade desserts.

“Is this a mistake?” someone asked.

“Nope,” a PA called out, waving a hand. “It’s from Y/N. For everyone.”

A murmur rippled through the lot.

Lizzie walked over mid-bite of fruit, stopping short when she saw the setup. “You didn’t.”

Y/N, sitting on a folding chair with a bottle of lemonade and her feet kicked up, gave her a lazy grin. “You’ve been living off sad wraps and burnt coffee. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Lizzie lowered her sunglasses, giving her wife a look that said you're ridiculous, and I love you.

“Plus,” Y/N added, standing to meet her, “I wanted to thank the people who put you in tight leather and threw fake buildings at you. That’s love.”

“You’re going to cause problems,” Lizzie muttered, stepping close. “Half this crew already has a crush on you.”

“Let them,” Y/N whispered, brushing her hand along the small of Lizzie’s back. “I’m taking you home.”

---

Everyone ate like it was their last meal on earth. Mackie was three plates in. The grips were in heaven. Someone shouted, “She’s a legend!” as they dipped warm pita into house-made hummus.

But Y/N?

She didn’t eat much.

She was too busy watching Lizzie—face flushed from the heat, hair pinned back, lips curved into that soft little smile she only gave when she felt safe.

They locked eyes across the lot.

Y/N mouthed, Later.

Lizzie smiled.

And mouthed back, Can’t wait.

---

The city outside hummed with distant traffic, but inside their room, it was quiet—lamplight golden, sheets slightly rumpled from the morning’s rush, and the lingering scent of Y/N’s cologne still clinging to the pillows.

Lizzie stood by the window, freshly showered, damp hair tucked behind her ears. One of Y/N’s band tees hung loose on her frame, swallowing her curves, sleeves brushing past her elbows.

Y/N watched her from the bed—still in jeans and sports bra, half-sprawled across the comforter, one hand resting on her stomach. She looked tired but happy. Content. Her gaze hadn’t left Lizzie since they walked in.

“You’re staring,” Lizzie murmured.

“I missed staring at you,” Y/N said softly.

Lizzie turned, slow, eyes warm. “You missed more than that.”

Y/N sat up, shifting toward the edge of the bed. “I did.”

A beat passed between them. And then Lizzie walked over, climbing into Y/N’s lap like she belonged there—because she did.

Y/N exhaled against her temple as their bodies melted together.

“I kept waking up in the middle of the night,” Lizzie whispered, arms around her neck. “My hands would reach out for you. And when I realized you weren’t there, it felt like I forgot how to breathe.”

Y/N closed her eyes, forehead pressed to hers. “I know the feeling.”

Fingers ran along jawlines. Palms found familiar places on skin. There was no urgency now—just the ache of having gone too long without this. Without them.

“I hated being apart,” Lizzie said, voice cracking just a little. “I hated all of it.”

Y/N nodded, thumbs brushing tears that never quite fell. “We won’t do three weeks again.”

“Promise?”

“Swear it.” A pause. “I’ll move mountains next time if I have to.”

Lizzie settled over Y/N like she belonged there, thighs straddling her hips, hands never still—roaming over the face she’d ached for, down the chest she’d dreamed of curling against again.

Their mouths didn’t part for long. When they did, it was just to whisper breathless things like “God, I missed you,” and “You feel like home.”

Y/N’s hands found Lizzie’s waist under the oversized tee, fingertips spreading against warm skin like she needed to memorize every inch all over again. “Three weeks,” she breathed. “How did we survive it?”

Lizzie shook her head, eyes glassy but hungry. “I didn’t. I—I couldn’t sleep right. Eat right. Breathe right.” She rocked into Y/N with slow, needy pressure, their bodies syncing like muscle memory. “I needed you.”

“You have me,” Y/N said, voice low, reverent. “You always have me.”

***

Their kisses turned messy again—urgent, deep, full of longing. Lizzie tugged Y/N’s bra up, revealing skin she hadn't touched in too long, her hands sliding across familiar dips and lines with a desperation that made her gasp.

Y/N groaned softly. “You’re shaking.”

Lizzie nodded, not embarrassed. “I’ve wanted this every night since you left.”

They undressed each other slowly—but not gently. Fabric hit the floor with a little too much eagerness. Fingernails scratched down spines. Teeth grazed skin. Every inch they uncovered came with kisses that turned into sighs that turned into gasps.

When Lizzie sank down onto Y/N at last, they both stilled—just for a breath, foreheads pressed together, the weight of all those lonely nights suddenly dissolving in the heat between them.

Lizzie whimpered, her lips brushing Y/N’s. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N promised, hips moving in time with her, hands gripping her thighs, her waist, her heart. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

They moved like they were trying to make up for every lost second—rocking, clutching, gasping each other’s names like mantras. Lizzie’s moans turned ragged as she arched above Y/N, riding wave after wave of everything they’d been holding in.

“I love you,” she sobbed when she came, collapsing into Y/N’s chest, arms tight around her, body trembling. “I love you so much it hurts.”

Y/N held her, kissed her hair, whispered her name like a prayer. “I love you more. Always.”

They stayed tangled together, catching their breath, skin damp, hearts pounding in sync again.

No distance. No silence. Just the sound of love rediscovered in the dark.

***

---

Next Morning 

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the tangled sheets. The bed was half-empty, Lizzie’s side slightly cold, but her scent lingered—lavender and warm skin, like a dream Y/N didn’t want to wake from.

She stirred slowly, stretching with a quiet groan. Muscles still sore from the last leg of her tour. Sore from last night, too—though that ache was the kind she didn’t mind carrying.

Her hand reached instinctively for Lizzie, only to find a note on the pillow.

Y/N blinked and smiled.

“Didn’t want to wake you—you looked too peaceful. I miss you already. Come find me when you’re up? I need a kiss. — L”

She sat up, running a hand through her hair. Her body felt heavy but content. Soul full.

A few minutes later, after a long shower and throwing on a hoodie, loose jeans, and her favorite cap, she headed out. But not to set—not just yet.

She had a different stop in mind first.

---

The bakery smelled like heaven. Warm butter. Vanilla. Espresso.

Y/N scanned the case with a small grin. She knew Lizzie’s favorites: those lemon-glazed scones, that tiny, rich chocolate tart she always claimed she “only wanted a bite of” and finished in two. And of course—extra hot coffee with oat milk and two pumps of honey syrup. No more, no less.

The girl behind the counter blinked when she recognized her. Y/N smiled politely but didn’t stop. She was on a mission.

Boxes in hand, coffees secure, she texted Lizzie.

“Guess who’s bringing lunch, Mrs. Maximoff? 😉”

The reply was almost instant.

“You’re evil. I’m starving. Trailer or set?”

“Your trailer. Knock twice.”

---

Crew buzzed in every direction. There were wires, green screens, and the low hum of tech and camera gear. Y/N passed unnoticed at first— hoodie up, coffee carrier in one hand, pastry bag in the other.

She got to Lizzie’s trailer just as they were resetting for the next scene.

She knocked—twice.

The door flew open a second later.

Lizzie stood there still in costume—corset, leather, hair curled and pinned back—eyes wide, smile wide and hungry.

“You’re insane,” she said, dragging Y/N inside before anyone could blink. “I’ve been thinking about food—and you—all day.”

Y/N held up the bag like an offering. “Scones. Tart. And the coffee you love enough to marry me for.”

Lizzie took the coffee and kissed her instead. “Still would’ve married you without it.”

They settled on the small couch in the trailer, Lizzie curled up beside her wife in full Scarlet Witch gear, munching on a lemon scone with visible bliss.

“You spoil me,” she mumbled through a bite.

Y/N grinned, brushing a crumb from Lizzie’s lip. “I was gone too long. Gotta make up for it.”

“You’re doing a damn good job.”

Outside, they called for setup. Lizzie sighed.

Y/N nudged her gently. “Go save the world, Mrs. Olsen. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Lizzie kissed her cheek, then her lips. “Promise?”

“Swear it.”

---

Later

The hum of air conditioning and soft tapping of Y/N’s laptop keys filled the space. She sat cross-legged on the little couch, Lizzie’s scent still lingering on the pillows beside her. A few half-eaten pastries sat on the coffee table. Her phone was on speaker.

“…yes, move the London radio interview to next week. No, I don’t want to zoom in from here. I’m here to rest—and be with my wife. Let’s keep my calendar light.”

On the other end of the line, her PA laughed. “Got it, boss. So, no surprise promos?”

“Not unless someone’s dying”

They hung up just as the trailer door creaked open and Lizzie stepped in, tired but glowing.

Y/N looked up and immediately smiled. “There’s my superstar.”

Lizzie let out a breath and leaned against the door. “There’s my entire world.” She walked over and dropped into Y/N’s lap with a groan. “I missed you.”

“You saw me three hours ago.”

“I still missed you.”

They kissed, lazy and soft, foreheads resting together after.

“Wrapped up your empire?” Lizzie murmured, nodding toward the laptop.

“Mostly. Just told them I’m not working while I’m here. I’m officially your groupie until you wrap this movie.”

Lizzie laughed, full and warm. “I like the sound of that.”

Then she sat up a little straighter, eyes sparkling.

“So—Paul’s throwing something tonight. Small club. Most of the cast and crew are going. He said you’re totally invited.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Me? At a club full of Marvel stars? Will the world survive?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Lizzie said, grinning. “Come with me?”

“You even have to ask?”

