aubvrns

[aubvrns]

this photo is etched in my SOUL

[aubvrns]

the prettiest girl in the world

[aubvrns]

+ melinda warner <3

my dream squad

[aubvrns]

whatever happens in cancun, stays in cancun 🤷‍♀️

PRETTY GIRLS

summary — acting like it never happened when the sun comes up is easier than leaving her husband

warning(s) — established relationships, lavender marriage, ongoing affair, milf wanda maximoff, age gap, alcohol consumption, dom!top!wanda maximoff, flirting, russian dialogue, neck kissing, biting, bratty reader, hair pulling, brief humiliation, choking, face grabbing, public shenanigans, probably underlying exhibition kink, hickies/marking, face slapping, begging, light condescension, ass slapping, doggy style, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), multiple orgasm, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, making out, asking to cum, orgasm control, implied multiple rounds, morning after, men/minors dni

authors note — inspired by pretty girls by renee rapp! highly recommend listening!

A hand snakes around your waist without any warning, but it doesn’t take you by surprise as you lean against the bar, waiting for your drink with haphazard disinterest. The tropical landscape around you is breathtaking; the palm trees and pale sand is truly something astonishing to experience personally, but even the twinkle lights strung along the loveshacks awning do little to hold your attention for long.

Your eyes glance down at the hand on your hip. The lilac wristband tells you that it's a coworker who's joined you at the resort's exclusive beach bar, and the dainty gold bracelet twisted around it narrows your options down to only one pretty girl on the trip. The thin chain is accented by three elegant letters — V, B, and T; her husband and her sons. She’s married, with two eleven-year-old boys that think the absolute world of her. They’d be astounded to know this isn’t the first time her arms linked around you like this; like you’re the one she’s married to. You're not. You’ll probably never be.

Wanda’s twelve years older than you. You remember that when she smiles at you, and the lines on her cheeks are deep and sweetly aged. The boys, William and Thomas, are twelve years younger than you. They’re good enough kids from what you’ve overseen and been told, but they assuredly reflect too much of their fathers short fuse to be perfect angels. That doesn’t bother you; not even when they visit the office and one of them routinely dissolves into a fit beyond your thin door.

Her husband, Victor Shade, is another executive beneath your company’s wide branch, but only one of six that are sanctioned within New Jersey, and only one of three who are sanctioned in the same Westview complex. It’s just you, Victor, and Wanda, and a sea of other employees, but none who share the same job description or Monday morning meetings. That’s left you with more than enough time to form a friendship, and disrespect her marriage on more than one occasion.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Wanda’s teeth scrape up the sensitive side of your neck without shame. You’re over three thousand miles away from home right now. None of the other executives had fancied a drink when you’d extended the offer after your scheduled excursion; rightfully so, the unrelenting sun had scorned your cheeks raw in the few hours you’d been out on the water, and the repercussions of the burn were catching up to you as your face felt scorching. “I’m officially yours until tomorrow.” She breathes the scent of you in, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t replace all of your resentment and sadness with burning desire.

This is how it went. This would always be how it went. The first time she’d told you that Victor wouldn’t mind her slipping away to be with you — though she’d called him that stupid nickname you despise hearing — she’d thought it would flatter you to know you weren’t going to be a secret kept fully in the dark, just beneath flickering candlelight. What’s pathetic is that it did at the time, and it still does now as your lips curve into a grin as you twist in her arms.

“Mmm, I like the way that sounds.” You hum, craning your head to sink your teeth into her neck. A satisfied hum tickles her soft skin when your tongue juts out to lick a sweet stripe along her collarbone, testing the faint remains of salt and tequila that had splashed out of her glass when you hit a rogue wave on the Caribbean. “I never got to tell you how hot you looked in that bikini.”

Wanda hums, she’s putty beneath your hands. She’s been wanting this all day. Her longing stares across the yacht weren’t discreet, nor were they ever. It’s a mystery how you haven’t been found out, but you thank every star that aligns when her desire is somehow concealed beneath the natural happenings of the world. It’s a treasure to have it all to yourself; to have her all to yourself.

She cranes her neck, pulling back to watch your face. ”Good thing I haven’t changed yet.”

You take the invitation to trail you gaze across her body. The bright orange straps of her bikini poke out from beneath a knit coverup. Your instinctive hum of appreciation warms Wanda’s chest, the taut apples of her cheeks flaming with lust. She leans in close, one single step all it takes for your chests to brush, pert nipples crashing together in the center of a Cancun bar. Wanda’s emerald gaze flickers to your lips, more specifically your cupid's bow, and her pupils blow with tantalizing want. Every stroke of her gaze over you is a test to your patience.

“Yeah. Good thing indeed.” Your drone, and if somebody tapped your shoulder and told you there were hypo-disks on Wanda’s exposed, freckled, sun kissed shoulders, you would’ve believed them. The ambient glow of flickering string lights washes across her sunburn like a shower of light, bringing attention to the darker patches and abstract spots around and beneath delicately thin straps.

Her waist is a silhouette beneath the coverup. The slender hourglass figure is hidden enough to evade stares, but not enough to be insignificant to your watchful eyes. Your own pupils are blown with arousal, lust wrapped around your spinal cord controlling your every movement at will. Her navel gleams at you, taunting you. A particularly wide hole has just enough of a shadow cast around it that your eyes can’t help but trace the dip in her skin, where your tongue has dragged a plethora of times.

“Your daiquiri.” A sultry voice cuts through the tension being established between you and Wanda, your stares charged and equally electrice as you evade the others eye in a game of cat and mouse, willing yourselves to see who’ll last longer before somebody pounces. You haven’t fed Wanda an ounce of alcohol yet; that’s what gives her the courage to kiss you at all.

You spin around, letting Wanda’s arms hold onto your hips. The bartender, the same one who’d asked your order initially, wore a charming smile on her lips and bright blue eyes. They didn’t shine as bright as Wanda’s. They weren’t as magically light and incandescent either. “Thank you, Kantyi.” Your eyes flickered to his nametag, a charming aura of suggestion wafting off of your buzzing frame. Not even Wanda’s possible grip, the pressure of her nails digging into her hips, the irritation rolling off of you could dissuade your show. Kantyi, who had definitely taken the hint that you were not open to his company, was thoroughly enjoying whatever was happening though. “Can I do a Cancun Blue for the pretty girl, too?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Kantyi dipped his head, perfectly in time with your pillowy lips wrapping around the clear straw, and Wanda’s nostrils flared beneath his oblivion.

Thankfully, he didn’t bother glancing back at you; slipping away to fulfill your order with a laugh jostling his shoulders. “Vestí sebya. (Behave)” Wanda hadn’t taught you many Russian phrases, but she’d taught you a few, and you’d gathered even more just from hearing the daily conversations that happen between her and Victor and the boys. This is one that she’s taught you specifically though, and it churns your belly with something electric until you’re squirming beneath it, thighs pinching together when a sensation of warmth spreads across your core beneath your bikini bottoms.

Your head lulls back, your hair sprawling across her shoulder. Wanda can’t decipher if you're flush from her touch, or simply that bad at applying sunscreen regularly. Her lips pull upwards regardless, and she smirks at you. Desire is bottled beneath your glare, sparkling impatience at the surface too. “What if I don’t want to?” You reply, your hips pushing back into hers to emphasize that point.

“Dostatochno pary chasov bez moikh prikosnoveniy, i ty ne smozhesh' nichego podelat', krome kak vesti sebya kak shlyukha. (All it takes is a couple hours without my touch and you can’t help but act like a slut)” Wanda marvels at your evident desperation, and it annoys you how easily she can read through your misbehavior. You don’t know what all she said. The music is loud, the waves are crashing just out of reach, and your Russian is choppy enough when she’s speaking it slowly to you. The last word hangs around you though. It’s one you’ve learned, never been taught, just slowly began to recognize when she used it interchangeably with English. Slut. You’re in the middle of an exclusive bar, on an all inclusive retreat with your company, and she’s brazenly calling you a slut with her fingertips creating half moon bruises on your hips.

“No.” You have a mind to reply, even when the majority of her muttering was gibberish to you. Wanda huffs in amusement. You’re cute, even when you’re attempting to provoke her. She’s falling for it too. How can she not when you bat your eyelashes at her, lips wrapped around a straw that sucks up a frozen beverage just a few shades too cartoony to match your core, but the sentiment is the same as Wanda imagines utilizing your tongue for other things.

“Don’t test me, detka. We’ve got an entire villa to ourselves, or have you forgotten? I can make you scream, as loud as I want, for as long as I want.” Wanda’s breath fans across the shell of her ear, but even without the heat and vibrato of her insinuations against your skin, you would’ve shivered anyways. A weight drops in your belly, turning into sparks of live energy and butterflies. Your clit throbs, the muscles in your thighs tense. ”I would rethink being a brat now.” Her eyes lock with Kantyi’s over the bar as she says it, and humiliation flames across your cheeks as your pliant eyes take in his bold amusement.

“Your drink.” His accent is heavy, it takes no genius to consider that English is his second language. It seems to dawn on Wanda, and her lips curve into a sickening smile that doesn’t convey an ounce of sincerity. It takes all of your might to conceal the whimper of defeat clawing up your throat, her reserve cracking as she bestows her best glance of indifference at the friendly bartender, pretending like she didn’t care that he’d just overheard a private conversation, one that makes her belly churn without the liquid confidence he’s still patiently extending.

“Gracias, Kantyi.” The way the words roll off of her tongue does you in completely. Her own Sokovian accent is muted, forgotten over time, only revisited when you wind her up with enough pleasure or a topic from her past comes to light; namely her mother or her other. But, the way she can encapsulate a Spanish accent without trying is maddening. She’s been pulling it out all week. Tripping you up when she sneaks up behind you and orders something strong and sweet in a dialect you haven’t stopped trying to learn since you were five.

The only thing that reminds you that this level of boldness is abnormal for her are the large gulps she takes of her margarita, not even letting her tongue taste the salt rim or savor the burn that splashes across the back of her throat and taste buds. She's fervent as she takes half the margarita down before she comes up for air, and by the time she’s glancing at you again, you’ve regained your flame of passion that she’d previously quenched.

”Do I make you nervous, pretty girl?” You bat your eyelashes up at her, choosing to simply feel the ripples of arousal in your belly rather than be controlled by them entirely.

In a single moment, Wanda’s fingers twist into the hair that’s still sprawled across her shoulder in tangled waves crisp from salt residue. There’s no way to replicate the waves that form when you get back to Westview, so you take full advantage of the humidity and beachy aroma. A gasp falls off of your lips at the dull sensation. She hadn’t been able to grab enough for it to hurt, or truly even phase your oversensitive nerves, but the undertones of the simple action spoke for what she would never dare to say. Not here, around all these ears and watchful eyes. She’d never say it, but the expectation remains — you’re hers, and she’s in charge.

“Pretty girl,” She turns the tables on you, and your mouth goes dry. Her emerald stare is intoxicating, warm with heat and explicit excitement. Her arm twists around your waist tighter now. You’re not wearing a cover up like she is. Your bathing suit top had been enough coverage in your opinion, but you’d paired the tankini with olive linen shorts. The very ones that make Wanda’s eyes gleam like shimmering jewels when she sinks to her knees in front of them. “Let’s not forget that I’m the one who makes you nervous.”

Wanda’s fingers ghost across your neck, like she’s fixing the clasp of your necklace. She’s not. Her fingertips feel heavy as they press into the side of your neck for a moment and then two. “I can feel your pulse, honey. Are you nervous right now?” She taunts you, and your throat bobs with a dry swallow. Your lips find your straw again, sucking down another quarter of your drink that’s beginning to melt beneath the heat of your palm and the humidity of Cancun. You’d even say that it was melting beneath the heat of sexual tension budding between you and Wanda, but that would be insane.

“I’m going to kill you.” Your eyes narrow into daggers, but you’re sure there's not even an ounce of venom conveyed in your expression right now. Your every sense is clouded with lust, pupils blown as evidence.

Wanda’s jaw hardens, and in a moment of confidence you hadn’t known she possessed, her fingers curled around your jaw, holding you firm. Her thumb presses into your cheek, but her ring finger and pinky hold the base of your neck, feeling the pulse in your jugular. It’s quick, unsteady. It only quickens even more when she squeezes just once, as if she’s not already holding you in a near death grip.

Your eyes become disks, an abyss of black that conveys what words can’t. You can’t even try. The confidence you’d held dissipated beneath her touch. It stood no chance of returning anytime soon when her hand slid lower, her fingers wrapping around your throat. She squeezed tight, holding the pressure there for a moment. She wasn’t restricting airflow, but that didn’t negate the total control she had right now in any way. She can feel your throat bob beneath her palm, and she hums in satisfaction.

Your body is aching for her. You’re desperate at this point. All day she’d been touching on Victor. All day you’d watched her flaunt around a yacht in that bright orange bikini and you couldn't even take a taste. Your nipples are sensitive beneath the triangle cutouts. Your core pulses with need. If your bathing suit bottoms were dry before, they’re not anymore.

“Finish your drink. It’s time to go.” Wanda’s eyes are darker than the sky beyond the loveshack. You think it’s a fitting name, considering your eyes flicker across the little bar for only a moment and you’re certain you witnessed three identical sights of people luring others back to private rooms. It eases the flush on your cheeks just the slightest bit, enough to encourage you to finish the rest of your drink in one breath.

Your head pulsed with a sudden cold rush, and for a single moment, Wanda laughed at your squinted eyes and scrunched nose. In the summertime, freckles brush her cheeks in bold clumps. They’re on display now, some scrunched up and half moon shaped as she mimics your expression. It’s a single moment of wholesomeness. A single moment that forces you into the ever typical spiral of what could be if you just tried. You knew that conversation well if you brought it up, so instead you settled for being okay with this arrangement — with getting her when the world can’t see her for who she really is.

Everyone was placed in the same private section of the resort, with a pebble path that led directly to the Loveshack. You’d walked the pebbled path for the last five days, sometimes barefoot, sometimes racing to catch up with Maria, already past drunk. Regardless of your familiarity, Wanda guided you the whole way back to the room with a hand on the small of your back.

You turn the corner toward her villa. It’s directly across the path from yours, but Natasha’s sits in the middle. The shape reminds you of a kuldesac. Wanda’s hand is around your waist now, she pulled you into her side affectionately. Your breath catches when her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. It’s not innocent to start, but it’s beyond what you could’ve expected when she pulls at the string holding your bottoms up. It unties with ease, and you hate that Wanda knows you don’t double knot anything.

“Wanda.” You seeth, your hips swaying awkwardly as you try not to think about the string beginning to slip down your leg. Every step shifts the loose linen, and with every shift the string loses its structure. If one side falls, it won’t take long for the other to as well, but now isn’t the time to stop and adjust your bathing suit. Somehow, the path is clear. None of your fellow executives are currently leaving or going, which is some kind of miracle because it means Wanda hasn’t pulled away from your embrace at all, but the idea of being so exposed in public is still unnerving no matter if an audience is present.

