wandasobsession

[wandasobsession]

"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

[wandasobsession]

A Long Search Ended

Part Two— Lace and Leverage

Sugar mommy!rhea ripley x reader

Rhea wants to throw her phone at the wall.

It’s been a brutal morning.

Not chaotic—worse.

Slow. Grinding. A pressure cooker with no release valve.

She’s backstage at a media event she didn’t want to attend, arguing with a third assistant over a last-minute travel change that was supposed to be locked in last week. Her mic wire is crackling in her left ear and it’s driving her to near madness, snapping like static every time someone speaks too close. Her boots are too hot. The chains around her neck feel like they’re strangling her. And every voice around her is starting to blend into one long droning buzz—same questions, same bad lighting, same meaningless press filler she could recite in her sleep. She doesn’t care what city they’re headed to next. She doesn’t care about the sponsor banner behind her. And she definitely doesn’t care about which smiling intern thinks it’s a good idea to suggest she “loosen up.”

She wants to fight something.

Wants to walk out.

Wants quiet.

Her jaw is clenched so tight her teeth ache. She can feel the tension creeping up behind her eyes, like a migraine that hasn’t landed yet but is circling like a hawk. She hasn’t had coffee. She hasn’t had silence. Someone’s asking if she can push her time slot for a partner promo she never agreed to, and the only reason she hasn’t snapped yet is because her PR rep is standing ten feet away with a clipboard and an expression that says don’t you dare.

She’s two seconds from blowing the whole set.

Then—

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

She almost ignores it. Almost lets it go unanswered like every other unimportant thing she’s had to tune out today.

But her body knows before her mind catches up.

That buzz means you.

She glances down. Sees your name.

Then the photo loads.

And the entire room drops away.

You.

Standing at the end of your bed, wrapped in morning light and black tissue paper. One slip of silk clinging to your hips, the rest falling soft and quiet around you like smoke. No caption. No filter. No performance. Just you: poised, grounded, real. Confident. Playful. Kind. The kind of beauty that doesn’t scream—it hums. The kind that demands attention not with volume but with gravity, and Rhea, for all her edge and steel, finds herself pulled by it instantly.

It’s the kind of photo that should be casual, maybe even staged. But it isn’t. You didn’t try to look good for her. You just do. And that’s what floors her.

The kind of beauty that doesn’t ask for attention. That owns it. The kind she’s never had before—at least not like this. Not without having to coax it out. Not without promising softness she doesn’t always have in her. Not without pretending she had space in her day to care for someone too delicate to weather her silences. But you—you don’t need coaxing. You don’t need rescuing.

You’re not needy. You’re present. You give without demanding and play without clutching. There’s no fear in your expression. No performance. Just the quiet, radiant certainty of someone who knows how to be wanted without asking.

You know what this is—and still choose to make it beautiful.

Rhea stares at her screen.

And for the first time all morning—she smiles.

At the soft joy on your face. At the way the light touches your shoulders like it wants to memorize you. At the fact that you already look so at home in her world—even when she’s not in the room.

The exorbitant amount of money she paid to have everything boxed, packed, and on your doorstep before sunrise suddenly feels irrelevant. It was never about the price tag. It was about seeing this. Giving you something that made you feel like this.

Not the usual smirk or the wolfish edge she uses in every backstage hallway. Not the bite that comes before blood and victory.

A real smile.

Warm. Dangerous. Quietly feral.

Someone says her name. Someone taps her shoulder.

She doesn’t hear them.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

Don’t move. I want a better look when I get five minutes to breathe.

—

You’re still standing at the foot of your bed when your phone buzzes, surrounded by tissue paper and ribbon like some soft, expensive ritual. The sunlight is climbing higher now, warming the floorboards, catching the gold in your hair, the gloss on your lips, the curve of your shoulder beneath the sheer fabric. The slip hugs you like a sigh. Your smile blooms slow—victory sweet and secret, not boastful. A smile meant for no one else but you.

“I want to find a reason to breathe out.”

Her voice from last night echoes through you, a remembered murmur pitched low and reverent. She hadn’t flirted with that line. Hadn’t offered it like bait. It landed like truth. Unpolished, unpracticed.

She’d meant it.

And this morning, you’ve given her one—casually, confidently, with the same unspoken promise she gave you when she handed over this part of herself. You let your phone rest on the bed beside the packaging without replying right away. She doesn’t need instant responses. She’s busy. You’re gracious with her time and possessive with yours.

Besides, you’re distracted.

Your fingers part the black tissue again—cool silk, soft stretch lace, delicate velvet ribbons. Everything feels more decadent in person, like the screen never did it justice. You’d picked the pieces, yes—but seeing them here, laid out and real, they feel curated. Like a gift selected from memory, not wishlists. Heavier. More intimate. More hers.

You’re halfway through deciding what to try next when your hand catches on something smaller.

A velvet pouch.

You tug the drawstrings loose. A delicate anklet spills into your palm—cool metal, a fine chain, and a black charm that glints in the morning light like a wink. It shines with intent. With possession—but not pressure. A suggestion, not a claim. Your breath catches, chest tight with quiet awe.

Inside the pouch is a small, square piece of cardstock. No note. No name. No instructions. Just a perfect matte-black lipstick print, stamped dead center like a seal.

You smile. Bite your bottom lip. You’d floated the game—let’s see how well you pay attention—and she didn’t just agree. She’s playing back. Not by your rules, but by hers.

And she’s winning.

You sit at the edge of your bed and fasten the anklet around your ankle with careful fingers. It fits like it was made to be there. Already, your steps feel different. Lighter. Like something precious is tethered to you now. You don’t bother reaching for another slip. Instead, you shrug into the robe—cool silk against warm skin, fabric catching in all the right places. It slides over your shoulders like water, gives you goosebumps when it kisses your collarbones.

You stand. Spin once. Let yourself feel how it moves with you, the way it flares and settles, the way it trails heat and intention down your thighs. You smooth it over your hips. Turn toward the mirror.

It’s falling off one shoulder again—deliberate now.

The charm at your ankle flashes like a promise.

—

Rhea ducks around the corner of the venue, chest tight with effort.

The second she’s out of sight, she drags a hand through her hair and lets out a low, frustrated growl. Not the dramatic kind meant to draw attention—but the kind that scratches its way up her throat and demands release. The kind that comes from being stretched too thin in every direction. From being surrounded by noise, by questions, by people who treat her time like it’s free and her patience like it’s infinite. The kind of sound she only makes when she knows no one is watching.

She leans back and lets the back of her skull hit the wall with a dull, satisfying thud.

She breathes.

One long, slow exhale.

It barely helps.

Her fingers are already curling around her phone before she registers the motion. She yanks it from her pocket with a tight grip, knuckles pale. Any more force and she’ll crack the damn case. She opens your thread like it’s the only thing that makes sense today, thumbs hovering.

Rhea:

I hope you are where I left you.

It’s sharper than she meant it to be. A little too clipped, a little too edged. But her chest is still tight, her head is still pounding, and nothing else has managed to ground her. It’s not exactly softness, but it’s the closest thing she can offer without losing the grip she has on what’s left of her composure. She hopes you’ll hear the truth underneath. The plea behind the command. The I want to picture you there, because it helps.

She can’t stop thinking about your face. The curve of your shoulders. The silk sliding over your thighs like something sacred. And somehow, you—sitting in your own space, wrapped in the things she gave you—calm her more than silence ever could.

It steadies her. The memory of you makes everything else less loud.

Because the truth is, despite the bodies bustling around her, none of them are really seeing her. None of them are saying anything they haven’t said to a dozen other wrestlers, pressing their clipboards and timelines and agendas into her orbit like she’s just another commodity on the schedule. No one in this hallway cares what kind of morning she’s had. No one asks.

But you—you—see her already.

You don’t ask for her time like you’re trying to take it. You just… receive it. And give back. Without pressure. Without angle.

She likes that everything about you is new. Not fresh like innocent. New like unfamiliar in all the ways that matter. You’re present. Capable. You don’t pull at her. You don’t need her to babysit your confidence. You aren’t asking her to prove anything—just to be, and she hadn’t realized how rare that was until right now.

Her phone buzzes again.

She opens it fast. Too fast.

And then—everything slows.

You. Again. But somehow more.

You’re on the floor this time, relaxed and entirely unbothered. The robe has slipped down your arm, baring the smooth skin of one shoulder. Your hair is tousled—messy in the deliberate kind of way that makes her mouth go dry. The hem of the slip peeks out between your bent knees, lace tracing the edge of your thigh like a secret she isn’t meant to know yet. The anklet glints under your ankle, catching the light with every subtle movement.

You look like you know what you’re doing to her.

You:

More or less,

She stares.

Takes it in like a hit of something addictive.

She has half a dozen messages to return. A call scheduled in six minutes. Someone’s waiting on her cue around the corner.

She doesn’t care.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

—

You’re still sitting on the floor, back against your bed, one hand resting on your thigh where the slip has started to ride up. The anklet catches the light again, its glint like punctuation to a sentence neither of you is brave enough to say out loud—yet. The robe drapes off one shoulder, silk pooling at your side, refusing to behave. The whole scene feels curated without effort, luxurious without trying. Like indulgence found you on accident.

Rhea’s reply lights the screen.

You read it once.

Then again.

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

Your breath flutters—low and slow, deep in your ribs, like your lungs haven’t fully settled since last night. You don’t respond right away. Part of you wants her to sit with that silence. To wonder if you’re still stretched across the floor, waiting. Or already reaching for another slip.

She’s been so careful not to make demands. Not because she isn’t used to control—but because she understands the value of choosing something without force. The power of letting someone want what you give. It’s rare in this dynamic. Rarer still from someone like her—used to having everything taken, or earned through blood and bite.

You glance down at your legs, cross your ankles. Let the robe slide higher on your thighs. You consider taking another picture. A different one. But then—your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

I want to see you tonight.

There’s a pause.

You sit up straighter. Wait.

Another buzz.

Rhea:

Dinner. I’ll send a car. Wear the dress I left in your cart.

Your heart gives a sharp little kick. Not panic. Not nerves. Anticipation.

You hadn’t even noticed the dress.

You’d filled the cart last night—slips, lingerie, loungewear, small things that whispered pleasure instead of screamed it—but you hadn’t scrolled to the bottom. Somewhere between the anklet and a delicate robe, she’d tucked in one more piece. Silently. Thoughtfully. A suggestion made not in words, but in fabric.

You cross the room and reach for the garment bag, still waiting in the corner of the box. Unzipping it feels intimate. Like opening something private meant only for your hands.

The dress is black.

Simple in shape. Sinful in effect.

Bias-cut silk with delicate straps, a deep cowl neckline that dips low enough to make your breath catch, and a slit high enough to demand attention. You run your fingers along the hem, letting it slip through your hands. It smells faintly like vanilla and salt.

Your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.

It’s not aggressive. Not even impatient.

It’s just… decided. Velvet steel. A command dressed as a reminder.

Your stomach tightens. Not from nerves. From want. Want to be seen. To be chosen. To be the reason someone like her spends hours searching silk swatches just to make sure it lands at your door by morning.

You reach for your phone. Type with careful fingers.

You:

What time should I be ready?

It takes seconds.

Rhea:

7:30, baby.

You swallow. The nickname lands with weight, but not the kind that makes you shrink. It settles into your skin like something she’s allowed to use—because she’s earned the right to. You let it sit there. Let yourself want it. Then you grin.

You tap your reply—simple, intentional.

You:

See you tonight, Mami.

—

Across the city, she’s preparing for a call. Probably pacing some hallway, tension thick in her shoulders, hair half-tamed, rings cold from where they’ve clinked against water glasses and microphones all day. You picture the exact moment she sees your message. The way her eyes narrow. The way her mouth curves.

You:

I feel exquisite.

Thank you.

You send it before you second-guess the softness. Before you temper it down into something cool or clever.

Because the truth is—she made you feel that way. And it deserves to be said.

—

Her head drops forward, breath catching in her throat.

For all her control, her dominance, her undeniable command of every room she walks into—that is what undoes the knots in her shoulders.

Not praise. Not submission.

Gratitude.

Simple. Earned. Real.

She pulls the back of her hand up to rest against her mouth, hiding the smirk she can’t bite down fast enough. A quiet, private grin that spreads without permission. It settles deep, somewhere near her chest, where your words landed and took root.

There isn’t a soul in this building who could’ve calmed her like that. Not the staff scrambling for her attention, not the agents calling in favors, not the fans waiting for the match card drop. No one. It comes with a realization so soft it hurts a little.

No one else has ever made her feel so capable of doing something good.

Not impressive. Not strong.

Good.

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard only for a second. The reply is easy. It’s already there, waiting to be said.

Rhea:

You are.

She doesn’t dress it up. Doesn’t dilute it with wit or deflection. Just gives it plain. Steady. True. She pockets her phone without hesitation, but the weight of it feels different now. Heavier—but not burdensome. Weighted with meaning. With you.

She runs a hand through her hair once more, shoulders loose for the first time all day, and makes her way back down the hallway. Each step feels a little more anchored. Like she’s not walking back into chaos, but just through it. Like the storm can’t touch her if she’s already thinking about your smile in that robe, the way you thanked her like it mattered.

Because no matter how shit the rest of the day looks—no matter what calls or promos or travel delays are waiting on the other side of that door—

She knows exactly how the day ends.

—

The sun is beginning to lower when the car pulls up.

You spot it through the front window—sleek, deep black, the kind of quiet luxury that doesn’t bother announcing itself. It hums more than it idles, like it has nowhere to be except exactly where you are.

Just like her.

Your heart gives a deliberate thud.

You don’t rush. You don’t need to.

You smooth the front of your dress—black silk falling over your curves like it was poured there, thin straps warmed by your skin, neckline dipping in a soft, deliberate tease. The slit at your thigh parts slightly when you move, and you don’t fix it.

You fasten the anklet again, the tiny charm brushing your skin like a kiss only she’s allowed to give.

The car’s interior is silent. Not the kind of silence that feels cold—this one feels curated. Designed. The kind that says: you were expected.

Leather, dark as dusk. Tinted windows turning every streetlight into gold. The world outside moves past in a blur, barely able to reach you through the tinted glass. You sit back, legs crossed at the knee, fingers tracing the edge of your phone as you wait.

It rings once.

Then again.

You answer on the third. Not in a rush.

“Hello?”

A low, velvet hum threads through the speaker. Then—

“How’s the fit?”

Her voice is like heat over bare skin. Smooth. Confident. Laced in low curiosity but not need. She doesn’t pretend at hello. She says what she wants. And she always expects you to do the same.

You glance down at yourself, at the way the silk hugs your hips and skims your thighs. You smile, lips parting.

“Tailored,” you say, a soft laugh escaping with it. “Either you guessed right, or you’ve been paying very close attention.”

Silence hums gently on the other end. Then the faint sound of murmured voices and distant clinking. A restaurant, probably. Or a bar tucked into the side of something exclusive. But her attention is on you.

“I didn’t guess.”

Your lips part slightly. There’s no smirk behind it. No flirt.

Just truth. It lands like something intentional.

You shift in your seat, silk whispering as it moves. “It feels like it was made for me.”

“It was picked for you,” she says. “Quality isn’t hard to afford. Comfort isn’t either. But knowing what belongs to you before you put your hands on it—that’s a little rarer.”

You squint at her choice of words before grinning and licking your lips, You exhale through your nose. The honesty in her tone makes you press your knees tighter together. From the way she says things like they matter.

From the way she hasn’t even seen you tonight and you still feel held.

“Then I guess you’re doing something right,” you murmur.

There’s a pause on her end, one you can feel her smiling through, even if she doesn’t say it.

“Good,” she replies. “Because I want to spoil you. No games. No tests. You want something? Ask. You like something? I’ll remember. You think of something halfway through dinner? It’ll be at your door by morning.”

The car takes a turn, smooth and silent. The city outside hums on. But inside this car, all you hear is her.

You trace the edge of the charm on your ankle with one finger.

“I’ve never had it like this,” you admit, a rare moment of vulnerability peaking from behind the luxurious walls you’ve built. “Not without strings. Not without someone acting like it buys them something I don’t want to give,”

“It doesn’t,” she replies. No hesitation. “I don’t spend money to earn my way into your bed. I spend it to make sure you don’t waste your energy worrying.”

Another pause.

Then her voice dips, lower than it’s been all call.

“I want to give you the kind of quiet I’ve never had and I will never ask you for more than you’re willing to give,”

You don’t say anything at first. You let that sit. Let the weight of it settle over your shoulders like her jacket might.

“I believe you.”

It’s soft. Honest. And that’s what gets her. Not your dress. Not the risky photos or the soft flirting. The way you said that like a gift. Like you know how rare that offering is.

The silence crackles for a moment.

Then—low, just above a whisper:

“You look good in silk,” she says. “But I think you look better when you know what you’re worth. Don’t forget.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You shift again.

The city glows against the windows. But you’re already burning.

“Are you always this good at this?” you ask. Not teasing. Just wondering.

“No,” she replies. “Just when someone makes it easy to want to be.”

—

Listen I know this is mostly nothing… but we’re building up okay. Part 3 incoming soon.

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[wandasobsession]

A Long Search Ended

Part One- Real And Dangerous

Rhea Ripley x Reader

You almost didn’t go.

Not because you were nervous—but because you’ve learned to trust your instincts, and this had every opportunity to go wrong.

Anonymous messages. Confident, clipped texts signed “Mami.” Lavish coffee tips sent to your link every morning—5x the price of what you actually ordered. Then, the invite: an upscale rooftop bar downtown, no profile picture, no name, just “Wear black. I’ll know you.”

You’d Googled the bar three times. Glass railings. Skyline views. Cocktails named after ancient gods. You weren’t scared. You were just strategic.

You wore your sharpest heels. Vintage. Black satin. They hurt a little, but that was part of the look. You didn’t come here to play small.

You told yourself you’d leave after one drink. Just long enough to prove you weren’t afraid of your own power, your own choices.

And then you saw her.

Rhea Ripley.

Nothing like you imagined—and somehow exactly what you’d hoped for.

She’s already at the corner table, silhouette haloed in citylight, like the universe remembered how to draw desire in human form. Tall, inked, dressed in black. Button-down half open, chains catching the glow, jawline so clean it could cut glass. One arm slung over the chair. The other holding a drink like it owes her something.

She isn’t scrolling. Isn’t looking around.

She’s already watching you.

And she smiles.

You walk toward her like you own the place.

“You came,” she says, voice smooth and grounded in velvet. “Good girl.”

Your spine straightens, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your smirk answers hers.

“I almost didn’t,” you admit, sliding into the chair she just pulled out for you with one hand. “You know how this can be,” Rhea hums in agreement, “But something told me you’d be real. That or dangerous.”

She shrugs, amused. “Can’t promise I’m not both.”

She gestures toward the bar without breaking eye contact. “What’ll you have, pretty girl?”

You give your order with a nod—unapologetic but polite. She watches you like she’s impressed already.

You know how to hold her attention. And you like the weight of it and have no intention of handing it over to someone else.

The drinks come fast. She tips without looking. The man behind the bar practically trips over himself to say thank you.

Rhea doesn't blink. Her attention is on you.

“So,” she says, swirling the rim of her glass with one ringed finger, “let’s get the formalities out of the way.”

You cross your legs slowly– controlled. “Sure.”

“What are you looking for?” she asks, tone low. Curious, not calculating.

You don’t blink. “Someone who gets it. Who spoils because they want to, not because it’s earned by fake sweetness. I’m not an actress. If I flirt, it’s because I feel like it. If I don’t, I won’t fake it for a handbag.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes sharpens. Like she’s just made a decision.

“I don’t like girls who fake it either,” she says. “Good. Keep going.”

You take a slow sip. “I’m not naive. I know what this is. But I don’t want to be bought. I want to be chosen. And I want the same right in return.”

Rhea nods, thoughtful. “So you want power. Just not a leash.”

“I want someone who sees me as a luxury. Not a receipt.”

That earns you a grin. “Fuck. You’re better than I thought.”

You lift a brow. “What did you think I’d be?”

She leans in, resting her forearms on the table. “ Too timid. Or greedy. Either way, forgettable.”

You let the compliment sit. You don’t need to downplay it. You don’t blush. You just smile and take another sip.

“And you?” you ask. “What are you looking for?”

Rhea’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Someone who lets me take care of them,” she says simply. “Without guilt. Without games. I want to come home from a week of throwing chairs and fists and find a reason to breathe out. I want soft moments. Eye contact. Quiet trust. And I want to give you everything that makes your life easier.”

She tilts her glass. “That’s the deal.”

You study her. “That sounds dangerously good.”

She smirks. “Baby, most people agree I am.”

There’s a silence that crackles between you. Not awkward. Heavy. Bright. Something dangerous and golden and electric.

“So,” she adds, voice silkier now, “what’s your allowance minimum?”

You don’t squirm. You don’t hedge.

“A thousand a week,” you say easily. “At baseline.”

She tilts her head like she’s watching a spark she’d only hoped to see.

“Add a zero,” she replies, lifting her drink. “And don’t insult yourself like that again.”

You blink, momentarily stunned but you don’t flinch. “You don’t know if I’m worth that.” and factually, you’re right. But the two of you are old hands at this game and from what she's seen so far, she wants you as her playmate.

She grins, slow and devilish. “I’ll enjoy finding out.”

You sip your drink like it doesn’t matter. Like the idea of her isn't causing you excitement. Like the ice doesn’t burn down your throat and the way she’s looking at you doesn’t stir heat low in your stomach.Like she hasn’t even paid for anything yet and you feel spoiled. You hum thoughtfully, setting the glass down.

“I’m not cheap,” you murmur. “In case that’s unclear.”

Rhea’s gaze narrows—pleased. “Good.”

She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, her rings catching the glow from the candle between you. “Cheap doesn’t suit you. You wear value too well.”

You let your lip curve up slightly, just enough to show her you heard the compliment. Just enough to let her know she’s earned another.

“You always this smooth?” you ask, tilting your head.

“No,” she says simply. “Only when I want something.”

That makes your brow lift—just a little. “And what exactly do you want, Mami?”

The nickname rolls off your tongue like you’ve always said it. Like it belongs there. And Rhea, for a fraction of a second, loses her rhythm. Her brain forgets that she’s heard a thousand people call her that, but she's never heard you do it and she's not sure she cares to hear it from anyone else again. Her jaw flexes. Her thumb taps once against her glass.

Then she recovers.

“I want late-night drives with someone who knows how to sit in silence and still be heard,” she replies. “I want to spoil a woman who doesn’t apologize when she asks for more. I want to be the one she texts when she’s bored, or hungry, or just needs to feel expensive for no reason. I don't want someone who thinks they're bothering me for something when i've told them a thousand times I want to give it”

She leans in just enough for the scent of her cologne to wrap around you—clean and rich and a little dangerous.

“I want to give you the world,” she says. “If you’re smart enough to let me.”

The words settle between you like silk sheets—cool at first, but warming fast.

Your fingers trace the rim of your glass pink lip pulled between your teeth and you listen. “And what do you get?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “The pleasure of watching you take it.”

It’s almost too much. Her confidence, the way she seems to genuinely crave this, the way no woman you could’ve met on the site compares to this. Almost.

But you’re better at holding your own than most and she's clearly looking for experience, or at least the illusion of it. You sit back, letting the silence drag for a beat—let her feel you assess the offer like it’s one of many. Even though you already know no one else could hold a candle to her.

“I don’t fake things,” you reiterate one last time, the honesty she brings to the table prompts your own, “Not pleasure. Not conversation. Not interest.”

“I don’t want to pretend I do enough of it at work, paid for too many fake girls to last me lifetimes,” she replies instantly. “I want you.”

The way she says it—low and unapologetic—catches something behind your ribs.

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t tremble. “You’re sure?”

Rhea tilts her head. “I’m never not.”

Another beat. The tension shifts, subtle but seismic.

You feel it in your spine.

In the air between your knees under the table.

In the way she watches you like she’s ready to spend ten grand and not even ask for your name in return—just to see you smile like this again.

“So,” she murmurs, her voice a velvet blade, “are you ready to let me take care of you?”

Your heart doesn’t race.

It prowls.

You lean forward slightly, letting your knee brush hers beneath the table.

“Yes,”

—

The night ends before you’re ready.

Not because you’ve run out of things to say—if anything, your words are starting to blur, pulled close by candlelight and that low drawl of hers that always lands somewhere just behind your navel. You’ve kept her entertained—despite the fact she’d be happy staring at you in that dress.. You’ve kept control.

But she’s still holding the power.

And you like it that way.

You’ve spent the past two hours with her —drink in hand, gaze heavy on your lips, never once pretending to look away. She asked questions with the kind of focus that made your pulse jump, voice low and unhurried. She never pushed. Never pressed. Just… let the silence stretch where it needed to, like she trusted you’d fill it with something worth hearing.

And you did.

The bartender dims the lights slightly. The crowd thins. Rhea finishes her drink, slow, and stands.

Her hand extends toward you—rings catching light, wrist inked, knuckles slightly bruised. You take her hand, gentle around the wounds, your fingers sliding against hers in a soft grip that still makes your stomach twist. She helps you from the booth like it's a habit. Like it’s instinct. Like you already belong where her hand goes first.

You don’t speak.

Not yet.

The walk out is quiet. Her body close to yours, not crowding but anchoring. Every few steps, her hand grazes your back—just enough to remind you she’s there. That she’s watching. That this isn’t some exit on autopilot. She’s walking you out. You get the attention. Not the others still sipping expensive cocktails or leaning too hard at the bar.

Outside, the air is cooler. Wind brushes your legs. You don’t shiver, but she notices.

Without a word, she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells like leather and cologne and her skin. You close your fingers over the lapel on instinct, holding it there.

Then she holds out a small, folded square of paper. The kind you only get when someone wants to make sure you don’t forget the moment.

Your name is written on it in her handwriting. Strong. Slanted. Clean.

You glance from the paper to her face. She’s unreadable beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp.

“I want to know when you’re home safe,” she says simply. “That’s my real number.”

You blink.

because you’re surprised— “You don’t want to use the app messenger?” —because she’s cutting straight through the act. No games. No waiting.

“You’re giving this to me after one night?” you ask, brows lifting.

“Sweetheart,” Rhea murmurs, stepping closer, “I was going to give it to you before you even sat down.”

The words make something inside you pull tight.

She lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear where the wind’s loosened it. Her knuckles drag down the edge of your cheek—slow, reverent, like she’s memorizing the curve of your skin with her hands instead of her eyes.

It’s not a move. It’s a choice.

A final act of care before you part.

“Im done with maybes,” she says. “You’ve said yes, I don’t keep my options open”

You stare up at her, heart steady now but beating hard. There’s no hesitation in her gaze. No uncertainty in her voice. Just the weight of a choice already made.

“…Thank you,” you say quietly. Not shy. Just honest.

She leans in—not for a kiss, not yet. Just close enough that you feel her breath against your lips when she speaks.

“Text me when you get home,” she says. “Or I won’t sleep.”

You nod.

She opens the door for you, waiting until you slide inside before shutting it gently behind you. She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile again. She just stands there—tall, steady, unmoving—watching you like a promise.

And when you finally unfold the note in your lap, the number is written in thick black ink. At the bottom, in the corner, there’s a small sketch—

A heart. Simple. Inked in the same bold hand.

Claiming you without asking permission. For the first time since the sun began to set, you allow yourself to feel excited.

And all the way home, the paper sits in your lap like it’s worth more than every hundred-dollar bill you’ve ever touched.