---

Sunset spilled honey-gold light into the room, casting long shadows across the bed. The playlist Y/N had picked pulsed low, velvet beats vibrating softly through the air. She stood in front of the mirror, straightening her black button-up shirt. It clung perfectly to her frame—broad shoulders, narrow waist, sleek lines—and the black pants hugged her hips and thighs with just the right amount of tension. She knew she looked good, but she wasn't thinking about herself.

Not when her wife was still in the bathroom.

The door creaked open behind her—and Y/N turned.

Lizzie stepped out barefoot, hair slightly damp, slipping earrings into place with a glance toward her wife.

She wore a deep burgundy dress—barely-there straps, low neckline, silk that caressed every curve like it was made to be touched. Her skin glowed golden in the dying light. She didn’t even look at Y/N at first—until she felt her gaze.

Y/N’s breath caught. “Fuck,” she whispered, eyes raking down Lizzie’s body. “You’re unreal.”

Lizzie looked up and froze. Her lips parted. Her eyes dipped—slowly, deliberately—to take in the way Y/N’s shirt stretched across her chest, the way the pants outlined her hips and the growing tension between her thighs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lizzie said quietly, but there was a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth. “We have to leave in twenty.”

Y/N crossed the room in two strides, hands sliding around her waist. “Then let’s make it fifteen,” she murmured, already hard, already burning for her.

Her mouth found Lizzie’s neck, kisses quickening, hips pressing forward, trying to grind against her.

Lizzie let out a soft sound—but she pulled back, laughing breathlessly. “Nope.”

“What?” Y/N stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Lizzie bit her lip and smoothed down her dress, still looking her wife up and down like she was barely holding back. “We’ll be late. You know how Mackie gets when people show up after he’s drunk.”

“I don’t care if Feige gets mad,” Y/N growled, trying to grab her again.

Lizzie dodged her touch with a playful grin. “I said no, baby.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the ache between her legs sharp and urgent now. “You’re evil.”

“I know.” Lizzie leaned in, brushing her lips just barely against Y/N’s jaw. “I want you to spend all night watching me. Wanting me. Thinking about what you could’ve had before we left this room.”

Y/N groaned low, jaw tight.

Lizzie stepped back, grabbed her clutch, and winked. “Now come on, rockstar. Let’s go make everyone at that club jealous.”

Y/N adjusted herself with a frustrated sigh, already plotting revenge.

“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her wallet. “But the second we get back…”

“You won’t even make it to the bed,” Lizzie promised over her shoulder.

And God, Y/N believed her.

---

At the Club

The private section of the club was buzzing with energy. Music thumped low and sexy, lights pulsing gently, and laughter rang through the room as the Marvel cast loosened up after a long shoot week. Drinks flowed, stories were shared, and the vibe was effortless—like a reunion of friends who genuinely liked each other.

Y/N had drifted away from Lizzie’s side for the first time that night, pulled into conversation by Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson, who immediately took to her with warmth and curiosity.

“So you’re the Y/N,” Scarlett said with a knowing grin, nursing a drink and leaning in. “I’ve had your song stuck in my head for weeks.”

Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hopefully one of the good ones.”

“It’s the one that sounds like sex,” RDJ chimed in. “The one with the heavy bass and that line about—what is it? Midnight bruises and silk?”

“Yup,” Y/N said, trying not to grin too wide. “That one’s about Lizzie.”

Robert raised his brows. “Good lord. You’re a menace.”

Y/N smirked. “I try.”

Not far off, Lizzie stood with Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, watching her wife with sly intent. Her drink dangled lazily in her hand, her eyes locked on Y/N’s frame as she laughed with her co-stars.

Her gaze was dark. Possessive. Dangerous.

She moved slowly through the room, hips swaying in that burgundy dress, every step deliberate. She didn’t go to Y/N. No—she circled her. She’d let her wife feel her from a distance, catch glimpses of her while pretending to be immersed in conversation.

Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

While Chris Evans pulled her into a warm hug and joked about something, Y/N’s eyes kept flicking toward Lizzie.

And Lizzie? She was whispering something to Sebastian, hand on his arm as she laughed—just a little too close, a little too playful.

Y/N’s jaw ticked.

Scarlett nudged her. “You’re being hunted.”

Y/N tore her eyes away from her wife. “Yeah,” she muttered. “And she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

“She’s driving you crazy on purpose,” Chris added with a laugh. “Can’t say I blame her. You two are…” He gestured vaguely between them. “Kinda intense.”

Lizzie finally approached, slipping between conversations like silk. She didn’t touch Y/N right away—no, she let her fingers graze the small of her back as she passed by, just enough to make her flinch.

Y/N’s breath caught. Her pants were already tighter than comfort allowed.

“Having fun, baby?” Lizzie asked sweetly, now standing beside her and taking a sip of her drink.

Y/N looked down at her, eyes hungry. “I swear to God, if you touch me like that one more time—”

Lizzie leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek.

“Behave,” she whispered. “I want you squirming until we get back.”

Y/N exhaled harshly, barely keeping it together.

---

Nearby, Sebastian leaned over to Mackie and whispered, “They’re either about to go home… or start something in the damn hallway.”

“Place your bets,” Mackie grinned.

But Y/N didn’t move yet.

No. She stayed. Sat right back down with the rest of the crew—because if Lizzie wanted to tease, Y/N could play that game too. Two could set fire to a room without lifting a finger.

So she let Lizzie sit beside her on the low velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just spent the last hour driving her famous, desperate wife insane with every glance, every touch, every graze of her fingers along skin that had gone far too long without being touched.

The cast kept talking—Sebastian teasing Chris, Scarlett recounting a moment on set that had everyone laughing—but Y/N’s focus narrowed. Lizzie leaned in, laughing at something Mackie said, and her hand settled on Y/N’s thigh again. Innocent. Casual.

Except it wasn’t.

Y/N's leg tensed. Her jaw clenched. Lizzie’s thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of her black pants—right where she knew it would do the most damage.

Y/N reached for her drink and downed the rest of it in one go.

“Hey,” Chris said, leaning closer, “how’s the tour going?”

Y/N blinked. “Hm?”

“The shows,” Chris laughed. “Your tour. You just wrapped, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Y/N rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, willing herself not to look down at Lizzie’s hand. “They were great. Exhausting, but great.”

Robert leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Still writing while you’re out there?”

Lizzie’s hand inched higher.

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, voice going hoarse. “Always.”

Lizzie smiled to herself—pleased at the strain in her wife’s voice, the twitch in her thigh, the way she sat perfectly still while her body screamed to move.

“You look warm,” Lizzie murmured under her breath.

Y/N turned to her with a dangerous glare. “You think this is funny?”

Lizzie’s lips brushed her ear. “I think I want you so desperate you forget how to speak.”

Y/N bit her cheek, hard. Her arousal was a live wire now. She couldn’t even shift in her seat without drawing attention to just how tightly her pants clung to her.

Sebastian caught the tension—smirked. “You good, Y/N?”

“Peachy,” she gritted out.

“I think we should go,” Lizzie said sweetly, rising from the couch with one last little squeeze to Y/N’s thigh. “It’s late.”

Y/N stood fast—too fast—mumbling goodbyes while Lizzie hugged the others like she wasn’t dragging her wife to the edge of sanity.

As they walked out, RDJ called after them, “Try not to break anything expensive!”

Lizzie waved, utterly unbothered. “No promises!”

Y/N didn’t speak until they hit the car.

Then she turned, grabbing Lizzie by the waist and pressing her up against the inside of the door before it even closed. “You think teasing me in front of all your friends is a game?”

Lizzie laughed breathlessly, lips brushing hers. “No. I think it’s foreplay.”

Y/N’s growl was low, dangerous. “You’re not gonna walk tomorrow.”

Lizzie’s grin spread slowly, eyes gleaming. “Good.”

---

***

The second the door clicked shut, Y/N spun Lizzie around and pressed her up against it, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was pure need.

No words.

Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. Hands already tugging at fabric.

“You think it’s funny?” Y/N growled against Lizzie’s lips. “Spending the whole night turning me on like that?”

Lizzie gasped, breath hitching as Y/N’s hands gripped her hips tight. “I wanted you like this.”

“You got what you wanted.”

She was already working open the buttons of Lizzie’s dress, lips dragging hotly along her neck. Lizzie’s hands slipped under Y/N’s shirt, nails raking across her stomach.

Y/N hissed. “Bed. Now.”

“No,” Lizzie whispered with a smirk, dragging Y/N back by the collar. “Here.”

She dropped to her knees in front of her wife like she’d been waiting all damn night to do it. And she had.

Y/N's breath caught, one hand bracing against the door as Lizzie undid her belt, slow but purposeful. Her tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth, eyes dark with hunger.

“Fuck—Lizzie—”

“Shh,” she smirked. “You were such a good girl all night. Just let me.”

Y/N’s head hit the door with a soft thud, a broken moan leaving her lips as Lizzie took her into her mouth, slow and deep. Her hands found Y/N’s thighs, gripping tightly, guiding the rhythm, relishing every shaky breath and curse.

It was messy. Desperate. All heat and noise and need.

Y/N couldn’t last. Not with the way Lizzie moaned around her. Not after hours of Lizzie brushing against her, whispering filth in her ear, staring at her across the club with eyes that promised exactly this.

She pulled Lizzie up before she lost her mind entirely, cupped her jaw, and kissed her hard, tasting herself on her wife’s lips.

“You like making me lose control?” Y/N whispered against her mouth.

Lizzie nodded, breathless. “I want you to.”