Wanda only laughs, her head tipped backwards as she lets her eyes close. Her jaw clicks when she opens her mouth to let the sound fall out, and you admire how the muscles in her chin strain and flex with the synchronized movements. You huff, digging your fingers into her side.

Wanda’s elation sobers instantaneously, and that lulled submission you’d felt in the bar overcomes you again in a rogue wave. “I’m getting really sick of your attitude, moya lyubov.” She seethes, and your mind goes fuzzy around the edges with muted electricity as it sparkles something innate deep in your core. Something about her aggregation when it’s channeled so intentionally into sexual release is encouraging to say the least.

”So do something about it.” Your repose is breathy, a desperate pant that holds no candle to the suppressing heat of Cancun’s humidity. It doesn’t affect Wanda in the slightest, but you don’t notice that.

She rolls her eyes at you, because quite frankly, it’s all that she can stomach doing when anyone’s around to see her engage in something so… not wrong, but… not who she claims to be. Her threats aren’t entirely empty. She’s not above prolonged punishment if it means settling a score in private, but something tells you there isn’t going to be much patience involved once you get into that hotel room.

“Where is Victor exactly?” You ask when she opens the door, the keycard between her nimble fingers like the string of your bathing suit had been. You don’t want to think about him, not when you’re minutes away from having her body beneath your wanting fingertips that twitch with the need to have her completely, but you can’t help but dwell when he’s scattered around the villa so easily. His suitcase by the closet, his cologne by the television, his trunks that don’t match Wanda’s bikini, but are also orange thrown over the back of the chair as the small table in the corner to dry. He could come back at any time. He knows. This has all been approved and discussed, but you can’t face him walking in on you while his wife takes you apart.

Wanda closes the door with her hip, and you make note of how hers seems to be lighter than yours as it swings shut with a heavy thud. It’s a satisfying sound. One that you’ll hear far too soon against tomorrow morning.

She pushes you up against the wall. Her hands are on your hips, holding them down against the cream walls that support you fully. The sudden collision of your body with the hard surface stole the breath from your lungs, wide eyes searching for answers in Wanda’s for a million questions and none at all. She laughed at the state of you, leaning in until her lips found that soft spot behind your ear.

“With Tony.” She sighed, marking kisses on your burning skin. The heat of her kiss is like a branding, but when she pulls away, there’s no mark left behind to prove she’d even been there at all. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You’d never explicitly known that Tony Stark from one of the New York districts swung for the same team, but it didn’t fully surprise you as you nodded along to Wanda’s words blindly. Your hands clawed at her coverup, annoyed with the layers keeping you from her slowly bronzing skin. The Mexican sunlight was truly doing her well. As was the silence of a kid-free week outside of scheduled phone calls she was more than mentally prepared for.

“Great. Take me to bed now.” You demand, attempting to pry the cover up off of her shoulders. Your fingers force one sleeve down her shoulder, so close to seeing only orange straps, but you don’t get much farther than that.

You should’ve known it was coming. The slap that landed against your cheek with a force that burned between insignificant and uncomfortable. Wanda had practiced control over her blows, and that always startled you. Your eyes, practically permanently blown and wide beneath her gaze at this point, snap up to her with the same dumbfounded expression you’d worn countless times already tonight.

“I know you’re a desperate slut, but I thought you were at least capable of remembering how to ask for things correctly.” She snapped, finally at her limit with your continued disobedience. It was hot. The way her eyes darkened, became grey. She was an entirely different woman now. One you’re certain Victor has never met. “The next thing out of your mouth better be something sweet or I‘ll leave you like this until tomorrow. And we’ve got a long day tomorrow, baby. I can make your life a living hell until then.”

You know she can. She’d made every day this trip absolutely miserable even when she hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t because you wanted to be the one she held onto when you hit rocky waters on the yacht or she felt uneasy walking around the outskirts of the resort, but because you

d wanted to rip every piece of clothing off of her body like you had no sense of the law. Relationships be damned. You’re just glad you get to have her body when everything is all said and done with.

“Please.” It falls off of your lips like low hanging fruit that’s perfectly ripe. Wanda beams an sadistic grin, canine teeth digging into her plush bottom lip that curves upwards.

“What was that, pretty girl?” Wanda frowned, pretending as if she hadn’t heard you, as if she didn’t know what it was that you were begging for. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please Wanda.” Your hips attempt to raise off the wall, press into hers. She doesn’t allow it. She slams them back down hard, her eyes slotted into unimpressed daggers. “Please touch me. Please. I’ve wanted you all day. You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when you looked that damn good. Please, I… I need you.” There’s a wanting edge to your pleas, your mindless babbles, that finally breaks her reserve though not her harshness.

She’s still sinister beneath the dark lighting. She hadn’t reached for the lights when she’d guided you inside, and moonlight falls around the palm trees and white sand outside. The only shadow in the room comes from the bathroom light, and even then it's dimmed to the lowest possible brightness. You don’t need to see anything right now, and the things that you do need to see will assuredly be close enough to make out every intricate detail and fold with what you have to work with.

“You looked so pretty today.” Wanda hums as she unties the single knot keeping your tankini upright. It stays up for the most part on its own, but she doesn’t test its strength. Her hands are greedy as they force your arms above your head and pull it off. Your hair sweeps across your back when it falls,and you shudder at the soft sensations. “I could’ve kissed you right then and there.” Your belly warms, and your lips chase hers.

Wanda lets you kiss her. She lets your tongue explore her lips and her tongue, she doesn’t even pull away to chastise you when your teeth stake their claim on her lip. Her fingers are busy, working secretly beneath your distraction. The small act of pacifying you with a make out session pinned against the wall while she works your shorts and bottoms off is worth it. Even if it's bound to go to your head.

You whine when your core is exposed to the air conditioned villa in one abrupt motion. The linen shorts are eased down your thighs easily, and follows are you bathing suit bottoms that have been entirely untied by her skillful fingers. You think it’s a waste that she exerts her potential on frantically typing and responding to emails at the office. The slender digits with pronounced knuckles bearing deep ridges move fast and quick. You hadn’t even noticed she was working at your bottom half until suddenly nothing kept you concealed from her eye.

“Get on the bed.” Wanda demands, and there’s a hint of impatience in her tone that you’re finally getting somewhere. One that wall breaks completely, there will be only the frailest line between you, her, and anything even remotely holy. “On all fours.” She adds as an afterthought, stepping away from your body and letting you pass.

Her hand claps against the globe of your ass in a blow that's less controlled than the one to your face had been. A delicious sting spreads through the neglected flesh, and you’re certain a handprint resides on your skin that isn’t as tan as the rest of your body anymore. Wanda makes a soft noise, something between a chuckle and a hum as she watches you stalk toward the bed. Housekeeping came this morning. After you’d already left on your excursion and cracked over High Noons on the boat. Victor's body hadn’t touched these sheets yet, but something twists her belly with arousal when she considers him falling into sheets tainted with her love with you tomorrow night. That thought doesn’t make her as sick as picturing you in a bed that she’s taken him out of commitment to their marriage.

You’re vaguely aware of how she strips out of her coverup and bikini before you even have a chance to properly worship her in it like you’d anticipated doing, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the little things when the bed dips beneath her weight. She presses her knees on the edge of the bed. She’s not quite on it, but her weigh is hardly pressed into the floor anymore.

The orange bikini is discarded on the floor beside yours. You peek over your shoulder to steal a glance. Wanda doesn’t appreciate that. Her fingers tangle into your hair again, pushing you face first into the bed. Your head cranes to the side only so that you can breathe, and only because it's to avoid suffocation does Wanda allow you to have any kind of control.

Her fingers prob your entrance with no warning. You’ve gone from feeling like you were moving in slow motion to everything happening at once, but you don’t mind. There’s no capacity in your head to mind that she hasn’t even eased you into taking two of her fingers up to her second knuckle when she’s filling you so good, so deep, so unrestrained. You know this dance just as well as you know the conversation about becoming more than friends that hookup with her husband's permission. It starts slow. Stealing looks, stolen laughter. It builds from there. It becomes longing touches, whispers of innuendos. Somehow there’s more steps after that. There’s the whole eight counts you have to make it through before she’s willing to climb into bed at all, but once you get there, midway through, the melody changes. The beat that’s been building from the very first chord drops, and then when you think it softens, it blows even more, and everything that had felt muted comes screaming to life at you until it all goes quiet in one silent moment of settling aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. pretty girl.” The unnecessary use of that term drives you crazy. Your hands fist the sheets beneath your body, fight fistfuls painting your knuckles stark white. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Those pretty walls are just fluttering around my fingers, moya malen’kaya babochka. (my little butterfly)”

A guttural moan claws up your throat, and it's embarrassing how close you are already, but she’s been toying with you all day, she’s had you in the palm of her hand since she wrapped her fingers around your neck so brazenly in the crowded bar without a considerable amount of alcohol to guide her. All odds have been against you since this morning, but that had only sealed your fate. Anything she wanted out of your body, she was going to get.

Wanda seems to know that, because she didn’t shy away from the pressure she was applying to your g-spot or your clit when it became evident that you were on the verge of falling over the edge into pleasure. Her thumb, slick with residual arousal that had either damped your thighs or dripped onto the digit straight from the source, rubbed figure eights around your throbbing button. Exposed to her assault, your hips stuttered and rocked in time with Wanda’s ministrations, and before long, you were writhing uncontrollably.

“Please!” You beg, the familiarity of it washing over you. It came easier than it did when she had you pinned against the wall in the hallway. You sound so soft, so breathy and beside yourself with fireworks of red-hot pleasure that heel a lot like her hair looks in the summertime beneath burning heat. “Wanda, please, please, please. I’m sorry for being a brat! Please, just let me cum! Please, let me cum on your fingers?! Fuck, p-please. I can’t hold it, I-I can’t hold it. Please, may I cum!” You're desperate and it’s pathetic. So much about this is pathetic, but you can’t care about anything outside of her fingers jackhammering into your cunt now, the tempo suddenly different.

“Apologizing on your own? My my, maybe you are my smart girl.” Wanda crones and you whine high pitched, your back arching as you stick your ass out toward her fingers. Her hand slaps against your ass, once, twice, and then three times. It’s not an even succession, but it events out the total amount she’s distributed all evening. Something about that warms your heart. You cry out, and the way you clench around her fingers is entirely unholy. She considers your pleas for a moment, but with the consistent flutter, she can't deny you or herself the feeling of an orgasm. “Go ahead. Cum for me, pretty girl. Konchi dlya menya, krasotka. God, you’re my favorite. Good girl. Fuck, that’s it.”

Lust has become authenticity. This is who Wanda Maximoff is. Wanda Maximoff loves women. Wanda Maximoff has on inhibitions about living freely and genuinely. Her accent, the one that comes from her childhood, from Sokovia, coats her words, and it drives you over the edge like a single blade to the gut. Wild moans and curses fall off of your lips, and before you have a moment to recover, or even fully ride out the remaining flickers of the high that's still coursing through your melted veins, she’s on her knees on the mattress.

Her tongue laps at all of the juices you’ve spilled. The ones that have splashed your thighs, her fingers, the bedsheets below. The essence of you is everywhere now, and it's only traveling farther as she rubs her face into you. Her nose probes your entrance, her tongue jutting out to kitten lick your clit until she grows impatient and uncaring of your sensitivity and licks broader strikes from your core to your weeping, pulsing, ever so slightly gaping hole.

“Fuck, fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips back into her face. Wanda groans, grabbing a handful of your ass. She squeezes, pulling it away from the other cheek. It’s humiliating, even without words partnered with it. You know she’s grinning coyly. It spins that coil right back up in your core. You gasp when she spanks you, pairing the sting with a harsh suckle on your clit. That’s all it takes. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone twice now, but Wanda doesn’t register how much time has passed as she continued to lick you clean until you’re writhing, pushing her away and wrestling her onto the mattress until you can straddle her naked hims

She’s not usually clean shaven. Most of the time she supports a nicely trimmed bush, always mindful of her bikini lines, but never entirely hairless. She shaved this week specifically for Cancun, but she’s keeping up with it — for now at least. The smooth feel beneath your fingertips never gets old, but you wouldn’t want it every time.

You hover your lips over hers, your forehead flush against her own. Your breath fans across her lips. You still smell like strawberries. “Let me take care of you.” You trail your fingers along her thighs. She’s dripping. Stringy evidence of her arousal coats your fingertips before you even reach her labia. When you do, you can’t help but groan aloud, your eyes pinching shut as you sink into wet warmth. “Let me take care of you.” You pleaded softly, evening the playing field for a moment, though not entirely.

Wanda had no qualms, relaxing into the pillows beneath her head. “Be my guest.” She groaned, dropping her head slack when you wasted not a second before getting to work between her thighs like your life depended on it. Quite frankly at this moment — it does.

The next morning, after you’d gone back to your own villa across the path to shower and select an outfit for your hike, you’d run into Wanda and Victor at the coffee shop. You’d been with Maria. Victor caught your eye first, and he nudged Wanda at his side. She smiled, waving at you brightly. Nobody would know that four hours ago you had her coming apart beneath your fingertips.

[aubvrns]

SINFULLY

summary — it’s been a tantalizing exchange of passion and tension for seven days. they’ve pushed you to the edge, forced you to the cliffs peak, but in a moment of weakness, you become the problem in need of solving, and it only spirals from there

warning(s) — porn with plot, established relationships, threesome, dom/sub, bdsm elements, age gap relationships, professor maximoff, personal trainer natasha, beefy!natasha, innocent!reader, brat taming, choking, pussy inspection, punishment, daddy kink, professor kink, faux pity, manhandling, pussy spanking (w/ rings), spanking, edging, verbal humiliation, light anal play, plugs, ruined orgasm, orgasm denial, masturbation, voyeurism and exhibitionism, threats of bondage, vibrators, dildo, mean dom wanda, crying, begging, dirty talk, name calling, praise kink, subdrop, anxiety, aftercare, men/minors dni

authors note — i definitely missed some tags but i think you get the hint that this is absolute filth regardless of if i mention anything else. enjoy ;)

“Sorry.” You apologized when your phone pinged with a message from your girlfriend. The one with fiery red hair that encapsulates the effects of her unrelenting passion; not the one with blonde hair that falls around her shoulders in a choppy cut she did herself two weeks ago. Your eyes glance down at the screen, not needing to guess what Wanda had found to warrant texting you so randomly in the middle of the afternoon.

You’d been waging an internal bid since that morning, when you’d enveloped her waist in a tight possessive claim and rested your head on her shoulder beneath her craned head so sweetly she didn’t notice your hand dipping into her pocket and discarding the yellow panties she’s picked out for you that morning, wondering if she’d notice then, or in the car, or in the middle of a lecture with students around to watch her flush and darken with lust. Natasha hadn’t noticed then either, and she’d been standing at the front door, already halfway outside with a thermos of coffee and a yoga mat under her bulging bicep as she waited. She dropped Wanda off at campus on Fridays. You should know. The first time you’d established that the cute girl you were seeing at the gym was your college professor's girlfriend, was on the street corner at 7th and Park on your way to a Spanish lecture. Natasha had all the windows down, but the roof still protected her sports car from seasonal rain, and her hair had been red at the time, peeking out through the windows as the wind blew. She was wild, reckless. Wanda was never that. Wanda had sat in the passenger side of the car with her hair pulled back in a bun. You’d known it was her because her side profile is haunting, encapsulating, delicious. You see her on campus, from down the hall, around the corner, across the parking lots. It’s not a big school, not by any metrics, but its big enough to never have her classes. It’s big enough for you to have swallowed the guilt of fucking a professor to allow you to boldness to leave your panties in her pocket before a lecture.