—

The city hums around her, alive, neon and windy—but Rhea walks like she’s underwater. She barely takes in the scenery as she reflects on the past 3 hours, the front of her brain still flashing with memories she’d like to keep for later. She could’ve called for another car but there's something about you that brings a nostalgia she doesn't recognize, but drags her along the busy street anyway.

Boots heavy. Hands in her pockets. Shoulders tight beneath the weight of her own thoughts. She cuts down a quieter street off the main drag, where the headlights can’t reach and the echo of your heels still rings in her ears.

She’s never liked goodbyes.

Even temporary ones.

And this one—it felt like more than a goodbye.

But tonight feels different.

Because you were different.

And Rhea is trying—failing—not to admit how much she noticed that.

You left with her jacket, her number, the scent of her skin on your shoulders. But what you left behind was the feeling of something new.

Rhea’s always been good at this.

She’s done this.

Sugar dynamics. Affection as an offering. Spoiling as a skill.

Something quieter than loneliness but sharper than peace. A need to give. To own. To make someone’s life prettier by touching it. And maybe, selfishly, to be seen as more than fists and titles and bruised knuckles in gold rings.

She’s had her share of maybe-babies. Girls who called her Mommy before they even asked her real name. Girls who wanted bags, not boundaries. Girls who loved the idea of her—until they met the steel beneath the silk.

It used to be a way to feel in control.

A way to give without the mess of commitment because she didn’t have time for it.

To feel wanted. Powerful.

To watch someone light up when she gave them something—jewelry, rent, plane tickets—without the tangle of actual feelings in return.

It was easier that way.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she started noticing how many of them flinched when she got quiet.

How many pulled out the baby voice when asking for money.

How many called her “Mommy” after half a drink—without meaning it.

Just because they thought it would work.

It did, for a while.

But it always left her colder.

And worse than the sugar babies?

The friends.

The ones who only called when they wanted to borrow something.

The ones who used her name for clout and ghosted when she got injured.

The ones who swore they saw her but never looked close enough to notice when she was drowning.

She started building walls before she even realized she was doing it.

Started answering less texts.

Stopped letting anyone follow her to work.

Stopped giving her real number.

And tonight?

Tonight she’d expected to feel nothing.

Maybe you’d be hot.

Maybe you’d be funny.

Maybe it would be another quiet, forgettable evening that left her wallet lighter and no more fulfilled.

But then you showed up—heels clicking, chin lifted, eyes sharp.

You sat across from her tonight like you already understood what you were walking into. Like you knew she’d be different from women you’ve met.

You flirted when you wanted to. Didn’t when you didn’t. You talked like you’d never been anyones before—not because no one had tried, but because no one had made it feel safe. You said Mami like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth and then smiling at the taste.

She ponders if that's the reason, or if it's something else that makes you so dangerous. The type that causes manic decisions and desire filled ideas. The type of danger that makes her delete her sugar profile despite waiting weeks for verification the first time.

You make her feel like the first time she bought herself something expensive, the first time she splurged on a fancy car, the first time she ever flew first class.

Rhea exhales hard through her nose. Her breath fogs under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. She pauses beneath it, the kind of place where deals are made and confessions slip out when the night’s too quiet.

She pulls her phone from her pocket.

You haven’t texted yet.

She looks up. The sky’s the color of velvet dipped in ash. Her reflection swims faintly in the shop window beside her—black shirt rumpled at the collar, neck flushed, jaw tight.

She still smells like you.

The thought alone makes her shift her stance, fists clenching once, jaw flexing again.

And then—

A vibration.

She closes her eyes and smiles, she barely needs to look to know who it is but she does anyway.

home safe.

Thank you again for tonight.

She stares at it for a beat.

Not because she doesn’t know what to say.

But because suddenly, everything she could say feels too small for the moment. Too small to signal the beginning of something new. Too simple, too practiced, too many times she’s played this game.

You don't need a reassuring nudge,

You're not of the maybe babies, trusted that she didn’t need you crawling and falling over her for her to spoil you,

You dont need to be persuaded into feeling comfortable with her.

You already did and that was worth more than anything she could’ve paid for tonight.

So she types one word.

Good.

Then she adds another, something out of her normal wheel house— like you.

Sweet dreams, baby.

She pockets her phone and starts walking again, slower now.

The street curves ahead. The night still stretches wide.

And for the first time in months—maybe years—Rhea doesn’t feel like she needs to guard what she gives.

She wants to give it.

Wants to watch you take it.

Wants to see if you’ll surprise her again.

She’s still not sure what this is.

But she knows it’s not fake.

And for her?

That’s enough to make her want the next night before this one’s even over.

—

It’s been just over an hour since you got home.

Your dress is folded across the back of your chair. Your heels are off. Your skin still smells faintly like her cologne—rich, smooth, and unsettling in the best way. A three wick candle burns on your desk, the scent of clean laundry floating around.

The note she gave you sits on your nightstand, unfolded, the logo of the bar sitting in the corner.

You haven’t texted again.

You don’t need to. She said text when you’re home. And you did.

But still, you keep hearing her words:

Text me when you’re home. Or I won’t sleep.

There’s something about it—soft but possessive, quiet but firm. Like she didn’t just say it. She meant it.

You want to tell her that despite having your comfy clothes on, the feeling of riding her high makes you feel wrapped in luxury. Like adding her into your phone adds thousands to your networth. Like being hers suddenly feels like being a necklace in a glass case that everyone else wants.

You lean back against your bed, breathing steady. Still processing the way she looked at you—like you were something precious she deserved, planned to claim. Like she knew the gifts did partly for you, and partly for her getting to see you in them. It was rare to meet a sugar parent concerned more with spoiling than the affection that came with it. It's a nice change of pace you finally feel like you can keep up with. And then—your doorbell rings.

You pause.

It’s nearly 11PM.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautious, you approach the door and peek through the window. Sitting neatly on your doorstep is a tall white box. Elegant. Weighted. Tied with a wide black satin ribbon. There’s a card tucked into the bow. Handwritten.

For you.

No logo. No return address.

But you already know who it’s from.

You bring it inside, heart pounding with something warmer than surprise. You place it on your bed, fingers slow and deliberate as you untie the ribbon—like the act deserves patience.

The scent hits you first.

Vanilla. Lavender. Rose. Something headier and darker underneath. It smells like a boutique where everything costs too much and nothing feels cheap. It smells like her.

Inside is a bouquet—lush and decadent. Pale petals layered with deep, moody blooms. You can see the thought behind it. A study in contrast. Soft meeting sharp.

And nestled beneath the flowers—an envelope.

Your name. Her handwriting.

You open it.

Inside, a small black card. Thick paper. Gold print. Simple.

You read.

You were even better than I imagined.

I said I don’t have a spending limit.

That wasn’t just about clothes.

I meant time.

Attention.

Energy.

www.elysianthread.com — it’s one of my favorites.

I want to see you in every damn thing they make.

Pick out whatever you want.

Make a cart.

Send it to me.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t want to see you in.

— R

Your breath catches.

Not from shock.

But you weren't expecting it within an hour of leaving her.

You set the card down next to her Humber on your nightstand, bite your bottom lip, and open your laptop. The website pulls up in seconds. It’s stunning—sleek black background, gold lettering, photography shot like fashion editorials and forbidden dreams.

Silk slips. Structured corsets. Soft lounge sets. Delicate chokers.

Luxury lingerie that feels like armor and worship in the same breath.

And you’re not blushing— well maybe a little.

You’re smiling.

You lean into the screen, scrolling slowly. Imagining the weight of the gaze you'd spent hours across for earlier and what would change it, make it lighter, heavier, needier. You find yourself more excited adding pieces in dark tones than your usual pastel palette, pieces feeling closer to the woman buying them for you. You select pieces like statements. Like spells.

Slips in oxblood silk.

Loungewear that looks soft enough to drown in.

A gold anklet with a black charm you swear could pass for her energy in accessory form.

When the cart’s sizable, you copy the link. Open her message thread.

included a lot to pick from

you don’t have to—

You pause. Delete the second line.

You don’t need to soften it.

You don’t need to ask for less.

She invited this.

She wanted you.

You send the link.

Two minutes later, her reply hits.

Rhea:

Sweetheart.

You really think I’m picking one?

—

To be continued— likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated💜

—

Taglist- let me know if you’d like to be added

@starrycherie

@oldmanluvr13

[wandasobsession]

nosferatu ࿏ wm

summary: in which you are much too trusting of a creature who wants more than a dance with you.

words: 6.0k

warnings: blood, supernatural, horror, gore, dubcon/noncon, top!wanda, fem!reader, biting, oral, breastplay, bondage, victorian era

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

Your corset was so tight around your waist that you could not breathe. It was a sickening shade of pink that was supposed to portray girlish innocence about you. It was made specifically to match the color that imbues your cheeks, though now it was more of a sharp crimson red.

“I cannot believe your impudence,” your mother breathily spoke in a vexed air as she stiffly ripped the white gloves from her hands. “Your audacity.”

Rolling your eyes, you threw your head back against the wall of the compartment, feeling the familiar but nauseating shake of the carriage, the click-clack of the horse’s hooves going as fast as your heartbeat. Biting your lip to ward off any retaliating remarks towards your mother, you reached behind your waist and fiddled for the bow of your corset, snapping the ribbon undone and inhaling the first large breath of fresh air since the night began.

“At this rate, you’ll never be wed,” your mother continued to grumble as she neatly folded her gloves in her lap and looked out the window of the compartment door, the tree-lined field flickering past her eyes as the carriage moved on down the sandy country road. “I wouldn’t know what gentleman in all of England would wed such a usurping, galling, exasperating little—”

“Please, Mother, I haven’t had my vocabulary lesson yet this week,” you sarcastically battled as you ripped the matching pink ribbon out of your hair, letting your long waves flow down your shoulders. Your mother especially hated when you wore your hair freely down like that, citing that it reminded her of the harlots of Dorset Street.

You had to admit that your behavior was not the most ladylike this evening, but that was your entire mission. Your mother had been trying to marry you off to every man that comes across your path since you were of age. What she didn’t know (or rather was entirely aware of but simply unable to comprehend or acknowledge it under both societal implications and her own personal dogmas) was that you actually preferred the company of women.

It was just another fancy political ball she’d dragged you to. As always, she put you in clothes you didn’t want to wear, made you speak to people you didn’t want to speak to, and expected you to take it all with sugar and a big smile.

“Is this how you behave at those other parties you attend? Those invalids might be able to handle your inexcusable behavior, but I certainly won’t.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties at all. You actually very much enjoyed going to the parties you liked to go to with people you actually liked to be around. Could these parties become a little unsavory if warranted? Yes, they could. But you yourself never participated in those things. You just thought the people there were nicer and didn’t have giant sticks shoved up their bums. Plus, the food was always better.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, young lady, but there will be no more attending these parties of yours.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed, looking at her with eyes of disbelief. “I am a grown woman. I will go wherever I please!”

“Not with what’s been happening,” she argued, glancing at the folded newspaper sitting on the cushion beside her that she had picked up on the way to the ball. The Old Post. The front of it read Vampyres in the Village.

“You can’t be serious,” you grumbled, turning away from her with a pout. “You really believe in that stuff?”

“It’s devil-work, dear,” she said in a quieter, more serious tone. She stared at you for a moment from across the compartment before slowly leaning forward. “I’m not saying this to try and… control you. I’m saying this to you because… because you are my daughter, and I want to keep you safe.”

You could tell she was biting back vomit at saying kind words to you. “And things have been… happening in the city. Horrible things. And it seems to be happening only to people like you. Pretty, single, young girls. But most importantly, naïve girls.”

You rolled your eyes and turned further away from her. “You say my head is full of air, but I’m not the one who believes in fairytales here.”

“Miss Margaret’s daughter is still missing.”

Miss Margaret was a close friend of your mother’s, which you found surprising because Miss Margaret was one of the kindest women you’d ever met. Her daughter was your age, maybe a year or two older. She hadn’t been seen for two months now since she attended one of the parties you liked to go to in the city.

“She probably ran off with a boy,” you argued even though you knew that was not her daughter’s character.

Your mother didn’t even bother to argue that because you already knew. She only shook her head and turned back to the window, taking a deep sigh. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. It’s one thing to have an unwed daughter, but it’s entirely another thing to have one that’s dead.”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d prefer.”

You shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t even need to look in your mother’s general direction to feel the look of shocked hurt on her face.

Maybe if your mother hadn’t fought tooth and nail to keep a noose around your neck your whole life, you might have listened. You might have heeded her advice.

Things might not have ended up the way they did.

If only.

࿏

You knew exactly how to scale your own house by now. Granted, you had to be barefoot while you did it.

Clutching your shoes in one hand, you teetered on the edge of the windowsill of your room, carefully stepping down on the ledge of the roof. From there, you could set your foot on the top sill of another window, and then catch the vine-wrapped lattice going up the side of your parent’s estate, and it was a breeze from there on. You always enjoyed this feeling. The chilly autumn night air breezing between your legs as you wore a more casual dress that did not require a skeleton of its own. The wind fluttering through your loose locks of hair. The light of the full moon above you guiding your way down. Feeling agile and smart, free and unfiltered. Sometimes, your favorite part of these nights was just the sneaking out.

You always enjoyed the feeling of the dewy grass on the bottom of your feet when you finally hopped down to the ground. You’d jog like this, barefoot and wild like some kind of heathen, all the way down your country driveway to the main road where your friends had a carriage waiting for you.

When you said these parties could be a little unsavory, you meant it. While you mostly stuck with your friends and did not participate in these acts, all around you people were doing all kinds of unknown drugs, being lude with each other, engaging in certain dares or pranks. Sometimes there was a theme to all this, and tonight happened to be a masquerade, except instead of socialites and rich people, it was the ones of society who yearned a more stained quality of life.

This party was especially sex-driven, you realized with an air of shock as you walked in behind your group of friends. They were handing out masks at the front, and beyond that, you could see people basically eating each other at every sitting area in the large auditorium. Someone was throwing this at a large estate where everything around you seemed to be made of gold.

See, there were a select few rich people that participated in and most importantly, funded and housed these parties. There was a group of people, higher on the social ladder, who liked to throw these unsavory parties sometimes in their own homes. You could tell that this party was definitely one of them. They always seemed to get much more extreme when one of these people hosted it in their own home. The odd thing about it was that no one really knew who they were other than that they were seemingly nocturnal and rather pale, possibly as a consequence. Nightcrawlers, they sometimes called them. They always infested the local bars in the later hours of the evenings.

“My Lord,” your friend whispered under her breath as she eyed the couples (sometimes multiple couples all in one cluster) all around. “I think I’ve seen three bare buttocks already.”

Uneasiness settled into your stomach. While you normally enjoyed these parties, you usually tried to stay away from the ones that appeared to have a more carnal purpose, mostly because you did not want to have to fight off random men under the impression that you wanted to be a part of it. To your surprise, though, you actually saw a few women together, and a few men together also.

A mask was flung in your direction, and you took it. It was black and gold with a sharp nose, covering the top half of your face and leaving your mouth exposed. Trying to clear your vision as you stared out of the eye holes, you followed your group of friends into the party. It became denser the further they led you into it, and soon you could feel bodies touching yours.

“Wait!” you called when your mask slipped and covered your eyes, blinding you in the thickly packed room. You stumbled over someone’s foot as you tried to adjust your mask, and by the time you finally corrected it over your eyes, you could not locate your friends. Starting to panic as you were packed in a sea of people, feeling eyes behind odd foreign masks staring you down, you looked around for your friends, frantically calling their names.

You were turning in circles, growing dizzier and fainter by the second. This was a horrible idea. You should have listened to your instinct and turned around as soon as you walked in and saw what was going on at the party. Even now, in the crowd of people dancing to the oddly calm music that did not match the strong energy of the dancers, you could hear faint moans and the vague smell of sex drifting in the air.

You were about to melt to the floor and curl yourself into a sobbing ball when suddenly you felt a purposeful hand press into the small of your back. Gasping, you turned sharply, ready to slap the man who dared think he had a right to touch you, when you were faced with something unexpected.

The only thing you saw that was expected was pants—a men’s dark red velvet suit, decorated with lacy white wristcuffs and a rather poofy white chestpiece beautifully ruffled. But instead of seeing broad shoulders, you saw softer ones, and a curve at the chest and hips. This person wasn’t as tall as you expected, though they were several inches taller than you. Instead of a cropped cut, or perhaps a shaggier cut with handsome curls around the ears, this person had long, silky, wavy red hair that went down to their chest, flowing like a beautiful lake of deep rust.

A pitch-black mask covered the top half of their face, but instead of whiskers, or a beard, there was smooth, pale skin and delicately soft pink lips. The jaw there was strong, but there was a feminine curve to it.

A woman. This was a woman who was now curling your hand around the small of your waist, somehow enveloping it completely around you, pulling you against her and taking your hand in her other hand.

Gasping, you stumbled as she strongly started pulling you into a gentle dance through the crowd that seemed to make way for her.

You struggled to see her face, as the mask covered the top half. Those deep pink lips curled into a cupid’s smirk that brought some sort of chill up your spine. Even in this crowded room, with all the unpleasant noises and smells, your entire focus was on this woman pulling you to her breast and holding you with an iron strength that shocked you.

Though her mask, like the others, had carved holes for eyes, the lighting cast a shadow over the material that kept her eyes from view, and it was rather dim in the room anyway.

You opened your mouth to speak but failed to find words as the redheaded woman in a man’s suit spun you in a circle, and as she did, the source of light from a chandelier above finally glared through the holes of the mask, and you jolted in shock when you saw a flash of red eyes behind the mask.

Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but her arm would not budge. Had you ever known a man to be this strong, let alone a woman?

“Who are you?” you asked, but it came out in a tiny, hoarse whisper that surely only you could hear. Somehow, she heard it.

“Your dream woman,” she smoothly husked with an impish smirk, and you saw another flicker of red in the eyes of the mask as she spun you again before it went dark again.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you stumbled to keep up as she spun you. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“Because it’s so much more fun when I don’t,” she said with a small chuckle. You noticed that her hand holding yours was ice cold. “Besides, you looked a little lost back there.”

“I was perfectly fine,” you argued, finding it incredibly rude that this woman would not let you go, though being so close to her was making your spine tingle with something that bordered attraction and the urge to run for your life.

“You were far from fine, though you sure look fine,” she said, and you noticed how nice her voice was, such a pleasant cadence, like honey to your ears. Suddenly her arm around your waist disappeared, and she was spinning you around. Losing your balance, you let out a gasp, feeling yourself about to fall until she spun you back into her, wrapping her arms around you and leaning you backwards in her strong hold.

She grinned down at you, and you almost didn’t notice.

“What—” you said, startled. Her teeth, ivory white, were sharp. Like, as sharp as your father’s hunting knives. Glistening even in the dim light. Some unsatisfactory stain of red between them that made your stomach uneasy. It was strange, to see such a pleasant pair of lips stretched around teeth that looked so deadly.

“You’re beautiful,” the woman whispered, her eyes lowering down your neck and to your chest left exposed by your dress. You’d picked this dress because your mother hated how particularly revealing it was.

You saw the flash of scarlet irises again through her mask. They seemed to glow as she drank you in with her eyes.

“You can’t even see my face,” you whispered with a tone of playfulness at the fact that the woman was obviously staring at your chest with a look of hunger that you could see even through her mask.

Glancing back up to your face, she smiled handsomely and reached towards your face. Your instinct was to push her hand away, berate her for daring to take off your mask without asking, but for some reason your body did not budge. You involuntarily let her remove your mask, her eyes drinking you in.

“I didn’t have to take it off to know that you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” she flirted shamelessly, her hand on your back gripping you. She was still holding you in a leaning position.

Deciding to have fun with this odd woman, you smirked and said, “Your turn. Remove yours so that I may see who is holding me so.”

The woman hesitated but smiled again, reaching up and slowly removing her mask.

She was beautiful—like the kind of beautiful you had never seen before. An alien, strange beautiful that did not feel real. Something churned in your gut, some kind of knowing, a fear, but it was muffled. Her red eyes, her sharp smile, it was suffocating down the instinct in you that was telling you to get away from her as fast as possible.

She cocked her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “Come with me,” she spoke, and it sounded like many voices at once. Her grip on you was hard now, and if she hadn’t been compelling you with her magic, you would have seen the bloodlusting look on her face.

You didn’t remember leaving the party. You also suddenly couldn’t even remember arriving at the party. All you knew was that suddenly you could hear the click-clack of hooves against cobblestone and the cold night air blowing through your hair, and something else in your hair, too.

You sharply turned your head to see the same redheaded woman walking next to you, her hand in your hair, stroking it softly, playing with the strands between her long-nailed fingers.

“Where are we?” you questioned, slowing your walk and looking all around you. You did not recognize this street at all.

“We’re on a walk, my love,” the woman cooed, cradling her arm around you and pulling you into her. “You were becoming faint at the party.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Muddled. Like you needed to remember something that you just couldn’t remember, but you knew you desperately needed to.

“I’m… I’m confused…” you cried, clutching your hands to your face. You wanted to ask her where she was taking you, what she was going to do to you, why her teeth were so sharp and her eyes so red, but something was stopping the words from coming out of your mouth and even stopping these anxious feelings from being realized by you. There was a false blanket of calmness over you that was not coming from within you. It was suffocating you.

“Do calm down, beautiful girl,” she said in a velvet tone in your ear, suddenly very close to you. The moonlight rained down over you as she pressed her lips to your ear in a soft kiss. Something hard grazed the skin there, but it wasn’t enough for you to really notice.

The street was nearly empty. There were a few shops that were all closed down at this time of night. As you passed one that had a string of garlic hanging down over the door, which a lot of shops had now with all the rumors flying around, you felt the redhead stiffen beside you. When you were far enough away, she let out a breath as if she had been holding it.

Stupified, you hadn’t noticed this.

You also didn’t notice the way she walked faster, goading you forward with a hand at your back, as you passed by a church with a large cross on its steeple. The church also had garlic over the door, and had even built a fence of sharp whittled stakes all around the front. This city was so paranoid.

“Where are we going?” you question, noticing finally that the more garlic-protected doors you passed, the more the false sense of security lifted from you. Unbeknownst to you, the protections were interfering with the woman’s magic on you. “Where are you taking me?!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed at you suddenly, her red eyes fiery in the dark night. She looked monstrous now, albeit beautiful, and you finally realized the fear inside you.

“Get away!” you yelled, slapping her hand away from your waist and stepping away from her. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” You glanced around to see if anyone was around, but there was no one.

“Don’t yell!” the woman said louder this time, and her teeth started to look even sharper than before.

Finally, with all the garlic and crosses and stakes preventing her from being able to stop you from thinking your own thoughts, you could hear the instinct, loud and clear within you, telling you to run from this woman, this witch, this monster, this…

Vampire.

You ran as fast as you could on the uneven cobblestone. You were a very agile girl, thanks to so many times sneaking out of the window and running away. You always impressed people with how fast you could run, and you knew you could definitely outrun a woman in a stiff suit.

Until she appeared right in front of you with lightning speed. You didn’t even have time to be shocked. Her hand passed over your eyes, and you were asleep, falling limply into her arms like dead prey.

The last thing you thought of was if your mother had noticed you were gone yet or not.

࿏

You could tell it was dark before you even opened your eyes. When you did manage to finally flutter your eyes open, the first thing you saw was candlelight. A dark room with red carpet and black walls. Candles, everywhere. Some semblance of a bed that you lay on, naked. Something wooden in front of the bed on the floor which you realize to your sleepy horror is a coffin. And worst of all, to your upmost terror, standing to the side of the bed you lay on staring at you with a vile look of hunger, the redheaded woman.

She was holding a glass in her hand that held what appeared to be red wine, but it was way too dark. As the last memories flood back into your mind as she takes a slow, sickly sip, you realize that it is not wine in her glass.

“I know you’ll be much sweeter than this,” she thickly says after swallowing, lowering the glass and grinning at you with reddened teeth. “I could smell your blood as soon as you walked in.”

You attempt to sit up but there was an invisible force keeping you pressed flat on the bed. “Please let me go,” you whisper, your eyes welling with tears. You can’t exactly feel the fear inside you, not with whatever magic this vampire was putting inside you, but your body felt it and informed you of it in the form of hot tears rolling down your cheeks in an emotionless cry.

She laughed and started towards the bed, the movement causing you to jump. She set the glass down on the table beside the bed, eyes flickering at you as she slowly leaned over you, the weight of her hand on your pillow tipping your head closer to her. She was so close now. Deep scarlet eyes, pointed teeth, locks of her rust hair grazing your bare chest and tickling your nipples which you realized now were erected. Her breath smelled of iron, of old iron that had been sitting out in the rain. It smelled of flesh and of blood casting over your face for how close she was to you.

“Don’t be so frightened,” the vampire cooed, reaching her hand under you. You gasped at her cool touch, her oddly delicate and soft hand which glided across your back which arched for its way, coming to the other side of your waist and holding it gently so that her arm was completely curled under you. She had you trapped now, hovering over you, holding you. There was a crazed look in her eye now as her skin touched yours, as she smelled your scent and felt your warm flesh in her hand and listened to your heart beating so fervently, so frightened.

“You will enjoy this, love,” she continued, her nails digging slightly into your side as she lowered herself down further on the bed. She parted your legs with her knee, and it made you gasp in shock as she slid her other knee between them also, forcing your legs to spread. You felt the cool air of exposure in your middle, feeling now the strings of wet between your folds. She could smell it, you knew, by the way her nostrils flared and her beautiful lips twisted into a knowing smirk. This woman was an animal, a beast with senses that far outpowered yours. She could smell and hear and feel and see everything, down to the hairs on your arms that stood on their ends.

Were you enjoying it already? Why was your skin basically vibrating as she laid herself over you? Why were you slick as if you were with a lover? Why was your back and hips arching towards her hungrily as if you were the one thirsting for her and not the other way around?

Was she persuading you? You had heard of these vampyres being skilled in the art of witchery, particularly in the use of persuasion. It was heard of vampyres luring their victims to them willingly, as if the humans were offering themselves to them. Was that how she got you outside of the party in the first place?

You could feel the radiation of her powers vibrating through you, her red eyes seeming to glow in the dark room. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to your face and caressing your cheek. Your cheek was burning hot against her cold hand, which only invigorated her more.

“Your body is so warm against mine…” she murmured, her eyes trailing down your body to your bare chest. Lowering herself, she moved her head towards your neck area.

“No!” you instantly screamed, jerking your body against her as her face disappeared below your face. She dug her nails hard into your side, causing you to squeak, and then her mouth was on your neck. “Please! Stop! Don’t!”

You writhed and shrieked until you realized that you felt no intrusion of teeth into your veins but rather just a forceful yet gentle kiss of heavenly lips on your neck. The vampire’s breathing was heavy and thick, blowing hard against your skin as her entire body went rigid over yours like a predator. Her hips were the only thing that trembled, pressing hard between your legs.

“Fuck,” you heard the vampire curse into your neck as she pressed more kisses, letting her body push harder into yours. She was salivating, leaving your neck slick as she pressed more and more flurrying kisses against your soft skin. “So soft and warm,” she murmured, rubbing her entire face into the expanse of your neck, digging the bridge of her nose into your collarbone.

You were shocked when a gentle moan left your lips. She was kissing and rubbing her face all over your clavicles and chest, rolling her hips into you with a steady rhythm. You were starting to feel dizzy with warmth and lust that throbbed sinfully through you as this monster had her way with you.