She didn’t even make it to the bed. Y/N pushed Lizzie onto the chaise near the window, slid her dress up in one swift motion, and stepped in behind her — pressing close, chest to her back, one hand flat against her stomach to hold her there.

Lizzie gasped, eyes fluttering shut as her hands gripped the arms of the chaise. The city lights spilled in from the window, throwing gold across her skin. Her breath fogged the glass in front of her as Y/N’s body molded to hers, firm and shaking with restraint.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Y/N whispered into her ear, voice thick with need.

Lizzie arched into her. “Then take me. Please.”

Y/N groaned softly and slid a hand down, over her hips, in between her thighs — fingers trailing over her with a kind of reverent hunger. Lizzie whimpered, her head falling back onto Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” Y/N breathed, teeth grazing her neck. “All night you’ve been teasing me, looking like that… and you’re this desperate already?”

Lizzie moaned in response, shifting back against her wife’s hips with purpose. “I’ve been waiting. Just like you.”

The moment cracked like thunder. Y/N guided herself inside Lizzie, holding her steady with one arm around her waist. The first slow push made both of them gasp — not just from the sensation, but from the sheer intimacy of it, the pressure of finally being joined after a night full of tease.

Lizzie trembled, one hand reaching back to clutch at Y/N’s thigh. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

Y/N didn’t. She moved with purpose, with hunger, hips driving forward as Lizzie cried out into the night. The sound of skin against skin echoed softly in the room, paired with whispered curses, desperate moans, and the occasional break of Y/N’s name from Lizzie’s lips like a sacred word.

They moved together like they were trying to erase the weeks of absence — like they could memorize each other’s bodies all over again in one night. Every thrust, every gasp, every grind of hips was soaked in longing and love and wild, reckless desire.

Y/N slipped a hand down again, rubbing slow circles against Lizzie’s clit that made her fall apart, gasping, trembling, shuddering. The climax hit her hard — her body arching as she let go with a cry, clutching the edge of the chaise, legs unsteady.

Y/N held her close through it, her own breath ragged, forehead pressed to Lizzie’s back. Her cock still fully hard inside Lizzie.

Lizzie, chest rising and falling, let out a soft breath. “Wait,” she murmured after a moment, looking back at her wife with glassy eyes and a flushed face. “You didn’t finish…”

Y/N shook her head, her voice a little hoarse. “Didn’t want to yet.”

That made Lizzie smile — slow, dazed, but hungry again. “Come to bed.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pulls out and followed Lizzie across the room, hands never quite leaving her skin, eyes locked on her like she still couldn’t believe she was real again.

Lizzie dropped onto the bed, lying back with arms open, hair wild against the sheets. “Come back inside me.”

Y/N climbed over her, settling between her legs, her body hovering just slightly above.

Then, she push slow, deliberate — a deep, aching slide that pulled a soft gasp from both of them. Lizzie’s hands flew to Y/N’s back, pulling her closer, deeper.

The intensity hit them both hard.

No teasing now. No games. Just the desperate rhythm of two people who had waited too long — who knew every curve, every sound, every tremble of the other’s body.

Lizzie clung to Y/N, panting against her ear. “Harder. I want all of you.”

Y/N groaned low in her throat and gave in — hips rolling harder, lips seeking out every inch of exposed skin, breath mingling in heat and sweat and whispered curses.

It wasn’t slow for long.

The tension built fast — the kind of hunger born from three weeks apart, too many late-night calls, and dreams that ended too soon. Lizzie cried out again, her body trembling from oversensitivity but refusing to stop. She needed this. Needed all of it.

“Y/N,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—please—”

She didn’t. Y/N drove into her until her own release tore through her with a sound that was more raw than controlled — a sharp gasp against Lizzie’s neck, her body shuddering as she came deep inside her wife.

They stayed like that for a long moment — skin on skin, hearts pounding, breath syncing slowly back to normal.

Lizzie eventually let out a shaky laugh. “So… still not done?”

Y/N kissed her shoulder, then her jaw, then her lips. “Not even close.”

Lizzie smirked lazily. “Then get some water. I want you again… but this time, I’m on top.”

Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s skin, still trying to catch her breath. “You’re insatiable.”

Lizzie grinned, running a hand down her wife’s back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. “You were gone for three weeks. That’s 21 nights without you. You do the math.”

She rolled them over smoothly, straddling Y/N’s waist, and sat up, hair tousled and falling in soft waves around her flushed face. The moonlight framed her like a painting, and Y/N could do nothing but look up at her in awe.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Y/N murmured, hands settling on Lizzie’s thighs.

“And you,” Lizzie whispered as she leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, “are mine.”

Her mouth trailed lower — over Y/N’s jaw, her neck, her collarbone — leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made Y/N shiver. She rocked her hips just enough to remind them both that Y/N hadn’t softened yet, and Lizzie smiled against her skin.

Y/N’s hands gripped her hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe.”

“I know,” Lizzie whispered as she rose up again, guiding her wife inside her with practiced ease.

The moan that escaped them both was quiet but wrecked — full of need and the kind of relief that came from being home in each other’s bodies. Lizzie moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm, her hands resting on Y/N’s chest for balance.

Y/N watched her, completely lost in the sight. “You feel like heaven.”

Lizzie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s again. “Then don’t stop worshipping me.”

Her movements quickened, a rhythm that grew more desperate as their bodies synced — gasps and soft curses filling the room. Y/N met her every motion with a thrust of her hips, hands now gripping Lizzie’s waist like she’d come undone without her.

It didn’t take long. The intensity built fast, the second round shorter, sharper. Lizzie cried out Y/N’s name as she came again, her body trembling as she collapsed against her wife.

Y/N followed seconds later, groaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her as she spilled inside her again.

They lay there in the aftermath, tangled together and breathless, skin slick with sweat and kisses.

Lizzie smiled lazily, cheek pressed to Y/N’s chest. “Okay… now I’m done.”

Y/N laughed softly and pulled the covers over them both. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

And in the quiet of their hotel suite — city lights flickering in the distance — they finally slept, tangled in each other, fully at peace.

***

---

Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The quiet hum of the city outside barely reached them, muffled by the luxury hotel’s thick windows. Inside, all was calm — the only movement was the slow rise and fall of two bodies curled together under the covers.

Y/N stirred first, blinking open sleepy eyes to find herself wrapped in a familiar warmth. Lizzie was tucked tightly against her, head resting on her chest, one arm splayed possessively across Y/N’s stomach. Their legs were tangled, her bare skin pressed to Y/N’s in that effortless, intimate way that came only from years of loving someone deeply.

Y/N didn’t move at first — didn’t want to disturb the peace. She let herself feel: the warmth of Lizzie’s breath against her skin, the occasional twitch of her fingers as she dreamed, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets. She was home.

Lizzie murmured something incoherent and nuzzled in closer, her lips brushing the side of Y/N’s breast before she finally cracked open one eye. “Morning.”

Y/N smiled down at her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Lizzie blinked up at her with a slow, lazy grin. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?”

That got a soft laugh. Lizzie stretched, the movement making the sheets shift and reminding both of them just how little they were wearing. She didn’t move away though — just looked up at Y/N like she was the sun itself. “You always wake up this pretty?”

“Only when I’ve got you in my arms,” Y/N teased, brushing a bit of hair off Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her collarbone. “Cheesy.”

“True,” Y/N murmured, dipping down to kiss her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips — soft, slow, and unhurried.

They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the gentle stillness, hands roaming in that sleepy, affectionate way — not with hunger this time, but comfort. Familiar. Needed.

Eventually, Lizzie pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s stay like this all morning.”

“No arguments here,” Y/N murmured, arms tightening around her. “Room service later?”

Lizzie smiled against her skin. “Later. Much later.”

She nestled back down, eyes fluttering shut again, and Y/N followed suit — not caring about alarms or plans or anything beyond the warmth of her wife, safe in her arms.

---

Leave your comments everybody!

[hapuchika]

Feline Irritation

Summary: A simple date with their girlfriends ends disastrously... Well, at least for Y/n.

Warnings: None. Fluff. Just a shit ton of Fluff. Maybe swearing? but if swearing is a problem then honestly why are you reading any of my work..

A/N: This is a part of the Machiavellian Universe and has a few original characters.

Main Masterlist:

Series Masterlist

Enjoy!

X--X--X--X--X

Natasha considered herself to be a patient woman. She had dealt with all sorts of people; humans and non-humans.

But you.. you were getting on her fucking nerves.

The seventh sigh had her snapping. She whirled around to where you were walking behind her. Your grumpy face was a stark contrast to the afternoon at the park, where the three of you were.

“One more sigh, and so help me god. You’re going into the pond.” Nat warned.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not my fault. I’m burning this fucking sweater when we get home.” You grumbled.

Wanda frowned, “Hey.. I made that sweater with love.” She said with a pout.

The witch had to admit that seeing you wear a bright yellow knit sweater and denim shorts was not something she ever thought she’d see.

You glared at the witch, “You poofed this sweater with magic in a second, Wands.”

“Love magic”, Wanda said with a sweet smile.

“Alright, enough, you two.” Natasha snapped.

This was supposed to be a relaxing date in the park. Granted, it had only been fifteen minutes, but she was ready to punch your annoyingly gorgeous face.

“Y/n,” Natasha said, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “You stay here. Wanda and I will get some coffee. Use that time to calm the fuck down.”

You looked at her, pouting and flopped down on the park bench nearby, staring at the ducks in the pond.

Taking that as compliance, the witch and the spy headed towards the nearest cafe.