“Are you okay?” Kate frowns, glancing at you from across the table. You're in the library, a free period granted by your American History professor who actually has a brain on his shoulders and recognizes that sometimes students just need structured time to get their assignments done, or at least started. Your paper is filled with notes scribbled in purple ink, and the document you have opened on your laptop is highlighted with that dusty pink color that’s third from the bottom on the color gradient in Google Docs. Even with the lack of panties between your legs, the wetness you can’t deny dripping onto your denim shorts that feel like a nightmare against your sensitive clit when you twinge just slightly in your seat, you’ve been productive enough to make Wanda proud if she asks how you day at school went. ”You’ve been kind of quiet today.” Kate frowns, her eyes squinting like she’s trying to find an answer beneath the surface of your features. It’s not something that she can directly name. You’ve laughed at all of her jokes, smiled and teased her all like normal, but there's something that hangs over you that she knows isn’t right. “Oh god, is Wanda sexting you?”

Your face flushes. You’re suddenly aware that you’re not empty, not entirely at least. Your core clenches, slick walls pleading for friction, but your ass is full. It clamps down hard on the flared base of a silicone plug Natasha worked into your ass before she’d peeled herself out of bed to take a shower. It’s not one of the bigger ones, not one of the red princess plugs that came in a set of five that Wanda seldomly pulls out for intense scenes you’ve already discussed at length. It’s small, insignificant enough to be worn daily without much interference. It’s more a reminder of control than an interference, but right now it sparks every nerve in your belly and reminds you that you’ve been wanting for days. Four days.

Four days ago, on Monday, Natasha had pinned you up against the wall and touched you for the last time. She’d dipped her fingers beneath your denim shorts because it had been warm enough to bare your legs for her to ogle, and she’d worked you up on her fingers until arousal was dripping down her knuckles. She’d pulled away before you could cum. That was the third time she’d done that. The edging started Saturday night. For no reason. Wanda had come home from a pilates class at Natasha’s gym, which ironically was never run by Natasha but instead of best employee Pepper, who is actually named Virginia, and had taken you on the couch without even consulting Natasha who’d watched from the door frame with yearning eyes. She said nothing when she fucked your cunt with her tongue, her nose inhaling your scent as it bounced against your clit clumsily, and then she’d stopped and walked away like nothing happened, going into the kitchen to finish up dinner that Natash had thoughtfully already started. It hasn't ended since. It happens like this sometimes. It’s days of edging and denial until eventually Wanda explodes, but it’s never been like this before. It’s never reached the seventh day and still nobody’s let you cum. It’s thrilling. You think. Kate’s question catches you off guard. You’re emboldened by their experience, you allow them to corrupt you however they want, but in the absence of their dominating presence, you're just the innocent girl they plucked up off the streets.

“No!” You snatch your phone off the table like if it sits there any longer, Kate might develop a sixth sense for deception and absorb all the contents of your text chain with Wanda. You’d die if that happened. You have a hard enough time telling them what you want in explicit enough details to satisfy their vulgar desires, you wouldn’t be able to look at the Kate the same if she knew what the text said.

You decided to be a whore today, huh?

It’s simple but chilling. Eight words have unraveled you entirely, but you still have twenty minutes before you can sneak away to your car and drive back to Natasha’s house. It’s not their house, despite having been together for six years. Natasha had told the story as such — one day Wanda came over to spend the night and she never went home, the end. Legend has it, the redhead has a highrise apartment somewhere upstate, but she’s never ventured there with you in tow, and you’ve never seen a picture to prove it either. It’s basically your house now too though. Like Wanda, one day you’d gone over to spend the night, and then you’d never returned back to your dorm where Kate basks in the glory of single living. You think she’s pushed your beds together at this point and made a Queen for herself out of the two Twin XL’s, but you haven’t been back to check on the state of your belongings to know.

“She’s just telling me that Natasha wants meatballs for dinner, so she’ll send me money to get something on the way home.” You shrug, and it feels bad to lie, it makes your belly burn with guilt you don’t typically feel so intensely, but with your period four days off from ruining your entire month, you don’t dwell on the intensity of tears thrusting to prick your eyes and you deceive Kate for no reason. There’s no reason to lie, but you find yourself doing it anyway. There was no reason to leave your panties in Wanda’s pocket and risk her job, but you did it anyway. You’re impulsive without them guidinging you. It’s been months since you’ve been distanced enough to remember that.

“I wish Yelena would sugar mommy me.” Kate sulks, and you make a face as if to say they’re not even together, but Kate pointedly avoids glancing into your eyes to find the unspoken taunt. “Who sugar mommy’s you more? Natasha or Wanda?” She questions, and amusement fills your cheeks with hot air as you close your laptop and throw your highlighters and pens back into your pencil case, aiming to start wrapping this conversation up so that you can get home once your phone pings with the end of the allotted essay period.

“Well, Natasha owns her own business and Wanda’s a teacher so…” You break down the logistics of their finances, because it feels imperative that you remind Kate that regardless of anything else, Natasha still trumps both you and Wanda with inconce rates. Kate should know that though, she’s been obsessed with Natasha’s younger sister since your freshman year, and Yelena’s only finally giving her enough attention for lunch dates to be delusionally morphed into plans of marriage. You’re going to hate the day she learns Yelena’s asexual, and she has a better chance of fucking a fire hydrant than the blonde.

“She’s a professor!” Kate interjects, and your eyes roll. “They get paid more, and it’s hotter.” She’s had the hots for Wanda since she took Slavic Languages last semester on a whim after failing Spanish for the second time. You’ve only ever heard impeccable things about Wanda’s reserve when she’s giving a lecture, so even though your blood boils every time you remember other girls think about Wanda the way only you get to have her, you never can say you blame her for fantasizing about the lengths the redhead goes to romantically.

“Neither one of them really sugar mommy me.” You shrug, finding your voice again after Kate. You hope she doesn’t notice how your hips shift against the leather cushion beneath your awkwardly distributed weight, but you don’t think you’re entirely subtle as you attempt to alleviate pressure on the plug. Thankfully, you’re entirely certain Kate doesn’t even know the first signs to look for. She talks a big game, but you’re certain her last kiss was some douche bag at NYU before she was expelled. “I mean, I guess Wanda pays for dinner when we go out, but other than that it's pretty even.” Your words are a breathless huff when you move and the cushion expands without your pressing weight, and presses against the plug when you least expect it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate frowns, once again drawn to how something just isn’t completely right with you. It comes in waves, and it makes her uncomfortable for a reason she doesn’t know. You don’t even notice the way she shifts like she wants to retreat to basic elementary school survival skills and go find a trusted adult to confide in. You’d find it funny that sexual tension makes her uncomfortable, especially because all she does is yearn after Yelena Belova and some girl in her chemistry class named Maia, but it doesn’t even crash upon the surface of your mental shorelines. You’re so far from what's actually happening she could call you out on your horny bullshit right now and you wouldn’t know she saw through you.

You’re not great at being deceptive, in fact you’re pointedly bad at selling a lie even when you believe it fully, but something keeps you on your toes now, something like Natasha’s quick wit and self-preservation skills finally rubbing off on you. You find something in your head that’s not entirely a lie, and it falls off your lips before you can consider the implications of this potentially backfiring on you later on. It’s not a big deal, she’s not going to care that you’re horny because you’re in a lovely, healthy relationship where you try new things, but you’re making it a big deal and you don’t know why. ”Yeah, I just remembered I left the Zyrtec in Wanda’s trunk.”

“Oh, you’re still dealing with those allergies?” Kate frowns, and you deflate in immediate relief that you’ve managed to salvage the conversation and her worries all in one go. You let her guide the conversation from there, because you’re not sure you can focus on much of anything outside from how your clit graces against the inseam of your shorts when you cross one thigh over the other and shift your weight until your thighs become one. It’s humiliating. You’re humiliating yourself without their influence. Your cheeks burn. How have you fallen so far? How did you get to this point? If Natasha were beside you, you know she’d be grinning like a devil watching you squirm. If Wanda were here, you know she’d scold you for being so naughty in public, for being so needy that you can’t even sit still like a good girl while your friend tries to talk to you. They’ve ruined you.

Kate walks you to your car despite trying to part ways at the door. She’s kind as she tells you about all the events coming up on campus that you’re certainly going to avoid going to at all costs, but she tells you any way so that you feel included. It wouldn’t have bothered you any other day, but you’re certain that the crotch of your shorts is a shade of blue darker than the rest of the denim material, and you can’t face the realization of her knowing you’re so honry yoru thighs are slick with arousal and it’s your fault. You can’t help but think that you should’ve never left those panties in her bag, because now your thighs glimmer beneath the sunshine of June, and your arsenal that slips down your thighs in tantalizing beads are like high beams for anyone to lock in on at their own will. You’d never know if someone stole a glance from across the parking lot, if they took that image home with them and got off on it in secret, or if they didn’t even wait, just slipped into their office and worked it out then and there. You hate that Wanda’s convinced you that’s a hot possibility. You hate that it only makes the coil in your belly grow more and more until you’re clenching your fingers into fists and forcing back tears as Kate drags out her goodbye at the driver's side door of your little car with hardly any life left in it.

The commute back to Natasha’s has never felt so bumpy, and you’re ashamed that by the time you pull into the driveway, you’ve broken out into a hot flash that turns your cheeks cherry red and threatens to push you over the edge into a touchless orgasm that shatters you completely. The plug in your ass has nearly been pushed out twice, but the force of your ass meeting the seat as you bump against the unevenly paved highway forces it back into place. It’s never been a distraction like this, but your senses have also never been on overdrive like this away from your bed or the exotic spots chosen by your girlfriends with caution. It feels like there are fireworks before your fingernails, burrowed deep into your cuticles and unwilling to move. There’s an agonizing pressure in your belly that is enough to riddle you with tears and hiccuping sobs. You’re desperate, on the verge of an orgasm from roadside construction instead of your girlfriends, but just like they’d been doing to your body all week, the drive home ends before you reach your peak, and for the millionth time, you're edged and left stranded in the middle of blinding electricity and somebody forgot to flip the breaker.

Wanda isn’t home yet. She should be, but she’s not. A part of you is worried that she got fired, That she pulled the panties out at the wrong place, or at the wrong time, but she’d never texted you again, and you have the slightest hope that if she were facing unemployment she’d at least give you a heads up. When you’d slipped the panties into her pocket, you’d wanted someone to see them, but that thought swallows you up and echoes in the back of your head now like a demon willing you down a tainted path. It’s too late now. You’re already down it.

Natasha is home though, and the light gleams through the window and tells you she’s waiting in the living room. Maybe she’s not waiting though. She might just be watching TV, she might not even know that its one o’clock and you’re never home any later than one-thirty. You push through the front door like it weighs a million pounds, and there’s not one second to consider if Natasha knows what happened today or not. The minute you glance at her all comfortable on the couch, her biceps bulging as she crosses her arms over her belly and hides the handfuls of skin on her hips from you, you know that she knows, and she knows that you know that she knows. It makes your head swim. You want her with a burning passion.

“Oh, you’re home?” She asks, already rising from the couch though her tone feigned disinterest. You swallow thickly, shrinking beneath her stare. It feels so hot, so heavy. She’s unmaking you entirely, and yet she doesn’t seem to give a fuck whether you’re coming or going or somewhere in the middle. Her eyes sweep over your frame, and you know she’s reading every miniscule emotion portrayed across your demeanor, so you try your best to appear unassume, innocent, even if your belly churns knowing evidence of your disobedience stains your car seats now and your inner thighs. Your denim shorts feel heavy around your waist, the center weighed down by arousal that continues to collect. It’s uncountable, sticky. There’s no hiding the difference in hue anymore, sodden denim exposing your desires.

“I’m home.” You whisper, your throat bobbing as you swallow dryly. It doesn’t help anything. Your head is no clearer and you find your words no easier, but you force yourself to swallow again and hope that this time it helps. Natasha quirks an eyebrow, and the uninterested reserve drops entirely as her green-blue stare — you can never decide which color she wears more authentically — darkens into mystical lust that almost resembles charred ashes.

“Were you proud of yourself?” Natasha backs you up against the door. She’s not a tall woman, she’s only a handful of inches taller than you depending on what kind of shoe you’re wearing, but you feel impossibly small beneath her right now as your back meets the hard wood of the door and one of her buff arms comes up to frame the side of your face. It slams against the wood at first, hard, aggressive, aimed to startle you, and then it slides so slowly you think she may be tracking a fly, before it settles on your cheek with a burning weight that has you itching for more. It doesn’t last there for long. Natasha’s never been a woman skilled with stillness. She’s always moving, always finding ways to keep herself busy, so it doesn’t surprise you that she can’t even keep her palm on your cheek for long enough to capture your attention the way she wants. Instead, she trails it down to your throat, and you know then that you’re entirely screwed. She squeezes, not tight, but firm, and your eyes become wide as your reel beneath the easy dominance. “Were you proud of yourself when you snuck those pretty panties into Wanda’s jacket? I bet you wanted everyone to see them, huh? You probably couldn’t help but think about them falling out onto the floor during her lecture, or maybe you thought she’d find them during her meeting. Yeah? While she was sitting right next to Eleanor Bishop talking about you, and your major, and the future of your program.” Your belly is suddenly filled with a weight you know is guilt, and Natasha can see that. She’d aimed to let the reality of your decisions wash over you, and only when she’s satisfied that you’ve sat with the realization long enough does she lean in to kiss you and simultaneously work the button of your shorts open with the hand that's not around your neck.

“I didn’t think-“ When she pulls away from the bruising kiss that makes your head spin and the coil in your belly threaten to wind up again, you desperately try to find confirmation on your tongue that will assure her you’d never wanted anything to happen to Wanda outside of a little frustration. Even then, you weren’t sure what your aim had been this morning. Maybe it was to get her back. To make sure she knows how much this is killing you. Maybe you’d just wanted the attention. You don't know.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it, moya lyubov? You don’t think. You just let this cunt tell you what to do, even if it gets you in trouble. I bet she’s wet, huh? Oh yeah.” Natasha groans when she cups your core through the denim shorts, not even having to attempt to prod at your entrance through the thick layers, she can feel the moisture and heat radiating onto her calloused skin just from the possessive grip she’s initiated. “You’re always wet, always so easy to fuck. It doesn’t take much does it? I bet that plugs been driving you crazy all day, and you thought you were gonna be a brat and outsmart Wanda, but I bet not having any panties on only made it worse, huh, princess? I bet you’ve been wet since you left. Did you break my rule, baby? Did you touch this cunt without permission?”