She lowered further and finally was met with the pillowy hills of your breasts. She nuzzled herself right into them, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flesh there that was so tender it gave way to the slightest of her touch. It felt like she was vibrating against you now, breathy and rigid and drunk. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and lapped over the peak of your nipple, earning a loud gasp from you. Her eyes flickered open, alert at the sound, and looked deviously at you as she started to lap at your tit, the points of her fangs sticking through her lip like a kitten.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you squirmed under her, unsure of what, if anything, was going through your head. There were your thoughts, and the thoughts she wanted you to think, and thoughts your body was sending up your spine to your brain, mostly sinful and desirous.

Chuckling throatily against your nipple, the vampire grinned, which caused her fangs to scrape your skin.

“Ow!” you exclaimed at the tiny but strong sting you felt. It only felt like a papercut until the woman’s pupils went large, and she sunk her fangs into the soft flesh of your tit. You gasped in shock at first, watching the readhead’s long fangs sink into your breast, blood immediately streaming out of where she bit.

The scream that left your mouth was loud and burned your throat. The vampire grunted and groaned as she tasted your blood, her hips fully grinding into you now, her body melting on top of yours as she moaned huskily into your wound that she drank from.

You were at a loss for words as you thrashed against her strength and clawed at the pillows and blankets around you. The worst part was that, as much as it hurt and as much as you feared for your life, your middle was throbbing and more slick than ever as she ground herself into you, turned on from the mere taste of your blood.

Finally, the woman retracted, gasping open-mouthed, her lips and mouth smeared with the bright red of your blood. Her pupils were blown, red barely visible, your blood dripping from her fangs. She breathed heavily against you as your blood streamed down your breast, trailing to your stomach.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted,” she breathed almost inaudibly. She looked completely different now, like drinking from you had changed her features in some fundamental way that you couldn’t describe. She looked more beautiful than ever, and whether it was her persuasion or the sinner that had been hiding somewhere deep inside you, it made you even more slick to see this woman so beside herself, hovering over you, her mouth and chin covered and dripping with your blood, declaring you to be the best.

Seeming to still be gasping for breath, the vampire lowered herself more down the bed until her shoulders were what kept your legs spread open.

“My heavens,” she breathed as she inhaled the scent of your arousal, her eyes focused between your legs. “You sick little thing.”

Shame blushed across your face, but it was replaced with the blush of pleasure when the woman put her mouth over your clit. Her hands curled around your hips, holding them with iron strength as she devoured you. Your cum mixed with your own blood over the vampire’s mouth as she lapped at your soaked folds, somehow masterfully avoiding nicking you with the blades in her mouth. Her tongue plunged inside you, supernaturally long as it curled to reach your pleasure spot deep inside.

You were the one absolutely beside yourself now, grabbing at the sheets, at her soft red hair, arching your back off the bed and pushing your hips into her face. Any thoughts of life or death, the risk of it, being a prey trapped with its predator, your blood leaving your system through the deep bite on your breast, were all gone. All you knew now was this beautiful woman’s tongue deep inside you and the bridge of her nose digging against your clit.

A burst of pleasure exploded inside you, and you found yourself screaming out, blinded, only urged on with a more vigorous effort from the vampire’s tongue. Her nails had dug so hard into your hips that there were ten bleeding marks in the shape of fingernails on your skin, unbeknownst to the vampire who was joyously overwhelmed with the taste and smell of your blood and juices in her mouth.

Finally, when you had relaxed, she pulled away, looking up at you from between your legs. The blood on her face was still there but had been wiped away in most spots, turned pink by the mixing of your wetness which glistened over the bridge of her nose and down her chin. Her long tongue came out from her mouth to lick at her lips, her throat clenching as she swallowed.

You had never felt such physical bliss in your life. Your entire body throbbed and ached wonderfully, churned with the duality of it being so sexy and so morbid at the same time.

In fact, you’d nearly completely forgotten about the morbidity of it all until the vampire, eyes crazed even more, gazed down at your fleshy thighs. Her lips twitched in a smirk before she dove down and bit right into the inside of your thigh.

Reacting with a shriek and kicking your legs, you could feel her bite this time was much more painful and aggressive. She was not just biting you, she was sucking your blood.

“Stop!” you exclaimed, trying to kick at the vampire that seemed to be made of steel. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

She did stop. She pulled away sharply, face bloodier than ever, and lunged upwards. In a flash faster than you could realize, she grabbed your jaw and snapped your head to the side, digging her face down into the crook of your neck and sinking her teeth into your throat. The weight and strength of her body naturally held you down against the bed as she devoured you now in a more real way. You could feel your blood draining from your veins, leaving them cold. You could feel your head get lighter and lighter, your arms and legs feeling more and more numb until finally you went limp in her arms like a lamb. Vision blurring, you were moments away from death when finally the monster pulled herself away from you with a heavy sigh.

The redheaded woman had to stand up out of the bed to restrain herself. Your blood streaked darkly down her chin, staining the white lace of her chestpiece which she clawed at to give her throat room to breathe. You were a pathetic thing now, covered in your own blood at your breast and thighs, laying limply on the bed, eyes rolling as you tried to jolt yourself awake.

“My dear, I believe I’ve found heaven in you,” she whispered, recovering herself as she approached you again. You were half-conscious as she easily picked you up in her arms, holding you bridal style. Your head and arm hung down limply, the both of you blood-streaked and throbbing with different sorts of feelings that were somehow mutual. She carried you to the end of the bed where, at the floor, was the wooden coffin with the lid open. Gently, she laid you down into the soft red velvet of the wooden coffin.

She was about to stand up before you weakly grabbed at her collar. She paused, something glistening in her eyes as she stared down at you with a sewed brow.

“I don’t want to die,” you coarsely whispered. Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear you but, either because of the kind of monster she was or because your blood was running through her body, she understood exactly what you said.

“Don’t worry, my lamb,” she said with a crimson grin. “I wouldn’t let a treat like you go to waste. I’m going to keep you, pet. You’ll sustain me for as long as your body can take it. For now, you must sleep and rest, for my satisfaction is brief, and my thirst comes in quite short intervals.” She paused and stood up, letting your hand fall away from her collar. “Sleep well, little lamb.”

She closed the lid on your bleeding body, leaving you locked in the dark coffin.

[wandasobsession]

Snap A Few Photos

*Mature content ahead*

G!P Natasha (not sorry), Dom!Natasha x Sub!Reader, unprotected sex, edging, oral (both), overstimulating, breeding kink, spitting, picture taking, brief fingering, praising, degrading, masturbation, teasing, rough sex.

Summary- Natasha thinks she's smart for participating in 'No nut November', so you get back at her by making it pure hell for her.

Your pov:

The avengers squad was crowded on separate couches, some still sipping on the drinks they had from the party that was just buzzing a few hours ago while others just sat with bottles of water. Tony and Thor were currently arguing about something that amused both you and your girlfriend who you were currently cuddled up against on one of the serpate couches. You sighed in content, enjoying the warmth she provided and the useless banter from your teammates and friends.

"Yeah well it's a stupid concept. Why would you want to partake in that."

"To see if you can last man." Tony grumbled and Thor shook his head.

"I just think that this human thing, what do you call it again?"

"No nut November."

"Yes that, it's stupid. Why would you want to go without sex for thirty days just to win a bet or to partake in some dumb trend. You humans are weird" You laughed at Thors expression, yet you agreed with what he said, he did have a point.

"It's called having self control, you demigod."

"I agree with Tony." Natasha said and you turned to her with a raised brow.

"You do? Why?"

"I don't know, I guess it's to see if you have self control. I mean not everything is sex right? Besides, it can also give some couples that emotional connection that they didn't have before."

"Yeah I mean I get it, but thirty days, seems excessive to me, don't you think?"

"It's not that bad." She shrugs while taking a sip of her drink. You snort and the redhead arches her brow.

"As if you would last." You mumble and she furrows her brows.

"Oh? And what does that mean?"

"You know very well what I mean Nat. I doubt you'd last thirty days." Natasha let's out a throaty chuckle while placing her drink down.

"Oh detka. I could very much last a month, in fact care to make this interesting."

"Sure, let's make this interesting."

"One month. No sex at all. And if I win -no actually scratch that- When I win, you'll do as I say for a month."

"Okay and when I win, well you know what I want." The redhead smirks at your offer before nodding her head.

"Deal."

"See Tony, see how stupid this is?" Thor remarks but Tony shakes his head.

"Stupid? This is a miracle. Our ears can finally catch a break from all the excessive noises."

"Hey don't be jealous man, at least we don't go for 7 minutes only." Tony's jaw slacks at your comment, which causes everyone to break out in laughter.

"Seven? Make that three." Pepper mumbles which makes the entire team, except Tony, laugh.

"Ha ha. So funny." He responds sarcastically before Steve pats his back apologetically.

_

_

Now, you had formulated a great idea in your head. If Natasha was going to participate in "No nut November" then you were going to make it hell for her in payback for all the teasing she's done to you. It was time for her to get a taste of her own medicine, and you weren't planning on going easy on her.

Which is why you had dragged your best friend, Wanda, along with you to the mall.

"Why are we doing this again?" She asked as she watched you pick up very revealing sets in the Victoria's secret store.

"Payback."

"I thought you two were doing the challenge."

"Oh no, she is. I am not. And this way, I get to play with her until she cracks, which I know she will."

"You seem pretty confident with your idea."

"I am." you placed one final set into her hand before picking up a set of crotchless panties.

"Now you see, this is how I get her to crack." You mumble, more to yourself as you examine the red underwear.

"And what exactly is your plan here? Walk around with these lingerie sets?"

"That and I was thinking about boudior photos since our anniversary is coming up soon."

"Boudiour?" You hum, while you examine the thin material that was in your hand.

"We once spoke about it. Nat said she was into it but after that we never really spoke about it again. She must have forgotten about it. Besides, I might as well take inspiration from Sabrina Carpenter's song 'Juno' right?" Wanda snorts before placing everything down onto the counter.

"You know, I also heard that pheromone perfume helps." She jokes but you nod your head.

"See, now you're catching my drift." You say which makes Wanda shake her head with a grin.

_

_

"Alright y/n, I want you to get comfortable on the pillow and just do any pose for me." Larry said as he wiped the lesne of his camera. You situated yourself down onto the floor, laying on your side with your legs parted, one knee bent while the other was stretched out.

"There we go, that's perfect! Lift your leg up a bit and yes perfect!" He snapped a couple of photos, before you got up to change into a different set.

Now situated onto your back with a different set of lingerie on, you placed yourself onto your back, while lifting your legs up into the air.

"Try and arch your back just a little bit more for me. Yes, that's perfect doll." You did as he said before you changed into a different position, then a few more afterwards. The afternoon was filled with continuous laughter as you changed into different sets. You felt comfortable and confident with Larry as he cheered you on and gushed about how perfect you were.

"Honey, with a body like that, you could quit avenging and get into modeling." He joked as you stood up after the final shoot. You smiled at his remark, rolling your eyes too before stepping out to chanage into more comfortable clothing.

_

_

"Alright, how do they look?" You asked as you fixed the sweater you had just put on before standing next to him to get a peek from the camera.

"Honey please, Nat might be stubborn at times, but she definitely won't know what hit her once she sees these." You let out a small laugh while shaking your head.

"I don't know."

"Trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

"Since you're so sure of yourself, I trust you then."

"You can come pick them up a week from now."

"Alright thanks again and say hi to John for me." You grin widely before giving your friend a hug and leaving the studio.

_

_

Walking into yours and Natasha's shared bedroom, you placed your bag down before walking further inside the quiet room. Upon not seeing your girlfriend, your only assumption was that she was in the shower, which to you was an opportunity presenting itself. So quietly, you stepped into the en-suite bathroom, before stripping out of all your clothes.

Natasha was still oblivious to your presence, so you slipped into the shower with the redhead before wrapping your arms around her waist. Natasha hummed and you kissed her shoulder blade.

"Where were you today, I missed you."

"Just went out to the mall." Natasha hums and you move all of her hair to the side, so you could place your chin on her shoulder.

"And what were you up to?"

"Mission reports, which by the way I'm goi-"

Natasha is cut off from finishing her sentence once she feels your hand gently stroke her cock.

"Y/n, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."Natasha bites back a moan, her firm hands placed on top of yours to stop any further movements. The redhead turns around, before giving you a dangerous look, one that could have you six feet under. You bat your eyes innocently while tilting your head to the side.

"Whats wrong Natty?"

"Whatever you're planning won't work."

"Whatever do you mean Natty?" She huffs, and you slowly get down onto your knees. The woman swallows harshly, hands grabbing onto the wall for support.

"Y/n." She says warningly, but you knew her all too well. How dumb would she be to pass off getting some head from you?

"Yes?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?" You say, hand already stroking her length before licking the tip. The woman moans, head thrown back in pleasure as her hands pull your hair. 

"Y/n, s-." You lower your head down before you begin bobbing your head up and down while your hands stroke the parts that your throat couldn't reach. The woman bucked her hips and you gagged around her before removing your mouth but still stroking her cock. Your lips attach around her tip, where you continue to lick and suck it before lowering your mouth onto her length once again.

"Fuck." Natasha is now panting and you moan once you see the blissful look on her face. The hot water running down the both of you, her moans, and the room fogging up even more is enough to have your pussy clenching around nothing.

"This isn't fair." She mumbles while her hips unconsciously thrust up into your mouth.

"You said no sex, I'm not giving you sex." You tease before going back to sucking her off.

Just when you know she's close, you part from her before smiling and getting up.

"I'll let you get back to your shower then." You grin, especially at the state your girlfriend was currently in. All disheveled and desperate, but it was her idea in the first place.

"What a fucking tease." The redhead mumbled as she watches you sway your hips once you left the shower.

_

_

You walked into the gym with your bag and water bottle in your hand. Your girlfriend had already been working out, and it seemed like she was about to start another set of exercises. You placed all your stuff onto the nearby bench before you walked over to the treadmill.

For a while, you watched Natasha excwrise. The look of concentration on her face, the sweat that was trailing down her neck and god her muscles! You were surprised you didn't fall off the treadmill. One would assume that Natasha was the one suffering but you were in fact worse than her. I mean, Natasha had composure, you didn't. And even though you could still technically fix the ache in between your legs, it just wasn't the same if your girlfriend wasn't the one doing it. Man you were horny.

"Hey do you wanna spar?" You asked once Natasha finished a set. She moved a strand of hair away from her face, before nodding.

"Sure." You walk over to the ring, your girlfriend following just behind you before she gets in the ring too. You then slipped off the jersey you were wearing, and you smiled to yourself once you got the reaction you wanted from the redhead.

"Okay, what should we start with?" You asked innocently, as if your cleavage was not in your girlfriends face. Natasha cleared her throat, darting her attention anywhere but on your breasts.

"How about the normal routine? Let's see if your form has improved." She says and you get into fighting position.

Natasha managed to knock you down which causes you to topple over. You huff before standing up and sending her a glare.

"You're pulling your punches." She warns and you only scoff.

"Let's just go again." So you both went again, she manages to knock you over a couple more times, and same goes for you until you both end up tumbling onto the floor, with you on top of her.

"Well doesn't this just bring back fond memories." You say as your hands plant themselves onto her shoulder.

"Y/n, get off of me." She warns and you smirk, hips already moving in circular motions.

"Oh come on Nat, don't pretend like you don't miss being inside of me. Just let go and I could take you to a whole other world." You tease with a seductive grin and Natasha could already feel herself hardening.

Even with a lust clouded mind, Natasha still had enough control to move you off of her body, setting you next to her before standing up.

"You're no fun." You huffed out and she sent you a glare before walking out of the ring. Damn, she was going to be a tough one to crack.

_

_

Natasha sat on the bed with a book in her hand. Her reading glasses perched up just above her nose while she paid little to no attention to you. Sure, she wondered why you just disappeared into the bathroom for so long but she decided not to pry too much on it, instead, she was too focused on the passage she was reading.

The only thing that manged to pull her attention away from her book was the sight of your legs covered in the sheer fabric of panty hose along with the very expensive heels she had gifed you a long time ago. Keep your eyes down. She muttered this mantra in her head, knowing that if she dared to look up, she'd be captivated and seduced by you.

"Like what you see love? You can always look up you know." The sound of your voice was so devious, so cruel and yet so seductive. This was all carefully curated, she thought to herself and the sound of your voice coaxed her to finally look up. Big mistake.

"What do you think Natty?" You asked in that innocent voice of yours. Natasha's mouth went dry. Absolutely dry.

She looked at the new purple set that adorned your skin. god you looked so  edible. Natasha darted her tongue out to lick her lips as you walked closer to her. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to have you whimpering for her, to put you in your place but she couldn't. She'd brought this upon herself and she was going to have to stay strong to prove her point.

But the way you flicked your hair to the side, and the way your skin glowed under the light, it was so alluring. You turned around to give her a show and you were clearly enjoying it with the big grin that was plastered on your face. Everything looked so good and your entire body was practically calling for her. From your tits, to your pretty face and to your ass. Natasha bit on her lip before looking down at her book.

"You look nice." Was all she muttered, as she tried to pay attention to the words. But she couldn't. Not with the sight of you imprinted in her mind.,

"Seriously Nat? That's it. Nice?"

"I don't know what you want me to say." She shrugged her shoulders and you scoffed before heading into the bathroom. Natasha let out a sigh, she was so needy. At this point, one touch from you would send her tumbling over the edge.

"Just one more week."

_

_

"These look fucking great." You exclaimed as you eyes scanned through the photos.

"Tell me something I don't know." Larry smirked and Wanda peeked over your shoulders to see the pictures that were in your hand.

"My god where have you been hiding your ass y/n?" You laughed as Wanda grabbed the pictures out of your hand. She examined the pictures for a while before you took them back from her with a small chuckle.

"Alright, that's enough."  You turned to your friend and gave him a warm hug before smiling.

"Thanks again Larry. I love them."

"No problem. And tell Natasha I say hi."

"Will do. Bye." You led Wanda out of the studio before you both made your way back to your car.

"Now what?"

"Now, since Natasha is going on her mission, I place these in her bag so that whenever she opens her bag, she's got a glorious surprise waiting for her."

Wanda sits back in her seat while shaking her head and you arch a single brow.

"What?"

"I hope whatever you've planned works."

"It will, trust me."

_

_

Natasha groaned as she trudged through her room, a hand pressed against the now forming bruises on her hip. She let out a relieved sigh as she finally sat down onto the bed, her shoes falling off soon after. She needed a shower to wash off all the dirt that had been gathered from the mission. She reached for her backpack and she ruffled for a while before pulling our her towel and toiletries before placing them onto the bed.

She was about to zip up her bag until she spotted a book inside the bag with a small note.

Have fun on your mission ;)

She gathered that it was from you by the handwriting and she wondered what the book contained. With all the strength that she had left, she pulled the book out and opened the first page.

"Enjoy and don't be afraid to let go baby." She read the words with a small frown before paging over.

And there you were, ass up in the air, a mischievous smirk plastered on your face as you looked back at the camera.

"Yebat." Natasha mumbled as she scrolled through the various steamy pictures. She could feel all the blood rushing to her cock, and christ she wanted nothing more than to be inside you right now.

Her eyes stayed focus on your face. Oh your beautiful face that was so expressive whenever she fucked you, your eyes that would roll back when you were cumming or your lips. Oh your lips. The sweet sounds that would tumble out of your mouth or the warmth that would envelop her whenever you sucked her off.

And then her eyes drifted down to your tits, one of her favorite parts of your body that she truly cherished. And your ass? Another of her favorite. The older woman closed the book with a huff. Now it made sense.

"Ty khitraya devchonka, ne tak li?"

(You're a sneaky girl, aren't you)

She thought to herself and at that moment, her phone had started ringing. With her thumb, she swiped the answer button before she spotted your face.

"Hi Natty." Your mischief filled voice rang in the quiet of her room.

"I see you got my gift." You teased and she rolled her eyes.

"You're going to be sorry once this is over."

"Really? Huh." You blinked a couple of times, feigning innocence as you spoke again.

"I don't regret it though, besides you liked it, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." She answered, wearily of the position of your phone.

"You know, I miss you." You started as you positioned your phone, so that your top half was showing.

"A lot."

"You do don't ya?" She teases to which you reply with a hum.

"Mhm." But what catches Natasha's attention is the way you pull a string that unravels your shirt and before you know it, your chest is bare in front of the camera.

With a hum, your hand disappeared down to in between your thighs but Natasha couldn't see anything. But with the raise of your chest and the flutter of your eyes, she could tell what was happening.

"god I miss your mouth on me, your fingers in me...you fucking me, just filling me up to the brim." You say as your fingers work inside of you.

Natasha swallows, her own heart thumping as she listened to you go on.

"Don't you miss being inside me Natty? Don't you miss the feeling of just letting go and cumming. On me or in me." You tease and Natasha watches in silence as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

"I'm so close Nat, fuck do you hear that?" You ask referring to the wet sloshing sounds of your pussy. Normally you'd be too embarrassed whenever your girlfriend teased you about it but now you couldn't even be bothered, not with the way she was looking at you.

"I'm so wet for you. So fucking wet." Natasha's lips part and she can imagine all of it. Her fingers inside your wet pussy, the taste, the warmth.

"Fuck, fuck!" A loud moan falls from your lips as you near your orgasm. And soon you pull your fingers out, bringing them up to the screen and sucking them clean.

"Bye." And just like that, you hung up the phone, leaving the redhead to deal with the image of you fucking yourself.

2 more days.

_

_

Natasha was bummed to say the least. After her mission ended, she had to come back to an empty room because you had to leave for a mission of your own. To add on to that, you would only be back on the second of December. Heart-wrenching. She thought to herself as her eyes wandered around the room.

The sound of knocking on the door caught her attention and Tony opened the door before peeking inside.

"Thought I'd mention that I'm having a party tomorrow." He mumbled and she nodded her head.

"Cool."

"I must say, I'm surprised you lasted thirty days." He mumbles and Natasha arches her brow.

"Why?"

"With all the countless teasing, and the eye fucking, I'm surprised we didn't find you two at it like a bunch of rabbits in the training room or the pantry like last time. You're not bad Romanoff."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it how you want to take it. Just go easy on us after tomorrow night."

"No promises. Now get out of my room." Tony raises his hands in surrender before walking out of yours and Natasha's room.

_

_

The party was bustling, people socializing with one another while Tony made a fool of himself near the bar area.

"And I say boom you looking for this." Rhodey says while laughing and Natasha gives him an unamused look.

"You know, l-like boom looking for-"

"Was that supposed to be funny?" She cuts him off from finishing his ridiculous story and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Why do I even bother with you." Rhodey sighs before leaves an unamused Natasha and Clint together.

Natasha takes a sip of her drink as her friend watches her.

"You all right Nat? You seem oddly quiet."

"Yeah I am, I just... Hold on let me get this." She says referring to the phone that was currently vibrating in the pocket of her suit jacket.

"Hey baby."

"Hey Nat, could you do me a favor please?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I need you to go up to our room and get me a file in my drawer. I think I left it there and it's really important."

"Alright, sure." She hands Clint the half filled drink before walking off.

Taking the shorter route to your shared room, Natasha asks you a couple of questions about the mission which you gladly answer.

"Are you almost there?"

"Yeah, just a sec." She mumbles and you give her a second.

When Natasha opens the door, she's stunned. Beyond stunned to see your figure sitting on your shared bed.

"Surprise." You say with a grin plastered on your face. The woman's mouth is agape as she stares at you.

"Well I must say I'm not surprised you lasted thirty days. Might as well come claim your prize, right? It's only fair isn't it baby?" You ask as you spread your legs slightly and the woman is ready to pounce on you as she stares at the red lingerie set and a red robe that adorned your body. Her favorite color.

And remember when you bought those specific crotchless panties about three weeks ago? Well with the look the redhead was currently giving you, it was definitely worth all the money you spent.

Natasha's pushes the door of your bedroom with her leg shut before she makes her way over to you. You look up at the woman, giving her a dopey grin as she lowers her head down to kiss you.

"Well isn't this the best sight to be met with." She says and you chuckle. Your hands wrap around the redheads neck as you deepen the kiss, the both of you moaning at the ferocity of the kiss.

Natasha has you leaning onto your back but you stop her by pushing her back and standing up. She gives you a questioning look and you smirk before you pull her by her tie and push her back onto the bed so she is lying down. Natasha licks her lips, watching as you take her pants and underwear off. You then grab onto her cock, rubbing the tip slightly which has her sighing in pleasure.

You don't waste any time. Soon your mouth is on her, giving her the sloppiest head that has her groaning and clenching the sheets. You can tell she's close to cumming so you pull away from her which makes her huff.

"Can't cum Natty, it's not twelve am yet and you wouldn't wanna lose the bet just when you're about to win, would ya? Just four more minutes."

Again, you tease her, your hand stroking her length as you lick her tip. She shudders as you take her fully before repeating the motions.

"Mhm so close. Just one more minute." The seconds are driving her insane but when she feels your hand fasten it's pace, she can't help but grab your hair into a ponytail to fuck your mouth.

"Fuck." You hum around her, doing the best you can to take her and the woman throws her head back as she cums into your mouth and fuck it felt so so good. You hummed again, relishing in the taste of her. You missed it. All of her and she missed you. All of you. You separate from her, a string of saliva still connecting you to her and you smile.

"Guess you win Nat." you exclaim and Natasha flips the both so you so easily, so that you're laying on the bed.

"You have been so bad." She starts as she discards herself of her suit jacket and dress shirt.

"All you did was act like a whore for the past four weeks. Walking around with these." She pulls the strap of your bra before letting it go so it snapped against your skin and you let out a small gasp.

"Touching yourself and sending me those slutty pictures."

"But you liked them."

"I'm talking detka." She tuts disapprovingly and you look away.

"Sorry daddy."

"Sorry won't get you out of this one. Besides I did win right. So I'm going to enjoy my prize but first I think I need to fuck that attitude right out of you."

Natasha's hands pry your legs apart before she lowers her head down to your pussy. She's not wasting a single second, instead she dives right in, eating your pussy like a starved women. And indeed, she had been starved from your sweet nectar.

"Oh fuck!"

"I missed how you taste. So fucking sweet." She rasps, her tongue licking up your slit before moving to suck your clit. The way she was handling you was so... intoxicating, borderline animalistic.

She gripped onto the flesh of your thighs, pulling your closer so that she could eat you out better, tasting you, just feeling you whole. Natasha moaned into your pussy, the vibrations of her moan shooting up your body like a bolt of electricity. Natasha lapped at your cunt, relishing in the sweet taste of your pussy. She spread your pussy apart, spat on it then inserted two fingers inside of you. You let out a scream that had her smirking from in between your thighs.

"That good huh?"

She fingered you for a brief amount of time because soon your legs were shaking as you were nearing the edge.

"Cum for me baby, come on let go." Your eyes rolled back as you were overcome with this overwhelming orgasm. She continued to fuck you with her tongue, greedily licking all of your juices until she slowed her movements. You really really missed the feeling of her mouth and fingers. You gave Natasha a hazy grin which she returned with a peck on your lips. The moment was short loved because soon she was flipping you onto your stomach, pressing her body onto yours.

"Four weeks of your torture. You thought I'd let you get away with it. But I didn't and now I'm going to fuck you until you're begging and crying for me to stop." You wiggle your ass, purposefully moving against her length and she delivers a harsh slap onto your ass.

"Impatient aren't you? You are so lucky I don't have time to edge you and tease this pussy of yours but we'll have enough time for that tomorrow and the many days after."

Natasha's hands finally remove the robe that you were wearing and her eyes widened as she looked at the brand new tattoo on your lower back.

"Pretty right?" You asked, feeling her fingers trace over the ink.

"You really want to kill me, don't you?" You let out a half hearted chuckle before Natasha pulls you back by your hair so that your back is pressed against her front.