You stared at the ducks, snickering when one said something ostentatious. Your amusement was interrupted when there was a loud meow, and a cat jumped onto the bench beside you.

You refused to look at it.

“I’m on a date.” You said dismissively. “Go away.”

Mrrrrow

You scoffed, “If you’re hungry, go hunt.”

Meowww

You turned to the cat with a raised eyebrow. 

“And just why are you eavesdropping on my date? I’m not asking Natasha to bring food for you. You’re a born hunter… so hunt.”

The cat walked closer, lying down and exposing its belly, looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Nice try, cat.” You said dryly. “That doesn’t work on me.”

The cat gently rested its paw on your thigh, making you clench your jaw.

“If you’re injured, go to a vet. The one you irritate when you’ve just fought Balthazaar.” You say impassively, gently lifting the paw and brushing it off your thigh.

Mrrraowww

You let out a scoff, “You take that back. I am not a good person. I don’t care if you’re injured or not. Just because you have a brain doesn't mean you get to give opinions on my life.”

The cat sat there staring at you, letting out a slight exhale through its nose.

You roll your eyes, finally turning to the cat. “Oh wow, look at that. I wasn’t aware you had a psych degree, cat.”

“There’s an old man handing out cat food on the other side of the pond. Go get it from him. I’m sure he will ignore your judgy attitude. After all, a name like dragos for a cat is-“

“Are you talking to that cat?” Came a voice behind you, making you jump.

You look at Natasha’s amused but confused expression as she held two cups of iced coffee.

You let out a tired sigh, “More like trying to get it to stop judging and begging me.”

Wanda looked at you in amazement, “You speak cat?”

You gave the witch a smug smile. “I speak everything… detka.”

Wanda gulped at your flawless accent.

Natasha smirked, “You know it turns her on when you speak Russian.”

You turn to her with a smug smile, “Ya znayu, chto kogda ya govoryu po-russki, eto tozhe vozbuzhdaet tebya, moya lyubov’.” (I know it turns you on as well, my love.)

You watched Natasha’s eyes widen before darkening significantly. Before anybody could comment further, you were interrupted by a loud sound.

Mrrroow

You snapped your eyes to the golden-eyed black cat with an annoyed expression.

“Will you stop complaining. The croissant isn’t for you. You know chocolate can kill you, right?”

Meww

“Oh, shut up. Yes, it can. You know what. Go ahead.” You say, reaching for the bag of food in Natasha’s hand.

The spy immediately yanked it out of reach.

“You are not giving the cat chocolate, Y/n”, Natasha admonished.

You roll your eyes, turning to the cat. “She said no.”

Wanda bends to the cat, eyes already full of love.

“Would you like some food, little one?” She asked gently.

Mew

The cat looked at her with large eyes, licking its paw.

Wanda smiled and poofed a bowl of cat food. The feline simply began inhaling the food.

“Aww, look at him, he’s adorable.” Wanda cooed.

In record time, the cat finished his food and jumped back onto the bench and your lap, settling down and purring.

You stiffened, “Get. Off. Me. Cat.” you growled, gritting your teeth.

Much to your girlfriend’s amusement, the purring intensified.

“Oh, we’re definitely taking him home,” Natasha said, giving the cat head scritches.

“No.” You said firmly, “No cats in my house.”

-

“Here’s your new home, you bastard.” You grumbled, dropping the cat onto the floor of your hall.

X—X—X—X—X

You were in the middle of talking to Ae when a screech made you jump. You sigh, massaging your temples.

“Bellona seems to have found your new pet,” Ae says, amused, her purple eyes twinkling.

“He’s not my pet. He’s Natasha and Wanda’s pet.” You grumbled.

The two of you walk to the commotion. Bellona is running after the cat. You let out a chuckle when Bellona copies the cat’s vault off the wall and follows him.

There’s a loud thud, a meow, a hiss. The Bellona comes grinning, holding the cat and covered in scratches.

“He’s adorable.” Bellona screeches, wiggling the cat in her hands.

The cat in question simply seemed stunned at the sheer athleticism of Bellona.

Mrrrrow

Bellona looked at you, “What did Liho say?”

You frowned, “His name isn’t L-“

Meowwww

Another sigh, “He said he’ll agree to the name Liho if you let him go right now.”

Bellona let go of Liho as though he were scalding hot. He glared at her and ran to you, jumping and climbing onto your shoulder, where he remained perched.

“Get. Off.” You growled.

Liho purred and curled his tail around your neck with a soft ‘Meww’

It was at that moment that Alaric entered the living room with Natasha on his shoulders.

“Good job.” Natasha said impassively, “Now put me down.”

Alaric grumbled wordlessly but put the spy down on the ground.

Bellona grinned at him, “Lost another bet?”

The boy scowled, “I’m telling you, she cheats.”

“How exactly does one cheat in Uno?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

His brow furrows as he looks at you, “More importantly.. is that a cat on your shoulder?”

Natasha walks to you, leaning in for a kiss. You eagerly reciprocate only for Natasha to move at the last moment and plant the kiss on Liho’s forehead.

You looked at her, flabbergasted.

“How- How dare y-“

“Mom, have you met Liho?” Bellona interrupted.

“Liho, huh?” Nat mused, scratching the cat’s head and smiling at the resulting purr. “I like it. Suits him.”

“Alright. That’s it.” You snap, slapping Natasha’s hand away.

“You.” You tell Liho, “Get off my shoulder or you’re going back on the street.”

Mrrow, Liho says innocently.

You frown, “I don’t give a rats ass if it gets cold. You’re crumpling my shirt, and you smell. Get off my shoulder.”

Liho gives your cheek a small lick and jumps off.

“Aww.” Bellona coos.

“Don’t aww him.” You warned, “He’s a manipulative asshole who’s weirdly addicted to catterpillars.”

“I’m sorry,” Alaric says out loud. “Are we just glossing over the fact that Y/n can speak ‘cat’?”

You raise an eyebrow at your son. “I can speak everything, Alaric. ‘Cat’ is simply the assholey French of animal syntax.”

“It’s still really cool, Y/n”, Wanda says from the couch behind you. 

Only Bellona jumps at the sudden voice.

“Jesus fuck,” Bellona said, clutching her chest. “Did you just.. appear?”

Wanda giggles, wiggling her fingers at her daughter.

While everyone finds a spot on the gigantic sofa, Natasha (sitting between the side of you and Wanda) flits through different movies you could watch.

“Oh, oh, Inside Out!” Alaric says, wiggling between Wanda and Bellona.

You chuckle, “I can’t wait to see Nat cry when Binbong dies.”

The collective groan from your family makes you look at them in confusion.

“You do this every time,” Alaric complains, using his magic to throw a pillow at you.

“Seriously, detka.” Wanda admonishes. “You can’t spoil movies just because you know how every movie ends.”

“Hey, at least I don’t gasp like you do, Alaric.” You defended.

“That’s true. Alaric gasps 62% more than anyone else. 23% more than the rest combined.” Ae notes, using her vibranium-adamantium body to push everybody and sit beside you at the end of the sofa.

Bellona snatches the remote from Natasha’s hand and skims through the choices until she selects ‘That time I got reincarnated as a slime’.

“Nice choice, B.” You said appreciatively.

The remote glows red before it flies into Wanda’s hand.

“We are not watching anime again.” The witch declares.

It takes her but a moment to choose. Nobody complains when The Dick Van Dyke show begins playing.

Popcorn, M&Ms, slushies and a disgustingly green smoothie are poofed into existence wordlessly.

Ae dims the lights and everyone watches, munching and sharing snacks.

There’s a slight meow heard, and Liho jumps onto your lap. Alaric snickers at the disgusted look you give the cat.

Despite the fact that you whispered, everyone heard.

“This is the first and last time I’m allowing this, cat.”

Nobody believed you.

X—X—X—X—X

If you enjoyed, please do comment and let me know! Also i'd love some suggestions on what else to write!

[hapuchika]

office brat

pairing: wandanat x afab!reader

summary: you piss natasha off and she calls wanda into her office to deal with you.

content: brat taming, dom!wandanat, small mommy kink, strap on (r receiving), finger sucking, voyeurism, orgasm denial, pussy eating (n receiving), degradation.

When Natasha's pen scratching faltered for the fifth time, and she took an irritated breath, you knew you were getting closer to getting what you wanted. Her patience was running thin.

"Sit fucking still," she growled, slamming her pen and turning her chair to face you.

You huffed. You begged to come to the office with Natasha, expecting her to fuck you on her desk until you couldn't take it anymore, but no, she stripped you naked and forced you to kneel next to her, telling to be quiet and still until she finished.

"I'm bored," You whined, reaching out for Natasha's leg but she slapped you away.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. If Natasha were a cartoon character, steam would be coming from her ears. She grabbed her office phone, punching in some numbers on the keypad, and held it to her ear. The line rang for a few seconds before being answered.

"My office. Now."

You frowned and started to rise, but Natasha forced you back down. That was weird. Natasha never lets anyone see you naked. She always said that your body is for her eyes only.

The door clicked open, and you nearly jumped up in excitement. Wanda Maximoff, Natasha's business partner, walked in, shooting you a cheeky grin before stopping in front of Natasha's desk.

"You could use your manners next time." Wanda remarked.

"Don't start." Natasha scoffed. "They've been pissing me off the entire day. Just deal with them."

Wanda hummed, sitting down on the couch and beckoning you over. You crawled over, pulling yourself onto her lap, and basically vibrating with excitement. It's been weeks since you last saw Wanda. You missed her.