A gasp falls off of your lips when Natasha cups your core harder, grinding the heel of her palm into your clit just hard enough to move the inseam of your shorts with it, forcing pleasure on you thats too rough and too intense all at once. Tears prick your eyes, but there’s still a question to be answered, and you’re not gone enough to have forgotten that if nothing else, she expects you to find an answer for her. “N-No!” You wail, frustration bubbling up inside of you when the pressure ebbs into nothing and your clit is left unsatisfied again. “I didn’t!”

Natasha’s tuts, clicking her tongue against her front teeth as she cranes her head at you sympathetically. The hand around your throat eventually trails away, cupping your face and then wiping the tears off your cheeks. “See, I don’t believe you, detka. I’m gonna have to check for myself. Open your legs wider.” She removes her hand from between your legs all together, tapping your hip in warning as she gives you space to comply with her request. When you just stand there, floundering for something to grasp onto and pull you through the dark waters with, Natasha huffs. “Open your legs wider. Now.”

You do as she asks, because it’s only natural that you do. You had half a mind this morning to do that exact opposite of what they asked, and yesterday, you’d pointedly avoiding doing what Wanda asked until there was no other choice but to comply or stand beneath her disappointed glare from across the kitchen, but that wingless push of confidence has evaded you now. It’s nowhere to be found even when you try to find the courage to stand up to her in your fingertips.

Your zipper doesn’t stand a chance against the force of her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties until he bypasses your clit and france’s her fingers along your labia. There’s a distinguished squelching sound that meets the air when she dips just one knuckle into your entrance, filling you up for the very first time since Monday afternoon, and you gasp with so much relief that you don’t even recognize the sinister smirk on her lips as she reads your expression like a book she’s memorized dutifully.

“You’re so wet.” She comments, “Are you sure you didn’t touch yourself?” She knows you didn’t. The way you contract against her fingers as she eases another one into your walls and spreads you out like she’s preparing for a game of rock paper scissors tells her that you’ve not had an ounce of real pleasure since the last time she’d allowed it. She thinks it was two days ago. You’re unaware that she’s seemingly lost in a haze of days and mundane adult routine.

“I didn’t! I didn’t! Daddy, please!” You gasp, your back arching off the door when her fingers scrape along your walls. She makes an interested sound high in her throat, like she’s surprised to find that your sensitive there, and does it again, this time with full intention to overwhelm you with pleasure.

”Oh, are you sensitive right there, detka? Is that your spot?” She coos, and it feels so wrong so be treated like this by her. Natasha isn’t soft, but she’s not cruel, and right now she’s wearing Wanda’s condescension with her blonde hair that tickles your cheek when she drops her forehead against yours. “I didn’t know.” She pouts, and you wonder why for a second, but then it makes perfect sense when she pulls her fingers away and you’re left clenching around nothingness. She’s apologizing for giving you pleasure with nothing else. She’s pretending to care that she’s just wound you up for the hundredth time this week and left you high and dry in the middle of a puddle with wild electricity sparking in the close distance.

A broken sob leaves your lips and your hips chase her fingers but its useless. Natasha doesn;t care that you're desperate, she doesn’t care that nobody’s fucked you good in days, it’s not about that right now. You lost the right to her sympathy when you decided to be a brat. Again. She remembers the last time you were in this position. She remembers leaves changing colors and apple cider always being in the fridge because you love it more than apple juice in the middle of October, and she remembers how your ass had gleamed red for days after Wanda bent you over the island because you just wouldn’t watch your mouth and mind your damn manners. It’s been a while since either one of them had dished out a punishment that actually forces you to think about your actions. It’s been a while since either of them have really fallen hard on their swords as dominic acts and truly sacrificed you to the wolves of letting go.

Natasha will never apologize for loving you to deeply to keep her roles separate. She will never apologize for loving you so much, she gives into your pouting face and crying eyes when you just need her more than anything else in the world. Wanda won’t either, and she’s notorious the hardest nut amongst you to crack. None of you care that your dynamics have been muddled with pathetically sweet domesticity and romance for months at this point, but its beginning to catch up with all of you now. You have all of these limits beneath your belts, all of these wild impulses that you only ever indulge in with each other, these kinks and desires are derived from real trauma, and real connection, and real willingness to be the most unapologetic version of yourself no matter how socially unacceptable, and she’s allowed all of you to forget that the beauty of building a dynamic outside of romance is the freedom to hold grudges and correct behavior. She won’t give in so easily anymore, because before you, she never would’ve allowed anything less than perfect obedience and that had been the one thing that lured you back to her workout classes.

“Please, Daddy!” You beg, and Natasha can’t help but smile at how desperate you sound for her already. She’s barely touched you, and she knows that's your problem,that the root of your begging is the pointed lack of attention her and Wanda have been giving you since Wednesday night in her head, but there's nothing you can do about it right now when she has the cards and its her body that pins you to the door and keeps you immobile beneath her.

“Turn around.” She muses without interest for your tears, she’s already wiped them away once, it wouldn’t be the first time she told you to strop cry before she deems it acceptable. Your cheeks always flame when she does that, like its your fault that she’s unmade you to the point of tears.

“No.” You choke on a desperate cry, reaching out to attempt to tangle your fingers into her hair, but she intercepts before you can succeed, and her grip on your wrists is strong as she pins your hands above your head and glares deep within your eyes like she can see every part of your soul and the privilege doesn’t astonish her. It does astonish her. She can’t believe that you;ve given all of yourself to her like this, but who would she be if she allowed you to read the gratitude rolling off of her so easily? “No, I want to touch you!” You cry out, trying to fight her, trying to convince her to let you win. Natasha knows you well. She knows when you’re being bratty, and she knows when you’re just so overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion that you just don’t even process what they’re saying to you. Sometimes she thinks you make up conversations in your head, but she knows that you’re just drunk on sensations they’re withholding and your body is desperately trying to make up for the lack of stimulation however it can. You’re somewhere in the middle right now. It’s not bratty defiance that keeps you and her in a standstill, wasting precious minutes before Wanda gets home, but its not entirely blind submission either. Your trying to keep yourself above the tide, key word is trying, because you’re failing faster than you even register, and Natasha knows if she plays her cards right you’ll be putty before Wanda even gets in the door. You’ll have no idea whats in stores or you then, and she knows you need that. You need to be caught off guard. You need to be grounded, and humbled, and reminded of your place beneath them. “I want to touch you, Daddy!”

“Daddy gets to decide when you’ve earned the privilege to touch me, and you haven’t yet, little girl, so turn around and stop whining before I give you a reason to stick that lip out at me.” The threat hangs in the air before you and it paints your face white with shock as your eyes meet hers with crystals of tears brimming in your waterline. You don’t have to think about complying on your own regard, because Natasha tugs you how she wants you against the door and doesn’t think twice before pushing your shorts down your legs once your cheek is flush with the wood she’d once thought about painting green after moving in.

You gasp when her hands brace against the globes of your ass, not making any pointed moves, but you know what she’s aiming for when she pulls your cheeks apart and allows cold air to assault your dripping, glimmering core. A whine escapes your lips when she drags a finger down the crack of your ass to your entrance, collecting wetness of the pads of her fingers that she then spreads around your puckered hole that holds tight to the princess plug keeping you open. She circles the jeweled base of the plug with disinterest almost, never grabbing at it, never pushing at it, she just circles it to remind you that it's there, that she’s the one who placed it there and gave you firm orders to keep it where it was until she took it out. At least you’d listened to her. She’d know if you didn’t. You can’t get the plugs in yourself, and it enrages you to no end when she’s away on a business trip and Wanda has no desire to pull them out of the closet where you keep all of the toys you cycle through routinely and healthily. This is Natasha’s fortier, it's one of the only things that she can give you that you haven’t learned how to give yourself. She hopes you never get comfortable enough with the plugs to put them in yourself. She hopes you always gasp and squirm like it's the first time anything has ever breached your puckered hole when she bends you over to do it herself from time to time. It’s intoxicating. you’re intoxicating.

The jewel is a baby pink color, shaped like a heart, but what matters most is the shade that you’d never thought specifically about until Natasha leaned in close to kiss you with lips glittering in arousal to tell that it matches the pink of your cunt after Wanda fucks you raw with the strap and she gets to lick you clean. You’ve never been able to keep your composure around baby pink since then. You still can’t now just imagine the sight she’s seeing as she spreads you open for her and fiddles with you however she pleases.

“How did it feel? Wearing this pretty plug to class today?” Natasha asks, leaning in to let her lips trail along the clammy skin of your neck that only aquires a thicker sheen the longer you stand without any airflow on parts of your body that matter. It’s hotter than hell in the house, or at least it feels that way to you, but the air that continuously brushes against your core is cold and unwelcoming.

”We had a study period in the- in the library.” You gasp when Natasha grabs the base of the plug and turns it clockwise just slightly, enough to let your ass feel the stretch of the plug as sit spins within you. The pleasure is intense, but only because anything would be enough to push you over the edge right now. “I— Daddy, please.” You beg when she presses the plug deeper into you once, and then twice, and then it seems like shes setting a tempo as she taps her fingers against the jewel.

“Keep telling me about your day.” Natasha directs, unbothered by your frustration and arousal, unaffected by the fact that she knows it's hard for you to think straight with her hands holding you apart like you’re some object to ogle, not even considering your prolonged frustration and desire. “Be a good girl for me.”

“I couldn’t sit still.” You whisper and your cheeks flame with embarrassment that you know she enjoys every second of. “Gave Wands m-my panties and was so sticky, Daddy! Please, it hurts. It was dripping all down my legs, and I just hope Kate didn’t see. Please Daddy, I need you.”

“Oh, so now you gave Wanda your panties. Spinning the narrative, are you?” Natasha quirks and eyebrow, and she pulls your gaze back to look at her with a tight grip on your hair. You whine, wince, your entire body tenses and becomes a light with electric sensitivity that has you gasping and moaning and writhing against the door with no reprieve. She slams you back against the door, her tongue clicking against her teeth as she reminds you to stay still, to be good for her, you’re not being good right now.

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dropping your face against the front door again when she lets go of your hair and instead grabs the base of the plug and plucks it free from the confines of your ass without any chance to adapt to the stretch or subsequent emptiness.

”You don’t know anything, because all you are is a slut for Daddy to play with.” She sighs against the shell of your ear like this isn’t a new development for her, and your chest burns with shame as you moan and thrash.

“No, please! I want it back, please Daddy. Please, I want it back. I want to feel good. Please, please. I want to feel good, I want you to make me feel good.” You're a mess of tears and pleas when it finally dawns on you that your ass spasms and clenches around nothing — that the only consistent pleasure you’ve found all day, for the first time in a week, has now been ripped away without so much as a soft, fake apology.

“Shh, come away from the door.” She guides you away softly, affectionately — the gentlest she’s addressed you since you first stepped inside the house. You think it’s because she’s giving in, letting you win, getting ready to led you to the couch or the bed nad make up for seven days without relief, but instead she forces you to stand still beside the front window where Wanda’s somehow appeared despite Natasha’s car still being in the driveway beside yours. She didn’t pull you away from the door to cut you a break, or even pretend to feel pity for your tears and quivering lip, but only so that Wanda could come inside and destroy you in her own way. “Hi, my love.” Natasha smiles brightly when Wanda steps inside the house, her hair glowing with the radiance of summer sunrays brightening her naturally vibrant waves. She drops her briefcase by the door, and you notice for the first time that she brought the meeting bag with her, not the bag she brings that had daisies on it and is filled with extra handouts she expects her students to have lost between their last meeting. You hadn’t noticed that this morning. You’d been too consumed with need that was left untouched.

“Hi.” Wanda smiles, drawing Natasha in for a warm kiss that makes you wonder if she’s still frustrated and mad about your disobedience and boldness. It’s evident that she’s still mad when she doesn’t glance in your direction, instead keeping her eyes on Natasha as both of them pretend like you’re not within ear shot. Wanda fishes the panties out of her pocket, and your cheeks burn as she holds them up to the light for Natasha to see clearly as well. “Ten minutes in these and they���re ruined.” She hums, and you whine like you’re incapable of formulating any kind of response or rebuttal. It’s futile, they're not talking to you, or even paying you any ounce of attention, but you still feel the need to interject because you just haven’ t learned that they’re not going to cave yet. That’s their fault, but you’ll learn.

“She was humping my fingers like a bitch before. I’d say she only made it worse for herself. The little exhibitionist was hoping that people would see her. Was hoping someone would notice that she’s dripping down her thighs like a slut. Couldn’t even behave herself and sit still in the library with Kate, apparently she was all over the damn seat trying to rub one out.” The words are vulgar and they cut against your sharply, enough to have you shaking on your feet by the television, hardly even aware of the face that your ass and your hips are in perfect sight for anyone outside to see.

“Oh yeah?” Wanda quirks an eyebrow, and it takes you a minute to realize she’s addressing you. There isn't an ounce of warmth in her tone as she crosses her arms and unmakes you with a cold sweep of her crystal eyes across your half naked frame, but she’s not looking at you like she hates you either. It’s sheer dominance and lust that overcomes her now, and it's a combination you’ve never seen so deadly and aimed solely at you. Natasha's been on her shit like like this before, but never you, never their good girl, their angel who has only ever seen herself over their knee for punishment four times in an entire years long relationship. Someone should be picking up on the signs, but nobody is. Not you, not Natasha, not Wanda. “Come here.” Wanda arches a finger when she realizes that you’re directly in front of the window and don’t even seem to register it. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve toyed with the idea of giving the neighbors a show, but even with the cold reserve she’s giving you, untempted by her love to go easy on you, it unsettles her to take your vulnerability for granted in any way, especially like this. If you seemed to realize you were giving anybody a show, if it seemed like showing off was an underlying current in the scene, maybe she would’ve left you there for a while after realizing, but she can’t stomach to do that now. She’s mean, she’s cruel, but she’s not a monster and there’s still boundaries to her wild fantasies that unmake you from the very inside out.

You only come close enough for her hands to reach you if they try, but she doesn’t invite you any closer when you stop to look at her uncertainty, so you take her silence as rejection and continue to stand on your own — cold, but so uncomfortably hot. “Is Daddy telling the truth? Were you acting like a slut in the library? Hoping anyone could see how wet you were?” She taunts, and the words creep up your veins until they reach the middle of your belly where pleasure and frustration and emotions you’re too hazy to name take over entirely.

“No!” You plead with her to believe you, because it had never been your intention to be anything but good for them in the library, but you just couldn't help yourself when your clit caught on the inseam of your jeans or you shifted just right on the chair, and you’d hoped Natasha would see the honor and integrity in your coming clean, but instead she’d weaponized it into this. You were in enough trouble without her meddling, and it turns your lips downwards, but you never have any leeway to say that it’s more than just the teasing that’s weighing you down, so Wanda never stops to consider your pout or sparkling eyes.