"You're so fucking beautiful." She mumbles in your ear and she can feel your wetness dripping onto her cock.

"I'm gonna fuck this pretty pussy of yours so good." You let out a muffled sound as she slowly inserts herlsef inside of you, slowly stretching your pussy out.

"You're so tight baby, fuck, spent thirty days without being in this fucking pussy. Won't ever do it again."

"Nat-"

"You missed me? You missed me fucking this pussy huh?"

"Yes!"

"Say it."

"I missed you fucking me dumb Nat."

"Yeah?" You nod as you feel her move her hips, hitting the right spots inside of you.

"Mhmm fuck, you feel so good Nat!"

Natasha speeds her movements inside of you and all you can do is take the way she fucks you while letting out small moans.

"Yes yes yes! Please don't stop-" The woman let's go of your hair, and you fall down onto your stomach feeling Natasha dig into your pussy. Her hands find your hips while her thrusts speed up. The sound of skin slapping and the both of your moans bounces off the walls of the bedroom.

"So fucking sexy." She mumbles as your ass moves while she fucks into you. She can't help herself when she grabs her phone, pressing the camera app to take a picture. You can feel her slowing down her movements which makes you whine in frustration.

"No, no, no detka, continue doing that, you're doing so good. Fuck yourself for me so I can record every single thing. Yes, keep moving just like that, fuck. So gorgeous."

Natasha is mesmerized to say the least, with the way your ass is moving against her, the feeling of your velvety walls taking her cock, suffocating it, she's hooked and she can't help but snap many photos and a little video of you fucking yourself against her like a pathetic little bitch in heat.

"I'm c-cumming." You croak out and she pulls out before thrusting into your pussy, hitting the deepest depths of your cunt.

You cum around her cock with a cry. Natasha pulls you up by your hair again to press kisses against your neck before biting the flesh there. She then sneaks her arm around your waist, pulling your tits out of the confinement of your bra.

"So pretty." She husks in your ear as she plays with your nipples. You can feel yourself getting sensitive but you don't want her to stop. Not yet.

"I want you to ride me baby, think you can do that f'me?" A slow nod and Natasha smiles before placing herself next to you. You position your hips over her body before aligning your soaking wet center with her length.

"Shit." A shuddered breath escapes your lips as you lower yourself down onto her cock.

"You're so big Nat."

"Uh huh, but you can take it. I know you can, it's your dick right?" And you do take her, your hips move on their own accord and you ride her with so much determination.

"god I just wanna breed this pussy. Just fill you up until all you feel is me. You'd like that wouldn't you baby? To feel me for the next few days?" You can only nod your head, too fucked out to talk before you lower down to kiss her. The kiss is nothing short of passion. Teeth clashing as your hands wrap around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer to you. All you just wanted was to feel Natasha and you were. Everywhere. Even in such steamy moments, you could still find the linger of passion and tenderness from her longing looks and her movements. You really loved this woman.

Natasha's hands grab your ass as her own hips thrust upwards and you bury your head into the crook of her neck.

"Listen to that, you're just so wet.". She chuckles referring to the wet sloshing sounds of your pussy and you don't look up, your head still buried in her neck.

"Oh malysh, don't be so embarrassed, it's the best sound ever." You can feel another orgasm approaching and this time Natasha's finger rub against your sensitive clit.

"Nat please-"

"Please what baby? What are you begging for. Tell me." Tears are streaming down your face as you continue to ride Natasha and soon you cum again.

Natasha pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. At one point she picked you up and led you over to the side table, where she bent you down and fucked you mercilessly. Then you were pressed against the wall with Natasha on her knees, eating your pussy out again until you were literally shaking.

She made it her mission to fuck you dumb on every surface of the bedroom. And whenever she says something, she does it. She fucked you against the wardrobe, in front of the mirror then in the shower where she held you up with her strong arms and kept thrusting into your wet pussy while groaning into your ear. Your nails clawed at her back while her lips sucked and nipped at every inch of your skin.

The water dripped down both of your bodies, creating a steamy ambiance between you two. And there after she picked you up and set you down onto the bathroom counter. And she just kept fucking you, hitting your G-spot countless times while you kissed until you needed air. It was late at night, hell you were certain that it could be three am but you two didn't care. You were making up for all the lost time.

And somehow you had found yourselves on the floor, making out as you slowly rode the woman, not wanting to stop even though your legs were begging you to stop. You just couldn't, you missed Natasha that much, you needed her that much and you loved her that much.

The next morning, well, hours later you two woke up in a tangled mess of sheets. You chuckled slightly, body practically aching from the nights activities.

"Good morning Moya lyubov' " Natasha's voice woke you up and you smiled lightly.

"How do you feel?"

"Sore but so great." She chuckles lightly before sitting up.

"Well we shouldn't have slept on the floor."

"Not my problem, you're the one that fucked me on it."

"And I suppose its my fault?" She asks in a joking manner and you only nod your head.

"Join me for a bath?" You asked and she hummed.

So you two took a bath together, the both of you basking in the peaceful bliss of being in each other's arms. And when Natasha's fingers slowly slid across your pussy to fuck you slowly, you let her make you feel good, throwing your head back onto her shoulder, letting her fully control your body.

_

_

When the two of you finally emerged out of your room later that afternoon, you found the team huddled up in the kitchen, just having useless banter as per usual. And when Tony spotted you two, he whistled lowly making you roll your eyes.

"Break the bed didn't ya?" He joked and Natasha shot him a glare. Rhodey walked past Natasha and he eyed her  back that was filled with many scratches.

"Your back." He mumbles and the woman arches her brow.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Never mind." He backed away once he saw the serious look on your girlfriends face and you just pulled her arm.

"Damn did you suck the life out of her neck too." Carol exclaims as she examines the hickey you failed to cover up. You scoff before pushing her hand away from your neck.

"Can't walk without Natasha holding you up huh?" Rocket teased and you turned to look at him.

"Nothing will stop me from throwing you into that trash can over there."

"With what strength sugar, you can barely walk yourself." The team laughs and you two just roll your eyes before Natasha walks over to get a cup of coffee.

You sit down next to Wanda and opposite from Thor before he looks up at you.

"I must know, was it worth the thirty days lady y/n?" Thor asks and you glance at Natasha with a big grin plastered on your face.

"Totally worth it."

_______________________________________

Thank you all for your support! It means so much <3 if you're interested, you're always welcome to scroll through my wattpad, where you'll be entertained with more fics

[wandasobsession]

Hot

Mine

*Mature content*

Biting, marking, strap-on, mommy kink, choking, oral, praising kink, Wanda being jealous.

Summary- you accompany your mother to the country club house, only to meet an interesting woman.

I don't really have a clue about tennis so bare with me here.

(y/m/n) - your mother's name

Milf Wanda is amazing! And thank you for so much positive feedback on my previous fic!

Your pov:

"Mom do I really have to go with you?" You ask, voice filled with annoyance as you follow the woman up the stairs.

"Yes you do. Now go pack your bags. I don't want to hear another word of this. We are going and that is final." You let out a defeated sigh, and walked up to your room. Your mother insisted, well more like forced you to accompany her to the country club to play some tennis because apparently you had been inside the house far too long this summer.

You were a good tennis player, that's for sure but being around so many snobbish, older people just wasn't how you wanted to spend your day. Especially with your mother's nagging voice ringing in your ear, constantly murmuring how you weren't playing perfectly. Nonetheless you began to get ready because you weren't in the mood for another scolding from the older woman. You put on your clothes, a pair of shoes, picked some essentials before placing them in your gym bag, and lastly, you grabbed your racket and a few tennis balls.

"Alright, let's go!" Your mom yelled from downstairs and you groaned. You rushed downstairs before grabbing your water bottle then walking towards the car.

"Trust me kid, I'd rather be at work than go to that country club." Your dad murmured softly from behind you and you only chuckled.

_

You stepped out of the car before your mom walked behind you, a grumble of annoyance escaping her lips.

"I told you, no short skirts, are you trying to show your ass to everyone? Christ what will people think?!" You rolled your eyes but you had a sly smirk painted across your face. Perhaps you'd find someone interesting here.

Your family walked into the Westview Country club, being stopped by a couple of your mother's closest friends. Your dad had already wandered off to the buffet and you were left awkwardly standing in the center of the large room.

You sighed, annoyance already bubbling up deep within you. You decided to make your way outside to the courts instead of just standing alone in the room. You were bored and beyond frustrated that your mother had pulled you away from the comfort of your room and forced you to come here. You walked past a few people you knew, smiling at those who even offered a glance your way. The rest of them just passed you without a word or just gave you a scowl. Well isn't everyone in this place just a ray of sunshine.

Minutes later and you were starting to get pissed. Your mother was nowhere to be found and your dad was surrounded by a bunch of other men talking about sports or the young girls they had been sleeping around with. Ew.

As you made your way to an empty court, you got hit by a tennis ball on your head.

"Ouch! What the fuck man?" You grabbed the ball before turning around, ready to scold whoever had hit you with the ball. You knew it wasn't intentional but you just wanted to let your frustrations out.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sweetheart, a friend and I were playing and turns out my aim wasn't right." A blonde woman apologized with a sincere smile on her face. You weren't even paying attention to her apology because you were so mesmerized by her features. This woman was sculpted by aphrodite herself. The woman had short blonde hair, gorgeous green eyes, plump pink lips, manicured finger nails that could probably ruin you...

"Oh um no it's okay." You cleared your throat in embarrassment before letting a chuckle fall past your lips. The blonde just smiled at you before she tilted her head.

"Do I know you? You just look so familiar?" She asked, now placing her racket in her other hand.

"Oh no. I don't think so. My mother is actually the one who comes here often and-"

"Y/n, there you are." Your mom came in, interrupting the conversation you were having with this mysterious woman.

"Oh. I see you've met Wanda Maximoff." Your mom murmured and it was then that you remembered the infamous woman your mother did not like. At all.

Wanda, on the other hand now realized why you looked so familiar. You practically had your mother's face if it wasn't for the difference in eye color and well because you were younger.

Back to you, you still wondered how your mother could hate such a beautiful woman. Then again, your mother hated everyone. Your eyes ran over the woman's features before they landed on those gorgeous green eyes that were looking right at you before they turned to your mother.

"Hello y/m/n." Wanda said, her voice sounding as equally pissed as your mom's. The blonde woman averted her eyes to you, smiling at you before your mom began talking.

"We should catch up! Have some tea some time." Your mom said and you fought the urge to scoff.

"Of course, that would be great, I really should get back to my game though." The blonde spoke and you were a little upset that you wouldn't have time to talk to her anymore.

"Well y/n here is a great player herself. Maybe she can play against you." You turned to your mom with a scowl plastered on your face. Of course your mom would do this. Yes, you wanted to talk to the blonde but you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of her.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind that at all."She smiled and winked at you. You blushed a little before your mother nudged you to walk over to the court she was playing at.

You and Wanda began walking in an awkward filled silence until the blonde woman spoke up.

"Your mother. Very interesting woman isn't she? " She said and you laughed a little.

"Yeah, one could say that. But I'd like to think we're different."

"How so?" She asked and you just shrugged.

"I don't know, I just guess we're not the same." Wanda nodded and watched as you walked in front of her, your skirt riding up from your movements.

"Sorry Agnes, do you mind if I play with someone else right now?" Wanda asked and the woman named Agnes just agreed before walking off the courts.

"No problem hun, I should catch up with Ralph and make sure he isn't up to anything stupid." She  joked before turning to you.

"Hiya hot stuff, what's your name?"

"Y/n." You said with a shy smile and Agnes chuckled.

"Well aren't you a cutie. Anyways you two enjoy your game. And take it easy on her Wanda." Agnes said with a pointed look making her friend roll her eyes.

"I should warn you, I'm not the best player." You said with a shrug of your shoulders which made the blonde woman smile.

"Neither am I sweetheart, but we'll see what happens yeah?" Wanda said as she bent down to pick a ball up.

You watched as she bent down. You fought the urge to stare at her ass but it wasn't that easy. Wanda could feel your eyes on her and when she stood up she had the biggest smirk on her face.

"See something you like?" She teased and you felt your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"Uhm I'm sorry." She only laughed before walking over to place her bottled water down.

You walked over to place your phone and water bottle on the side before making your way to your side of the court. And just like that, you and Wanda began your game of tennis.

_

_

"Well, you're quite the excellent player yourself Ms y/l/n"

"You're not too bad too Mrs Maximoff."

"Oh honey, please call me Wanda. Mrs Maximoff makes me feel old." She says with a small laugh and you nod your head.

"Alright Wanda." The name slips off your tongue in a way that has Wanda holding onto her racket for her dear life. You were so sweet and adorable to her, something about you intrigued her. She'd never felt this way before. Never with her past relationships and surely never with Vision. And the smile you sent her afterwards, was enough to make her feel like she was young again. Something about you drew her in and she wanted to explore it more.

You could practically feel the tension between the two of you, her eyes scanning your face and her lips parted but of course your mother just had to walk in and ruin the moment.

"Who won?" She asked and you turned to Wanda.

"Uh we weren't really keeping track." You said while shrugging and you could see your mom fighting back a scoff.

"But it was fun." you commented and Wanda sent you a wink.

"Well it was nice to see you Wanda, but we should get going."

Your mom pulled you away before you even got the chance to say goodbye to Wanda.

_

_

After that day, you found yourself visiting the country club more often just to see a particular blonde woman. You often went with your parents or sometimes even alone.

Wanda caught onto your little act and she loved every second of it. She loved the days when you'd decide to come alone. That way, she could be more flirtatious with you not that she stopped even when your parents were around, she just did it skillfully.

"I see you've come alone. Is it perhaps to see me once again?" She asks with a small smile playing on her lips.

"Well Wanda as much as I do enjoy seeing you, who says a girl can't come here to play some tennis?" You teased with a wiggle of your brow and she chuckled.

"Fair enough, but enough of that, join me for a drink?" She asks with a hopeful smile and who were you to deny some time with the blonde woman.

So with a nod of your head, you followed the woman to the bar area. You sat down with Wanda next to you, and she called over the bartender to order a drink. You spent the afternoon talking to Wanda, and it was absolutely amazing. It seemed as though the alcohol she drank made her more bold with her touches and glances, and even her words were much more sultry and suggestive than before. And you won't lie, you did enjoy the slightest bit of attention that you got from the older woman.

"Can I ask a qiestion?"

"Well you're already asking me one aren't you detka?" She teases and you laugh lightly.

"Go ahead."

"Are you married?" Wanda is taken aback by your question and you are immediately overcome with a dreadful feeling.

"Oh god I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I just wondered why you were reffered to as Mrs since, well I haven't really seen you wear a ring."

Wanda shakes her head with a small chuckle that eases your nevers just a bit.

"That's alright malysh, I'm not mad. I was married but unfortunately we didn't work out." She pauses for a moment, her finger tracing the outline of the glass like she was contemplating whether to continue talking or not.

"I understand, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"You're precious." She remarks again, giving you a wink that sends butterflies down to your stomach.

"He wasn't faithful. After I had my twins, he sort of just distanced himself. I thought I was overthinking it but I guess I was right when he'd barely come home at night or whenever he did, he'd smell like another woman's perfume." A dry chuckle escaped her lips and your heart clenches.

"I'm sorry about that." You say, reaching for her hand and rubbing it. She gives you a small smile before clearing her throat.

"That's all in the past malysh. I guess the name still sticks to this day."

"You have twins?" You ask with a smile and she nods her head.

"Hm hm. My two boys, Billie and Tommy."

"That's amazing." You say with a genuine smile and Wanda gives you one of her wide smiles.

_

_

"You're in to her aren't you Wanda?" Her friend asked as they sat on the pool chairs, watching the twins have fun inside the pool.

"Of course not Agnes, that's insane. I just have an admiration for her. That's it."

"Oh what a bunch of bull-" Wanda gives Agnes a warning look that silences the brunette from finishing her cuss word.

"It's harmless fun Agnes. It really isn't anything." Wanda explains to her friend who doesn't believe a single word she says. Agnes scoffs but says nothing more, instead she picks up her drink and takes a sip of it while watching Wanda with a unamused expression.

_

_

Wanda had asked you to help her with a few things at her home. And being the polite girl who had grown a crush on the woman, well you agreed. Which is how you found yourself next to the woman, helping her with her sink.

"Do you really know what you're doing there y/n?" She asked, gaze shamefully sweeping down your frame.

"Your lack in faith for me is quite undermining Wanda." You joke as you finished up. Wanda bit her lip, heat spreading down her spine as she watches you fix her sink.

"There. Done." You remarked as you stood up. You opened the faucet, smiling to yourself once the water begins to run.

"Problem solved."

"Thank you y/n you're a life saver." She murmurs and you shoot her a smile.

"How much can I pay you?"She asked as she pulled her wallet out.

"Oh no, please it's not necessary."

"Nonsense y/n, let me at least give you something." She pulls out money, handing it to you but you push her hand back gently.

"I'm serious, it's okay Wanda." With the way you were looking at the woman, she could only breath out before darting her tongue to the corner of her mouth. The small action catches your attention almost immediately and the tension in the kitchen rises, the both of you being aware of it.

"Is there maybe another way I could pay you?" She asks in a husky tone that has your stomach flipping and before you know it, her lips are pressed against yours.

You're taken slightly aback with the kiss and the ferocity of it but you kissed her back with the same level passion. Wanda  pushed you against the kitchens counter, her arms moving up to wrap around your neck as yours find their place around her waist. The two of you battle for dominance but you manage to overpower her and you bite her tongue which has her eliciting a whine. Wanda pulls away from the heated kiss, her cheeks coated in a red tint  breath still ragged from the kiss the two of you just shared.

The both of you don't say anything to one another for a while and once Wanda starts speaking, you can't seem to pay attention because all you were thinking about was what was under the clothes she had on. When Wanda realizes that you weren't paying attention to what she was saying, because your dilated pupils were focused on her cleavage instead, she could not help the flutter of butterflies that erupted inside her stomach. The idea of someone wanting her after so long has her feeling different, almost as if she was finally being seen.

And when you see Wanda begin to unbottun her shirt, your eyes are fixated on her movements before they trail up to her face that has a smirk planted on it.

"Are you sure there isn't another way I can pay you y/n? I think you'd like this payemnet very much." Her tone was so sultry and fuck did it make you wet. All you could do was clear your throat, your mouth running dry as she slips her blouse off. Your hands twitch in response, the urge to reach out and touch her smooth skin so strong.

"You can touch if you'd like." She teases and you reach out to pull her in for a searing kiss. Wanda can't help the moan that escapes her lips as you reach over to touch her covered breasts. She hums in pleasure as your fingers trail to her shoulders, to pull the straps of her bra down. Wanda's eyes are dilated, her breathing has escalated and she now stares at you with a pleading look.

"Y/n... Touch me."

_

_

Another sunny day and Wanda was sitting outside on the pool chairs with her friend next to her. She watched as her boys played in the swimming pool, a water gun in Tommy's hand while Billy held a ball. Agnes, ever the talkative one between the two of them, continued to rant about her husband. Something about his mother coming into town and Agnes wanting nothing more than to run away. But Wanda couldn't pay attention to her.

Not when her thoughts were consumed by you and you only.

"Y/n and I are having sex." She said quietly but loud enough for Agnes to hear.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said."

"Could you perhaps elaborate."

"What is there to elaborate, her and I are..."

"Fucking?"

"Not so loud." Wanda slaps her friend on the shoulder, her eyes scanning at the children before they're back on Agnes.

"But yes."

"How did this begin and... When?"

"It just... Happened."

You kissed Wanda again and again until you had no air to breathe. The older woman was now sprawled on her bed, her chest heaving with anticipation as you slowly slid her panties off. Wanda licked her lips in anticipation, her heart racing as she waited for your first move. And when you finally latched your tongue onto her bundle of nerves, her head was thrown back in pleasure.

"Oh.... Fuck!" The tatse of her sweet nectar had you humming in satisfaction before you greedily began to feast on the blonde woman's pussy.

Wanda's hands were locked in your hair, pulling the coils as her thighs wrapped around your head.

"god y/n just like that!"

"You tatse so amazing Wanda."

"Well it happened the day she helped me fix my sink."

"And when you say 'having sex' you mean that you two are still..."

"Yes."

Another day at the tennis club and instead of doing the actual sport, you were currently doing Wanda in the country clubs bathroom. With the older woman propped onto one of the sinks in one of the country clubs' luxurious bathroom, you had been eagerly eating her out for a long while. Wanda bit her lip in attempt to suppress her moans but with your skilled tongue swiping through her folds and collecting her wetness as if her slick was keeping you alive, and maybe it was.

"Y/n, please S-stop..." She whimpered as you brought her to her third orgasm in that bathroom. You hummed but when you you tried to move an inch away from the woman's pussy, her hand was grabbing your head, pushing you towards her pussy once again.

"You want me to move or stay?" You teased as a finger collected her slick before bringing it up to her face as proof of how wet she was.

"I don't think you want me to stop because your pussy sings otherwise Wanda." The woman groans and the smirk on your face grows before you slip your fingers inside her again.

"Well this is something I didn't expect." Agnes mumbles while downing the last of her drink.

"How is she?"

"She's... indescribable."

"Better than Vision?" The brunette woman asks with a teasing smile that has Wanda scoffing.

"What he did, y/n could probably do in her sleep."

"Well my dear, I just advice you to be careful Wanda. You know how people feel about well you know homosexuality. Besides her mother is a devil so the territory you're playing on is quite dangerous."

Wanda hums in agreement. She knew that Agnes was right but that didn't mean that she would even think about ending whatever it is that you two had. Not when she was having so much fun.

_

_

Sunday services weren't really your favorite thing to attend. That was until you met Wanda. Now it was somewhat tolerable. It's not that you didn't like the word but the environment around you was toxic. You could do without the remarks about homosexuality or the snark comments that were thrown your way at times, that's what you hated the most.

But there you sat, a few rows behind the older woman. Wanda looked as dashing as ever. With her blonde hair styled perfectly, a blue dress adoring her gorgeous figure to which she topped off with a diamond necklace. And right next to her, were her two children, who were dressed in suits. You could tell that it had been a hassle to get both Billy and Tommy into those suits since Tommy could not stop tugging at his tie whenever his mother wasn't looking at him. But nevertheless, they all looked like the perfect family.

"Y/n?" A somewhat familiar voice called your name from behind and you turned to see Sam, a girl who you had once shared intimacy with in the past.

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

"Why are you so shocked to see me huh?" She joked and you shook your head.

"You don't go to church."

"Touché. I'm actually here with my older sister. She thought it would be beneficial you know." You nodded your head in understanding before she moved over to you.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Please, go ahead." She gave you a smile, and once upon a time you would have melted at the sight but now your heart was somewhere else.

Speaking of which, Wanda had been staring at the two of you for some time now. She tilted her head, trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you. And when Sam sat next to you, she couldn't help but frown at this. It seemed like the two of you knew each other. Especially with the Way Sam was practically undressing you with her eyes.

She should be shameful. Not because she was in a holy place but because she was stepping onto another woman's property. Not that Wanda saw you as property, but she didn't like this at all.

"So do you wanna go out sometime maybe?" Sam asked with her hand on your shoulder as the service had finally ended.

"Uh no." You pushed her hand away, in attempt of getting away from her.

"I'm seeing someone."

"Oh."

"I should go anyway."

_

_

Wanda had told you prior to meet her later that night. She had mentioned how she had wanted to surprise you with something that day a week ago and you could not help the giddy feeling that had been arising in you. Wanda had given you a key to her house some time ago, so it was easy for you to slip into her home without any hassle.

As you walked up the stairs with your hands inside your pocket, you could hear the faint noise of shuffling which you could only assume was from the master bedroom. And when you walked inside, you spotted the blonde woman seated on her bed, a silk robe covering her features.

"Hi." You spoke giddly and Wanda only offered a smile in acknowledgement before beckoning you over with that same smile on her face. You walked over to the woman, who slowly but surely got you to be situated onto your knees in front of her, her hand placing the small strand of hair behind your ear.

"Who was that girl you were with earlier on?" She asked and you frowned in confusion.

"Which girl?"

"Don't play coy with me y/n." You tilted your head, still confused as to what she had been talking about until it dawned you.

"Oh she was just someone."

"Uh huh." Wanda was quiet for a moment before humming.

"Do I look dumb malyshka?"

"W-what no."

"Let me tell you something y/n. I don't like it when someone touches what's mine and sweetie, that friend of yours was touching what was mine."

"Well i-"

"Did mommy say you could talk?" Woah.

"Now it might have been my own fault for letting that cute little head of yours think that you were in charge because my sweet girl, you aren't." Her tone was straight up condescending and you were taken aback by the women's sudden dominance but you'd be a fool if you said you didn't love it.

"I'm sorry." Was all you could mumble as you bowed your head.

"Oh mommy knows you are sweetheart, and you can always make it up to me, right?"

"Yes I can, I promise I can."

"Good girl. Now... " Wanda slipped her robe off, and you were borderline shocked to see a harness attached to her hips.

"Pretty right? And I'm sure it will look even better inside your pussy." She murmured and you couldn't help but let out a small whine.

"Falling into obedience so easily huh?" She chuckled darkly before her hands were in your hair.

"Why don't you get this wet for me huh?" She said while guiding the toy to your lips. And you now being the good girl you are, opened your mouth gladly accepting the toy inside.

"Oh what a precious sight this is." Wanda bit her lip as she watched you suck the red silicone toy in amazement. She was mesmerized with watching it disappear before it reappeared covered in a layer of your spit. Wanda let out a groan once she heard you gag around the toy, she had to hear it again, to see your face become ruined from her ministrations.

Wanda's hips began to raise on their own accord and she cooed as the strap hit the back of your throat countless times.

"That's okay, look how good you're doing for me." And she continued to fuck your mouth until she was satisfied with the results which was your teary half lidded eyes looking up at her.

"How pretty." Wanda commanded you to strip until you were bare before she instructed you to lay down onto her rather comfortable bed. She'd purposefully told you to leave your panties on because she wanted to be the one to slip the garments off. And when she ripped the material apart with a dark look in her eyes, you then realized that you were in for it all. Especially since you had no clue of what lengths Wanda was capable of.

Wanda wasted no time with her fingers. With your slick covered pussy, she maneuvered her two fingers inside before moving them at a moderate pace. Never did you think the woman you had secretly been seeing for almost two months, had this side to her. A feral, dominant and more sadistic side. But you fucking loved it.

"Look at this sweet pussy. What is it that you said huh? Your pussy sings for me..."She reiterated the words you had once told her as she scissored her two digits inside you.

Wanda was fucking you with her fingers. Hard. She just couldn't get the picture of that girl next to you. Wanda would make sure that you knew your body belonged to her. Whenever she would be around, your body would yearn for her subconsciously, your mind would need her. You would need her. She continued with her ministrations, watching as her once dry fingers were now soaked with your arousal.

She smiled to herself, her mind wheeling with all the possibilities she could do with you. And when her mouth latched onto your clit, you were practically gone. The older women fucked you as if she'd known your body for years. You were certain the women knew your body better than you did. You shuddered as her teeth grazed over your clit, a wanton moan escaping your lips from the sensation.

"Oh you like that don't you? Such a pretty girl." She cooed before doing it again. Wanda separated from your pussy, her fingers slipped out of your pussy and you whined which only made her smirk.

"Wanda-"

"Patience dear, you said you'd make it up to me didn't you?" She asked with a raised brow and you let out a huff.

"Don't worry, mommy knows was best for you." She lightly slapped your face before her slick covered fingers were placed inside your mouth.

"Suck. Clean your mess up." And you did. You sucked and licked her fingers as if your life was dependent on it.