She traced your lips with her thumb. "Been bad, huh?"

You pouted, pushing your face into Wanda's neck and grinding into her lap. Like always, she was packing. Wanda unzipped her pants and pulled her strap out, slapping it against your cunt. You sank down on it with ease, groaning at the stretch.

Wanda slipped two fingers inside your mouth. "Gotta stay quiet,"

Her fingers rest heavy on your tongue. You licked at the pads of her fingers and sucked lightly. She kept a bruising grip on your hip and slammed you down repeatedly. You swore she was about to split you in half.

Just as you were about to tip over the pleasurable edge, Natasha had to ruin it. "Stop,"

Wanda stilled your hips, keeping you snug against her. You cried out, softly slamming your fists against her shoulder. Wanda's face dropped, and she grabbed your wrists in an iron grip.

"You do not hit me," she hissed. "Do you understand me? You do not fucking hit me."

Your heart dropped. Angering Wanda was only a mistake an idiot would make. You mumbled an apology around her fingers.

"You're managing to piss off everyone today, aren't you?" Natasha threaded her fingers through your hair and yanked it.

You swallowed back a bratty response.

"I don't even think they deserve an orgasm," Wanda said.

Your cries of protest fell on deaf ears. You were forced to kneel at Wanda's feet and watch. Natasha took your place, sinking down on Wanda's strap, covered in your slick. Wanda pulled her into a messy kiss, muffling her moans and fueling your frustration.

"Please!" you begged.

They ignored you. Natasha was close, and you wished so badly that you could see her face as she came. It wasn't fair.

"You gonna cum for mommy?" Wanda asked with a shit-eating grin.

Natasha's laugh was cut off by a moan. Her head lulled forward and her body shook as her orgasm washed over her. Wanda continued to pump into her until Natasha pulled herself to sit next to Wanda.

She spread her legs and you eagerly sat between them, your eyes trained to her glistering cunt. She pulled your face into her, and your frustration was washed away. You licked and suckled on her clit until her back arched and a silent moan left her throat. Your eyes didn't leave her face for a second.

"Not that hard to be good, huh?" Natasha shuddered as you cleaned her.

You shrugged, "I got what I wanted in the end."

"Brat."

[hapuchika]

Really wish i was pounding into a pretty girl as i hold her arms over her head and have my other hand lightly around her neck while she keeps breathlessly saying, "don't stop, don't stop"

[hapuchika]

𝑶𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝟑𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝟐𝟎, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.9𝒌

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4

𝙷𝚒, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚊𝚖! 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝙸 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎, 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

You stared dumbfounded in front of you, your heart beating uncontrollably in your chest; you could feel it almost rip your ribcage apart from the hard pumps. Your hands had suddenly become sweaty, the phone in your hand almost dropping to the floor. Your words had died in your throat; whatever you had wanted to tell Wanda suddenly seemed senseless, meaningless. Your eyes drifted to the door, the one she had just asked you to open, the one she was probably standing behind. You felt yourself losing every ability to think straight, the need to open the door almost blinding you, but the fear of what she wanted to talk about was making it difficult for you to even take a step towards the door. You noticed that you didn’t hear anything coming from the other end of the phone anymore, but you could feel her soft breath. You listened to it mesmerized, picturing her standing in front of you, breathing softly. The sound of her breathing slowly calmed you down; the idea of her being so close to you relaxed your heart; you could feel it slowly beating at a normal pace. 

Your legs finally moved; you were gulping almost loudly as you made your way to the door, phone still in hand, not a word out of your mouth. Your hand wrapped around the doorknob, shaking as you tried your best to find the courage to turn it. Slowly you opened the door, your eyes fixated in front of you, taking in piece by piece Wanda’s figure as it opened completely. The redhead didn’t say anything; she only looked at you. Her beautiful eyes were sweet as always, her hair was tied up in a soft ponytail, and she was dressed as if she were at home, which made you realize she didn’t plan that; she just felt like it. 

“Wanda… my mother’s at home.” You had no idea why those were the first words you managed to get out, but for some reason they were. Your eyes drifted away from hers; embarrassment filled you at what you were not so subtly suggesting, but as you heard a soft giggle, your gaze went back to her. She was smiling, amused at you, her cheeks slightly pinkish, a sight you decided you were quite fond of. Your own cheeks felt hot, but now that you could see her reaction to your words and probably to your thoughts, you couldn’t manage to take your eyes off of her. 

“I know, detka. I would suggest making our way to my house, but I think that would probably not be wise now, would it?” Her voice was low; you could feel every part of your body shivering at the sound, your eyes burning into hers as your mind tried to drift away from the moment, to picture everything you’re both suggesting. You saw her eyes darken as you thought about making your way to her house, closing the door, and throwing every doubt and restraint out of the window. You bit your lip, drifting your eyes away from hers, trying to take a deep breath, hoping that filling your lungs with air would ease every feeling inside you. “You seriously need to stop that; you’re making me struggle to hold back.” You chuckled softly at her words, trying to keep your thoughts in check but failing miserably. You stepped forward, bringing yourself closer to her as your hand around the doorknob pulled the door, closing it completely. 

“I didn’t think you would have a problem with that anymore.” As much as your mind seemed set on picturing the two of you rolling onto the sheets of her bed, your heart was still aching from what you saw at lunch. As much as it flustered you to not be able to control your thoughts, your heart was begging you to ask, to know, to move on somehow. Your eyes drifted away from hers, your fingers starting to play with one another as a part of your brain scolded you for trying to start that conversation. Your eyes found their way back to hers when you felt her index and thumb gently grabbing your chin, slowly tilting your head up to look back at her. You saw her green eyes focused on your face, her smile sweet as she tilted her head to the side, her thumb softly caressing your skin. 

“It wasn’t like that earlier.” Her voice was soft and firm, and this time it was your turn to tilt your head, making her chuckle softly, her fingers quickly bringing your head straight. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as your mind drifted back to lunch, to the way Vision spoke to her and the way she reacted, the way she giggled, the way she blushed at him and his words. Your heart started to beat faster again at the memory, as if you were there once again, sitting at that table again, unable to move or do anything that could make Wanda snap out of her thoughts about him. “Focus on me, y/n.” Your eyes looked back into hers; you felt her hand slipping into yours as she sat down on the steps right outside your front door. You immediately followed her cue, sitting down next to her. She placed your joined hands into her lap; her fingers traced soft patterns on your palm, and your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Your thoughts about her and Vision started to dissipate as you felt her fingers softly trailing up your arm; your eyes slowly opened and looked into hers, your lips parting slightly as if to say something, but you never wanted that moment to stop, even if your mind was begging for answers, so you stayed silent. “I was chuckling at your thoughts, detka. The way you almost unconsciously make fun of anyone who might have some intimate bond with me is…oddly endearing.” 

Your eyes widened at her words; you felt your cheeks becoming hot while the hand in her lap trembled slightly. You thought back once again at that moment at lunch; the timing was right; it made sense. You had immediately jumped to the conclusion she was reacting that way to Vision’s words, that she surely must have had some feelings for him still, but she was focusing on your thoughts and not his words. Your lips slowly curved into a small smile, your arm turning slightly in her lap, letting her have more room to trail her fingers along your skin. 

“It wasn’t about him?” Your voice was barely a whisper, still afraid of the answer, still feeling like you could’ve never competed with him, with everything he had with her, with everything he gave her. Wanda smiled softly at you, her free hand cupping gently your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin as the hand on your arm stopped, grabbing it softly as her eyes looked into yours intensely. 

“Nothing is ever about him when you're next to me.” You closed your eyes, a soft, contented sigh escaping your lips at her touch and at her words. You felt your heart swelling as you took in her words, the affection clear in her voice. You turned your head a little, pressing a soft kiss against her palm, suddenly hearing a gasp come from her, and your eyes opened once again. Her eyes were wide, looking at you with every ounce of desire and adoration you felt inside of you. Your hand rested against hers, turning it as your lips followed it, pressing more soft kisses against her skin. Your eyes never left hers as you watched her close them, your lips covering her palm with tender kisses, slowly trailing to her wrist as your hand moved gently against the outside of her arm, caressing the skin until your fingers reached her elbow.

“Milaya…” Her voice was so soft and quiet you almost didn't hear it, your eyes looking at her face, the struggle evident in her features. Your lips left her arm while your hand moved slowly until it reached her neck; you scooted closer to her, your knees brushing against her legs as you turned your body to face her. Your fingers running through the little hairs falling down from the ponytail, your eyes focused on her as she opened hers, her gaze drifting from your own eyes to your lips, which you subconsciously licked with anticipation. “Don't do that… you know we can't.” She forced her words out of her mouth, your fingers caressing gently the back of her neck, slowly pulling her closer to you while your own eyes focused on her slightly parted lips. 

“But we want to.” You stated firmly, your lips barely inches away from hers, your eyes drifting to her own, waiting for any signal from her. Wanda slowly nodded, the movement so slow you wouldn't have recognized it as a nod had you not been watching her reaction closely. A small smile formed on your lips; you could see the struggle in her features, trying her best to pull away, to tell you that you shouldn’t, but the desire she felt was overcoming every ounce of self-control and responsibility she had.

You licked your lips again, your tongue brushing against her own lips, a small gasp escaping her mouth. The sound leaving her lips made your body shiver, but before you could finally close the final gap between the two of you, you felt her soft, sweet lips on yours. 