“So now Daddy’s a liar?” She digs deeper; sinks her claws into you unrelentlessly without even touching you at all. She doesn’t need to touch you to own you. You’re beneath the wings of her control so beautifully right now she almost hates to be so cruel. Almost. It’s a fleeting moment of hesitation that allows you to think you’ve found reprieve from punishment for a moment, but then she remembers that this is what she really loves when you peel her layers back like an onion, and just like an onion she makes you cry but you keep coming back for more because it adds something, it spices things up, it makes dishes complete and she completes you. And for a moment you think that maybe she’ll bend, that maybe she’ll wind you up with this teasing and condescension and then she’ll let you down soft, let it all be some elaborate mind fuck that renders you a blob beneath their touch, but then she sets her gaze on the staircase beneath your body, and her jaw is locked so tensely you think she might chip a molar. “You’re digging yourself a deeper hole the more you open that mouth, so why don’t you keep it closed and go wait for me upstairs. I want you naked and on the bed waiting by the time we get up there.”

“But I want—“ You’re ready to tell her exactly what you want. It takes a lot to get you to this point of open communication. You’re their shy girl, their innocent angel that still blushes when it comes to asking for sexual acts from your girlfriends, but they have you wanting enough to throw caution to the wind and scream to the entire town that you’re a whore; their whore. You haven’t been broken down entirely, but you’re so close to the edge of fuzzy bliss that you have no morals to stand firm on. You’re malleable in their hands, and they know how to make you into exactly what they want.

“I didn’t ask what you wanted. I gave you a direction, and I expect you to follow it. Am I clear?” Wanda takes a step toward you. Just one. She’s taller than Natasha. You know this, and you love this, but sometimes you forget that she’s only a couple inches away from reaching six foot, and she towers over you with a completion and complex you can’t even begin to mimic to even unsuspecting strangers. She’s alluring. That’s the simplest way to put it, and she unmakes you even further as she sizes you up and makes you feel small like you’re nothing to her. It’s been a while since you’ve fallen so heavily into these roles. It’s been a while. It’s an echo in your head, a warning to tread carefully, but you don’t see it as anything more than a reason to fight harder, claim victory and finally find release in your center.

Your head bobs — just once. It feels so simple to think about motions as numbers right now. One pass of Wanda’s eyes over your exposed thighs and hips. Two taps of Natasha’s heel on the hardwood as she waits for you to comply with the direction you’ve been given. Four seconds before you realize that Wanda’s waiting for words, and that you still haven’t moved even with your nonverbal acceptance. “Yes.” You whisper when you find the words on your tongue, and you think that it’s going to satisfy Wanda, that maybe she might praise you for finally finding the right choice to make, but instead she clicks her tongue against her teeth, and she cranes her head to the side, and her eyes squint as you like you’ve just done the worst thing you could do; not try at all.

“I know it’s been a while since we’ve played like this, but I didn’t think my angel was dumb enough to forget such a simple rule. Are you dumb, princess? Or are you just too needy to think straight?” Wanda sneers, and your face flushes with heat that makes your belly twist with something sickeningly sweet. It’s all encapsulating. You can feel it in your toes, and your gallbladder, and your left lung all the way into the very back section of your brain that probably does something really important and specific. You don’t know. It doesn't matter. The sky could be green and chickens could be flying, and still all that would matter to you would be Wanda and Natasha.

“Not dumb.” Your voice is breathy, soft enough to be delicate and breakable. Wanda knows you, she knows what you can take, and so she lets her eyes sweep across your body until they meet your eyes, and when she finds nothing but bubbling tension beneath your surface, she hardens her glare and crosses her arms over her chest, forcing her tits farther into your line of vision. She’s wearing a generic t-shirt, but she’s dressed it up with a pair of black slacks, kitten heels, and a blazer that you think she’s probably only worn for the commute there and back. Her bra is black, the thin strap sticks out from the collar of her shirt when she moves her arms, and the cups push her full breasts up even further. It's almost considered sinful by your standards, and that's a hard metric to meet, but Wanda does it without breaking a sweat.

“Then address me properly.” She settles you, and there’s nothing you can do to get out of this corner you’ve backed yourself into, so without any other choice, you submit to what she wants of you, and with that last ounce of control out of your grasp, your brain goes fuzzy around the edges until you’re taking the stairs one at a time at a pace that's almost robotic, but Wanda and Natasha are tuned in enough to know that you just can’t move any faster without your thighs creating friction that gets you in even more trouble. They laugh as you retreat, and the sounds of their echoing amusement following you into the dark, empty and cold master bedroom leaves a chill in your bones that you're not sure is ever going to warm again.

“Yes, Professor.” Your words echo in Wanda’s head even after you’ve disappeared into the bedroom. She assumes you’re doing what she asked, getting further undressed and settling into the bed with full intentions of being good for her, but she gives you time to marinate regardless. She kicks off her heels, kisses Natasha twice, three times, four times, until they’re backed up against the wall ripping off layers until it's bras and panties on both of them and t-shirts scattered on the floor beneath slacks and leggings. They don’t go any farther. As mean as they’ve been, as cruel as they still plan to be, it feels premature to go any farther when you’re waiting upstairs and Wanda hasn’t touched you since Sunday.

She thinks that Natasha took care of you. She was under the impression that you’d been given as many orgasms as you were allowed by Natasha while she was at work, handling end of year papers and exams that she just couldn’t focus on in her office at home. Her absence at home had been planned for weeks, she’d forearnderd you the day before she packed up all her favorite red pens and headed for the office that the next couple of days were going to be long without her home, but you had persevered and she had thought that your lack of whining over text meant that Natasha had satisfied you. Natasha just couldn’t keep the days straight without Wanda home to be nagging in her ear about recycling day and bulk collection day and how Pepper always goes to Yoga on Thursdays so she needs to stop counting on her to get finances in for the pilates class at her gym. She hadn’t realized that the last time she touched you was cruel and unsatisfying and four days ago, she has no reason to dwell on the specifics and she doesn’t even now. Not when Wanda breathes against her lips that she’s so happy its Friday, that she’s so relieved the semester ends next week and exams are two weeks afterward. It’s a small tidbit left undiscovered in a glass bottle on the coast. Her eye hasn’t caught the sparkling reflection of sunbeams bouncing off like warning signs.

Natasha enters the bedroom first. She glances at you, and she almost smiles when she finds you on the center of the bed, naked like Wanda asked, but holding a yellow throw blanket over your body as you shiver in direct line of the air conditioner that points toward the bed. She pads over to the thermostat without saying a word, turning the air off entirely though she knows that’s a dangerous game to play for later on when you’re all hot and sweaty and too tired to peel your bodies out of bed and deal with numbers and math and perfect temperature debates that never get settled but instead mulled over with compromises and grumbles of annoyed and reluctant compliance. For right now, she’s okay to sacrifice future comfort for present comfort, but there’s hardly enough time to take note of her wordless gesture because Wanda comes stalking in after her, and she pushes the door closed with enough force to have the sound reverberating through the bedroom. You flinch, grab the blanket a little bit tighter, and for a moment Natasha frowns, narrowing her eyes, trying desperately to see if there’s something beneath the surface that she’s missing, but your eyes are blown with lust, and you crane your body towards Wanda’s with a yearning desire that is so automatic you don’t even seem to realize you’re closing the gap between your bodies until the mattress dips beneath your ebbing weight and you nearly topple off of the bed.

“Drop the blanket and come here. Edge of the bed.” She clicks her tongue, her fingers too. It’s degrading. It makes your belly do flips and your eyes glaze over. “Spread your legs. Wider. Wider. Stop trying to hide from me.” She growls and the first touch of her skin against you is harsh and cruel and demanding as she spreads your thighs wider and opens up your cunt completely. Arousal drips from your entrance onto the bed sheets, pearls of glittering desperation unable to be hidden between your thighs any longer, and now that the moonlight shines upon those inches of skin too, evidence of lust is painted against your skin and it looks like it’s been that way for hours with the way your skin is red and raw with moisture. It’s pathetic, and it’s so unbelievably hot that Wanda isn’t even embarrassed to moan wantingly.

”She’s dripping.” Wanda hums, glancing over her shoulder to look at Natasha who hasn’t taken her eyes off of you yet, though she isn’t intent on unmaking your inner emotions anymore, but rather watching as Wanda sinks a finger between your thighs, spreads your labia, and prods your weeping hole with a featherlight touch only long enough to collect a bead of arousal on her fingertip and hold it up to the light. She pinches her fingers together, rubs the moisturized pads together until they’re both effectively lathered in slick, and then she pulls her fingers apart like they’re a sizzling mozzarella, and the pull of arousal following both of her fingertips makes your cheeks flame worse than any cheese pull ever has. You whine. It’s desperate, and wanting, and so small, but it only fuels Wanda further. She needs to feel you now. She needs to have her way with you for the first time since Sunday and remind you that you’re hers until the word goes up in flames. “You’re so sweet, princess. I could just eat you, but I won’t. No, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Right now, I’m going to spank that pretty pussy raw, and then I think I’m going to fuck Natasha, and you’re going to watch it happen, and you’re not going to get more than I give you, and you’re not going to break me down, and you’re not going to complain. Do you understand me, detka? This is your only warning.”

You don’t have the words to answer her, so instead your fingers tap against your thigh twice, and for the very first time her lips curve into a smile and she nods like you’ve done something right. “Can’t find your voice? Too dumbed down to think straight?” She sneers, and her eyes are filled with something that you can’t decipher. Natasha knows its pride. She can practically see it dripping off of Wanda as she basks in your obedience even after deliberate disobedience for days on end. Again, neither of them realize that it’s been nearly a week since you’ve found peace with their touch. Again, neither of them realize that they’ve failed to communicate with each other and in turn left you stranded out in a sea you don’t know how to navigate on your own.

Neither of them realize you are giving them exactly what they want right now because it’s the only thing you can think to do to get any ounce of attention anymore.

Your fingers tap against your thigh again. Two times. Wanda nods acceptingly. “Good girl using your signals.” The praise washes over you like a blanket, and if you’d forgotten how you got into this mess at all, you remember now with every sense you have left in your head. The praise is warm, like sunshine or cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven and homemade in the dead of autumn. It wraps around your bones first, just hot enough to warm them for a moment before the feeling travels and it drowns your sensitive little heart in lightness that can only mean good things. It’s a momentary encouragement, but it’s enough to get you further into the scene at least. “Show me what stop is.”

Your fingers tap against your thigh twice, and then you stop, and then they tap three more times. Wanda doesn’t acknowledge you at first, so you repeat the action, and this time she nods with satisfaction that you remember. She doesn’t offer you any ounce of praise again, instead she just sinks behind you on the bed and wraps her arms around your waist until you’re flush against her chest and even more spread out than you were before.

There isn’t a warning before her hand comes down on your core with full force, her palm open, aiming to hit all of your sensitive parts with cruelty. It only takes one hit for you to realize that she wore rings today; more than just the promise ring Natasha had gifted the both of you on your respective one year anniversaries. The sting of metal is conflicting. It’s cold, sharp, what you imagine a venomous snake bite to feel like in the wild when it catches you by surprise and flashes through your veins with lighting speed. It’s a quick sensation, but it lingers on your labia and your clit and your weeping cole that caught the brunt of the friction from her palm that’s always rough with dryness.

Your hips jerk upwards, they chase her palm because the sensation is sharp, and it's painful, but as it ebbs away, it’s so sweetly pleasurable that your core jolts with burning desire to find more, to drown in it until there’s nothing left to feel or process besides euphoria. Wanda doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that your hips jerk, and she wasn’t expecting them to. She doesn’t like that you’re still finding ways to misbehave even beneath her touch.

“Stay still.” She warns, her teeth nipping at your earlobe sharply. It stings, and she never soothes the ache with her tongue, and you whine so earnestly that Natasha almost feels bad, because she’s mean, but not as mean as Wanda, but she doesn’t feel bad enough to save you, and so nobody tends to the ache in your ear, or the pinch in your cunt when another slap doesn’t land in quick succession like you’d hoped. “Can’t even take a punishment. It’s like you’ve forgotten everything I taught you. Did you forget, detka? Do we need to start from the beginning? Reintroduce everything? Do you want to go back to only getting Daddy’s fingers because your tight little cunt can’t handle the strap?”

Your head shakes frantically, and you must look absolutely wild beneath the light that spills in from outside. The city is bright, shiny, dazzling, but Wanda Maximoff is a burning star and Natasha Romanoff is the very universe she explodes in and lights up with brightness that’s too hot to touch let alone look at nad see the full picture without being blinded and breathless and useless and you’re spiraling, you’re spiraling so far down into darkness that your train of thought abandons you and in the very moment that you lose all sense of where you are, drowning the scent ofWanda, and your arousal, and Natasha pacing across the room, apologetic but not enough to intervene, another slap lands between your legs and you howl with pain that becomes licks of tantalizing pleasure you can’t get enough of. You manage to stay still this time though. You don’t jerk, don’t chase her palm. You tense, you tighten, you bite down on your bottom lip until you almost taste copper, but you never move a single muscle.

Another slap comes down, and then another. She didn’t ask you to count them, so you lose count after the sixth. There must’ve been a nineteenth, because that number always makes Natasha laugh, and through thick tears in your eyes you registered her shoulders jostling from across the room before she’d turned away from the sight of you so completely unmade against Wanda’s chest to rummage through the closet. It weighs on you that she doesn’t even stick around to watch you be taunted and pulled apart so slowly and cruelly, it burns in your belly like shame, and for the first time you gasp in pain that has no pleasure, but before you can spiral, grasp onto sensations that have always been beneath the surface, that have fueled your every action since Wednesday afternoon, your brought back beneath the current of lust and willingness to do whatever the the hell they want when a slap comes down on your pussy that perfectly hits your clit. You're close. So close. Wanda knows. Of course she knows.

“Little sluts gonna cum from getting her cunt spanked!” Wanda calls out to Natasha, and your face burns with humiliation when you hear the thick laughter rumble from the closet. She slaps your core again, directly against your clit again, and that’s enough to have you dangling over the edge. You’ll take this orgasm. This orgasm that's going to be painful not just right now, but tomorrow morning when there's no pleasure left and only swollen lips and bruised skin, but for right now you’re willing to take it because it's the only thing they’ve given you outside of half asleep cuddles since Monday.

A gasp falls off of your lips when Wanda’s hand slaps against your clit again, but not with the same cruel pressure. It’s light. Deliberate. Your hips attempt to follow her palm when she retreats, her skin sparkling with slick, but she’s faster than you now, more coherent and intune with her body and its functions. She holds your hips down, forces your thighs wide. Your orgasm crashes over you and then it's gone, ebbing away into waves of pleasure that never dwindle, but never quite crash against the surface either. You’re sobbing, a mess of snot and tears, but no words escape you, and your fingers never tap your thighs, and your hands desperately shoot to Wanda’s wrists and try to pull them back to your core that weeps and drips lips a faucet or a widow, you’re not sure which one it is at this point — an inconvenience or a tragedy.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was just going to let you enjoy that orgasm, did you?” Wanda frowns, cupping your cheeks and bringing her thumbs against the damp skin, clearing away tears that are like diamonds on your flush skin. “Silly girl, you didn’t even ask for permission.” She clicks her tongue, and your brain is too fuzzy to comprehend that she’s blaming you for the ruined orgasm. She’d expected you to ask permission when she knew from the start that you couldn’t vocalize your wants even if you tried. It’s a thick blanket of something uncomfortable that smothers you when you realize that it had been a trap from the very beginning. You can’t handle another trap, another bout of teasing and creautly, but Wanda still has half of a plan to hatch, and you know she’s not going to stop unless you call it completely, but no part of you has the cognition to do that right now. Your brain is muddled, your thoughts aren’t your own, and the only thing you can process is them. Professor and Daddy. Professor and Daddy. Professor. Daddy. You need them. You need them fully and spiritually. You need them sinfully.