"Good girl. If only you could see yourself. You look so fuckable." Wanda's teeth tugged at her lips as her fingers were pulled out of your mouth then slipped inside your pussy again. She began moving them slowly, and your hips started moving on their own accord, needing to feel her fingers slide deeper inside of you.

"Awwe pretty girl, do you want me to fuck you?" A frustrated eye roll was sent her way and within the blink of an eye, Wanda had her hand pressed against your throat, her eyes glimmering with anger, disappointment and lust.

"Don't be a brat now. I don't like brats." She said, her hand tightening around your neck, but not to the point where you couldn't breathe, just as a warning to you.

"M'sorry."

"I'm sure you are." Her hand was still on your neck as the fingers inside you quickened.

"Is this all that you want? To cum?" Her question made you stutter but you nodded your head. Wanda tutted but her fingers still continued to move inside of you.

"Pathetic." Her fingers hit that spongy spot inside you that had you babbling and begging to ask Wanda to cum. She smirked before she made a thinking face.

"You wanna cum detka? Cum for me then."

As the older woman made that final command, your body spasmed and you experienced one of the most toe curling orgasms you'd ever received in your life.

"Fuck."

"There we go, just let go yeah?" Wanda whispered inside your ear as she marked your neck. A reminder that you were hers and anyone that would see these marks would know that you belonged to someone, even if they didn't know it was her.

And when you finally came back from your high, Wanda had already been positioning the strap on inside of you,catching you off guard almost immediately.

"Look how easily it slides in?" She murmured as she slowly began to thrust the toy inside of you.

You could feel it tearing you apart. The silicone toy was longer and girthier than you had expected it to be. But with the way Wanda had been looking at you while her fingers played with your nipples the pain has soon subsided, slowly becoming pleasurable. You moaned and whimpered as Wanda took full control of your body, somehow fucking you into the bed.

"You're mine y/n, don't forget that." She said as she pounded into you. You didn't know what to do with yourself. This pleasure was overwhelming but in a good way.

"Say it."

"I'm yours." With gritted teeth, she continued rutting her hips inside of you and you could feel your orgasm approaching.

"Come on y/n, cum again. And you're gonna keep cumming until I tell you you can stop." Wanda mumbled, her hips never getting tired of pistoning in and out of you, especially with the way your pussy was gripping the toy. Or the way your arousal would spread all over the toy, god it was mesmerizing. And soon enough you had been succumbing the pleasure, your second orgasm of the night hitting you like a tidal wave.

But Wanda Maximoff was a woman of her word. And when she said you'd cum until she was satisfied, she meant it. She was adamant on making your body hers. From the marks to the bites and to your pussy singing for her. Just her.

By the end of the night, your body was hers and her body was yours.

_________________________________________

[wandasobsession]

Seduction and Passion Duplicated twice. ||

Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanoff! x Fem!Reader.

In which you are the new member of the Avengers, Thor's younger sister and Tony's favorite person, and where Natasha and Wanda are completely in love with you and want to get your attention at all costs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, light blood, spicy.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader x Natasha Romanoff.

Word count: 3,358 words

There was a brief silence behind the communication devices before more gunshots filled the air, bullet casings flying through the air and joining small shards of glass on the ground. She stepped behind them, picking one up with one hand and slamming the head into his nose, knocking him down for good and watching hot blood splatter across his face. 

“I caught one! Expunged, Stark.” Y/n said next, seeing the man fallen with his rifle over his chest. 

She ran with her body bent behind the counters, hearing deep male voices shouting something in Russian and she kicked one of them from behind, knocking him down as she stole his own gun and hit him in the head with the barrel. Y/n groaned as she felt a thick black cable wrap around her neck from behind, kicking the back of her knees and sending her falling to her knees on the cold floor. 

“Odinson! Where's the rest of them?” She heard Stark's voice through the small device in her ear and growled, feeling the man's grip tighten, the cable starting to burn into her neck. 

“Just a m-moment, I'm having technical problems.” She sighed, hearing the sound of shock nearby and felt the cable fall from her neck, the man being knocked down and taking another shock between the legs. 

She looked up, finding a pair of bright green eyes and red hair appearing in her vision. She sighed deeply, grabbing Natasha's hand and slowly getting up from the ground. She stared at her for a moment, parting her lips to say something when she saw a man being thrown into one of the building's windows, the red light of Wanda's magic appearing in the background, her hands in the air. 

“Thanks, Romanoff.” She thanked him quietly, watching Natasha's lips curve into a half smile and Tony appeared in his armor. 

“The area is completely clear. Come on, mission successful.” Stark stated, earning a nod from Y/n who looked between the two women, who were already staring at each other. 

[...]

Y/n stepped out of the elevator, her eyes shifting between the group of Avengers in the center of the room, and then she removed some shrapnel from her injured arms with tweezers, well accustomed to the pain. The mission had succeeded, those arms dealers had dealt with their own fates, and every clandestine weapon had been recovered by Tony and taken to a decent armory. 

“Mission report. Weapons recovered, all enemies surrendered and eliminated one by one.” Steve announced calmly, calmly cleaning his shield. 

“Well, the day ended well anyway. Have a good night everyone.” Thor announced, heading to his room as did Steve, Bruce and Clint.

“Are you guys hungry? I was thinking about pizza or something alike.” Tony suggested, looking between the three women intently. 

“We know your "pizza" is Pepper, Tony. But I appreciate it, I'm not hungry, I just need a shower and bed, what do you think about a movie?” Tony rolled his eyes, throwing a pillow at the girl, who just dodged it. “I still prefer my pizza, good night girls.”

“I think the movie is a good idea.” Wanda said shyly, her cheeks a little flushed and Odinson nodded, looking at Natasha. 

“I would like a movie but I'm getting sleepy, I hope you enjoy yourself. Have a good night.” Romanoff said, giving a toothless smile before disappearing into the hallways with Tony. 

“So what would we watch?” Wanda asked, pressing her lips together, her eyes deeply fixed on Y/n's every move. 

“Oh well, we can still discuss that. I just need a quick shower, okay?” She asked, raising her blood-stained hands and Wanda nodded calmly. “Sure, no rush.”

Y/n gave a small smile, waving before disappearing into the corridors towards her room inside the tower. Wanda knew perfectly well that Natasha was jealous of the Odinson girl, because they both wanted her attention and affection, so Natasha just preferred at that moment not to be too close to the two of them so as not to increase her jealousy attacks even more. But she would love to be there, if Wanda wasn't there, because Natasha would love to be close to the woman who consumed her thoughts and even her dreams. 

Y/n looked at her rusty sword stored inside a long glass cabinet, her chest rising and falling with regret. Her powers were weakened and using the sword that attributed her power to it would not change the fact that Y/n felt lost and exhausted. Thor had the thunder and lightning in his hands to control as much as he wanted along with his ultra-heavy hammer, but only Y/n knew that controlling fire was completely different. Only someone worthy and deserving of the flames could dominate them.

She came out of her shower after a few minutes, wearing a long plain gray shirt and some thin shorts, rubbing the towel on her head to try to dry her hair. Her body was crying out for rest, but she still wanted to be close to Wanda before the dream took her away. 

Yes, Wanda. Although her feelings were mixed between Maximoff and Romanoff, Y/n knew and understood perfectly that she was attracted to both redheads and she needed each of them. 

“Hey, you. Choosing the movie already?” Y/n asked with a slight smile as she found Wanda sitting in the living room. 

The room was dimly lit, the lights off, only the soft light of the television on to illuminate the little path of Odin's daughter. Wanda was sitting on the main spacious gray sofa, even in the dim light her pale face could be seen, her hair was tied in a messy bun, she was wearing thin shorts and a tight pink blouse, leaving her collarbone exposed to Y/n's imagination. She immediately smiled when she recognized the other Avenger, looking away from the television as she held the remote between her fingers. 

“I'm actually so undecided that I'd like to hear your opinion.” Wanda explained, a quick smile appearing on her lips as Y/n sat down next to her. 

She discreetly inhaled Thor's sister's scent, her legs closing and her thighs rubbing against each other slowly. Wanda bit her lip, trying to ignore the strangely warm sensation that crept through her body, her cheeks heating up with a certain shyness. She offered the remote to the Avenger who took it and began to scroll through the movie pages. 

“Oh well, do you like war and action movies? Because honestly this one came out recently and I was really looking forward to watching it.” Y/n pointed at the screen, the cover of a movie with soldiers and tanks catching Wanda’s attention.

“Sure, action movies are really great. Let’s go!” Maximoff nodded, biting her lip again.

To tell the truth, she hated action or war movies. She would definitely like science fiction or romance movies, but she wouldn’t say that out loud. Wanda wanted to impress and be as close to Odinson as possible. Her scent was making her ecstatic, her body still heating up, her eyes fixed on every little detail of her face.

The movie started, the opening scenes showing a completely destroyed place, in the corner of the screen informing that it was somewhere in Germany. Y/n snuggled into the couch, her arm draping over it, close to Wanda's head, who was still drawn to her, her body shivering even though she was so close.

The movie continued, the minutes passing and showing several injured soldiers being carried back to their base. Y/n wet her pink lips, her attention diverting to Wanda who was embarrassed to be caught staring at her like an obsessive maniac.

"Oh well, I think I'll make some buttered popcorn. Okay?" The older girl asked, earning a quick nod from the redhead who settled herself on the couch, pulling blankets up over her thighs.

“No problem, do you need any help?” Wanda offered, licking her lips calmly.

“I would love to, I was thinking of making some chocolate syrup anyway. Help is always welcome.” Y/n nodded, smiling back at Wanda who stood up and followed her.

The two entered the huge, luxurious kitchen, a little settling in for a moment while Y/n grabbed a pan or two and a bag of popcorn. She turned on the built-in stove, grabbing a spoonful of butter and placing it on the pan, opening the package of corn and throwing some inside.

“I confess I was surprised, I didn't know you had culinary skills.” Wanda commented, grabbing a chocolate bar and handing it to the taller girl.

“Not to break your expectations, Maximoff, but I'm terrible in the kitchen. But in the time I've been here with my brother, I've learned how to do the basics without blowing up the entire kitchen and the tower itself.” She laughed lightly, covering the pot and opening the chocolate wrapper.

“Oh well, but anyway I know you have many other skills. You are the daughter of a Demigod, that says a lot about you.” Wanda whispered, a slight smile on her face which Y/n returned.

“I’m going to be showing off.” She joked, placing the bar inside the pan and adjusting the temperature to melt.

“Strawberries with chocolate sauce, how about it?” Wanda picked up a closed jar of strawberries, earning a positive nod from Y/n who watched the small corn pop inside the pan.

“Great idea, Wanda. Just a minute, we can eat them with the chocolate sauce when it cools.” She said, watching the first corn turn into popcorn.

Wanda nodded, resting her hands on the counter as she watched Y/n take care of everything. The Scarlet Witch never thought she would find someone cooking so sexy until she saw this scene. Y/n turned off the stove, seeing the pot full of popcorn and opened the lid, adding a pinch of salt and shaking it slightly before transferring the contents to a larger bowl.

“Popcorn is ready, now all that’s left is our grand finale.” She smiled proudly, stirring the chocolate with a long spoon and after a few minutes turned off the stove completely.

Y/n moistened her lips, touching the tip of the spoon with her thumb and put it in her mouth, feeling the sweet taste of the smooth cocoa. She sighed, running her finger over the spoon again and leaned in, a playful smile on her lips.

“Time to taste and give your opinion, Miss Maximoff.” She brought her chocolate-stained fingers closer to Wanda's face, who gave a light giggle and came closer.

The Odinson girl was surprised when Wanda gently licked the tip of her finger, tasting the chocolate. Y/n bit her lip lightly, a shiver going up her spine when Wanda wrapped half of her thumb inside her mouth, sucking her finger slowly, her green eyes turning dark.

“It looks really delicious, Miss Odinson.” She commented as she pulled her lips away, her eyes staring at Y/n's lips without any shame.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Y/n said almost in a trance, laughing mentally at her own reaction.

She transferred the syrup to a container, seeing that it was warmer and looked at Wanda, breathing heavily when she felt the Maximoff girl even closer to her. A sigh left her lips, feeling Wanda's light breathing and sweet scent getting closer and closer to her.

“Wanda... the movie is playing.” Y/n warned calmly.

“Maybe the movie can wait until we taste the main course.” Maximoff replied, the double meaning in her sentence making Odinson's skin heat up.

Y/n's lips slowly parted, almost forming a mere smile, the way Wanda looked at her almost making the woman faint from how intimidating Maximoff's gaze could be. The taller woman broke the small space between them, her hand touching the side of Wanda's neck, moving away a loose strand of hair lost in her hairstyle and brushed her lips over theirs, making Wanda hold her breath.

When Y/n's lips touched Wanda's she almost let out a small moan, it was inexplicable. Intense. The softness she had on her lips was even better than a bed made entirely of cotton, so warm and so simply addictive. Wanda parted her lips, returning the kiss as best she could, her anxious hand grabbing one of the other girl's shoulders.

Fuck the movie, Y/n thought, there are more important things right now... and it certainly isn't the popcorn or the chocolate syrup.

Wanda let out a soft moan as Y/n's firm hands gripped her thin waist, her tongue nimbly wrapping around the scarlet witch's with a slow, enveloping rhythm. She kissed her back, her fingers running down the back of Y/n's neck to one of her arms, her nails scratching her warm skin, a heavy sigh coming from the girl daughter of Odin.

A gasp of surprise escaped the sorceress's throat as her back hit the pure marble counter, her eyes rolling back as hands grabbed her thighs and brought her up onto the counter, the cold texture on her body making her shiver.

“Y/n!” Wanda exclaimed, her voice cracking and weak. “I really think you can do more than just cast magic with those hands, little witch.”

The witch parted her lips for a second, her words failing her when she was simply silenced by Y/n's lips again. The slow, deep kiss made her moan and sigh, her hands entering the taller woman's shirt, her nails slowly scratching her stomach and ribs, feeling how goosebumps she had gotten from the act.

Wanda's back arched against the cold wall behind her as she felt Y/n's hand slip inside her thin shirt, slowly moving up and down a few times. She felt the girl bite and lick her lower lip, the taste of blood making Wanda let out another moan as she felt the warm hand reaching for her bra and the fingers ready to undo the strap.

“And I’m sure I can do things with you that you never thought were possible in the world.” Y/n whispered, her warm lips kissing Wanda’s neck all over.

The noise of something being placed on the wooden table caught the attention of the two Avengers, who, somewhat confused, saw that they had been caught. Y/n slowly turned her face, seeing Natasha pour more wine into her glass, licking her lips slowly, the friendliest expression in the world planted on her fucking beautiful face. What the fuck, was she there the whole time!?

“I am a mere illusion of reality, carry on.” She hummed, lightly shaking her wine glass, her lips stained.

“We were watching a movie, if you want to join, make yourself at home.” Odinson whispered, passing by Natasha who almost devoured her with her gaze.

Y/n held back a laugh, watching Wanda's completely flushed face and shook her head slightly. She couldn't believe that Natasha had simply seen everything and was acting naturally, she must have liked what she saw, maybe? Y/n bit her lip at the thought, picking up the bucket of popcorn and signaling to Wanda.

Y/n felt a shiver down her spine, a warm sensation spreading through her body and returned to the room with Wanda and Natasha. She sat in the middle, watching each of them join her, sitting on either side of her. Y/n tried to focus her face on the movie in front of her, hearing the booms of cannons coming from the screen and sighed, her eyes accidentally falling on the neckline of Natasha's blouse. God, her breasts must be huge.

A silence fell between the three women, and Y/n tried to pretend she hadn't noticed Natasha's intense, burning gaze on her face.

“What is this movie about?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, slowly eating some popcorn.

“Oh, um, it's about war and conflicts between formerly allied countries.” The taller of the two replied, seeing Wanda's giggle at the corner of her lips. Why was she finding this amusing anyway?

“Do you like conflict, Odinson?” Romanoff asked amusedly, her eyes trailing down her body shamelessly for a moment.

“Not always.” She replied, drawing an uncharacteristic laugh from Natasha.

She remained as focused on the movie as possible, discreetly alternating her gaze between Natasha who was still drinking her wine and eating popcorn, and Wanda who was a little curled up on the couch, her legs strangely crossed. Y/n licked her lips, watching as Wanda leaned over, offering a strawberry covered in now cold chocolate sauce, and Y/n bit into it slowly, watching Wanda run her thumb across the corner of her mouth to clean off the rest of the chocolate.

Dammit, she knows how to tease.

Wanda gave another discreet giggle, focusing her attention on the movie like the rest of the others. The movie continued to roll over the ground, already close to the end, and Y/n slowly stretched, trying to stretch her arms and placed the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table in the living room. She turned her head to the side, seeing Wanda lying on the other side of the couch, sleeping peacefully. She gave a slight smile, picking up the blanket and slowly covering her.

“You have a surprising romanticism.” She heard Natasha say, her voice slightly hoarse and sleepy.

Y/n shook her head with a small laugh, placing the also empty chocolate syrup jar inside the other one, taking the remote control in her hands and turning off the television, leaving the room even darker.

“I'm not romantic, I'm just trying to make my teammate comfortable.” Y/n said, giving a playful wink as she took the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

She calmly washed each dish and dirty pan, drying them and putting them away in their proper place, taking off her shirt and remaining in her shorts and sports bra. There was practically no one there and she just felt comfortable like this anyway.

“Hey, are you okay? Looks like the wine didn't agree with you, Romanoff.” Y/n finished drying her hands, turning to look at her.

Natasha was leaning against the sink on her side, her hands gripping the marble edge tightly. Her hair was slightly disheveled, a small red mess, her face was flushed and she looked...a little warm? It got hot inside the tower and Y/n didn't even notice it.

“I'm perfectly fine, Odinson.” She replied quietly, her voice still cracking and her eyes dilated, and then cornered Y/n with her hands still gripping the sink in front of her. “What's the game between you and Maximoff?”

“There is no game, Nat.” Y/n replied, breathing heavily as Natasha leaned in and placed her face in her neck.

“I know there's some game going on, she attracts you, you attract her to you. But you attracted me before I attracted you. Now you're playing dirty with me.” Natasha whispered, looking deeply into her eyes before moving even closer and sucking on Y/n's earlobe, biting lightly.

“Fuck, Nat, you're the one playing dirty with me.” Odinson murmured hoarsely, her body burning with the feeling of Natasha's mouth on her skin, watching her smile slowly and pull her closer.

“Then play with me.” Romanoff whispered, warm fingers touching Y/n's chin before moving closer to her lips.

Y/n groaned at the intensity of the kiss. This kiss itself was nothing compared to Wanda's, they had started slowly and calmly and Wanda seemed to be as patient and unhurried as she was. Natasha didn't, her skin was burning, she felt how much she needed her, Y/n could taste blood at some point due to the rough kiss, the feeling of Natasha's hands, her nails on the back of her neck making her moan deeply.

Natasha moaned loudly when she felt Y/n's hands on her ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh between her nimble fingers before slapping her nearly exposed buttocks. She cornered her, pressing her back even further into the cold marble of the sink.

“You are not behaving well, lyubov.” Natasha whispered, the Russian accent making Y/n's hair stand on end as she felt the redhead suck on her tongue and drag her nails across her chin, scratching slowly.

“I wasn't meant to be tamed, Romanoff. Deal with it.” She replied, returning the wet, rough kiss again.

Y/n gave a frustrated groan as Natasha pulled her lips away from her, her nails scratching the back of her neck and pulling her back, exposing her pale neck. Romanoff moved closer, running the tip of her tongue over her skin, making Y/n grunt and moan hoarsely, her eyes closing tightly as she bit her, giving her an intense hickey.

“I'm not sure if Maximoff will like seeing this, but the game is beginning. Good evening, Odinson.” Natasha took a step back, walking away with a smile.

Shit. Y/n groaned in frustration as she walked away, quickly disappearing down the halls to her room before he could reach her, leaving her aroused and alone there.

*Lyubov: From Russian, means “Love”.

Author's Note:

This is so hot, I'm going to need another cold shower after this, lol.

[wandasobsession]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: y/n goes to class

content warnings: discussion about safe words and aftercare

word count: 3.3k

Series Masterlist

“So what exactly is this class about?” 

Wanda looked over at y/n as they walked down a long hallway towards Melissa’s classroom. The hallway was similar to that of a highschool, with multiple doors on each side and different classes being taught in each one. 

“This class is an introductory class, one we require all of our faculty to take. As well as anyone interested in higher level classes. It covers basic safety.” Wanda answered as they turned the corner. 

“What kind of safety?” Y/n inquired, peering into each classroom as they walked towards their destination. Wanda nudged her forward with the hand that was resting on her lower back, and the girl looked back with a sheepish grin.

Wanda mentally ran through the topics covered in the basic safety class, before deciding to list a few general ones. “Basic safety such as safewords, the correct tools to have in case a submissive gets stuck in their restraints, as well as preparation for a scene and aftercare.” Wanda glanced over at y/n, who was listening intently and no longer focused on the classrooms around them. 

“That sounds pretty good, I’m sure I’ll learn a lot.” Y/n said, nearly bumping into Wanda when they abruptly stopped outside a door. Wanda gestured towards the door, “Have fun, take notes and I’ll be back in about an hour to walk you back to my office.” 

Y/n fiddled with her pen as she watched a man nod respectfully to Wanda and go inside the classroom. “I think I can remember the way back to your office, I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Y/n really did feel bad, she didn’t want Wanda to feel like she was her babysitter or anything. She watched Wanda frown slightly at her words and instantly regretted ever saying anything. 

“You need a keycard to get into my section of these buildings darling.” Wanda said as she took a step closer to y/n. “Besides, it’s my responsibility to look after you, and I’m happy to do so.” As she finished her sentence, she took another step closer towards y/n. They were now face to face, and y/n’s breath was coming out shakily in response to the limited space between them.

Wanda reached up and innocently tucked y/n’s hair behind her ear, before running her fingers against the girl’s cheek. She lightly grabbed y/n’s jaw as she leaned closer. “Besides, I don’t want anyone else to have the pleasure of walking with you, especially because you’re adorable tripping over nothing when you try not to look at my ass.” 

Y/n groaned, closing her eyes momentarily in embarrassment. She vividly recalled stumbling about ten minutes ago and it was, in fact, because she was trying not to stare at Wanda’s ass.

‘How does she know these things?’

Y/n accepted defeat.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re so hot, I was trying to be respectful.” She mumbled as Wanda let go of her jaw and laughed. She gently nudged y/n towards the door with a small smile. Just before y/n opened the door, Wanda called out one last thing. 

“Just so you know darling, you have permission to stare at me all you want. I’ll be doing the same to you.” With that, Wanda turned the other way and started to walk down the hall. Y/n’s mouth was slightly open as she faltered with one hand on the door. She shamelessly stared at Wanda’s retreating figure before shaking herself out of her thoughts and finally entering the classroom. 

Y/n was grateful that nobody in the classroom looked up as she sank into the nearest seat. She glanced up at the clock in the front of the classroom and breathed a sigh of relief. 

‘Three minutes to spare.’

The instructor in the front of the classroom was leaning relaxed against the desk, chatting with a few of the other members attending her class. Y/n looked around the classroom in interest, noting that everyone seemed comfortable and most were chatting with each other. 

The desks were arranged in a horseshoe pattern around the desk, and most people had at least a notebook and pen sitting in front of them. Y/n sat quietly, nodding towards the instructor, Melissa, when she greeted her. After a few minutes, the two people chatting up front took their seats and they all looked towards the black haired instructor. 

“Welcome to my Safety Basics course! I hope you’re all ready to learn and take a step towards your journey into this wonderful community.” Melissa sounded excited as she smiled easily at everyone gathered around her. 

She clapped her hands together and started a presentation on the screen behind her as the other people followed ​y/n’s lead and grabbed note taking supplies. Once she saw that everyone was prepared to take notes, Melissa started on the first slide.

“Alright, the first and most important topic we will be covering today is safewords.”

Melissa went on to explain that both the dominant and submissive should set clear boundaries before engaging in any acts that tested the limits they set beforehand. She joked with the class about the different ridiculous words they could use as a safeword, but also firmly stated that the safeword should be agreed on before any scene. 

Y/n was most intrigued with something Melissa called the ‘Traffic Light System’.

“Essentially, this system is useful for check-ins instead of just having one word that stops all activity.” Melissa explained, and y/n jotted down a note with a few underlines under it. She wanted to remember this part of the class to bring it up to Wanda later.

“Green means go, we’ve all taken our driver’s test right?” Melissa said mockingly as a few people let out chuckles. She smiled and continued, “Yellow means that the limits are about to be reached, at this point both the dominant and submissive should check-in with each other and evaluate the situation to bring it back into the green zone.” 

Melissa paused as a brunette woman to y/n’s left raised her hand. She nodded and grabbed her water bottle as the woman asked her question.

“What are some examples of when yellow needs to be said?” The woman asked, and Melissa nodded as she swallowed her water and recapped her bottle. 

“One example could be that the restraints have gotten too uncomfortable, perhaps they were fastened too tightly. If the submissive calls yellow then both parties would talk through it and take corrective action.” Y/n watched the brunette woman frantically scribbling down notes as Melissa spoke. 

Melissa paused slightly, “Corrective action would include loosening the restraints or taking them off all together, this is something both parties could decide on.” She watched as the brunette finished her notes and looked back up. 

“Yellow doesn’t mean the activity needs to stop fully, it just means that a check-in needs to happen. Does everyone understand?” Melissa asked, and once everyone had nodded their heads she continued. 

“Red means full stop, it means that a boundary has been crossed and all activity comes to a halt. If a submissive is in restraints, those restraints come off. Red means aftercare starts immediately.” 

Melissa made eye contact with everyone as she spoke slightly firmer, “Let me be clear, the goal is that a safeword or the color red is never spoken. If someone safewords, and I’m including red in that category, a bigger conversation needs to happen and boundaries need to be double-checked or adjusted.” 

She leaned forward off her desk slightly. “Never go into a scenario where your only goal is to make your submissive safeword. If you do, you are an incredibly shitty person and an even worse dominant.”

Y/n watched as Melissa’s eyes landed on her, and the woman spoke one last time. “If you’re a submissive and you feel the need to safeword, do not hesitate. There is no shame in safewording, the best experience is a safe experience. Are we clear?” 

Once again, everyone nodded their heads, and y/n dipped her head in understanding when Melissa’s gaze lingered on her. The woman smiled slightly at the group. 

“I apologize if I seem harsh when discussing safe words, but this is the most important part of engaging in a BDSM scene and living this lifestyle.” With that, she clicked onto the next slide, showing a picture of a jacuzzi.

“After care might not always include a jacuzzi, but if you have one I’m very envious.” That drew a few more chuckles from the group, and Melissa smirked. “One of the main parts of aftercare includes cleaning up. This means yourselves and your partner, as well as any furniture or clothes you may have gotten dirty.” 

Melissa paused once more to drink from her water bottle, screwing the lid back on slowly as she continued. “Other activities could include watching a favorite movie, getting food, or simply cuddling. Once again, both parties should discuss what types of aftercare they want to receive so everyone can have the best experience possible.”

Y/n jotted this down, thinking of what might comfort her. Then she had a thought. Raising her hand, she nervously cleared her throat when Melissa nodded at her.

“Sorry if I’m not understanding correctly, but why would someone need comfort after sex?” Y/n thought the question sounded a bit silly, but Melissa gave her a reassuring nod. 

“That’s a great question, it’s always a good idea to engage in aftercare even if there are no kinky aspects to your activities. Essentially it reassures both parties that they care for each other outside of a sexual nature.” She waited for y/n to finish writing down a note before continuing. 