Your eyes remained open for a few seconds, widening in shock before realizing that Wanda was actually kissing you. Her soft lips were pressed firmly against yours, her hand moving to rest on your hip, and you felt yourself being pulled closer to her. You felt the soft touch of her other hand on your cheek; the hand you had on the back of her head was now grabbing it with a firm hold. A soft sigh escaped your lips when you felt her hand resting on your cheek, comforting and grounding you. You finally melted into the kiss, the shock of the action leaving your body as you started moving your lips against hers. Her movements felt gentle, sweet, and tender, the hand on your cheek softly caressing your skin as you pulled her even closer, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she felt herself being scooted closer to you. You closed your eyes, losing yourself completely in the kiss. Her soft lips were moving against yours; little waves of desire and joy washed over your body over and over again. You felt as if you could start jumping up and down from happiness; hadn’t you been in such an intimate and waited-for moment. Your fingers softly caressed the back of her neck before taking her hair tie between them and pulling it off, letting her hair fall onto her shoulders. You felt a gasp coming from her lips onto yours as you ran your fingers through her locks, your nails scratching softly her scalp. Her hand on your hip closed tightly around your shirt, tugging on it to pull you even closer as you felt her tongue trace gently your bottom lip. You gasped at the feeling, and it was all it took for her to easily slip her tongue in your mouth; you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you when you felt her tongue tangle with yours. You moved your hand from the ground on her back, pulling her upper body completely against yours as you felt yourself melting more and more against her lips until even breathing was starting to become an issue. Your fingers trailed on her back, caressing her skin through her shirt until they started toying with the hem of her shirt, your fingertips grazing the warm skin underneath. Her thumb started stroking your cheek lightly when you felt her lips breaking away gradually from yours. You slowly opened your eyes in confusion; your expression softened as soon as you were met by her warm and loving gaze. Wanda softly pressed her forehead against yours; your lips were still only a few inches away as you both panted against each other. 

“You’re a dangerous little thing.” You chuckled softly when Wanda’s voice met your ears; your eyes sparkled with love and desire as you looked into her green ones. The sweet smile on her face was melting your heart; you watched as she bit her lip when your hand resumed its journey underneath her shirt, tracing soft patterns on her lower back. Wanda’s eyes closed again as you trailed your fingertips on her soft skin, smiling tenderly at her reaction. “The way you make me lose control…”

“I never wanted you to have any in the first place.” Wanda’s eyes shot open at your confession, the shocked look quickly replaced by a knowing smirk as she chuckled. She slowly moved her head away from yours, her hands still on your body as she kept her eyes focused on you. You gently moved your hand from the back of her neck, trailing it softly along her arm to rest it on her thigh. 

“I figured as much, detka. But what I said before still stands; we can’t do this. We’ve already pushed things too far. Not that I’m complaining, let that be clear.” Wanda’s voice was soft and tender, but her words stung you deeply either way. The thought of never feeling her lips against yours again, never being able to taste her again, was like torture to you. You couldn’t bear the idea of not being able to hold her close, of letting her go once and for all. Wanda’s eyes softened; you knew she could hear everything that was going through your head, but you couldn’t help the way you were feeling towards those restrictions. “I don’t like this either, y/n. You have to understand that I want nothing more than to be able to explore this with you, but Natasha would kill me.”

“She can’t expect me to be single forever.” You stated pouting, at which Wanda chuckled again. You furrowed your eyebrows at her reaction, only making her chuckle even more.

“She doesn't expect that, baby. But maybe she doesn't expect you to bang her 34-year-old friend, either.” You blushed heavily at her words, at which Wanda responded by gripping firmly your hips with both hands, pulling you closer to her. You smiled through your blush as you scooted closer, propping yourself up on your hands as you gently sat on her lap, your legs resting on each side of her thighs. You immediately felt her arms circling your body, her hands resting firmly pressed against your back. Your hand cupped her cheek as you placed the other on her shoulder, your eyes losing themselves in hers. 

“You know that's not the only thing I want.” You whispered, leaning in, your lips hovering over hers once again, making you both shiver at the sensation. You saw Wanda nodding slowly before taking your lips in hers again. Your arms slid around her neck as you relaxed your body completely against hers.

“Oh, I know. But I'm also aware of the fact that it's the one thing always in the front of your mind.” Wanda murmured against your lips, breaking away briefly to make you blush all over again. She then captured your lips with hers, pulling you impossibly closer against her body. Your tongue immediately traced her bottom lip, mimicking her own gesture from before. You felt her smiling against your lips before parting them enough for you to slip your tongue inside. 

You tried once again to slide your hands underneath her shirt, but you suddenly felt them being pushed behind your back, unable to move them. You felt Wanda's hands caressing your sides, and you wondered for a moment how she was able to hold your hands behind you without using her own before you realized she was using her magic.

A low moan escaped your lips at the thought of Wanda using her magic on you. At the sound of your moan, you felt her take your bottom lip between her teeth, making you gasp at the feeling. Wanda then broke away from your lips slowly, her eyes meeting your still shocked ones.

“I could have so much fun with you. With your desires, the way you respond to me, to my touch.” You shiver at her words and her low and sultry tone, your hands still fighting against her magic to be freed and be able to touch her somehow.

“I knew I'd need to tie up those wandering hands, sooner or later.” You bit your bottom lip at her playful words, your eyes shining with mischief and desire as she finally freed your hands. Your eyes scanned them briefly before placing them on her back, your nails grazing her skin through her shirt, making her shiver slightly.

“Of course you'd like that. Here I was thinking I could make you stop with that simple threat.” Wanda's eyes were playful, and you found yourself loving everything about her even more. The idea of sharing with her such a beautiful and sweet moment and being able to tease each other like that was making up for every day spent dreaming about such a moment.

You felt her hands gently take hold of your wrists, moving them away from her back, making you pout and look at her with pleading eyes. Wanda shook her head slowly, giving you an apologetic smile. 

“You know I need to go, sweetie. I was kissing you goodbye.” You felt your eyes widen at her words, your hands fighting against her strong grip as your eyes started welling up. You noticed her own expression soften, her hands releasing yours before circling your body with her arms, pulling you close against her. Your head rested on her shoulder, her fingers caressing your hair softly, her lips pressing soft kisses on the top of your head. “I’m sorry, solnishko. I’ve probably made things worse by kissing you.”

You shook your head slowly against her shoulder, your fingers gripping tightly her shirt, holding onto her as you pressed your head even more against her skin. You slowly relaxed your body in her embrace, feeling her soft kisses and her caresses, your eyes closing as you tried to savor every little moment and touch. Even though your body was relaxing, your mind wandered and your heart ached. It was never easy for you to wrap your head around the idea of giving up on Wanda, giving up on the amazing things she could make you feel just with her presence, just by looking at you. 

Even when you had no idea about her feelings for you, even when you thought everything was one-sided, you still enjoyed every little thing you felt towards her. The way she could easily make you blush, the way her every touch made your skin feel on fire, the way she made your insides twist whenever she addressed you in that sweet voice. You always had a soft spot for her; you had always longed for every little moment. You had never once wanted your feelings to just disappear, even when everything was only in your mind, even when loving her was also hurting you. 

You had finally been able to taste what something between you two could be, and now the idea of giving that up was even more hurtful. You knew how her lips tasted; you knew how having her tongue in your mouth made you feel. You knew how she sounded when she gasped, when she moaned for you. You knew how her touch on your skin sent shivers through your spine, you knew how soft and warm her own felt like under your fingertips, and you couldn't even bear the thought of never feeling those things again. 

Her hands pushed you back a little, her fingers gently grasping your chin, tilting your head up to make you look at her. Your eyes got immediately lost in her green ones, the hurt and regret clear in them; you wondered for a moment if she was regretting kissing you, if she really believed she had only made things worse. Her soft smile as she looked at you cleared your doubts, every question dissipating from your mind at the feeling of her hand softly cupping your cheek, her thumb stroking against your skin. 

“I’ll think about this moment for a very long time as well, baby.” Her voice was soft, her hand slowly leaving your cheek to take your hands in hers, standing up reluctantly. You followed her standing up as well, your eyes never leaving hers as you waited for her goodbye. “We’ll still see each other if you feel like it. I’ll still be in your life if you want me to. Just not the way we both want.” She cupped your cheek again, her touch soft, almost feather-like against your skin. You leaned into her hand, your smile showing a mix between the adoration you were feeling for her and the sadness enveloping your heart as you slowly took in everything you were giving up on. 

The next few weeks you found yourself lying in bed throughout most of the time; your mother kept coming to check up on you; her expressions were always full of wonder and concern. You managed to avoid every question she threw at you, and, for some reason, she seemed not to dwell on the lack of response from you. You could sense she wanted to ask more, that she wanted to dig more; you could see it in her eyes, in the way she looked at you before leaving your room, as if she was hoping for you to say something, anything to ease her mind, to let her help you somehow. 

Part of you wanted to talk to her, wanted to explain to her what you were constantly thinking about. Part of you wanted her to comfort you, to tell you all about her first love as well, how it was, who they were, what happened, and how eventually she moved on and how you could do the same one day.

However, there was another part of you that just wanted to yell at her, that was so extremely pissed at her. This part of you blamed her for not being able to explore this thing with Wanda, for not being able to turn it into a relationship. You knew it wasn’t fair; you knew there were reasons, reasons that somewhat made sense, for your mother to not approve of your possible relationship. You knew that Wanda was right, that it was too risky, but you just couldn’t shake off the fact that it was everything you had ever wanted.