“Get on your belly.” Wanda moves away from you until her feet are on the floor and it's just you in the bed that feels too big for just your body. You do as she asks, even if you barely comprehend the task, and let your weight sink into the mattress as you finally lay down. It dawns on you now how tired you are, but Wanda can’t see your face, and Natasha watches your hands closely, but they never tap at your thighs in any fashion. You’ve always spoken up when something was too much. You’ve always used your signals when you were too deep into subspace to drop. She trusts you, and you’re showing clear trust in them, so they keep going, their reserves don’t break, and nobody sheds an ounce of pity as you whine and drip onto the comforter beneath your knees that Wanda props up like you’re just a doll for her to manipulate.

Somebody settles something between your legs, and only when your knees are guided back down and your hips are repositioned do you realize that it's the vibrator Wanda apparently bought three weeks after meeting Natasha. It’s big, and bulky, and you think superpowered though you have no proof, and when somebody flicks it on, you’re not sure who, it nearly sends you flying over the edge before somebody taps the button once, twice, three times and changes the setting to a low pulse that fades and goes at an uneven and deeply unsatisfying rhythm that you think must’ve been invented by a clueless man with no hobbies in life.

“You move a single muscle and I tie you up, understand?” Wanda waits for your fingers to tap against your thigh, even when it takes a full minute for you to process that she asked you a question at all. You tap twice, a silent confirmation of your understanding and acceptance, and so nobody thinks twice before they move on, Natasha pouncing on Wanda and stripping her out of her bra and underwear whilst Wanda does the same with her. They work in tandem. They always have. Wanda moves one way, Natasha moves the other. Even when Natasha’s searching for something dominating in Wanda, allowing her softer edges to shine through, they still move in harmony like its a practiced dance they’re showing you and ever so slowly teaching you. Even though you can’t see them, your face still buried in the blankets as your hips fight to remain still, you can imagine that they’re not moving with any less harmony and unity right now than any other moment you’ve witnessed them in. It makes everything ten times harder to handle, but when you finally do glance to the side, needing air that wasn’t restricted by the fabric that genuinely attempts to smother you in plain sight, you erupt into a whole new world of isolation when you watch Wanda hammer a dildo into Natasha’s cunt while the blonde’s fingers are burrowed between her legs, aiming to pull a quick and harsh orgasm from the redhead who doesn’t seem to have any complaints about not wasting time.

“Please!” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a while, and your throat is scratchy and dry as evidence. You sound utterly pathetic, you look even worse, but there’s something soft about you as you fight to keep your head held up, twitching and jerking and so utterly helpless but in full control of your body. It’s addicting, alluring, intoxicating. It fuels Wanda on, but she doesn’t say a word, just rubs her thumb harder against Natasha’s clit and works the dildo faster, rougher, angling up to hit that spongy part in her walls that makes her head spin.

You can hear the vulgar squelches of their cunts as they work each other to orgasm, but you can’t distinguish which incessant squeak is Natasha’s and which is Wanda’s. They’re both moving too fast, with rhythmic paces that appear chaotic and unorganized to you right now. The soft tufts of hair between Natasha’s legs are red, ginger really, and they curl just slightly when she lets the bush grow out in the winter, but for summertime, her bikini line is cleanly waxed and her mound is adorned in only short strands of coarse hair that Wanda finds intoxicating to run her fingers over in the middle of the night aimlessly.

You’re still watching them when Wanda leans forward and captures Natasha in a kiss that looks bruising and rough and all encompassing, and your reserve breaks entirely when you watch them both come undone in climaxes that look satisfying and rewarding and soft as their fingers move slower and their wrists snap softly and they work each other through the height of blinding pleasure sweetly and tenderly — everything that you want, that you’ve been denied. It’s like they don’t care about you anymore. Do they not care about you anymore?

Suddenly it's hard to breathe, and even though Wanda never followed through on that threat of tying you down, you feel like your limbs are shackled to the bedpost and even though every nerve screams with oversensitivity from sensations you haven’t even been awarded yet, you can’t seem to move away from the vibrator that still torments your clit.

Natasha catches it first, the way you break,the way your knees lose their tension and your elbows unlock and your head drops against the bed like you just can’t bear the weight, and its confirmation that you’ve been off all along that has her rushing to your aid on the bed and quickly pulling the vibrator out from between your legs. “Hi, my love.” Her words are soft, sweet, so gentle you don’t recognize them and you continue to sob, gasping for breath, clawing at your throat, looking at her like you can’t even see her, twitching beneath her hands like you can’t feel them at all.

Natasha pulls you up into her lap, and apologizes when your clit catches on her thigh and pleasure shots through you so intensely that it hurts and you cry harder, coughing, spluttering, probably covering her with splatters of saliva but she doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t close her eyes and try to avoid the spray of your unruly emotions. She just lets you feel, and she lets herself feel, and she grounds herself in this moment because how did she not see it before? You’re never bratty. You’re never blindly disobedience nor are you rash or sexually impatient enough to do something as bold as slip Wanda your panties.

“It’s Friday.” Natasha blanches, her eyes trailing toward Wanda. She doesn’t let go of your cheeks, but she recognizes that you can’t hear her right now, that over the blood rushing in your ears and the sensitivity in your core not just from arousal but from Wanda’s unrelenting spanks too, you can’t even begin to process anything she’s saying. “I… I knew it was Friday, because I drove you to work, but I was convinced it was Wednesday because Pepper rescheduled the newsletter. Fuck.” Natasha pales, but Wanda’s still confused. Wanda still doesn’t know that you haven’t been properly touched in a week, or shown any kind of affection really, and so while she has sympathy and concern for your state, and her heart aches wondering where she went wrong, she’s not picking up on what Natasha’s trying to get across to her.

“What?” Wanda stalks closer. She’s unbalanced, slightly wobbly, but she doesn’t let it bother her anymore than she can control. You’re her entire priority, her entire world, and Natahsa’s scaring her immensely the longer she dances around the truth in burning shame and personal disappointment.

“I.. the last time I touched her was Monday. Did you let her cum at all?” She whispers and Wanda’s face pales, it’s her turn to realize that they’ve neglected you for days after scenes that warranted aftercare all on their own, let alone when they were strung together so closely and pointedly. She’d wanted to drive you crazy, she’d wanted to fuel you up, but then life had gotten busy, and it’s no excuse, but she’d forgotten all about your sexual escapades because it was just easy to move on with you. You take what life throws at you, and you always do it with a smile on your face — even when it’s breaking you apart.

“No.” Wanda shakes her head, and her hair falls over her shoulder and tickles her cheek as it sways and shifts with the motion of her head. “No, I told you to let her cum. I thought you did. Oh, my baby.” Wanda frowns, rushing the bed with a desperate urge to feel you and protect you. She can see it now, what she couldn't before, or perhaps didn’t want to. The blind devotion, the emotional withdrawal, the attitude and bratting. All the signs were there in theory, but you were just too damn good and appealing to their every desire. You were too damn good at sacrificing yourself for them even when the entire premise of your relationship is to do exactly the opposite. “It’s all done, moya lyubov. All done. Come back to me.”

It doesn’t happen right away. Not for a couple of minutes. But, eventually you begin to recognize hands on your cheeks, and you recognize hands on your lower back and thighs. Wanda touches you everywhere; wherever you can reach. Natasha stays in one place, she never moves, never even brushes her thumbs against your cheeks to clear your tears, she just holds your cheeks and keeps your eyes on hers even when Wanda moves around in your perphieral vision.

The ginger appears entirely calm, cool, and collected in your peripheral and hazed sense of cognition, she always appears so perfectly put together, but you know that she’s not somewhere deep inside of you. That small voice of reason doesn’t find a way out in this moment, instead, you drown in the promise that Wanda knows what to do, that Natasha won’t let you fall, and that they’re the only things that exist in this entire world even if they’re mean. that’s all you can think. Mean, mean, mean. You’ve stopped crying, but then your bottom lip begins to tremble again, and Natasha makes quick work of shaking her head and guiding you back to calm collectedness.

“Can I ask you a question, honey bee?” Natasha whispers, scared to hurt you, to scare you, to break you anymore than you already has. She recalls how you’d flinched when Wanda slammed the door unnecessarily and her heart clenches. She should’ve stopped the scene then. She should’ve trusted her gut in that single moment and stopped before it got to this point. Before it broke you so sinfully. She may like to see you cry, but she hates when it’s because she’s hurt you, failed to see you fully like she promised she always would. She loves when you tremble, when you twitch and jerk beneath her, but not when it’s from anxiety, when it’s because you’re so on edge and wound up that you don’t even know how to regulate your own emotions without her full guidance and attention on you. Wanda fares no better, but she can handle the mistake with grace because she has to, but Natahsa’s one tear away from joining you in your deep pit of darkness — dom drop. Wanda’s about to be playing a dangerous game if she doesn’t get the both of you under wraps before chaos really ensues.

“Natalia.” Wanda cuts in, and your eyes shot to her in alarm, a whine falling off your lips at her harsh tone. Wanda melts beneath your attention, scooping you up into her arms and leaving Natasha alone on the bed and still half dressed. “Idi, perevedi dukh i prinesi yey stakan vody. Tebe nuzhno uspokoit'sya, poka ya ne poteryal i tebya, ladno? (Go take a breath, and get her a glass of water. You need to calm down before I lose you too, alright?)” Wanda lets the words fall out naturally, like it takes no effort to switch back to Sokovian Russian and dance with Natasha intimately and personally. It dazzles you, it’s the first true glimpse at relief you’ve felt, and Wanda’s not lost on how you always seem to fold whenever her native tongue or accent comes out. You’re worse when its Natasha, and there’s evidence in your reaction as you whine and melt into Natasha like you’re just a little kitten desperate for warmth.

“I’ll be right back, printsessa.” She whispers, and her words are husked with a twinge of Russian that drives you absolutely crazy and clears the fog in your head just a little bit, but not enough to earn your voice back or pull away from Wanda’s chest at all. You nod, blink slowly, and grab at Wanda’s bra strap desperately until your knuckles are white and there’s no chance she can leave.

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize sooner, angel.” Wanda whispers once Natasha is out of earshot. Natasha may not be an outwardly emotional person most times. You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen her cry, but you’ve learned that she’s more sensitive to failure and human mistake than Wanda is. If you were any clearer headed, you would’ve recognized that she’s beating herself up over this, but you don’t, so instead you just accept Wanda’s apology and believe her when she follows up with a whisper of, “It’ll never happen again.”

When Natasha comes back, she’s carrying two glasses of water and a protein bar that she only makes you eat when you don’t have enough energy to fight her because you hate the chalky taste. She feels like an asshole for bringing it to you now, but she always worries about you eating enough, call it a Russian stereotype, and she definitely would have brought Wanda one if she thought the ginger would’ve humored her for a second and even grabbed the bar when she handed it over. You weren’t as tuned into your surroundings, your cheek flush against Wanda’s chest as you cuddle as close as you can into her, desperately leeching her warmth. That’s another sign she missed, or maybe wanted to ignore. You’re always hot, their little furnace, but the second she’d come up to you shivering and hiding beneath the yellow blanket, she should’ve known something was wrong. She can’t change it now, and she can tell that Wanda’s already amended all that she can when you’re still so floaty, so she doesn’t waste time on another apology when you’re only half awake as it is, mindlessly chomping your teeth together because she’d fed you a bite of the protein bar when your eyes were closed.

“Off.” The first word off off of your lips is a breathy plead for more contact with Wanda, and she doesn’t hesitate for a second before she’s reaching behind her and unclasping her bra with one hand, freeing her breast for you to cuddle into all while Natasha merely admires the sight like she’s never seen it before. Not Wanda’s breasts, although she does spare a couple of seconds to admire them, but just how tender you are with them, how you let yourself be loved and comforted even when they caused it. She doesn’t deserve you, but she cherishes that you picked her regardless of her worth.

“Take a sip of water.” Wanda coaches when Natasha raises the glass to your lips but you refuse to drink, keeping your lips firmly pressed together and your hands on her breasts, squeezing, touching, just trying to feel as much as she’ll let you. She shifts when your weight becomes too much for her thighs, pins and needles shooting through her limbs, and you gasp when your clit catches on her thigh, and you're reminded of the sensitivity that is simultaneously blinding need. “Nu uh, not tonight, my love. Tomorrow I’ll make it all better, but we’re all done tonight. You were so good for me, so good, but it’s time to rest, so have a sip of water, and then were going to lay down and rest our eyes. We’ve had a long week, huh? You just need some cuddles and sleep to make it all better. I know. I know everything, baby girl. You never have to think when I’m here, so just stop, okay? No more thoughts, take a sip of water.” Wanda pauses, waits for you to comply, and when you do, greedily gulping down half of the glass when you realize how thirsty you are, she smiles. “Good girl. Such a good girl, my perfect girl. My best girl. That’s it, one more and then we’re going to lay down.”

You push Natahsa’s hand away after the last sip you take, feeling full and probably very buoyant fi you tried to go for a swim out back, but you don’t even think to move when you realize you have to pee, or that Wanda and Natasha haven't peed yet despite always going after a scene. You don’t have the entry to remind them, and Wanda, the stickler of the two, doesn’t seem to mind, so you don’t say anything that doesn’t need to be said. She guides you down into a laying position, soft and slow, cautious of the sensitivity in your head after so much crying. It makes you dizzy regardless, and you whine into her chest as she shifts and gets you comfortable.

“Shh, I know. I know. You’ve had such a long day, my brave girl. It’s all over now. All you need to do is close your eyes.” Wanda’s fingers tickle your back, gentle patterns that mean nothing but hold the potential of everything luring you to sleep until you jolt with sudden anxiety, reaching out for Natasha who seems too far away and too clothed.

“Off.” You huff again, and she laughs, but this time not like she did before, when it was cruel and mean and uncomfortable to handle and stand beneath without wilting. It’s soft now, charming, that laugh that fills you with light and love and energy, but there’s no energy right now. You’re tired, burnt out. You settle equally into her chest and Wanda’s when she takes her bra off, throwing it onto the floor to be added into the laundry later on along with your clothes and hers and Wanda’s that are still downstairs in the living room in a heap.