“However, some scenes are a bit difficult emotionally and physically for both parties. For example, if there is a lot of degradation involved, aftercare might include praises and reassurances that the words said were just for the scene.” Melissa took another sip of water. “Another example, if restraints were used, muscles might be sore afterwards. A massage could be used as aftercare.” 

Y/n finished writing in her notepad and nodded that she understood. Melissa sent her a gentle smile and asked the group if there were any further questions. After explaining to one man what impact play meant, she clicked onto the next slide. 

“Alright, next topic! We are cruising through, so don’t be afraid to ask questions and maybe we could even get a discussion going.” 

Y/n listened and wrote down in her notepad as Melissa briefly mentioned a few different types of restraints, before she mentioned that there was another class that dove deeper into that topic. Melissa then covered a few more topics such as condoms and lube, as well as leading a discussion on what types of safety tools would need to be kept close. 

Eventually, they reached the end of the presentation. Y/n glanced up at the clock when Melissa announced the end of her slideshow, she hadn’t even realized the hour was up. She slowly capped her pen and closed her notepad as everyone around her started to pack up. 

Melissa shut her laptop before saying, “If anyone wants to chat or ask more questions I’m free for the next half hour.” With that said, one person went up to talk with her as the rest filed out. 

Y/n waited in her seat as she hadn’t seen Wanda outside the door when the others were exiting. She attempted to twirl her pen with her fingers the way she’d seen Wanda do it, but that ended with the cap flying off and her pen on the floor multiple times and a few accidental stabbings to her hand before she gave up. 

Melissa said her goodbyes to the blond man she’d been chatting with, before walking up to y/n and leaning against the table. “So how was your first class?”

Y/n looked up from where she had been scrubbing ink off of her fingers, and hid them in her lap as she responded. “It was pretty good, honestly it was a lot more informative than I thought it would be.” She gestured towards the notepad in front of her, “I took a lot of notes.”

Melissa just smiled, “I noticed, I’m glad that you found it interesting and paid attention. I’m sure Wanda will be very proud.” After finishing her sentence, she looked up towards the door. 

“Speak of the devil.” 

Y/n whipped around in her seat, just in time to see Wanda take notice of her ink covered hands as she leaned against the door frame. 

‘Why is that so attractive, she’s just standing there.’

“Someone had a little too much fun I see.” Wanda said with one eyebrow raised, earning a chuckle from Melissa. The redhead tilted her head in question, and Melissa was quick to respond.

“Y/n is a very attentive student, it was a pleasure to have her join my class.” The black haired woman reassured Wanda, who smiled proudly at y/n. 

Wanda exchanged a few pleasantries with Melissa as y/n shook herself out daydreaming about the redhead. She picked up her notepad, sticking it under her arm before shoving her hands deep into her pockets and moving to stand next to Wanda. 

“Thank you again for letting me sit in on this class ma’am, I really appreciate it.” Y/n said, earning another proud smile from Wanda. 

“I’m glad you had the chance to attend! You’re free to join any other classes of mine and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” Melissa said with a smile, as she opened her laptop to prepare for her next class. 

After being dismissed, y/n followed Wanda out into the hallway. She smiled at the comforting touch of Wanda’s hand on her lower back, glancing over at the redhead. Wanda was looking down at y/n’s hands shoved into her pockets with an amused expression. 

“Should we talk about what happened to your hands?”

Y/n groaned. “I would rather not talk about that, it was a disaster. My pen attacked me and it was really traumatic. Let’s leave it at that.”

Wanda somehow looked even more amused than before, and y/n mentally reminded herself to scrub her hands as soon as she found a bathroom. She congratulated herself on not tripping over her own two feet as they made their way back to Wanda's office. 

That didn’t mean that Wanda didn’t try her hardest to make y/n trip. She almost slipped a few times, when Wanda’s hand would slide slightly down her back or when Wanda tugged on her belt loops to guide the shorter girl towards the elevators. 

Eventually, they made it back to Wanda’s office. Y/n was getting ready to show Wanda all of the notes she had taken when her body was suddenly pressed against the redhead’s desk.

Y/n looked up in shock from where she had been flipping through her notepad, eyes meeting Wanda’s bright green ones. Wanda was smiling, as she teasingly leaned closer. 

“I’m very proud of how studious you’ve been. I’m glad you’re taking classes seriously.” Wanda muttered, her lips inches from y/n’s.

“I- yeah I love learning. And stuff.” Y/n couldn’t think very clearly, her mind was full of vanilla and green eyes. She set her notepad on what she hoped was the desk behind her as Wanda’s hands circled her waist.

“I think you deserve a reward.” Wanda said, smiling wider at y/n’s frantic head nod. She leaned in fully and as soon as their lips met, y/n sighed into the kiss. Her hands reached up and tangled with Wanda’s smooth hair. She let one hand rest on Wanda’s shoulder as the kiss deepened. 

Far too soon, Wanda broke the kiss. She leaned back and took in y/n’s half glazed eyes and slight frown. “Don’t worry darling, there will be more rewards after we’ve gone over your notes from class.” 

Y/n shoved down her arousal as Wanda moved further away. Once Wanda’s body was no longer touching her own, y/n suddenly felt an immense loss. Something must have shown on her face, because Wanda stepped closer once again. 

“Is something wrong?” She asked, eyes searching y/n’s. 

Y/n looked down at her notepad, remembering what Melissa had said about clear communication. She cleared her throat and reminded herself that this was Wanda. She didn’t have to be embarrassed about speaking her mind around her. 

“I just… want you to keep touching me, it’s comforting.” She looked up at Wanda, who smiled and nodded her head towards the couches. 

“Why don’t we sit down, and you can lean against me while we go over your notes.” Wanda said, and y/n immediately perked up at the idea. She happily grabbed Wanda’s hand and led her over to the couch. 

Wanda sat down first, leaning against the armrest of the couch with a pillow behind her. She spread her legs and raised an eyebrow at y/n. After the girl had fought down a blush at the other implications of that action, y/n settled down between Wanda’s legs and leaned back so the redhead’s front was against her back. 

Wanda’s hands tightened around y/n’s stomach as she rested her chin on the shorter girl’s shoulder. Y/n tried to focus on the notes in front of her, ignoring the soft breaths against her neck. It was honestly a very comfortable position, and y/n could physically feel herself relax against Wanda’s body. 

Y/n went over all the notes she had taken, and Wanda hummed in response every so often behind her. Once she had reached the end of her notes, she circled back to the thing she had underlined. 

“Melissa had mentioned both safewords and the traffic light system.” She said, pointing to the note she had written. Wanda hummed in response, her hand slowly drawing circles as she responded. 

“Which one would you prefer?” The redhead asked, her voice soft next to y/n’s ear. She waited while y/n thoughtfully ran her finger over the letters on the paper. 

“I think the traffic light system seems the best for me, since it has three levels and includes check-ins.” Y/n eventually said. “I know that you would check in even without this system, but I like that it’s an easy way to check in.” 

Wanda nodded, the movement feeling slightly weird against y/n’s shoulder. “That sounds good to me, what about nonverbal cues?” She asked, one hand coming up to tap against another note y/n had written.

Y/n glanced down at the note titled ‘Nonverbal’ and felt stumped. She bit her lip in thought, and Wanda waited patiently behind her with her hands once more drawing circles over her stomach and hips. 

Eventually, y/n answered. “I think that three taps or three blinks should do the job for non verbal cues. Three would mean ‘red’.” She paused, thinking it over again. “And two taps or blinks would mean ‘yellow’.”

Wanda hummed once more, turning her head slightly to bury her nose in y/n’s neck. “That sounds like a plan to me, we’ll communicate further if we want to change the system or a different nonverbal cue alright?” 

“Sure.”

Y/n slid down further on the couch so her head was resting against Wanda’s stomach. She set her notepad on the floor beside the couch as Wanda’s hands started running gently through her hair. 

“Getting comfortable are we?” Wanda murmured, grinning in amusement as y/n nodded against her. The redhead glanced over at the clock and pulled out her phone. “Fine, we can have 20 more minutes of cuddling before I have to go to a meeting.” 

Y/n just nodded again and nestled closer to Wanda, as she shut her eyes. Wanda just shook her head in amusement, running one hand through the girl’s hair as her breathing slowed. She shifted into a slightly more comfortable position as she pulled up the latest email in her inbox. 

‘The things I’ll do for this girl.’ Wanda mused as she set a timer on her phone, and with one more glance at y/n’s figure resting against her own, got to work.

Next Chapter

[wandasobsession]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: i said i wouldn’t do requests atm but this was requested by a very dear reader on wattpad and i just couldn’t say no 🙂‍↕️

summary: based on the song by bruno mars; masc rich lawyer!reader, bartender!natasha. nat has blonde hair here (no idea how important that detail really is tbh)

warnings: smut…(a bunch of it, actually — strap usage, fingering, oral (n receiving)), alcohol/being drunk; i think that’s it?

word count: 8.2k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— LOS ANGELES, USA —

Exiting your car that night, you don't expect that, not too long later, you'll have her in your passenger seat. Like your own personal Cinderella, she'll be with you once the clock strikes midnight.

However, your evening doesn't start as fairytale-like as it'll end.

It's been a shitty day. A brutal case you'd been working on for months. As almost always, it entailed dealing with insufferable clients and their enormous egos, biased judges and ruthless opponents, 80-hour weeks and tons of stress — only to lose the case.

It was humiliating, leaving the court room. You'd trailed to your car like a wet dog and sat there, forehead on your steering wheel, for a solid five minutes. Only when you realized that the press was starting to surround your car, you'd pressed the start button and torn down the street.

Let's pretend you didn't hit a trash can on your way out. Maybe that'll make your day look less like a shitshow.

Being the child of two of Hollywood's most successful lawyers, everyone's eyes are on you. News articles, social media backlash, professional rivals that revel in your failure. You can't afford even a single misstep. Yes, in your case, even a lost case is a misstep. It's just more proof, they'll say. That you're only here because mommy and daddy funneled millions into your trust fund before you even turned 18.

You rarely frequent bars, since there never seems to be enough time for that. It's why you usually keep a bottle of whiskey in your office (telling yourself that's completely normal) — but tonight, you don't want to get drunk sitting in silence. Too many thoughts, too many worries. Instead, you pull up in front of LA's most famous bar.

Hollywood elites, business moguls, and the ultra-wealthy. Expensive champagne flows like water, its coloration matching the golden hues of the bars interior. You step inside and, for once, only feel mildly out of place.

You walk across marble floors and approach the bar. Sitting down, you undo the top button of your shirt and watch the woman in front of you turn around.

A bartender, but possibly the most gorgeous one you've ever seen. Blonde hair and a red dress, makeup so flawless you'd never be able to tell she's been working for over six hours now. If you weren't still pissed off about that stupid case, you'd be able to appreciate the sight a lot more, though.

You lean in and almost order a whiskey. But you have that in your office, so you change your mind.

"Just a martini", you mumble, already reaching for your purse. "Stirred."

She studies you with interest, not saying a word. The memory flits through her head — you, in this bar, two years ago. Middle length hair, slicked back, and a suit. Passed out in the corner. You have no idea this happened, as you were completely out of it, but she remembers.

"No 'hello'? 'Good evening'? What's the magic word again?"

You look up and stare at her, your Black Card between your fingers. "Sorry?"

She shrugs and reaches for the mixing glass. Ice clinks, the gin swirling like liquid silver under the bar's lights as she stirs.

"Maybe my expectations are too high", she says and pours the vermouth. "I should be used to people like you."

You raise your eyebrows, your jaw slackening slightly. "People like me?"

"Exactly. Let me tell you something, hotshot", she says, leaning over the bar. "Have you seen who enters this place? Rich people. Snobby people. The upper one percent. You sat your cute little ass down and muttered your order like you're being forced to sit here."

"Well", you say, struggling to find an excuse for your lack of manners, "I had a shitty day, okay? All I want is a few drinks."

"Not too many", she says, finally straining the liquid into the glass. She plucks an olive from its jar and rolls it between her fingers, her eyes on yours, before dropping it into the drink. "You don't hold your liquors too well, do you?"

"What?"

"Not important."

You accept the martini and take a tentative sip. You study her like she studied you, but with an air of irritation. Your day's been miserable enough already. No need for her to pile on.

"Listen", you say, "I'm not really in the mood to talk. I know you bartenders like to play shrink-"

"I prefer the word therapist, but go on."

"But", you say sharply, shooting her a halfhearted glare, "I had a bad day. A really, really bad day. You probably can't even imagine. So just let it go, alright?"

"Understood", she says. Her green eyes, however, twinkle with the kind of mirth that tells you she definitely will not let it go.

Can someone drive you up the wall but also be annoyingly attractive? Apparently. You're experiencing it in that very moment.

The silence lasts exactly two minutes. It's enough time for the bartender to prepare a Bloody Mary and hand it to a different customer, then she turns toward you again. You groan and let your head fall onto the counter of the bar.

"Ouch", you mutter.

"You're like a child", she states. "A petulant little child who didn't get their way. What happened, hotshot?"

"Leave me alone", you mumble, your breath fogging up the smooth surface of the countertop.

"It can't be that bad." She leans in, arms crossed on the counter, and lowers her head so her face is right in front of yours. You dare look at her and immediately regret it. The green in her eyes is sage with specks of seafoam, mint and apple, unfairly captivating.

Then, her breath hits your lips. Sweet and warm, with an undercurrent of mint.

Before you can imagine her bent over the counter in a very different situation, you quickly close your eyes and press your face against the countertop.

"Let me guess", she says, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, "you lost a deal? No, not that. Maybe your shoes don't match your suit? No? Fine. Oh, I got it. Someone had the audacity to say no to you today."

"Truly, fuck you."

"That's a bold thing to say to the woman making your drinks, darling."

You groan and sit up, strands of messy hair blocking your vision. She smirks and brushes them aside.

"This", you say, narrowing your eyes, "is why I don't go to bars."

"Oh, please." She tilts her head. "Me? Harmless."

"Harmless, but annoying. Like a damn housefly."

"How sweet", she says drily. "You know your way around women, huh?"

You give her a deadpan look. She has no clue (or maybe she does — whatever), but you haven't been involved with anyone in over a year now. That is, if you don't count hookups and one night stands and such.

Flirting is also not your strongest suit, but it is hers. You just haven't realized it yet.

"I'm a busy woman", you say. "The only women I see are clients and coworkers."

"Clients, as in...?"

"No." You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. "I'm a lawyer, not a hooker."

"A lawyer?" She smiles and tilts her head. "Wow. That's exciting."

Sarcasm, obviously. You roll your eyes and lean back a little. Good thing the barstool has a backrest, otherwise you'd be on the floor by now.

"Come on. All you do is pour booze into glasses and poke olives with toothpicks."

"Don't forget pouring water into ice cube trays."

She chuckles when you roll your eyes again. Leaning over the counter, she brushes her fingertips against the collar of your shirt.

Your cheeks heat up. She notices the rosy flush in your face and tilts her head, giving a soft hum.

"So, a lawyer", she says. "A lawyer who had a shitty day."

"Precisely."

"A lawyer who definitely isn't a hooker, either. So asking about the price per hour would be pointless."

You pause before exhaling sharply, dragging a hand down your face — exhausted, annoyed, still half-thinking about your case. But then her words settle, her meaning really sinking in, and despite everything, your lips twitch.

You open your mouth, then close it again. Finally, you lift your glass and down your martini. She laughs quietly.

"I'm Natasha", she says. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, hotshot."

"Y/N", you say, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. "Sorry. I'm tired and ready for bed."

"Me too", she says. She slides the empty glass from your fingers and puts it aside. "I assume you meant something else, though."

You let out a laugh and lean back, hands covering your face. You lower them and smile faintly, eyes running up and down her body. The bar covers everything up to her waist, but that doesn't matter. She's beautiful, and so is the dress she's wearing, and the irritation you felt earlier has shifted into something entirely different.

You're not sure whether there's some kind of rule about this — are bartenders allowed to flirt with customers? —, but, truthfully, you don't care. How long has it been since you felt this kind of attraction toward someone? How long has it been since someone flirted with you and you actually felt the urge to flirt back?

It hasn't been years, but it's been more than a while.

You sit there in silence, eyes still locked on Natasha. She leans over the counter and adjusts the collar of your shirt again. Skin peeks through the unbuttoned buttons at the top, her gaze lingering on it for a brief moment.

"Your shift", you say, watching her pull away. "When's it end?"

She glances at her watch. Midnight. "About two hours. Why? Planning to wait up for me?"

"Maybe" You hum, fingers drumming against the countertop. "You could leave early", you then suggest, tentatively, as if expecting her to say no.

But Natasha glances at the other bartender. Her hands move to untie the apron she's wearing, which she tucks under the bar, then she tells her coworker to cover for her. You can see her hesitate, scanning the space, before she walks around the counter to get to your side.

Before you realize what's happening, you're leading her out of the bar. The air is warm outside, but not suffocating anymore. You feel the light breeze — crisper, fresher, thanks to Beverly Hills being closer to the ocean — and breathe in. No overwhelming variety of perfumes and colognes. All you smell is the faint scent of whatever perfume Natasha is wearing.

You lead her to your car. She pauses when she sees the cracked headlight.

"Hit a trash can", you say before she can ask.

"I see." She glances at you, smiling. "I truly hope you won't get me into a car crash tonight, hotshot."

You crack a smile and sigh, running your fingers through your hair. She laughs and squeezes your arm, then moves to sit in the passenger seat.

You spend your first night together.

When you wake up to the sight of her, hair mussed and naked body wrapped up in thin bedsheets, you know there will be more moments like this.

. . .

— NEW YORK, USA —

Two months and a few meetups (dates? hookups?) later, you fly her out to Manhattan.

It was your idea. You'd gotten sick of having to travel to LA all the time, only to leave again days later. Your main residence is in New York, after all, not California. It's where your condo is, your law firm, where you spend a majority of your time.

Natasha agreed without having to reconsider. You didn't even have to mention it'd be one of your private jets, or that your chauffeur Richard would drive her to your place. She had no clue she'd be sipping champagne and testing caviar during the entire flight, and she said yes anyway.

She knows you have money. She knows you'll spoil her. She doesn't expect it, either. It does happen, though, and she does enjoy it a lot.

There's something special about being able to kick off her heels and stretch out on plush leather seats, letting the staff pamper her. With face masks from South Korea and fresh fruit straight from Thailand, the five hours she spends aloft suddenly seem almost too short.

Richard drives Natasha to the condominium you live in. Billionaires' Row is full of luxury buildings, but yours manages to stand out anyway. High ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, a grand porte-cochère. She spots Rolls Royces and Bentleys being parked by valets in pressed suits and subtly raises her eyebrows. It's starting to get out of hand.

In front of the elevator, she's handed a keycard. Richard instructs her how to use it, then she's on her own.

It takes her all the way upstairs into your penthouse, the elevator bypassing every other floor. Then it stops, the doors swish open, and she's in your condo. In your living room, to be more specific.

A fireplace, a stocked bar (top-shelf liquors, because why not), a glass coffee table. The sectional couch in front of her looks like it costs more than a standard car, too. She glances at the dark marble floor beneath her feet — probably from Italy — and takes a few steps into the condo. As soon as she's stepped out of the elevator, the door closes automatically.

Natasha knew you were rich, but goddamn, this is a lot to take in.

She takes another few steps into the living room and listens for any kind of noise. Unsurprisingly, she can't hear anything. The walls are most likely soundproof, so she won't be able to hear you unless she's in the same room.

Walking closer to the fireplace, she finds a note on it. A normal piece of paper, thankfully, not some expensive textured shit. She reads what you wrote and smiles faintly.

Natasha,

I'm in my office to work on a new case. Sorry I wasn't there to personally pick you up. Will make up for it later, I promise.

Lunch is in the fridge. Make yourself at home. I insist.

— Hotshot :)

Once she realizes she's smiling, she quickly shakes her head and puts the note aside.

Make herself at home? No need to tell her twice.

High heels in one hand, she pads through the long hallway and into the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, a huge espresso machine she'll definitely play around with at some time, sleek kitchen furniture. A peek into the fridge tells her you — or your private chef, more likely — made paella. She closes it again and walks into the adjacent dining room.

Some plants that look like small palm trees, a long table for at least 16 people, a New Zealand wool rug.

Boring.

Back to the hallway she goes, the heated floors warm under her bare feet. Up the stairs, then back down, hand sliding over the glass railings. Two bathrooms, both with rain showers, a small wine cellar-like room, a huge balcony with a view of Central Park. Somehow, she ends up on the rooftop (and definitely makes sure to remember the pool there) before finally making her way back inside.

Your bedroom is next, complete with an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. She's seen the other bathrooms already and was, quite frankly, not impressed enough to look at this one as well. Instead, she decides to check out what kind of clothes you wear.

Natasha spins around in the massive space and scans everything. A minibar, a huge mirror, a seating area. It smells like fresh linen and that very same perfume you were wearing when you first took her home not too long ago.

Two months, she recalls. It's only been two months, and you're already whisking her away whenever you want.

She drags her hand along one of the black walnut shelves, inspecting handmade leather shoes and rows of accessories. Ties, watches, rings. She stops and eyes the tailored suits. Her hand moves to the back of her dress, fumbling with the zipper and pulling it down, then she lets the thin piece of fabric fall to the polished floor.

She steps out of the dress that's pooled around her feet and reaches for a crisp button-down. She puts it on and inspects herself in front of the mirror, then grabs some niche Parisian perfume from your fragrance collection. A spritz behind her ear, one on her wrist...

"Having fun?"

Natasha whips around and stares at you. You're leaning against the doorframe, trying to hide your smile. Despite being at home, where you should be comfortable enough to let loose for a little, you're in a suit. Your hair, however, is messy. A strand partially blocks your vision.

It took you ten minutes to find her. You didn't expect to walk in on her half-naked, barefoot, only wearing one of your shirts. Are you complaining, though? Absolutely not.

"You told me to make myself at home."

"So you did."

"Exactly."

"That's good." You push off the doorframe and stroll into the room. "Not gonna say hi?"

She meets you halfway, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck. Lips brush against yours, a fleeting contact, and your hands rub her waist. "Hi", she mumbles.

"Hey", you whisper, kissing her. First quickly, then a little more deeply. Your hands run up her sides, letting her shirt ride up, and you feel smooth warm skin under your palms. You pull away only to trail kisses along her jaw. "Missed you. How long have you been here?"

Natasha closes her eyes, her fingers raking through your short hair. "About an hour. Lonely?"

"It's a big apartment."

"Penthouse."

"Whatever", you mutter, catching her mouth again. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her underwear and play with the lace. "Did you have lunch? The paella — I had it made for you."

"I wasn't hungry", she says, speaking in between kisses. "They served all kinds of stuff on my flight. First time trying mangosteen."

"Mhm, my favorite." You squeeze her waist before letting go of her. Walking further into the room, you pick up her dress from the floor and toss it over your shoulder. Her scent hits you, faint and sweet and familiar already. "Listen, I got another meeting in about an hour. Shouldn't take too long, though. You good here or should I ask Richie to give you the tour? He'll take you anywhere as long as it's not somewhere up in the clouds. Poor dude's got a fear of heights."

Natasha lingers where you left her, arms crossed over her chest. She watches you adjust things she never would've noticed are different: pushing the perfume bottle backwards the tiniest bit so it's perfectly aligned with the others, running your hand over the stack of button-ups to remove a crease she wouldn't be able to spot with a magnifying glass, nudging one of the shoes she touched.

"No", she says absently. "I'd rather stay here and wait."

"Whatever you want." You turn around and walk back to her. You wrap your arm around her waist and lead her out of the walk-in closet, faces inches apart, a smile on your lips. "I'd show you around, but I feel like that's pointless."

Natasha rolls her eyes and laughs, tugging at your shirt. You feel her lips against yours, the touch brief but charged with electricity. "You told me to make myself at home, so I did. Can't blame me for that."

"Not blaming you. Just happy you felt comfy enough to rummage through my clothes."

"I didn't 'rummage' through them."

"Oh no?" You grab the hem of the button-up she's sporting and smirk. "What's that, then?"

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she cups your face and pulls you into a deep kiss.

It's the first time in over three years that you cancel a meeting.

. . .

The rug you're on is soft and fluffy, the fireplace next to you way too hot for a September morning.

Sleep-warm skin and cashmere blankets, a half-empty bottle of wine left next to the coffee table. Natasha wakes, blinking lazily, and stretches her arms. You turn just enough to be able to kiss her forehead.

"Morning", you mumble.

"Morning", she replies, hands moving to your chest. Fingertips dance over bare skin, then she starts buttoning up your shirt. "We slept in."

"Yeah", you say, still tired, and lay back down. "Fuck. I have so much work to do."

"No, you have me to do."

"Obviously. Top priority."

Her hands splay out on your chest and smooth out the fabric of your shirt. She leans in, plush lips on your jaw, kisses that are warm and a little too arousing. It's 9 in the morning, and you need to get your ass off the floor and into the office.

However, there is a pretty, naked lady next to you, and that is much more enticing than a desk chair and a meeting with a bunch of old people. And her mouth is all over your skin, her hands starting to roam your body, and fuck it, maybe you can cancel again. Just one more time.

"Dammit", you curse, nails raking down her back. "You're costing me a shit-ton of money, baby."

"You have enough money as it is", she mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. Your arms wind around her. "There's only one woman in your arms, though. Your choice."

You hum, nose buried in her messy hair. Her kisses against your neck start to become wetter, more urgent, her hands squeezing and squishing every part of you she can reach. You moan and she knows she's convinced you.

You hastily take off your shirt and push all the blankets aside, then hold her close before rolling over. You're on top now, where you want to be, and start trailing hickeys along her throat. Her fingers run through your unruly hair and mess it up further.

Palms squeeze and run over smooth skin. Your hand kneads her thigh before moving between her legs. Wet heat against, then around, your fingers. You thrust in and out slowly, rhythmically, and listen to the way her breathing gets heavier.

Face buried in the crook of her neck, you leave lazy kisses on her skin. Slender fingers tug at your hair, insistently, telling you to go faster.

The fire next to you crackles, but it's nowhere near as hot as the space between you. Heavy breathing and muffled moans, fingers curling and nudging deeper. Your thumb circles her clit and you hear a little whine. Natasha comes around your fingers, clenching and unclenching, and you bite back your own moans.

"Shit", she mumbles, slumping into the rug again.

"Yeah." You lift your fingers to your mouth and quickly lick them clean. "I still got work."

"Breakfast first?"

A knock on the doorframe makes you both whirl around. Your eyes land on your private chef slash maid, who's got her eyes covered with her hand. You can see the timid look on her face, anyway.

"Sorry", she says. "I waited until you were...done. I made breakfast and didn't want to disturb you, Ms. Y/L/N. Also, Mr. Pasini is waiting for you."

"Linda", you say, grabbing a blanket and covering both you and Natasha with it. You're so aghast you don't even know what to say. "That's, uhm- that's good. Give us a minute? Please?"

She nods, stepping away and bumping into a potted plant.

"Of course. My apologies, Ma'am. I'll be in the kitchen."

The second she's gone, Natasha starts laughing. You narrow your eyes at her, but the smile on her face is too infectious to not crack one as well. You sigh and melt into her. A kiss is placed on her cheek.

"Alright, laugh it up."

She smirks and jabs a finger into your side. "Come on, that was hilarious. Does she usually stalk you like some creep?"

"No", you say firmly, sitting up and putting on your shirt. Your fingers tremble slightly as you button it up. "She doesn't. And she didn't 'stalk us', she just heard we were finished and came to inform me about breakfast."