Your mind was a complete mess; all you could think about were those moments you had spent with Wanda on the front steps of your house; all your heart could feel was the heartbreak from not being able to replicate those moments again. Sometimes, when you were so completely lost in your mind, in your thoughts, in your memories of that moment, in your memories of her, you could swear you were still able to taste her lips on yours, to feel her tongue against yours. And, in those moments, you just wanted to scream at whoever was making it impossible for you to feel all that again. 

You hadn’t texted her even once; she had told you she still would have been in your life if you wanted that, and you did, but you had no idea what to tell her. When it came down to actually talking to her, words seemed to be lost on you; you were afraid you were just going to push her again to do something she had told you that you couldn't do, so you just stayed silent. Time and time again you had found yourself with your phone in your hands, fidgeting with it, your fingers hovering over the screen, over the keyboard, aching to press on those letters, as you tried to come up with something to say, something to text her with, but nothing that didn’t seem too pushy or too cheesy came to mind. 

Not hearing from her only deepened your heartbreak; the only thing you somehow managed to do was study. A part deep inside you linked that act to her. The knowledge she was the one to always spur you on in your studies, to teach you, and always, always praise you, made you almost eager to keep studying. Spending time on your books seemed to almost soothe the heartache you were feeling; however, sometimes you could feel a slight headache coming. Your mind was conflicted between focusing completely on the words written or on the link between your studies and Wanda. 

Your mother had managed to make you smile only once during those weeks, even laugh a bit at the way she always knew how to be there for you even when she didn’t know exactly what was happening to you, what was going on in your mind. You had reluctantly left your room after she had called you a few times too many because she insisted you needed to leave your room at some point during the day, saying she had made you something special as a quick snack.

You had dragged your feet all the way from your room to the kitchen, where your mother was waiting for you with a huge grin on her face. Probably proud of herself for getting me out of my room, you thought to yourself as you took your seat at the kitchen table. Your eyes were carefully avoiding hers, as if the moment you two had made eye contact, she would have either found out about everything by the look in your eyes or you would have fallen apart and ranted about everything. 

You eyed almost curiously the plate before you; a soft chuckle fell from your lips as you took in the most shapeless cinnamon rolls you had probably ever seen. Your eyes finally drifted to your mother’s, a soft grin on your lips, mimicking hers. 

“Cinnamon rolls? As a snack?” Your grin almost widened at your own words and the roll of her eyes. She pushed herself off the kitchen counter and crossed the room to get closer to you, standing at the other end of the table and leaning against it as she shook her head at your words. 

“I thought you could use some comfort food, you ungrateful daughter of mine.” She replied with a soft laugh; there was no real venom in her words, and you couldn’t help but feel a light sense of comfort and peace at the way she was still trying to pamper you even when she couldn’t understand you or what was going on in your mind. 

“I’m not really in the mood for food right now, but -” You were interrupted by her as she raised her hand, signaling for you to stop talking. You narrowed your eyes at her gesture, pursing your lips as you looked at her slightly pissed off. 

“At least take it to your room if you really feel the need to stay in there.” You hummed at her words, your demeanor softening as you listened to her, slowly nodding in acceptance and taking the plate in your hand, your eyes still locked on hers. You saw a small smirk form on her lips as you lifted the plate, and a sudden confused expression appeared on your face, which quickly changed as soon as your eyes landed back on the table. Your eyes widened, and a soft gasp escaped your lips while you felt your cheeks starting to burn.

Condoms. 

Your mother had left just under the plate some condoms. 

Your eyes quickly drifted back to hers, the shock and embarrassment clear on your face. You could see she was fighting back a laugh, and you narrowed your eyes once again, fighting the urge to roll them at her. 

“Lisichka, I know perfectly well what the behavior you’ve been showing lately means; you’re in love. And I just want to make sure I don’t have to raise grandkids while I’m still fighting with my team.” Her tone was almost playful; you could hear it, but that still didn’t make your cheeks flush any less, the plate in your hand trembling as you tried to come up with something to say to her. Usually you weren’t one to hold back when talking or bantering with her, but that was a situation you had never thought you would have found yourself in; she had caught you completely off guard with that gesture, and you found yourself stuttering. 

“Mom, umh, l-listen, I know we have never talked about t-this, but I, I don’t… umh…” You couldn’t find the words, you had never talked about boys or girls, you had never felt the need to. She had always just let you live your life when possible, never questioning or demanding explanations, so you did just that: lived your life without explaining every little thing or feeling you were having. And now this. “I’m not… not into b-boys…”

Suddenly there was a loud laugh coming from her, and your eyes widened even more, looking at her curiously, trying to understand, to notice something, a reason, an explanation, as she kept laughing while looking at you with the most amused expression you had ever seen. 

“Oh, God. You should’ve seen your face and—and your voice! Oh, God, adorable.” She kept on laughing, and your embarrassment slowly started to fade, making room for frustration and irritation at her reaction. She clearly spotted the changes in your mood because she slowly stopped laughing; her eyes were still showing her amusement as she stepped closer to you, resting her hand on your arm and rubbing it softly. “I know, y/n. I’ve known for quite some time; I was just waiting for you to tell me, and I didn’t want to just blatantly make assumptions. You know I always know everything.”

That was the first afternoon you had spent in the living room with her after what had happened with Wanda; you had talked, laughed, and watched TV shows. Your heart suddenly felt lighter for the first time in weeks, maybe months. But in the back of your mind, her words kept ringing like an alarm, going off again and again. 

I always know everything. 

Everything suddenly changed when your mother had to go away for a few days because something bad had happened somewhere. Even though you were now aware of her job, neither she nor the other Avengers, it still felt weird to call them that, seemed to be willing to include you in their plans or missions. 

You had tried to bug your mother with questions on what had happened, on how long she was going away for, where she was going to be staying, and how dangerous it could be. You had wanted to beg her not to go, to leave it all to the others, to just stay home with you, not bearing the thought of her getting hurt or, worse, not coming home. A strength inside you that you had no idea existed kept you from begging her to stay, knowing how much she loved her job, how much helping people and fixing things for them had always helped her as well with herself and her image of herself.

About a month after your first kiss with Wanda, your mother and everyone else left for what turned out to be five long, excruciating days. You had spent those days glued to the news or to your phone, trying to get as much information as you could about what was happening. Every room you were in was constantly filled with frustrated groans and curse words when all you could find online were praises about them and their work, their abilities, and their powers.

Of course you were delighted to know everyone seemed to appreciate the danger they always put themselves in, but you wanted, you needed to know how everything was actually going, if they were all okay, if someone was hurt. You desperately needed to know if your mother and Wanda were okay, if they had managed to stay safe somehow. 

It was early in the morning when you heard the lock on the door click open. You obviously were still awake, sleep had not come easily on you during those days, so you rushed to it, flying into your mother’s arms as soon as the door opened completely. You felt her arms wrap around you, and you sighed in relief, burying your head into her shoulder as you tightened your grip on her. 

“You could at least let me in my own house, lisichka.” You heard your mother say almost playfully, and your heart fluttered at her voice; your arms slowly loosened their grip on her as you stepped back, your eyes scanning her figure, your expression one of surprise as you took in her almost unscathed form. Your eyes drifted back to her face as you heard a soft chuckle. “You should stop underestimating us, you know? Besides, Wanda seemed to have hidden from us her ability with the protection spell; it was like nothing she had ever shown us before.”

Your eyes widened at her words, a small smile forming on your lips at the thought of how great Wanda’s magic could be. You stepped aside from the door, allowing your mother to enter the house before closing the door and following her to the living room after she had discarded everything she had on her. You sat on the couch next to her, crossing your legs as you looked at her, your eyes still scanning her figure, trying to understand if she really was as uninjured as she seemed. 

“I’m okay, really. It was tiring, but otherwise, I’m completely fine; I just need to rest for a while.” At her words, you nodded your head, smiling while grabbing a blanket, slowly standing up from the couch to allow her to lie down. You watched her closely as she laid down, gently covering her with the blanket as she did; her eyes were still on you, and you could clearly see the hint of amusement in them. “I promise I’m okay. I’ve been doing this for years now; I know how my body feels and what I need. You’ve probably been inside all the time while I was away; go take a walk or something, or else I know you’re gonna watch me sleep.”

Your mother chuckled as you rolled your eyes at her words, but you couldn't bring yourself to deny what she was saying. The truth was, you weren’t used as she was with the whole fighting thing, and you couldn’t help but be worried and feel the need to make sure she was okay. The idea of going out, now that you were sure she was gonna be resting safely in your home, wasn’t something you disliked. You nodded at her, smiling softly as you placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before heading towards your room, fishing out your phone immediately as you entered your room. You decided to send Wanda a text now that you had something to talk about besides your feelings for her. 

Mom just got home, she explained a bit about what happened. How are you? Please, let me know. 

You bit your lip as you stared at the bubble your text formed on the screen, your fingers still itching to write more, until you muttered something under your breath and let go of your restraint. 

I could come over. 

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @imaginaryblogger01 @unique0003 @ciaoooooo111 @franfineashell @blueredg52 @lesbiansweet @nattysgirl @invictiusstuff @vlansy @blamelessgaynonbinary @reginassecretlover @beggingonmykneesforher @wandasglf @xxsekhmet @chiar4anna @dorabledewdroop @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @wandasslut3000 @bella423 @ivysbitcx @ppbc3 @theo-the-raven @trullykomtrikru @waterkitten @peter-parkers-left-pinky2 @lizzieswife101 @xenaizogie @lilgooeseworld @elle161989 @ssasa-romanoff @sunnesss @sgm616 @trullykomtrikru @brie-romanoff @marnoize @hapuchika @unadulteratedballoonduck @iwantlizziebad @reignvoltage

(I have no idea why it doesn't make me tag some of you, I have tried both from PC and app but no luck, I'm sorry. I marked your blog names down either way!)