When your eyes finally close, and you fall asleep, you don’t wake up until one o’clock the next afternoon, but Wanda and Natasha are still beside you, wrapped up in bedsheets and t-shirts that drown them and conceal their chests from sunlight. For the night though, their skin is yours to feel fully beneath every inch of your body, because it had been far too long since they gave into this instinctive pleasure that keeps you all going. Never again would they let a week pass without prioritizing this — you. You’re everything to them, and Wanda tells Natasha as much before her eyes close, sleep winning the battle as you breathe deeply and evenly between them.

[aubvrns]

she’s so sassy gf

this is a face you can easily piss off

[aubvrns]

if you stay, i’ll soften ✦ wanda maximoff

everyone wonders how you two got together. if only they could see the little things that make you grateful to call her yours.

୨ tags: fluff, hopeless romantics, sfw and slight nsfw, dorks in love, fluff, girlfriends in the compound, stolen kisses, wanda maximoff being the best girlfriend, fluff, freakiness, did i mention fluff? ୧

─────────────────────

— girlfriend!wanda who secretly owns a journal written with all the things you like that you’ve mentioned betore. at night with you in her arms, she gently slips away to write how you like your coffee. soon enough, she’ll memorize.

— girlfriend!wanda who has hairties on her wrist just in case you need to tie your hair. she prefers her hair down, but she knows that you get irritated when your hair is all over the place. hell, she even ties your hair for you in exchange for a kiss. dork.

— girlfriend!wanda who always wakes up ahead of you. you’d prefer if she’d sleep in, but you know she’ll wake you up by kissing your face or somehow ending up on top of you as she lies down with her phone in her hand, watching instagram reels.

“your phone’s so loud, might as well use a speaker.”

“good morning, beautiful.”

— girlfriend!wanda who can‘t go to sleep properly unless you’re beside her. even if you have different rooms in the compound, you always sleep together. limbs tangled, you talk about everything and nothing at the same time. by the time you talked about a time where you saw bucky without his metal arm for the first time, her breathing slowed, her head against the pillow with her arm across your waist.

— girlfriend!wanda who calls you “dude” as if you didn’t just have the steamist makeout session of the year. you would stare at her blankly and she would steal a kiss, proceeding to call you dude.

“dude, i swear you have to stop looking at me like that."

“maybe i don’t really mind being called baby.”

— girlfriend!wanda who pretends she doesn’t like having her picture taken when in reality, your pictures of her always have her smile reaching her eyes. she folds when you practically threaten her to smile, causing her to smile.

“smile or i’ll hide all your sitcom dvds.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

— girlfriend!wanda who isn’t into pda but her hand always finds your lower back. whether it’s guiding you through the busy streets, calming you when you’re anxious, or just needing to feel the warmth of your skin. your spine always tingles when she does it, biting back a smile.

— girlfriend!wanda who took almost a year before she told you about how she felt it when pietro died. it was a topic no one even dared to ask her about until you found yourselves on the rooftop, with just the stars and the moonlight. you stayed silent as she talked about it, playing with her rings that layered on her soft fingers. you were the only person she talked to about it, and now, you always bake two cakes on her birthday.

— girlfriend!wanda who took you to italy as your first travel out of the country together. you two binge watched the white lotus and fell in love with sicily. the sight of you, the piercing light of the sun, and the clear water was a dream come true. plus, she got all smiley when you asked her to apply sunscreen on your back.

— girlfriend!wanda who always sends you the most random texts wherever she’s not with you. she believes she has this keen sense of observation and sees what other people miss. during missions where she’s from a distance, you’d wake up with your inbox filled with her texts.

[1:43 AM]

w <3 : do you think frogs get sad???

you: what???

w <3 : like when people get scared of them and run away

w <3 : i would be so offended

w <3 : also i miss you. and your ears.

you: thank you, babe. please get some sleep.

w <3 : omg did you just call me babe

you: sleep.

[2:10 AM]

w <3 : if you’re a frog, call me princess tiana.

seen

— girlfriend!wanda who gets turned on when you pull her hair during an intimate moment. she becomes feral when your hands find her ginger locks when she has you on the wall, messily kissing eachother. there was one time when you gripped her hair firmer than usual, she fully moaned against your ear. needless to say, you never lived it down.

— girlfriend!wanda who is such a boobs girl. ugh. she just loves coming back after a mission and immediately burying her face in your chest. she loves the feeling of it. soft and comfortable between her hands. whether it’s against hers or what, it just stares at her and she can’t help herself.

“i’d start a cult for these. there’d be a rule where you aren’t allowed to wear a shirt when i’m home.”

“oh my god.”

— girlfriend!wanda who gives the best head scratches ever. when you put your head on her lap during a steady evening, you fall asleep to the feeling of her hands on your head, scratching slowly. she also plays with your hair and literally talks to it, whispering things like “you’re so pretty.”, “you smell like vanilla.”. to your hair, mind you.

— girlfriend!wanda who’s love language is physical touch, whether she’s giving or receiving. she’ll never admit that she tears up slightly when you hug her. both of you stay like that for as long as you can, not letting go. your hugs are something she wants all to herself. call her greedy for having you, but it’s true.

“wands, we have a mission briefing in twenty. we have to get ready before natasha kills us both.”

“five more minutes.”

— girlfriend!wanda who has a habit of tracing your face when you’re asleep. she has your features memorized, just like how she memorized your coffee order. every freckle, the curve of your jaw, you wake up to the sight of her fingers lazily tracing your face. when you called it cute, she blushed and rolled her eyes.

— girlfriend!wanda who’s afraid of losing you. the simple thought of it scares her. you complete her, in and out. she always makes you promise to stay alive when you go on a mission. when she’s with you, she insists on protecting you rather than fighting itself. she’s afraid that your hugs will soon be a memory. you assure her that you are safe and that you’ll be okay, kissing the worry off her face. she gets calmer when you do. when you love someone, the fear of losing them is the price of it all.

— girlfriend!wanda who loves you so much. though she comes off as playful, her love for you is as if you hung the moon for her. she stares at you too long, keeps her journal neatly hidden in her drawer, always gets your coffee right, smiles in pictures, and calls you dude when you accidentally pull her hair. when wanda maximoff loves, she’s willing to pick herself apart for you if it makes you happy.

─────────────────────

[aubvrns]

there, beneath

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader summary: fame hit fast for Wanda Maximoff and so did the mistakes. One night of recklessness and a single phone call shattered everything she had with you. warnings: this story contains sensitive themes including alcohol poisoning, death, and implied cheating. reader discretion is advised. word count: 7472 a/n: if you are struggling, please know you are not alone, reach out to a trusted person or a mental health professional. my dms are always open, your well-being matters <3

general masterlist

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No, I won't be afraid

Oh, I won't be afraid

"Just as long as you stand, stand by me." 

Every breathing person's piercing eyes are situated at Wanda Maximoff. 

The lights illuminate every curve of her face, the rose-colored lights and hues of blue made its way into her face, casting a mystical light on her beautiful features and despite the dim lights of the bar, she glows splendidly. 

She looks magical underneath all the stage lights, with her fingers wrapped tightly upon the mic, her mouth forms easily as she sang the lyrics of your favorite song. You watch her closely, watch how her chest moves slowly, intakes of breaths, the bobbing of her throat, the low tunes of her voice.

Owing to the fact that while everyone is looking at her, Wanda Maximoff has her eyes set on you.

Her green eyes are settled on you as she sang the song you deeply love, the low baritone of her voice comes out breathy and feathery, her voice sways alongside the harmonious sound of the song, tunes of soft notes consolidate with her angelic tone making everything magical. 

Your heart flutters as you watch her sing, her eyes stayed on to your figure, tucked in the corner of the room, you can clearly understand what she wants to say as her voice occupies all the spaces of the dim lit room. 

When the song ended, her voice fading out of the room, Wanda quickly gets off the stage and briskly walked towards you. The corners of her mouth twitched up as she quickly jogs and wraps her arms around your figure.

You giggle, "That was the best performance ever." 

Wanda blows out the stray of hair dangling in front of her face, "That's weird, I am the only one who performed in this bar." 

You give her a sheepish smile, bumping your shoulders playful at hers, "Why? Can't I compliment my girlfriend?" 

Wanda blinks then smiles widely, she pats your waist, her arms tightening around your body, she mutters quietly, "Of course you can, baby."

Then she leans in, capturing your lips as she tries to memorize every inch of your mouth. The hands wrapped around your body easily moves towards your cheeks, caressing it tenderly, her thumbs drawing soothing movements around your skin making you sigh against her lips. 

You fisted the jacket she wore tightly, eyes closed as you taste her flavored cherry mint balm, you heard her sigh, comes next is the feeling of her nose brushing softly against yours. 

"God, I love you." she mutters, kissing your forehead as she leans back to look fully at your face.

You shy away from her stare, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I hung the moon and stars." you uttered.

"You did hung the moon and stars for me." she casually declares, her warm hand clasp around your cold ones, intertwining your fingers with hers as she pulls you towards her.

"Come, I want you to meet someone." she gives you a reassuring smile, squeezing your hand firmly. 

Wanda easily navigates you through the crowd, stopping each time someone recognises her, saying she did a good job, words of compliments for her as you watch how her face lights up in every word a stranger shares. 

You love her, too much.

She's a woman born to be a star, born to let the world hear her angelic voice, she's destined for greatness and watching her slowly progress to a place she deserves with you made your heart thump too merrily. She had always promised to be with you in every milestone she takes and you grasp her promise tightly closed in your chest, giving all your trust to her oaths and promises because you knew Wanda would always hang onto her words especially if it's the words stated for you.

"If it isn't the star of the night!" A booming voice resonates prominently around the bar, making your eyes settle onto a man in a suit with bold tailoring, glasses placed coolly on his face. 

Just by his aura, you know he's rich, arrogant, maybe sassy. 

"Mr. Stark, pleasure to see you here." Wanda replied, her smile plastered calmly on her gorgeous face. Your figure hides behind her, trying to not let your presence be known to an intimidating man.

"I had to be here, right? Newly signed artist in my company, it is just right to see you perform in a well-known bar." the Stark man declares, his eyes flickering over yours for a second then shrugs off your presence as he settles on Wanda's figure. 

You froze on his words. Signed. Artist. Of course. But why would she never share this good news to you? didn't she promise to bring you to every milestone she had reached?

Wanda notices your stiff posture, she winces at the words. Squeezing your hand once again, she pulls you beside her, "Mr. Stark, I want you to meet Y/N, my girlfriend."

Stark's grin widens, "Oh! The inspiration to all your lovely songs, that's great. Pleasure to meet you. Keep doing your job as her girlfriend, you bring her too good music." his voice sounded practised, fake, phoney but your heart still fluttered on his words. 

You let out a tight smile, watching as Stark says his goodbye to Wanda and moves on to a blonde woman. You are left alone with Wanda in a place too crowded, their voices combined with your loud thoughts as your breathing slowly fastens as each seconds passes by. 

Mindful of your sudden change in breathing, Wanda instantly wraps her arms around your shoulders leading you out of the bar, she mutters soothing words, kisses your temple, her eyes flickering over every second all while steering you away from the crowd. 

Outside, the chilly air of the night splashes into you instantly, making you intake a breath so cold and icy. You blink under the light of the moon, aware of Wanda's silence as she lets you take in the change of surroundings. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Wanda sighs, "I'm sorry, I didn't know he would mention it. I was supposed to say it tonight, i had dinner planned for the both of us, I also brought this promise ring to give you but now you're upset with me so I don't really know—"

"Hey, hey," your body turns instantly, gripping her hands as you kiss it gingerly, "I'm listening, no need to rush."

Wanda's eyes blazed with affection, her chest constricts painfully at your understanding eyes, thinking how did she end up with someone like you — so magnificent, deserving of all the universe. 

She nods, "Sorry, I– um– I love you,"

You smiled.

"I just– I want everything to be perfect with you, I didn't mean to keep this as a secret, Stark signed my contract yesterday and I immediately wanted to tell you this good news but then I want it to be special for you, for the both of us." Wanda's voice wavers and she deeply regrets the stumbling of her words, she wants it to be strong, firm, she doesn't want you to doubt the words she had said.

Your hand grips her cheek, she nuzzles into it immediately making the corners of your mouth turn heavenwards. "You don't have to make it special for me, it's your good news. Do it for yourself."

Her head shakes, her auburn hair weaving gorgeously along her shoulders, "No. It's for the both of us, it's for you. Every milestone with you, remember?" 

"With me?"

"Yes, with you." leaning in, Wanda takes your lips tenderly, kissing you under the moonlight as the chilly air surrounds the both of you, fighting with the warmth your chest is blossoming with. 

"Always with you, detka."

Always with her. Absolutely, you would always be with her, no questions asked, no doubts. Even if it means waking up in the early mornings of the day just to accompany her in a studio, listening to her sing the songs she had written for you, watching her record it, eyes glazing as you finally see her dreams finally come into life. 

She would always grin whenever both of your eyes meet, the glass only the barrier in between you two. You would always see her eyes closing as she let out the tunes she had made, her voice soulful with the lyrics she had delicately written. You would never get tired hearing her voice especially if it's with a song sung for you.

And as days passed by with you in the studios, the songs she needed to record slowly dwindled down to zero, and you are left to face a painful farewell for your significant other. 

"I will be calling you 24/7, even if I'm tired of all the promotions they want from me, I will make time for you," she firmly said, her eyes settling on your shiny ones as her thumbs softened the skin under your eyes. "You can come with me, detka. You know that."

"I know." 

"And yet you refused to be with me."

Your eyes snap at her green eyes swarmed with dejection and hurt. 

"I can't — I can't take a gap year in college, Wan. You know that. Even if I'll start late in college, the time spent with you in exchange for my studies would never suffice the time I want to spend with you." 

Wanda's eyes soften at your words, she musters up a smile, nuzzling her nose into yours as she kisses you slowly, "I'm sorry for asking too much."

"You are not. It just that, I want to spend time with you forever, it's just better to settle your dreams first, our dreams. And then we could be physically together." Resting your forehead into hers, you peck her lips, "I will visit you, you will visit me. Everything will be fine."

Sighing, she repeats your soothing words, "Everything will be fine."

Everything was fine. 

Wanda clutches the promise she had made with you, she had called in the time she would always promise, sending you pictures in every place she had visited in New York, making you wish you're not stuck in a small town with small dreams. Life was blissful despite the distance in between you and Wanda.

"I miss you." she declared on the other side of the line, you could hear her slow breathing and the rustle of her blankets.

"I wish you were here." you replied, eyes glazing over the night sky. 

"New York would be so much better with you here, this sucks. I miss you too much, I wish I could just snuck inside my phone and kiss you." she rambles, you could see the furrowing of her brows as her mouth forms a pout.

You chuckle, "Me too, me too."

Silence ensues, only the faint white noises of her room surround your ears. Then she suddenly mumbles, "I love you, you do know that right?"

Your heart jumps, "I know, I always know."

"Thank you for being with me, detka. I really love you."

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn't.

"Baby, hi." Wanda's voice muffled over the loud blaring of music in her background. Your face grimaces at sound, wanting it to just be your girlfriend's voice.

"Can't hear you, Wan." you replied, eyes blinking as you tried to make out the background noises.