"Sounds believable enough, hotshot. You're sure she doesn't have a secret crush on you?"

"She's 58 and married, dummy." You get up and look for your underwear. "I promise, she's just a sweet lady who helps my blood sugar spike. Try her madeleines, they're godly."

Natasha hums and gets up, still butt naked. She grabs her lace panties and the shirt she stole from you the night before and puts both on. You, one leg in your slacks and the other hovering in the air, watch her with wide eyes as she makes a beeline for the kitchen.

"Wait-"

"Breakfast", she says, unbothered, and adjusts her hair a little. "Hurry your pretty little ass up or all the madeleines will be gone."

The exaggerated French accent she used to pronounce the pastry makes you roll your eyes. You hurry to get into your pants before following after her, zipping up and fastening the button.

"You're naked!"

"Anything that could be considered inappropriate is covered."

"I can see your butt."

She glances at you over her shoulder, strolling into the kitchen. Linda glances at her, but doesn't seem too surprised by the sight. Instead, she plates breakfast for you. Avocado on sourdough toast, freshly squeezed juice, Eggs Benedict, buttery madeleines, some cappuccino.

As soon as she's done, she tells you to enjoy your meal. You catch the small smile on her face as she leaves the room to go on about her duties.

"You were right", Natasha says, sitting on a chair with her foot propped up on the seat. "These are godly."

"Told you", you say absently, scrolling through your work-related emails. "The best. Dip them in the cappuccino."

She hums, eating in silence and watching you respond to emails and texts. Her leg stretches out under the table to bump against yours. Then, she rests it in your lap. You squeeze her calf, eyes locked on your phone.

"Hey", you mumble, sliding your hand further down her leg and tapping her ankle, "how would you feel about a slight change of plans?"

"Hm?" Natasha tilts her head, a half-finished glass of orange juice in her hand.

You turn around and show her the email. She leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, and reads it.

"I said we'd spend the next two weeks here, but I gotta go to Tokyo. Work-stuff. Want to tag along?"

"Tokyo?" She looks up. "Just like that?"

"Yeah. Like I said, work-stuff."

She smiles faintly, then shrugs. "Sure. Why not."

"Great."

"All of this is normal, right?"

"What?"

"Forget it, hotshot." She gets up and kisses your temple. "See you in a minute. I have to try that rain shower before we leave."

The urge to get up and follow her like a lovesick puppy is strong. But then your phone buzzes, announcing another email, and you sigh as you realize you'll have to wait a bit longer.

. . .

— TOKYO, JAPAN —

You order the sushi in near-perfect Japanese.

Natasha leans into your side. Clad in the off-shoulder black dress with the deep neckline that you got her right after your arrival, she's been turning heads all night long. Her fingers toy with the shimmering necklace you put on her, oblivious to the 18k white gold's worth, and her eyes roam the restaurant's interior.

"Fancy", she whispers once the server has dashed off. "I wanted to come here for a while."

"This restaurant? I've been here a couple times."

"No, dummy. Japan. Tokyo." She smiles and looks at you. You flush under her gaze and nudge her cheek with your nose. Her hand cups your cheek, thumb against your lips, and you press a kiss to it. "You need to get out of your bubble more, you know."

"What bubble?"

"This bubble. Not every experience has a Michelin star, or costs a couple thousand bucks. There's more to life than just fancy dinners, hotshot."

You hum, studying here. There's a truth to her words that stings. You're privileged, and you know it, but your lifestyle and career make everything about you and everything you do so different. The way you live traps you in a bubble you either can't or won't escape, which limits the things you experience.

Natasha is the best example for that. You may have been lucky enough to run into her, sure, but only because of a coincidence. Again, you don't go to bars. You don't go out with friends, or even colleagues. You spend your Friday nights sitting at your desk with a dozen files opened on your laptop. Maybe you'll drink some whiskey or fall asleep ten minutes into a movie, too, but that's about it.

"You'd rather I take you to McDonald's tomorrow?", you ask, trying to deflect. She tilts her head. "Okay, okay. Not a fan of the clown. Got it."

"You know what I mean", she says, hooking a finger into the collar of your shirt. "Saving up for another car, or jet, won't make you happy."

"I know", you say earnestly. "It's why I got you. To spend that money on you instead. Now — sake or umeshu?"

"Oh, no. Wait. Did you just-"

"I'll spoil you rotten", you say, quickly pecking her lips, "and get happy in return. You make me happy. Now tell me what drink you want."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue. It's not like she doesn't like the whole princess treatment you've been giving her ever since your first night together, after all. She enjoys it maybe even too much.

You enjoy it, too. Before her, all you knew was work and lonely beds. Pleasure mostly came from meaningless one night stands, never lasting longer than a couple hours, or — a classic — your own hand.

It's different now. You get to satisfy someone else, someone who's interested in you, who makes you smile, who's pretty. You can spoil her all you want. Dresses, champagne, jewelry, spontaneous trips to the most gorgeous places on earth. In return, she makes you happy. There's not even much she has to do to achieve that. You appreciate it a whole lot, anyway.

Her breath fans your ear, lips tickling your skin. You exhale sharply, silently, and close your eyes.

"Sake, please", she mumbles, voice sultry and soft. Her hand runs down your front, deliberately brushing against the buttons of your shirt, before coming to rest on your thigh. "And you. Sake and you."

. . .

Being in another country usually means vacation.

Not for you, though. You've been stuck behind your desk for over an hour now. Keyboards clack, the a/c hums, bedsheets rustle. In front of you are floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying Tokyo's skyline. Thousands of lights in every color imaginable adorn tall buildings, creating a sea of neon. Billboards and pulsing nights, and streets that never seem to sleep.

You're not sleeping, either. And neither is Natasha. While you're tapping a pen against your knee before responding to an email, she keeps rolling over in bed and trying to fight boredom.

You briefly glance at her. Only in a silk robe that hugs her curves and leaves little to the imagination, it's getting increasingly harder to not just call it a day and join her.

You turn to your laptop again and bite back a sigh. Another email popped up, this time by one of your employees, so you click the reply symbol and start typing. Right as you hit send, you feel a familiar pair of hands on your shoulders. You close your eyes when her palms slide down to your chest.

"Hey", she murmurs, warmth breath fanning your ear. Her lips press against your nape, then the side of your neck. "Still working?"

"It won't end. I just keep getting new emails."

She hums, continuing to trail hot kisses along your neck. Her fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, slowly undoing them. "You need to relax a little, you know. Forget about work and come to bed with me."

"Emails", you protest. Natasha smiles against your neck. Her hands move down to yours on the keyboard, gently peeling them off. "I need to finish this. It's important. Seriously."

No response. Heat shoots into your lower belly when she sucks on your pulse point. She runs her hands up your arms and to your biceps, squeezing the muscles there, then she slides the shirt off your shoulders. Fingers dance across your skin, trace your chest and your stomach, before teasing the waistband of your pants.

"I want you to fuck me", she rasps into your ear. "Show me I'm important, too."

Of course she's important. More important than the emails, more important than anything else. Can you say it, though?

No. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a quiet whine. You hear the laptop in front of you being shut. Natasha pulls at the back of your chair and swivels it around, your eyes opening automatically.

The sight is godly. She's standing between your legs, her robe thin and enveloping her body like a second layer of skin. You catch a glimpse of the bra she's wearing, black lace showing through the open top of the robe, and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch her.

You cave. Fingers find the end of the silk sash around her waist to give it a deliberate tug. The robe comes open and reveals creamy skin and black lingerie.

"When did you..."

"You left your credit card when you went downstairs to pick up those files", she says, fingers trailing along your jaw. Her hand cups your jaw. "Thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Credit card fraud", you say, both amused and turned on. "Theft, too. Dammit."

"You like it, though."

Oh, you do. You can't even be mad. There's more than enough money on your bank account, and truthfully, purchases like this one benefit you both.

You put your hands on her waist and get up. Her body is flush with yours, her breath fanning your lips. You kiss her, tasting strawberries and sake, and trace the seam of her lips with your tongue. Her mouth opens, letting you deepen the kiss, and you swallow her moans.

Bodies up against the window, the heat between you fogging up the glass. Natasha's robe falls to the floor, and you start trailing kisses over her shoulder and chest. You pull away for a split second to drink her in. With the backdrop of the city's lights — bright and flickering and reflecting off her skin — you're once again proven that she's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

The clasp of her bra comes undone easily. You push the straps off her shoulders, let the tiny piece of clothing slide off, then your mouth is attached to her body again. Hands squeeze and grope her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples, before running down her sides.

You hear a soft thud when her head falls back against the window. Breathy moans and mhh-sounds, nimble fingers raking through your hair. You lick a stripe over her breast and suck her nipple between your lips. Pushing aside the fabric of her panties, you find her cunt. Her pussy is soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease.

"Fuck", she moans, tugging at your hair. "Baby, slow down."

You look up, not able to speak through the mouthful of boob. She looks down at you, panting, and brushes some hair away from your forehead.

You don't want to slow down. Not now, not when she's looking at you like this, still wearing the panties she bought with your money, standing in the suite you payed for. She makes you happy. She chases the loneliness away. You want to give her everything, the entire world, and that includes a night filled with orgasms.

Holding eye contact, you thrust your fingers into her. Her hips buck to chase the feeling. Moans fill the space around you, whiny and needy, and her hips rut against your hand with more fervor.

Your mouth releases her breast. You litter it with kisses and hickeys, still fucking her with your fingers. You slowly sink to your knees to bury your face against her stomach, leaving kisses there as well, and continuing pumping your fingers in and out of her. Slickness covers your hands, dripping down your wrists, and Natasha meets every thrust.

"I'll buy you everything", you moan. "Anything. Whatever you want."

"Bribing me?" She tries to laugh, but it comes out strained. She grinds against your hand, forcing you in deeper. You nudge that spongy little part and hear another moan. "I'm not your trophy, you know."

"No." You kiss along her lower stomach, your free hand gripping her thigh. Your movements become quicker, harder, feeling her walls clench around you in desperation. "Never said you were."

Natasha wants to respond, but in that moment, she can't. She lifts one leg and hooks it over your shoulder, letting herself take you wholly. Goosebumps and kiss-bitten lips, hickeys and flushed skin. Your fingers curl, your lips wrap around her clit, and her body tenses up.

You feel her orgasm as if it were your own. Intense, all-consuming, wiping every thought from her brain. She keeps riding your hand until it all becomes overstimulating, then you pull out.

Looking up, the sight of her disheveled state brings a smirk to your face. She pinches your bottom lip.

"Ow. What's that for?", you ask, her fingers lingering on your mouth.

"You're getting cocky."

"Am not."

"You definitely are. Get up, hotshot."

You grumble and kiss her fingertips, but do as told. Natasha leans in to kiss you, her hands fumbling with the zipper on your slacks. She walks you backwards, pushes you onto the bed, straddles you. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, tangled from Natasha's earlier tossing and turning.

There's not much time to think about any of that, though.

. . .

— RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL —

A private pool that seems to spill out into the ocean below. A plate of fruit sits on the edge, the papaya and mangoes long forgotten about, with two empty coconut shells next to it.

Aside from the lapping of the water and the rustling of the trees, only your soft moans fill the air. Her hands on your shoulders and yours on her hips, you guide her up and down the strap rhythmically. She looks down, watching the girthy piece of silicone through the water. How its full length disappears inside of her, again and again, blurred by the water you're in.

Another moan. You lean in and press your lips to her collarbone, tasting sunscreen and something sweet. Her fingers mess up your hair and slide back down to your shoulders, fingernails raking over your skin and leaving marks.

"I'm close", she whimpers, hips rotating on the strap. You guide her every movement, pushing the toy in as deep as you can. You watch stupidly how her body moves on it.

"Sound like it, too", you rasp. After almost a year of this, you know every telltale sign. "Open wider, baby."

Her thighs part just the tiniest bit more, but it's enough for her clit to rub against the base of the harness. Her head drops forward, forehead resting against yours, and she cries out quietly.

"Fuck, I-"

"Almost there." You rub her sides and watch her ride harder, pushing herself over the edge. Once the climax has lost most of its intensity, she collapses against you. "Holy."

"I feel like we should stop. For our neighbors' sake."

You laugh and kiss her bare shoulder. You're both completely naked, thanks to the pool being directly attached to your suite. No one can see you, but you're sure many people can hear you.

"Need a break already?", you tease.

"No, hotshot", she replies, nuzzling your neck with her face. "I just want to enjoy this for a moment. No distractions."

This. You and her, intertwined, doing nothing in particular. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does, anyway.

Neither of you know where this is going. You don't know whether this is just going to end someday, or whether you actually have a shot at making it. But, truthfully, you don't know what 'making it' would entail, either.

Natasha also doesn't know. She still doesn't know whether you feel the same as her. Whether you're in as deep as she is. Maybe she is exactly what she fears most to be — a trophy. Someone you don't feel anything real for.

You don't talk about it. Starting a conversation like that is risky, because the worst case scenario is everything falling apart.

In the beginning, it was fun. It was passionate and indulgent, a sexy fantasy. It was all about sex and money and pouring champagne like it's water.

Then, feelings came into play. You're not sure whether that's ever ended well.

. . .

— PARIS, FRANCE —

"God, you're obsessed."

You look up, still kneeling on the floor with a high heel in your hand. You give her a deadpan look.

"Keep that up and you're sleeping on the balcony tonight. Now give me your foot."

"I'm just saying. You, on your knees for me? Should've rented out the jewelry store instead."

"What?... Oh. Ha. Uhm-"

Natasha laughs and does as told. You shake your head, cheeks pink and warm, and slide the heel onto her foot. You make sure it fits right and then hum in approval.

Aside from the two of you, the changing room is empty. In fact, the entire store is. You rented it out for the next few hours, making it easier for Natasha to look at clothes and try them on without being bothered.

"Not bad", she says, resting her leg over your shoulder. You turn your head and kiss her calf. "Maybe in another color?"

"Which one? Black, maybe? Or lilac? Those would look nice with that dress you-"

"Y/N", she cuts you off, "this one's fine. Really. I like it."

You give her a skeptical look, but she just raises her eyebrows at you. She seems to be telling the truth, so you squeeze her ankle before moving her leg off your shoulder. Straightening up, you reach for another dress.

Natasha grabs it and steps into the fitting room. She returns not too long after, and the sight renders you speechless.

A deep red gown, its fabric hugging every curve just right. The silk cascades down her body and pools at her feet, but the long slit at the side keeps it from looking too modest. Your eyes land on the plunging sinful neckline, then trace the delicate straps framing her shoulders.

She steps in front of the mirror and studies herself. In this lightning, the dress looks like molten wine clinging to her skin. You finally look up and catch her gaze in the mirror. Paired with the faint smirk, the timeless dress becomes something entirely different.

Dangerous. Unfair.

Heat crackles between you. You swallow heavily, eyes locked on the sight, fingers twitching and want throbbing in your body.

"You're staring."

You swallow again. "You're in that."

"I am."

Your hands ball into fists. You shift and try crossing your legs, but when she runs a hand down her side, it's over. You step closer, unable to stop yourself at this point. Your hands find her waist, your lips hover next to her ear. Then, you press a kiss to her earlobe.

Your hands wander further up her body, cupping the swell of her breasts. You toy with her hardened nipples, which are barely concealed by the dress's thin fabric. Natasha moans and leans into you.

"We're in a store."

"We're alone."

"The employees..."

"The employees won't come in unless we call them", you assure her, voice a strained mumble. Your fingers tug at the neckline of her dress until her chest is revealed, then you tuck the fabric under her breast. "Look at you. Fuck."

Her head drops against your shoulder. You kiss her neck, bared to you, and cup her breast. Your free hand runs down her body, finding the slit of her dress and dipping underneath it.

"Move the dress?", you mumble.

One hand on the back of your head, Natasha pulls the skirt of the dress aside until you can see everything clearly. Her thighs, her lingerie, the garter belt. Creamy skin, adorned by the faintest of stretch marks. Your face has been buried between those very thighs dozens of times by now, but you'll never get sick of the feeling.

You run your fingers over her underwear. It's soaked.

"That was quick."

"Really? You'll make fun of me now?"

"No, baby." You kiss her shoulder and pull away, only to step around her and get on your knees again. This time, for an entirely different reason. You hold onto her thighs and look up. Her breathing is slightly uneven. "This okay?"

"Anything else wouldn't be okay", she replies. You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pull it down. It drops to the ground and gives you a full view of her cunt. Hand on the back of your head, she guides you closer.

You bury your face between her legs and immediately feel the slick heat. It coats your cheeks, your tongue, letting you taste the tangy sweetness you've grown familiar with. You grip the backs of her thighs for more support and run your tongue through her folds.

Natasha feels every touch, every movement. She grips your hair to keep herself from falling over, nails digging into your scalp. You eat her out surrounded by mirrors, letting her see every angle of what you're doing to her.

. . .

Hand in hand, you walk down Avenue Montaigne.

The sun is beaming down at you, making the street look even more fairytale-like than it already is. Tall buildings, brick walls, trees lined up on either side of the road. You squeeze her hand.

"What's next?", you ask, looking at her. "Perfume? Maybe a purse?"

Natasha tilts her head. There you go again, asking about things that should be irrelevant. Things that, if she's being honest, never were relevant. All of this extravagance is fun. Being flown around in private jets, traveling the world, getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it — she enjoys it, no doubt.

But is that all she wants?

Of course not. In fact, it’d be a lie if she said it ever was.

From that first night in the bar, she wasn't trying to find someone who'd drown her in money. Otherwise, she would've found someone like that ages ago. The bar she worked in was one of the most prestigious in all of Los Angeles. It would've been easy to pick a random person and make them fall for her.

She didn't want that, though. She stuck to dating literally anyone else to avoid ending up as a trophy, as someone who isn't anything else but something to make her partner look good.

Then, you stumbled in. Not once, but twice. Everything about you was painfully similar to the other people sitting in that same bar that night, but you were also completely unlike them.

Everything about you screamed money. The stupid suit, the Black Card, the way you talked to her. But you weren't snobby. She'd known that from the first time she saw you there — when you got so drunk you passed out. Everyone else cares about their reputation, their public image, but you let yourself get black out drunk.

You returned. You sat down right in front of her. She took one look at your face pressed against the counter, hair a mess, and knew she'd love whatever is hidden underneath that hated suit you were wearing.

Your hair is always a mess. Even now, walking down the street in Paris's most luxurious shopping street, you look like you got caught in a storm. Short, unruly strands, some blocking your vision, others hastily tucked behind your ear.

Natasha stops in the middle of the street. She leans in and kisses you.

Another indulgence or something sincere — she doesn't know. Maybe she doesn't want to know.

"No more shopping", she says. You give her an unsure look. "Please."

"Okay", you mumble. You continue walking.

Her instruction should be simple enough to follow. No more shopping, no more expensive clothes, no more Michelin starred food. But how does someone who's spent their entire life surviving on money, and gifts, and everything material, suddenly change their ways? It's your form of affection.

It's more difficult than it should be.

You keep walking. You don't pay the big designer brands any mind.

That is, until you pass Chaumet.

A French jeweler specializing in refined pieces, romantic pieces. Jewelry with meaning.

Your eye catches the engagement rings. Natasha follows your gaze.

For a moment, neither of you move. Do you really have what it takes?

You look at her. She brushes the hair away from your eyes. Your hand squeezes hers once more.

A bell rings, a door closes.

It's your last big purchase of the day.

[wandasobsession]

Oh Elizabeth. What a breathtaking woman you are 😫.

[wandasobsession]

mommy

THE QUALITY HOLY SHIT

[wandasobsession]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - I bet i love you

Gif if not mine, but i swear she looks prettier every time i look at her.

Summary: Prompt based from @ecruzsalaz: The one where Wanda is popular, and Reader is a nerd. The popular kids do a bet that Reader will fall in love with Wanda. Everything will be reveal after their trip. 

Warnings: Light angst, kissing, teasing, underage drinking, lies, Vision being an idiot completely out of canon.

Words:  13.446 k /// Read on AO3

Notes: I don’t even know what happen here. I’m been busy and this took a lot of days to be done, but it’s finally here, hope @ecruzsalaz will be satisfied haha. Good reading everyone and apologies for any typo, it sucks to translate so many words. There are a few pop culture references, i wonder if anyone will catch those.

Marks (if i forgot your name tell me i’m lost):  @mionemymind @abimess

Keep reading

[wandasobsession]

mommy professor wanda

An Important Lesson - One-Shot

Pairing: Professor!Wanda x Fem!Reader (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Prompt: After years of rigorous study, you were nearing the end of your graduate program. Companionship had become a figment of your imagination, until your film professor caught your eye. Taking something from her desk, you hope you could catch hers- and you got more than you bargained for.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Who is Y/N I don’t know her, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Porn with plot, teasing, orgasm denial, vibrator use, thigh riding, Mommy kink, Professor kink (sparingly), no aftercare, slight dub-con, dumbification, praise, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance (professor/student), age gap (Reader is 26 while Wanda is 34), brat taming if you squint. 

A/N: Holy balls, I did not realize smut was so hard to write. Major kudos to all who seem to do it so effortlessly! I know I envy ‘em. This is my first foray into writing this kind of fic (my university’s spring break has brought a lot of writing firsts), so if you have any feedback I’d love to hear it! This is also vaguely proofread! Wanted to do some practice before the evental sex in Unica Sempter Avis (Because USA is certainly an Abbreviation of All Time), and other ideas I’ve got cooking up. I'd love to write another part to this, if y'all would be down! Thanks y'all again!  Edit: An Important Lesson is getting a second part! Read a teaser here! >:)

Word Count: 2.5k - Read length: 9 minutes, 5 seconds.  Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners! ~~~ 

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and yet here you were. 

Professor Maximoff’s classroom was overwhelmingly quiet, dark and empty with familiar rows of tables curved in a half arc around her desk, pushed off to the side. She’d always pace within the front few rows where you sat, and you’d have to crane your neck to keep her in view when you weren’t scribbling down paraphrases of what she said. She taught Advanced Film and Media Critique, which generally lended itself to analyzing the shit out of old TV shows. Maximoff was a difficult professor, but you weren’t looking for easy, especially in your graduate program. After a few years of working your ass off to make enough money, you’d wiped the floor with your bachelors and now you were vying for your masters, in your last few weeks of grad school. And you knew Professor Maximoff liked you, which didn’t make it so bad. 

You knew other things about her too - for instance, there was no way she wasn’t a lesbian. Whenever you’d raise your hand her eyes would snap to you, and you swear her face would curl into a smile that was beyond professional. You’d catch her staring in your direction during exams on multiple occasions (to be fair you did the same when she wasn’t looking, but that’s besides the point), and you swear up and down that she winked at you during your midterm. She’d hold onto your hand a little too long when you turned in papers, and always offered ‘tutoring’ sessions which you humbly declined in the beginning of the semester, your grade being nigh perfect in her course. Between that, the short nails, tailored suits, and the rings- oh, so many rings- there was no way your professor wasn’t gay, and possibly had the hots for you. Your studies had been your priority over companionship for so long,  And now, within a few weeks of your final, why not make a move?

Heist films had been the topic of last week’s lecture, and so nicking something small would be a good segway, right? You’d return it to her tomorrow after class, mention something flirty (perhaps about stealing her heart), and see where it went. If you were lucky, you’d have her number by the end of the course, and perhaps take the older woman to coffee after your final exam. You’d bring her to the movies, but that might turn into more of a lesson than a date. 

As you’d pluck a pen from one of her desk drawers, you notice that it was slightly heavier than most. You clicked it once, then a second time- and nothing happened, so it went into your pockets. You’d move to exit the dim room, before a plaque caught your eye- her degree. It was neatly pressed into its frame: Wanda Maximoff, Masters of Arts in Film and Media Studies. You remembered her mentioning she was working on her doctorate, a proud grin sparking at that. Perhaps you’d get to know more about her dissertation and herself shortly. ------------------------------------------

Class went by faster than most, although it didn’t help that you were anxiously awaiting the end of Professor Maximoff’s lecture. She had worn a trim fitted sleeveless blouse and buttoned pants, both beautiful shades of burgundy. A myriad of gold rings decorating her hands as she’d motion with them through her talk. You’d have to keep your eyes off her fingers, nose deep in notebooks as you’d scramble to collect her words before your incoming final exam. 

“And what is the significance of I Love Lucy’s laugh tracks?” Wanda would ponder aloud before your hand immediately shot up, the lone attempt out of your fifty or so classmates. She’d grin at you, “Yes, dear?” 

You almost forget what you were about to say, holding onto the vestiges of it as you’d sputter, “Oh, uhm- yes, well, I Love Lucy didn’t have laugh tracks, mostly- they were the first sitcom to have a live studio audience.” Her eyes would crinkle with mirth, and you could tell immediately that you had the right answer. You tuned out her words as your mind would swim, thinking back to the weighted pen in your jeans pocket. The pet names were new, settling a joyous fuzz both in your mind and between your legs. It was things like this that had you on the back foot- this was your chance to get her back.

------------------------------------------

“And I’ll see you all in two days,” Wanda would return to her desk, sitting atop it rather than in the chair behind it. One of your classmates had asked why in an icebreaker towards the beginning of the semester, and if you remembered correctly she said ‘Just like the view from up here,’ or the like. If you’d been on the same track mind as now, you probably would have noticed how she stared at you during her spiel, a detail only discovered in hindsight. Now, you had all the pieces. 

You pack up slowly, shimmying your belongings into your overly stuffed bag. Hanging back until there were few students left, you flag her gaze with a hand and an upturned smile, “Professor, I was wondering if I could..” Your words would halt in your throat, thoughts thickened and syrupy as she’d look down to you, head tilted a degree off kilter. Would it be embarrassing to admit you’d never been this close to her before? Her lips would be pursed, but would break into a wild grin, and you felt yourself melt right there. You weren’t a teen anymore goddamnit, focus- “Talk-” you’d squeak, clearing your throat hastily to camouflage the blunder, “Talk with you, after class. Professor.”

Her brows would raise, and you could almost see the cogs rotating in there. Her eyes would dart within the now-empty room, adjusting her position on the desk- and it’d become increasingly obvious (you can deny it no longer) that you were standing directly in between her slightly parted legs. This wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but here you were. She’d start taking off her rings. “Of course, darling,” she’d tease again with a roughened lilt. Those damn pet names. “What do you need?”

“I think I have something of yours, Professor-” Your mouth would open a few seconds before you’d speak, and you swear she’d smirk at how she had you, devoid of any thought. Something about her had you smiling and kicking your feet, and boy did she know it. Without any further bravado, you’d pull out the pen, “I hate to say it, but I think you’ve stolen-”

“Oh,” She’d breathe, Wanda’s face tinting with a pinkish hue, yet her smile only grew larger. Her gaze would narrow, voice dripping with a sultry air that almost knocked you off balance, “I didn’t let you borrow that, did I?”

“No Professor,” you admit, beginning to launch into your story, before she’d shush you- shush you, words piling up into a lump in your throat. 

“And do you know what it does, darling?” She asks, her tone a breathy whisper now. You swallow, shaking your head no. She fucking giggles. She takes the pen from your hand, clicking it three times, and it’d start to buzz. Oh, my god. It was a fucking vibrator.

“Too dumb to even recognize what this is? And I thought you were so smart..” She’d tease, a flush forming on your face in tandem with a shiver down your body. You open your mouth to speak, and yet her warm, calloused fingers would clasp your jaw shut. “Shhh, don’t want your pretty little head to even think, darling. How about Mommy show you how it works, hm?” 