[hapuchika]

hotel room - wanda maximoff x reader

warnings: (+18), bottom!wanda, eating out (w), soft smut.

A/n: totally inspired by this pic i literally just wrote it down.

-&-

"you've been so stressed lately, little witch. let me help you with that."

the words were whispered into her ear. the intent and meaning behind them made wanda shiver in anticipation, and as your lips descended, her hands found the headboard in a desperate search of some sort of anchor.

you weren't lying - wanda has been stressed. the separation of the avengers, the exponential and unpredictable increase of her powers, the lack of public approval. but everything becomes a background whenever she's around you , especially when your tongue teases her nipples.

a needy whine escapes her mouth and she can feel your smug smile against her chest. wanda would have pinched you for being so cocky, but the tightening of the grip on her hips showed her that her sounds were affecting you as much as your touches dismantle her.

if you wished, you could prolong this. tease her endlessly just for the pressure of hearing her beg - and lord knows she would. hips already desperate, underwear so soaked she was shamelessly leaking through the fabric.

it was all your fault obviously. you were laying down together before, soft but bold and intimate touches while she talked about her week. you worked her up so naturally and so quickly that the offer of a stress relief would actually be her suggestion if you weren't quicker.

and you have always been so unfairly good at this. good with her, her body, her needs. your mouth move down her belly, licking and teasing all the way to where she needs the most. wanda's so responsive. she gasps in anticipation for every flick of your tongue, until she's panting, ready and impatience.

the reward is sweet. she's loud when she's desperate and Wanda is so desperate. she arches her back as your tongue finds her warm and wet through the fabric. your fingers are rushed, pulling her panties out of the way, you've finally lost that thin patience to just tease her. wanda maximoff is maddening, her scent, her sounds, her taste.

you moan as you eat her out. eagerly and hungry. you lick every corner, you tease her entrance, you flick her clit.

"ah, detka." wanda shouldn't try to speak now. She physically can't form any sentences that make sense at this point. she wants to ask for more, but you start sucking and all that leaves her lips are pathetic little whines. she wants to ask "faster" but your tongue goes deep inside as your hands hold her open and all she can do is choke on throat moan.

all lights in that messy motel room flicker, maybe the whole goddam city, when she's ready to fall over the edge. when she's ready to let go.

you pull away just to whisper "come for me, witchy" before resuming your movements and it doesn't take longer for her to do just that.

she sounds so beautiful, she looks breathtaking. chest heaving, a frown of pleasure. the sweetness of her wetness on your tongue.

you messily lick her clean, make her whine a little more. she gropes around on the bed until she reaches your hair, fingers running through the soft strands until she's gripping. her original intention was to pull you up to kiss you, but you start over.

Well, maybe she just needs to de-stress a little more.

[hapuchika]

seeing green

Summary: So maybe you made a not-so-great choice... in your defense, it was fun at the time. But now, looking at Wanda's raised eyebrow and dark smile, maybe you shouldn't have tried to make her so jealous. Hindsight is everything.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, dacryphilia, oral sex, cunnilingus, mommy kink, mean mommy wanda!!

WC: 1,266

A/N: was hit by a spark of irritation— i mean, inspiration, today

You pant loudly in the living room, gasping for breath. The curtains are drawn, only a thin shaft of light spilling onto the rug and one arm of the couch.

Wanda is leaned leisurely back against the couch, smiling darkly up at you as you cry out. Her hand stops for just one moment, and she hums softly as you twitch in her grasp.

"You sure you don't want Avery here instead, detka? You certainly seemed to be having a good time with her."

"No, no— no mommy just want you don't want her please— pleaseplease please let me come," you whine, squirming in Wanda's lap. She allows it for but a moment before her free hand clamps down on your hip again, holding you still.

"Really? I don't think I believe you…"

Wanda licks her lips, tracing soft, slow circles around your clit with the pad of her finger.

"Please, mommy. Don't want her, just want you. Just want mommy," you plead desperately, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

"Hmm," Wanda hums, tutting softly when you whine again. "I don't know if I believe that, detka. You were all over her." Her voice dips dangerously, eyes flashing. You can tell she's displeased, and you flush; she's not wrong—you had been basically attached at the hip to your newest work friend Avery.

Normally, you wouldn't spend so much time with her, but it had been at least a little bit fun to see the way Wanda's jaw worked through her displeasure, and you'd enjoyed the dark glare she'd kept leveled on you the entire night. It sent shivers down your spine, knowing how much she wanted you, and so maybe you'd pushed it a little too far, leaning into Avery heavier or laughing a little brighter than you normally world.

It's not fun now as Wanda stops for probably the 6th or 7th time in a row, bringing you down from the edge of your orgasm and holding you still as tears drip down your face.

"You look so pretty, detka," she murmurs, leaning forward to lick away some of your tears.

You inhale sharply, feeling more tears spill over as she chuckles in the back of her throat.

"Regretting it now, honey?" she coos softly, thumb still pressed to your swollen clit.

"I'm sorry, mommy," you whimper, trying your best attempt at the saddest puppy-dog eyes you can manage, but she doesn't budge.

"Oh, pretty girl, you should've thought about that before you decided to spend the night flirting with Avery." Wanda hums dismissively as you whine and start crying again.

"No use crying over spilled milk, baby," she chuckles. "What's done is done. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you try another little stunt like this one."

"Please, mommy," you beg, wracking your brain for anything you can possibly say to appease Wanda. "Please, I belong to you, mommy."

Wanda looks at you sharply, interest piqued as she tilts her head slightly.

You chase the tail end of your declaration eagerly, perking up as you continue babbling.

"I'm yours, mommy, please. I just want you. I'm all yours."

Her thumb restarts its slow rhythm against your clit, and you nearly sob with relief, chasing the feeling as your mouth runs on and on without a single thought.

"Belong to mommy, please, just for mommy, all yours."

Her thumb is firm against your clit, and you shiver at the stimulation — it's too much and not enough all at once, and you yelp softly when she begins rubbing faster. Her entire hand is dripping wet, no thanks to you, but she just keeps looking up at you, encouraging the deluge of words flooding out of you.

"Please, mommy, please let me come, please."

Just as you reach the very edge, Wanda stops again, and you feel the tears restart without warning, pouring down your face as you whimper desperately.

"Tell me who you belong to again, baby," she coos, brushing your tears away with her thumb this time.

"You, mommy, please," you whine. "Belong to you."

"Then how come you were basically sitting on Avery's lap the whole night, huh?"

You sob softly, tears drip-dripping unstoppably now.

"Because I wanted to make you jealous, mommy," you hiccup, whining when Wanda presses down on your clit.

"And have you learned your lesson, detka?"

You nod fervently, abashed and apologetic. Wanda hums absently, but her thumb starts moving again, and you melt into the touch.

"Please, mommy, I belong to you," you profess eagerly, tears still flowing.

"It's okay, detka, I know. Be a good girl and tell me again, why don't you? Whose girl are you, hm?"

"Your girl, mommy," you hiccup softly, moaning when she loosens her grip on your hip and lets you start to rock against her finger.

"Again, detka, say it again," she whispers, eyes sharp and intense.

"I belong to you, mommy. I'm all yours. Please."

"One more time, baby, I just wanna hear you say it one more time and then you can come, okay?"

Wanda looks nearly feral, her pupils blown as she leans into your space, her thumb rubbing fast, tight circles over your clit. You can't help but shiver, gushing against her hand again as your orgasm fast-approaches.

"I'm yours, Wanda," you murmur, softening as you see her breathe a shuddery sigh of relief. You also lean forward, drawn to her magnetic allure, and meet her in the middle for a feverish kiss.

"Mine," she mumbles as she nibbles on your bottom lip, thumb rubbing furiously over your clit.

You jolt back, crying out as she drives her index and middle finger into your cunt, working double-time in an effort to make you come.

"Come for me, baby. You can come now," she's murmuring into your neck, but you can barely tell she's saying anything at all, the vibrations of sound a distant consideration as your vision whites out completely.

When you come to again, she's rearranged you entirely so you're lying down on the couch. You have a moment to just blink and breathe as sound and feeling returns to you, and as soon as you can feel your fingertips again, you whimper.

Wanda, tucked between your thighs, is licking softly at your cunt, dark green eyes intent on your expression.

You tremble your way through another orgasm, shivering as she crawls up the length of your body to settle herself on your chest.

"You did such a good job, detka," she murmurs softly, leaning up for a soft kiss.

"Felt good," you whisper in return, blushing lightly when she grins into your neck.

She reaches up to run her fingers through your hair, and sits up momentarily to reach for a blanket that she promptly pulls over top of both of you. As you lie on the couch, you hear Wanda's breath slowly even out, and your eyes begin to droop.

Clearly, though, she isn't really asleep, because you hear her voice, softer and more hesitant, float up.

"You don't actually like her that much, do you?"

You smother your grin against the top of her head and pull her up for another kiss, this one longer and warmer.

"No, I don't," you reply easily, watching the way the crease between her eyebrows smooths over and she finally seems to relax.

"I love you and only you," you murmur softly. "You're my favorite person."

She hums contentedly and presses a kiss to your chin.

"I love you too, detka."

She sits up momentarily, squinting at you suspiciously.

"But don't do that again."