You’d nod immediately. She’d abandon the toy, clicking it off as her hands would slip beneath your shirt, and it felt like time had frozen. She was so soft, and your mind glazed over. Your breath hitched as she’d trail upward, palming your skin before running her fingers over your bare breasts. You’d watch as Wanda’s pupils would blow in seconds, a devious smile bubbling into view, “No bra?” She’d murmur lowly shaking her head as she’d start to knead your flesh, “Just couldn’t remember it, hm? My precious student, too busy thinking of me to get dressed, were you?” You nod again, a pitiful mewl escaping your throat. 

“Yes- Yes, Professor..” You arch into her touch, although that bliss was short-lived as you feel her dig her hands further into your tits, sharper than you’d like. She’d tsk at your reply, and you look up to meet her eyes- oh, that was the wrong answer. 

“Did you already forget my title, baby?” She’d ask almost tauntingly, her gaze sharpening as she’d shift her hands from your skin. You’d chase her warmth, dazed as your skin would flush and tremble, slotting yourself up against her. She’d run her thumb over your lips, crooning at your immediate submission. She could use that. 

“It seems Mommy has a lot to teach you, dear..” Her touch would ghost across your exposed forearms, her feather-light touches only stuttering your breath further. “And I think you’re ready for your first lesson. Think you can handle that, darling? Keep your eyes on me,” Her hands would dig into your jeans, rougher against the hem’s fabric, “Think you can take this off for Mommy?”

“Please..” You beg, raising your hips to strip yourself bare, your glance trained on her. You don’t miss how her eyes darted down to your bare cunt, having slid off your panties too, or how she licked her lips at the sight of your slick. Her hands would hold your legs open, the cold lecture hall’s air chilling your exposed skin. Still staring at Wanda, you’d discard your shirt in the same breath, her jaw clenching as all of you felt the cool air. Feeling exposed, the urge to flee ebbed away some of your arousal. Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom? Your focus was immediately drawn again as she’d capture your chin in her hand, pulling it harshly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she’d pant, both from your disobedience and your thighs rubbing against hers. “Look at me,” she’d hiss, taking your lips into a searing kiss. Your answer? Fuck. Yes.

Your cunt would grind against her leg as Wanda would pull your hips up and onto her thigh, grip bruising as your lips would crash together. You could smell her vanilla perfume as she’d tug at your bottom lip with her teeth, a familiar buzzing sound heard but not registered before you felt it on your clit. “Mommy- yes, Fuckin’ christ, there-” You’d keen, lurching back as Wanda’s hand would rest on your hip, keeping you from escaping her touch.

Wanda would groan at your words, voice a little breathier as her hips would stutter against yours, “There’s my good girl..” Teasingly, she’d circle your clit with the pen-shaped toy, gasping herself as she’d feel the aftershocks of its pulse on her clothed cunt. “Taking Mommy’s toy so well..such a sweet girl for your Professor-” 

You’d rock your hips against her, the friction from her dress slacks and the vibrator’s pulse bringing you to the edge embarrassingly quick. Wanda wouldn’t notice your frenzied breathing or how you lost your rhythm, but she would hear your words; drawn between husky whines, “Mommy, please, I’m so close, fuck-” Your face would flush, legs beginning to tremble before the whole feeling was ripped away from you, Wanda’s grip leaving as the buzz would click off. With shaky breaths, your eyes would rise to meet hers- only to see a teasing grin. She’d pat your arms, gently coaxing you off of her thigh, the few sparks of friction from that not enough to bring you anywhere close to your release. You’d blink, thoughts thickened and reeling, brow furrowed ever so slightly for her- and Wanda loved it. 

“You did so well for your first lesson, dear..” She’d croon, brushing herself off as she’d rise to her feet, leaving you on her cluttered desk. “But, Professor, I didn’t-” You’d begin and she’d silence you right there, hand rising to close your jaw shut again. 

“And you won’t come unless you call me by my title, darling. You’ve received your correction for your first mistake- and for stealing from me,” You nodded slowly, absorbing her words as though they were molasses, and her smile only widened at how dazed she’d made you. “And if you disobey again when you’re with me, alone- then I’ll lower your grade by five points. Understand?” 

If you were in any kind of fog before, you cleared it from your thoughts immediately. “Yes, very clear- uhm,” You pause, noticing the stain on her pant leg where your pussy had ground into the fabric, and you feel your face warm. Wanda would shift her stance and you’d look up- she leaned above you, a single brow raised. You’d swallow, keeping your eyes on her completely, “Yes, Mommy- I understand.”

“Good girl.” That was the right answer. She’d smile at you, her praise going straight to your cunt. Could she not have given you a few more seconds? Maybe you could’ve gotten off without her noticing. She’d interrupt your mind with a quick peck on the lips, and you felt your wits slow, swimming with thoughts of her mouth. Oh, that was why- couldn’t get away with anything if you didn’t think anything at all. Wanda’s grin would only intensify as she’d watch you dress, clothing rumpled from the haste it had been taken off. After a few minutes, you were back to prim and proper..besides your racing heart and flush whenever Wanda so much as moved. “This was great..” You’d murmur, pressing the wrinkles from your shirt, gaze flicking back up to Wanda’s- your professor still watching you with a smooth, secretive smirk. 

“Of course it was, dear..but it’s still nice to hear you say that. Anything for my best student,” She’d wink at you and you’d fold, feeling your palms clam up. Since when were you this weak in the knees? She’d settle at her desk again, her hands clasped together on its wooden grain. You’d be taller than her now, with her sitting down- and yet there was an aura she commanded that you couldn’t outdo. You turn to leave without any further fanfare but her voice would seize you again, just as warm as her touch. “I’ll be expecting you after tomorrow’s classes, then? I think some…after-hours remedial work for my course would do you well.” 

Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom, again? You’d leave her hall with a bright smile, a reply, and a secret. Your answer? The same as before - Fuck. Yes. 

And your secret?

You’d stolen the ‘pen’ again.

[wandasobsession]

new fic coming with this song as a reference 😩😩😩😩😩

[wandasobsession]

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝐻𝑖𝑡

pairing: wanda maximoff x gn!reader

summary: You and Wanda hotbox a car, then fuck.

content warnings: reader has a penis, drinking, smoking weed, car sex, blowjob, handjob, unprotected sex, restraints, creampie, putting out a joint on skin

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

A/N: shout out to Rae for helping me understand what it feels like to be high ily pooks @wndaswife ♡

“Hey.”

You look around, squinting against the flashing lights. The basement smells like old beer, and there’s something suspiciously sticky on the bottom of your shoe. Wanda is shouldering her way through the crowd, her eyes locked on you. 

“This frat is totally lame, babe,” you say, raising your voice slightly so she can hear you. You reach out, pulling her in by the waist, your back resting against the wall. It’s slightly cold, but you don’t mind. The air feels stale, the warmth from the multitude of bodies packed into the basement making your skin damp with sweat.

Wanda rolls her eyes, finishing the rest of her beer before chucking it into the crowd. You don’t see it land, distracted by her hands on your shoulders. She’s feeling you up, running her fingers over your muscles for a moment before leaning in, her chest pressing against yours while her lips tickle your ear. 

“Wanna get out of here and smoke?”

You chuckle, nodding as she pulls back, her eyes glinting under her thick eyeliner. One of her rings catches on the fabric of your shirt as she pulls away, your hand finding hers and leading her toward the exit. 

Wanda’s car isn’t hard to find, the slightly chipped red paint standing out as you open the door for her. It isn’t much, but it was her brother’s car before he went overseas in the Army, and Wanda takes good enough care of it. She never lets you drive it, though. 

“The usual spot?” You ask, pulling out some rolling paper and your bag of weed. You double-check your pockets, finding two lighters and pulling them out. 

“Yeah,” Wanda says, her hand resting on the back of your headrest before she pulls out of the parking spot. It’s hot, and you make sure to return her smirk, adjusting how you’re sitting when her hand drops to your thigh. 

“And, you’re good to drive?”

Wanda rolls her eyes, giving you a look. “I had like, half a beer. Don’t worry so much. I saw the way you shotgunned with that one blonde guy, if anyone should be worried about how much alcohol they’ve drank, it’s you.”

Holding up your hands in mock surrender, you shake your head. “I don’t even know who that was, but who am I to pass up a free beer?”

You would start rolling a joint, but Wanda isn’t the calmest driver. She has one foot up on the seat, her fingers cranking up the music, metal blaring and reverberating around your skull. You lurch forward as she slams on the brakes, swearing under her breath as a car cuts her off, merging at the last second to exit the highway. 

“Fuckin idiot,” she glares, one hand running through her hair as the road stretches out. It’s late, with barely any other cars in sight. 

The hand on your thigh moves slightly, dragging up further as Wanda drives. You can feel your head pounding slightly, the alcohol making its way through your system, and your ears still ringing from the loud music that had bounced around the walls of the basement. 

Gravel sounds out under the tires, a sign that you’re close to the usual smoke spot. It’s secluded, with a great view of the city. Thick trees tower around you, and when Wanda kills the engine, the only sound is the occasional cricket or bird call. 

“Give me one,” Wanda says, her fingers grabbing a rolling paper before you can respond. 

“Damn,” You mutter, opening the baggie full of weed. The scent hits you, and you breathe in deeply. “You’re needy tonight.”

“Fuck off,” Wanda rolls her eyes, glancing at your crotch. “If anyone’s needy, it’s you.”

Smirking, you roll your hips for a moment, your bulge noticeable. “Guilty as charged, can you blame me? Your ass and legs look great in that skirt.”

Wanda scoffs, but you see the pleased blush she wears. You shake some weed out on your rolling paper before handing her the baggie, your gaze lingering on her focused expression as she does the same. Your fingers move, muscle memory taking over as you roll the joint, stuffing some more weed into it with the end of a pen. You offer it to Wanda, and don’t try to hide the way your bulge grows when her fingers brush yours. 

“Lighter, baby?”

You hand it over, licking the end of your paper as you finish rolling your joint. Wanda lights the end of hers, sucking in deeply before turning to you and exhaling, a lazy grin spreading on her face. 

“That good, huh?” You ask, taking the lighter and lighting your own joint. You suck in a breath, loving the slight burn at the back of your throat.

Wanda hums, dropping her head back until it hits the headrest of her seat, blowing smoke toward the ceiling slowly. You watch her do a couple of tricks, her grin spreading wider with each minute that passes. You adjust your hips again, spreading your legs further and getting comfortable, watching Wanda grow hazier as more smoke fills the car. 

“Are you feeling anything?” You ask, inhaling deeply as Wanda lets out a satisfied sigh. 

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t take long,” she responds, flicking ash into the metal tin that sits between you two. “We’re gonna be stoned soon with the way we’re hotboxing this shit.”

You don’t respond to that, feeling a warm fuzziness grow within your chest. Your limbs begin to relax, your lips tingling slightly. Catching a glimpse of yourself through the haze, you stare at your reflection in the side mirror. Part of you is aware of your hair loosely hanging over your forehead, Wanda’s hand resting on your thigh as she stretches out, and the joint feeling warm between your fingers. 

“Take another hit, baby,” Wanda murmurs, her voice low and soothing, her fingers finding the knob of the CD player and turning the volume lower until the music is no longer jarring. Your eyes roam around the car briefly, your chest feeling warm as you smile lazily. Wanda’s fingers are cool as they touch your hand, bringing the joint to your lips. 

The bass flowing through the car fills you, your heart thumping to the beat as you take another hit. Wanda fiddles with her phone, her auburn hair glowing slightly before she turns her screen brightness down. 

You can’t quite remember how you got in the car, or what you were doing earlier that night. It doesn’t matter. Wanda is here, and her green eyes are warm and big and looking right at you, her fingers reaching for your lap as low jazz fills the space. Your reflection is back in the side mirror, your face flushed as Wanda’s fingers brush your bulge again while grabbing a rolling paper. 

“Baby, where’s the weed?”

You chuckle. Wanda is asking where the weed is. It’s right here, silly. It’s… it’s-

Wait. Where is the weed?

“Fuck, um,” you mumble, your body weightless as you lean forward. When did your seat recline? You search around, your fingers brushing Wanda’s as she leans toward you. She’s giggling, her hair smelling like vanilla as she leans into you. Her breath is warm, her lips are soft, and her hands are all over you. They wrap around your waist and skate over your thighs, your fingers finally feeling the plastic baggie on the floor near your boots as her lips suck gently on your neck. 

“Found it.”

“Hm?” Wanda’s voice is all around you, her body practically on top of yours as she leans further into your space. She smells delicious, your skin aflame where her fingertips drag over it, lifting your shirt slightly to stroke your hips. 

“The weed,” you say, your voice somehow sounding both miles away and eerily omnipresent. You hold up the bag, smiling at Wanda’s hand quickly grabbing it. 

You pull out two more rolling papers, Wanda having dropped hers somewhere on the floor, and the silence stretches comfortably as you both focus on the task in front of you. It’s soothing to roll the joint, your fingers moving with practiced ease before you twist the end, your hand moving to Wanda’s thigh where the lighter rests. 

Smoke swirls lazily around you, the car reeking of weed. You find it comforting, the layers of jazz music blending and mixing together into a single endless stream as it flows through your consciousness. 

Wanda hums slightly as she finishes her joint, letting you take the lighter from her lap before she looks over at you. Moving slowly, she somehow manages to move from the driver's seat to your lap, straddling you and pulling the lever to recline the seat fully back.

“Get comfortable,” Wanda murmurs, stealing the lighter from your slack fingers and chuckling at your open-mouthed expression. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. It’s not a giggle, it’s a laugh. Definitely not a giggle. God, it’s just so funny, the way she- wait. What was funny?

Wanda is inhaling, her lips wrapped around the end of her lit joint, the flame casting sharp shadows on her face. Her irises glow for a brief moment as the reflection dances in her glassy eyes before she flicks the lighter off with a practiced motion of her thumb. You think it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Smoke is blown softly into your face, and you eagerly sit up, your muscles flexing as you grab her around the waist. “Do it again,” you beg, and part your lips. 

You long to feel her soft lips on yours, and you feel your cock throb hotly when Wanda grips your jaw with one hand, the other bringing the joint to her smirking lips. Everything else fades, the jazz music dulling and the city view out the window dimming as you focus on her. You breathe in when she does, releasing your breath quickly in anticipation. 

Those wonderful lips meet yours, and it feels like absolute heaven. Wanda breathes out, smoke and vanilla mixing as they fill your mouth and nostrils, every single sense of yours surrounded by her. You inhale carefully, breathing in her very essence as you feel your lungs burn slightly, the weed making your head spin pleasantly. 

“Good job, pet,” Wanda murmurs, kissing you fiercely. She bites into your lip, and you moan lowly as you exhale, smoke expelling from your lungs and joining the swirling mist in the air of her car.

She moves her hips, subtly grinding down on your lap. You feel yourself ache, your hips moving up to meet hers as you moan into her mouth. It’s over far too soon, the pressure building as she continues to move her hips, her lips detaching from yours as she leans back, arching her back and grinding harder. 

“Want something, baby?” Wanda asks, one hand bringing the joint to her lips while the other tangles with your hair and shoves your head back into the seat. 

“More,” you say, your voice breathy and echoing. Your head is fuzzy, your limbs weightless as your thumbs stroke her hips. 

Wanda leans down, the change in position pressing her hips firmly against your cock as it strains in your boxers. It feels trapped beneath your pants, but you make no move to release yourself. That’s Wanda’s decision. 

More smoke is inhaled directly into your mouth, and you eagerly suck it in. Wanda’s lips are all over you, sealed around your lips as she exhales fully, her fingers closing your mouth and forcing you to inhale. She kisses down your neck as you do, your throat bobbing as you fight a cough. Her lips feel like fire, her tongue dragging over your skin for a moment before she sucks gently near your collarbone.

“Fuck,” you whisper, watching the smoke escape from your lips as you speak, curling around Wanda’s hair when she sits back up. The joint is pressed into your fingers, the lit end casting shadows on Wanda’s face as she watches you place it between your lips. 

“Take a deep breath, baby,” Wanda whispers, her eyes intent. She looks almost hungry, and her hips shift on top of you when you nod obediently, filling your lungs with smoke. Strong fingers pinch your nose, Wanda licking her lips before speaking. “Hold it.”

You feel lightheaded, your limbs heavy and your chest warm. The warm tingly feeling spreads up to your shoulders and down your arms, your head fully relaxing on the seat as you lean back. Everything is comfortable, Wanda’s vanilla perfume mixing with the heavenly scent of weed, her figure slightly fuzzy as you peer through the haze of smoke. 

Wanda moves again, taking the joint from between your lips and letting go of your nose. “Breathe it out,” she murmurs, holding the burning joint away from her hair as she leans down to kiss you, eagerly inhaling the smoke you expel from your lungs. 

Time turns a bit fluid after that, the sensation of overwhelming warmth taking over you as Wanda sits on your lap, her hands mindlessly running over your torso. Her fingernails scrape down your chest, her palms warm as she feels your abs, one hand holding the joint to her lips. 

You find the joint pressed between your lips, the faint taste of Wanda’s vanilla lip gloss coating your tongue as you suck in. The smoke tastes more burnt than usual, the heat hitting your face as you realize the joint is almost out. 

“Another?” You look up at Wanda with wide eyes, feeling the muscles beneath your eyes contracting slightly as you squint against your will. She chuckles, the sound reverberating around the car before she grinds the end of the joint against the metal ashtray.

“No baby,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss you. “I want to suck on something else.”

“What-” You’re cut off when Wanda grinds her hips down harshly, reminding you of the aching hardness between your thighs. “Oh,” you say, a bit stupidly. 

The words feel weird on your tongue, your mouth not moving properly. So, you decide to do something else with your mouth instead, attaching it to Wanda’s neck and sucking. Her moans sound out, adding to the layers of fuzz building in your head while the blood in your body rushes down to your throbbing cock, her hips providing delicious friction as she grinds on your lap. 

You hear metal clinking, the sound cutting through the soft jazz and smoke, but you don’t have time to think about it before Wanda is grabbing your hands and wrapping something around them. The material bites into your skin slightly, and you let out a chuckle when Wanda finishes restraining you. 

“The seatbelt, really?”

Wanda smirks at you, pulling your hands above your head and attaching your seatbelt-wrapped wrists to the headrest. You’re not sure how she’s managed to effectively restrain you with the seatbelt strap, but when you test the restraints, you’re surprised at the limited movements you can make. 

The weight on your lap disappears, Wanda’s body shifting. You lazily look down, your muscles loose and movements slow. Somehow, your seat is shifted back until Wanda is able to fit herself on the floor, kneeling while she leans over your lap. 

Sharp teeth bite at your stomach, each jolt of pain sending heat directly to the tip of your cock. You can see it visibly straining through your pants, but Wanda makes no move to undo your zipper, her lips turned up into a smirk while she pulls your shirt up and begins leaving hickeys all over your hips and waist. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, throwing your head back and shifting your hips, rutting upward in search of any friction. Wanda carefully avoids your bulge, chuckling against your skin while her hands move to gently grab your chest. 

Your nipples stand at attention, pleasure blooming as the sensations cut through the haze in your mind. The only things you feel are Wanda’s teeth and hands, the rest of your body feeling disconnected as desperation fills you. 

“You’re so hot,” Wanda drawls, looking up at you with glassy eyes. Jazz fills your mind as blood rushes through your ears, your heartbeat loud as it pounds furiously in your chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Her hands are warm, smoke shifting lazily through the air when she moves. Your pants are pulled down, a groan clawing its way out of your chest when you finally spring free, your cock pulsing at the thought of stimulation. You shift your hips again, seeing the dark look in Wanda’s eyes as she licks her lips before kissing your tip. 

“Fuck.”

You barely have any time to think before Wanda’s tongue is circling your tip, the stimulation teasing while you try to fuck further into her mouth. Hands grip your hips, pinning you to the seat, your face flushed as your head spins. 

Wanda loves how pathetic you look. Your head is thrown back, your eyes glassy and your pupils blown. You’re whining slightly, the sound wrapping around her head and sending pleasure shooting through her body. She loves how your body looks when you arch your back, your muscles trembling from the effort of chasing your pleasure. 

She wants you, her mouth feeling empty all of a sudden. With one last breath, Wanda seals her lips around the tip of your cock and sucks. 

You let out a loud moan, your hips jerking at the sensation. Wanda wastes no time, one hand gently fondling your balls while she takes you further in her mouth inch by inch. Her tongue works the underside of your shaft, licking your balls once she finally has your whole length in her mouth. 

Choking slightly as your tip hits the back of her throat, Wanda bobs back up, her tongue relentless as she licks the sensitive spot just under your tip. She bobs her head, taking your whole length in her mouth again, her cheeks hollowing while she sucks, swallowing around your length as it buries itself in her throat. 

“Yeah baby, just like that. Sucking my fucking dick so good.” You moan, pleasure filling you. Every sensation is heightened, the sound of Wanda sucking your cock filling the car as smoke swirls around her. You feel her moan, the vibrations causing your balls to tighten for a moment while your tip throbs at the back of her throat. 

Spit coats your length, smearing on her chin and dribbling out while she bobs her head up and down, your orgasm approaching. It’s filthy, her hand glistening when she wraps it around the base of your cock, stroking you slowly while she sucks. 

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Wanda growls, releasing the tip of your cock with a popping sound, panting as she takes you in. Her hand works your length, moving quicker while her other hand tightens around your balls. 

You whimper. “Baby, please.”

“I’m not done with you yet.” Wanda releases your cock, your length throbbing and twitching as it slaps onto your stomach. You can feel the combined juices of your precum and her spit as it smears over your lower stomach, your dick twitching every so often while you watch Wanda fumble with the clasp of her jeans. 

“Let’s smoke another joint while you fuck yourself with my cock,” you say, the idea popping into your mind. You speak the words quickly, your thoughts quieting again before you forget what you’ve spoken. Wanda’s eyes light up, and she leans over to kiss you solidly before grabbing the baggie of weed from the floor. 

Wanda moves quickly, her pants discarded as she straddles your hips, teasing the tip of your cock. She doesn’t move yet, just lets her juices run down the length of your shaft, your tip slightly pressing into her eager heat. 

A rolling paper is set out on your stomach, your abs flexing while you try to remain still. Wanda is focused, grinding on your tip with a teasing smile on her lips while her fingers move quickly. She rolls the joint in record speed, and before you know it she’s lighting the end and sucking in a full breath while sinking down on your length. 

You’re in heaven. 

Smoke fills the air again, the haze swirling about as Wanda lets out a low moan. She doesn’t move for a few seconds, her pussy walls clenching around you as she closes her eyes. Leaning back, she grabs one of your knees to support herself while bringing the joint to her lips again.

Then, she starts to move. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, your cock throbbing hotly as she lifts her hips only to sink back down. She grinds on you as she does so, her clit hitting the base of your cock perfectly with each movement of her hips. You can feel her arousal as she fucks herself, her juices coating your cock as she easily takes your whole length. 

Heat and pleasure fill you, Wanda’s hands grabbing your shoulders as she changes positions, fucking herself harder. It’s addicting, the sound of her moaning in your ear and the burn of smoke when she places the lit joint between your lips. Her fingers dig into your muscles, her hips trembling as she chases her orgasm. 

You can’t help but fuck up into her, loving the sound of your hips meeting hers while you thrust roughly. Her breaths are ragged, a low moan sounding out when you breathe in smoke, exhaling around the joint as you hold it between your lips. 

Everything is fuzzy. You feel a burning need in your stomach, warmth spreading throughout your whole body. Wanda is everywhere, her hands tangled in your hair, her lips on your skin and her pussy gripping you like she needs you to survive. One of her hands reaches down to rub her clit, and you take one last drag of the joint before she grabs it between nimble fingers and breathes deeply. 

“Gonna cum, baby,” she mutters, blowing smoke directly into your face. 

You nod, moaning low as her movements become erratic. She reaches down, her eyes glinting as she forces the joint between your lips. It’s almost out, the lit end flickering dimly as you breathe in, feeling your skin start to tingle. 

“Cum inside me,” Wanda whispers, smiling darkly at you as your cock throbs violently inside her at the words, her hand hovering over your chest. The lit end of the joint is hot and close to your skin, your heart racing as you begin to understand what her next move is.

“Hurt me,” you moan, your voice pleading as you continue to thrust up into her. Her hand moves quickly over her clit, her walls squeezing you as she begins to fall over the edge. Your skin burns, the lit end of the joint extinguishing on your chest as Wanda grinds it into you, her pupils blown while she moans. 

Her orgasm seems to last forever, a whispered command for you to cum sending you over the edge as pain and pleasure mix together. Your whole body seizes, your balls tightening as Wanda’s walls grip your cock, your hot cum spurting inside her. You feel nothing but warmth and pleasure, the slight burn on your chest amplifying every sensation as your head spins, Wanda’s tongue soothing the mark while she drops the joint in the ashtray.

“Good job, pet,” she murmurs, moving her hips as she fucks herself slowly on your length. Your cum seeps out of her, dripping onto you and smearing on your stomach. Wanda trembles, slowing completely before finally stopping, your cock buried deep inside her. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, every muscle in your body relaxing as your orgasm fades. You can feel your cock twitching, her warm walls gently squeezing you and keeping you hard. Your hands are released, Wanda’s lips kissing your wrists where the seatbelt dug into your skin. 

“I love seeing you like this,” she mumbles. 

You nod, knowing exactly what she means. Wanda loves control, and you love giving it to her. She craves being in charge of your pleasure, and you find it incredibly arousing to give your choice in the matter up to her. 

Wanda moves slowly, putting another rolling paper on your slightly damp stomach, your chest heaving from your orgasm. You don’t say anything, enjoying her presence as she prepares another joint. The smell wraps around you, vanilla mixing in the air as the haze lazily swirls about, jazz playing softly as you feel your cock start to harden again with each subtle shift of Wanda’s hips. It’s obscene, the way your cum and her arousal drip out of her, coating your length. 

You can’t focus on anything, your head fuzzy and warm as you feel your high pleasantly fill your body. Wanda lights the joint, the smell of freshly burning weed adding to the layers of sensations already present in the car. 

“Let’s finish this,” Wanda smirks, sucking more smoke into her lungs before placing the joint between your slack lips. You obey, taking a long, deep breath as her eyes darken at your submission. “I want you nice and pliant for me before we go again.”

Well, you certainly weren’t going to complain about that.

---

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[wandasobsession]

past 12 hours have been mad stressful, dropping this lil snippet at 3 AM cause i still can’t sleep.

i still don’t know what to call this fic, it maybe a 2 part series? releasing from readers pov and then from wanda’s pov. ideas?

~~~~~~~~~

“i said i loved you because you wanted to hear it, not because i felt it.”

but I actually did feel it. I couldn’t continue to hurt her as i have, lying to her has been killing me from the inside out.

i knew i had messed up, however, i was allowed to love right? no matter the circumstances i deserved to know what love felt like. it was nice to feel it instead of watching it through sitcoms.

as much as it hurt, i had to let her go.

i didn’t want to, ill see her again.

~~

AU where wanda works for the avengers but, they all have secret identities and the world doesn’t know who they are; wanda gets sent away as her mission has been completed, getting called back to the world of secrecy may just be her last straw.

[wandasobsession]

“i said i loved you because you wanted to hear it, not because i felt it.”

there it was, i’ve spent the entirety of our relationship chasing a love that was never there.

all those sleepless nights, all the fights, all the kisses and intimate memories we share was nothing to her when it was everything to me. it was real to me.

but, to her i was just an obstacle, something to help pass the time faster, keep her occupied while i invested everything i had into her, into us.

~~~~

trying out something, let me know if i should continue this or not lol