"Sorry, I'm at a club right now. Stark wanted me to meet someone." Wanda shouts over the line, her timbre of voice swaying slightly as you hear her laugh over something.

"Having fun?" you ask quietly.

"Absolutely — Hey, I have to go. I'll call you later?" 

Later never came.

I miss you, Wan. Can I call? you asked her over the text.

Her reply came two days after. Sorry, super busy. I'll make it up to you, promise.

That too didn't come. She never tried to call, completely forgetting the promise she had made.

Her fame gradually increased as her songs were publicly released along with the demanding promotions she had faced, the frequent calls she made with you became nonexistent, the pictures with long paragraphs of her adventures turned into just pictures and then to nothing. 

I hope you're doing well, Wan. I saw the charts! Congrats! I love you : ) Call me if you have time? 

The last message you have sent remains unread.

It was a month of radio silence from her and you completely understand. You watch her life through the photographs circulating online, how she looks just like your Wanda but completely different. Her eyes are sunken, her cheekbones are more prominent now than before, her red eyes say it all. So, you understand her busy life. It was her dream to be known to the world, you let her break the only promise she had made because it's her, it is Wanda. 

This is for her, she's doing this for her dream. So, you let her break your heart. 

When she finally called, it was in a different number. Her voice was hoarse, she was crying, weeping, her hiccups swallowed the words she's trying to say. You tried to comprehend her blurry words, your chest constricting painfully at the sound of her sobs.

It has been months since you had heard from her and when you finally heard her, it was painful.

"I'm sorry, please. F–forgive me, baby, please." she hiccups, then her sobs resonate in your ears, making you close your eyes tightly.

"What happened, Wan. I'm here, tell me what's wrong." your voice was soft, calming a raging wave of sadness from your partner.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me." she pleaded again and again. You let her say it a thousand times, asking for forgiveness for something you had not thought of, maybe it was the radio silence of hers. But you have forgiven her the minute it happened. 

You let her repeat the words of forgiveness, letting her take out all the emotions she had bottled. Oblivious to what is coming next.

"I was drunk." she finally says.

Your heart dropped.

"I was intoxicated," a hiccup comes next, her breathings are swallowed and heavy, "I woke up with someone and—"

"Stop, can you please stop." You pleaded.

A minute ago she was the one pleading, begging. Now, you were the one telling her to stop. Begging her to take back what she had just spurted out. 

"No– no, you have to listen–"

"Fuck you, you left me alone, Wanda. With no calls and texts and now you're calling me crying because you fucking fucked with someone when I'm miles away?" your voice glowered heavily, "Fuck you."

"Baby, it was a mistake. I was drunk, she was a mistake, she is a mistake. I was not thinking, I was not–"

"You are my fucking mistake." you let your words settle heavily on your phone, the angry timbres of your tone sounds dangerous and then it just sounds pathetic and sad. 

You had let her break your heart again but this time much more painful. 

Pain was an understatement of what you are feeling. Is there a word worse than pain? If so, that's what you are right now. 

You ignored her calls, her texts, the packages she had sent. Your living room fills up with different sizes of boxes from her, you ignored it, donating it to the ones who would benefit from it. How could she just kiss another woman, much more make love to another? 

Are you not enough?

Maybe distance plays a role in this too. Of course, she would feel lonely. You never visited her and when she asked to visit, you would always decline due to conflicting schedules. It was like fate mocking you, screaming at you that this has not been working for months. You are just turning a blind eye to it.

Maybe you were at fault too.

If you had just been enough for her, she wouldn't do this. She wouldn't find another woman, she wouldn't even think of doing this. Drunk or not, it was still painful. She still did it, she had asked forgiveness through a fucking phone call. 

Was that what you deserve?

Being cheated on and then getting her apologies from a call?

Wanda knew you deserve more than a phone call, she booked a flight, a week after you had ignored her. She had given you time, time to grieve, time to think. And in those times, Wanda was scared and fright engulfs her whole being at letting you be alone with your thoughts, with no clear explanation from her.

She knew it was unfair to ask for a chance to speak her side. Nothing really happened, she didn't remember anything. But that was not enough, was it? She had given you damage, too big of a damage to hope for things to be better.

A knock comes at your door, it was faint, hesitant. The warm early lights of the sun trickle heavily on your open windows, cascading a balmy air into your apartment. 

Despite the balmy weather of the day, you can't help but feel a chill run down your spine as your eyes settle onto a familiar green eyes. Wanda stood outside your door, flowers in hand, her eyes were red and puffy, the mascara she had worn was smudged and there's a tight smile plastered around her face.

"Y/N, can I please—" Before she could finish whatever words she had practiced, your hand works fast as it tries to shut your door in her face but significantly fails as Wanda manages to get a hold of it.  "Y/N, please."

"What do you want, Wanda?" you asks, your voice wavering slightly at the sight of her pleading eyes. 

"I want to explain."

"Do I even need an explanation, Wanda? You cheated, what's there to explain?"

Stumbling to catch her fleeing words, Wanda sputtered aimlessly as she tries to explain, "That's the thing, I didn't cheat. I swear, nothing happ–" 

"Nothing happened and yet you called sobbing. What? Are you trying to be an actress now, is being a popstar not enough for you?" the harshness of your voice cuts deep into Wanda's scarred heart, her face falling as she glazes with dejection and regret. 

"That's not it," she whispers, you see the tight clutching of her fist. "I– we were celebrating at a club. Tony got drunk so Happy needed to take him home. I was left alone and this–this woman kept on making me drink and I can't refuse because she–she, Tony said I needed to be on her good side."

Your jaw ticked, "You're using your body now in exchange for fame?"

Surprise dawns on Wanda's fatigued face, she blinks, registering the words you have just said and then sadness looms over her features.

"Y/N, I wouldn't —"

"Go home, Wanda. Take some microphone and sing your heart out, that's what you're good at, right?" 

Silence ensues, "That's not fair." she mutters.

"What is not fair?" At this point you're just tired of hearing her voice, tired of trying to comprehend what went wrong and why did this have to happen.

"You can't just throw our relationship away just like that—"

"Are you kidding me?" your voice raises. "You're the one who threw our relationship away, Wanda. You're the one who cheat–"

"I didn't cheat, we just slept together in one bed. Y/N, baby, pl–"

"Get out. I don't want to hear any of it," you fired back, tight and leaden. "I don't want to see you, get out."

Wanda stumbles on her feet as you harshly pushes her back, her hands manage to swiftly wrap your wrist tightly, pulling you close to her, arms snaking around your body. You thrash from her tight grip, trying to unlatched her arms chained into your whole being, unwilling to let go. 

You felt her shoulders shake as her sobs ring out your surroundings, your arms fell slack hearing her cries as she tightens her hold on you, "Please, please. I didn't do it. You have to believe me." 

Sympathy blooms in your chest despite the betrayal she had made, hearing Wanda cry always has a strong grip on your heart. It's like putting alcohol in a gaping wound, it breaks your heart to hear her plead endlessly even though it's something out of hurting you. 

"Okay, okay. I'll believe you, you have to let me go." your voice is quiet, the edge of it wavering slightly.

"No. No, I won't."

"You have to let me go." your voice wavers, hands fisted on your sides as you feel her hands on your head. Caressing it gently, her lips on your temple as she whispers her love and devotion to you. 

"Do you believe me?" Her voice was whisper-like, strained.

"I do believe you," you stated, feeling the slow untangling of her arms. You quickly move back, watching her wipe her tears as she gazes over you, the shaking of her hands making its way into your sights, you darted your eyes away. "I believe you. You didn't cheat, okay. I forgive you but whatever we have is over—"

"No, that's not–"

"It's over." your voice hardens, staring directly at Wanda's green eyes. Her face fell, contorting into regret and confusion. You step back, hands gripping into your door as you watch her, blinking away the tears, you turn your back and slam the door shut.

Signifying the end of yours and Wanda's story.

It was not easy. Moving on from a relationship you had thought that would last longer, you watch her on the television. Her life is moving forward while yours seems to be stuck in a loop. 

That's not fair. 

Everything is not fair.

"You have to get out of your room, Y/N. You've been here lurking, when was the last time you had seen the sun?" Carol's voice echoes throughout your room, you shrug her off. 

Bottles of alcohols spreads throughout your room, a clear reminder of how you cope.

Closing your eyes shut as you fade out the voices in your head and the lingering sound of your television, you body felt the coldness of your surroundings.

"Hey!" you scream, eyes furrowing as Carol raises her eyebrows at you, holding your blanket tightly away from your body. "Give it back, Carol."

"Stop being pathetic and get your shit together. Wanda cheated on you and she's out there partying her life out in every tabloids while you're here rotting. Do better." she snaps, glaring at you.

"I'm trying." your voice is low and quiet.

"Well, try harder. Do it for yourself, jesus." Carol moves away, her soft footsteps reaches out into your ears as you dart your eyes away.

"Wanda Maximoff, the rising popstar, has been—" 

"I'm gonna throw your television away, I swear to god." Carol groans, reaching towards your television to shut it off.

You quickly get off your bed, stumbling hard as you yell, "Stop, stop. Wait—"

"..hospitalized just this morning. Her management has not yet given any updates but has confirmed the critical condition of the singer." 

Everything seems to stop, Carol's breathing seems to be louder now and more prominent. Your eyes searches for Carol's wide ones, seeking balance in a world crumbling so fast. The blonde woman curses under her breath as she jogs towards you, panic rising as she sees how your breathing stumbles painfully, hands wrapping around your shoulders, "Breathe, she's fine. She's okay, Y/N."

"No, she's— something happened. I have to be there."

"You can't, stay here. You are no longer in her life—" you yank your figure away from her, figure frantic as you throw clothes after clothes in a bag. "—stop, what the fuck are you doing?" 

"I'm gonna go, Carol. I–I have to. Wanda, I have to–" Carol clutches your shoulders tightly, her face etched with worry.

She mutters, "Okay, okay. We are gonna go but I want you to calm down first. Breath, darling, please." 

"Please." You begged the nurse, "I'm her girlfriend, I have to see her." 

Jetlags don't exist when all you could think about is Wanda. Pictures of her spreading around the internet, news of the sudden downfall of the rising singer. Begging at the nurse to let you visit Wanda was the very first thing you did upon arriving at New York. 

The nurse gave you a tight shake of her head, "I'm sorry, miss. We have been getting different people claiming they're family, it's just for security measures." 

"But I am her family, I can show you pictures," you hands quickly searches inside your pouch, hands flailing everywhere as you search for a specific polaroid picture, "I— I have pictures, sorry. I have many in my phone, look—"

"Y/N?"

Whipping your head around, your chest heaves out a sigh at the sight of Tony Stark, "Tony, is she okay?" 

Tony manages to flick his eyes over the nurse to give a nod of approval, his ears bombarded by your desperate voice as you asks many questions in a quick span of minutes, "Calm down, she's stable now."

"What happened?" you asks quietly.

"Alcohol poisoning. She has been drinking all the time." Then his eyes hardens at you, "It's you, right? The reason for her constant drinking."

Your feet stumbles back, "We broke up."

"Clearly, she stopped writing songs." Tony tilts his head, tongue clicking inside of his cheek, "Fix this, Y/N. I invested everything for an unknown girl in a small town. Don't waste my efforts and her efforts to achieve the dream she wanted just because you can't suck up a simple fight."

"It's not a simple fight, Stark. She–"

"Doesn't matter. If you love her, fix this. She's throwing her whole life away because of you. Get your conscience working and fix this."

Fixing. You're good at fixing things that have been broken by others. That's your specialty, to disregard your needs and settle to fix the needs of others. This should be easy, right? To forget she cheated in exchange for her to stop harming herself. It would do you good, to fix her, to fix things, to fix everything but your broken heart.

Caressing her cold hands as your mind drifts off to her actions, her betrayal, restraining yourself to wince or even possibly shudder at tenderly touching her hands, your eyes scans her tranquil face. Eyes deeply shut, the rising and falling of her chest gave you the relief you never knew you needed. Despite the disgust looming at the corners of your chest, she is still the woman you have deeply fell in love with.

Wanda stirs, the beeping of the monitor reaches into your ears as you watch her carefully. Her eyelashes fluttering, green eyes staring right back at you. 

You let her ingest the image you projected, surprise settling on her face as she tries to sit up but winces at the sudden pang of ache on her head. 

"Lay still, you need to rest." your cold voice echoes at her empty hospital room.

"Why–" Wanda gulps, staring at you deeply, her eyes eyeing down the grip you have on her hands, a tinge of pink spreads at her face. "Y/N, why?"

"You poisoned yourself. What were you thinking? You'd think I'll forgive you if you die? Never, Wanda. Keep that in mind."

Your words hurt but it soothes her to see you with her, holding her hands like you're afraid she'll vanish into thin air. Let it be selfishness to feel happy you're concerned despite the betrayal she had done but she would gladly grasp that selfishness if it means to be with you again.

"I'm sorry." her voice came out hoarse, it scratched in her throat painfully.

You nod at her, standing up as you lean down, collecting your things. Wanda sits up swiftly, ignoring the throbbing pain of her head, panicking at your actions of fleeing.

"Y/N, wait." she uttered, holding your wrist tightly. 

"I need to go home." you replied.

"Can you please stay?" Wanda pleaded, her eyes on the verge of tears as she tightened her hold on you.

"Why?"

"Let's talk, please."

You sigh, "There's nothing to talk about."

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I can call Val right now, she could tell you nothing happened between us. She just let me sleep in her room, nothing really happened. I was just so scared when I called you, I had to tell you. I can't do anything without you, Y/N. Please."

You dart your eyes away, unable to look at her broken face, "You said she was a mistake. You're lying, I just know it."

"She was, I was not supposed to sleep in the same—"

"Wanda, you can't pull shit like this. You can't cheat and then poison yourself. It's unfair to me. I still love you and you knew I would come running back to you if you got yourself harmed." your chest heaves out. Wanda's heart sinks as she lets herself drown with your words. She can't think of any excuses to let you stay with her, she's running out of ideas and it's making the panic inside her rise. 

"Then run back to me. I'll be better, I'll do better. I love you." she begs, her face leaning in your chest as she wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer to her.

Your arms lay slack beside you, "You should've thought of that before touching others. Let go of me."

"Please, don't make me do this."

Your chest staggers, "Do what?"

"Be with me then I'll stop drinking."

Your face fell. She can't possibly say this, right? 

"Fuck you." your voice hardens, yanking your figure away as you glowered at her. "Fuck you."

"You… are you okay?" Carol greets you, taking your pouch out of your hand as she leads you swiftly into the couch. Her eyes scans your tear-stained face, the quivering of your lips makes her want to rip out the one who caused you this much pain. 

"Y/N, talk to me. Did something happen?" she asked once again, kneeling in front of you as she grabbed your hands laying steadily on your lap. 

"She — Wanda, maybe it was a mistake, Car." you started, eyes welling up. 

Carol leans back, anger pooling down her face.

"Mistake? Do you think cheaters make mistakes?" she snaps. "What did she say, Y/N?"

"Nothing." you quickly answered, eyes flickering away as your hands shook lightly. 

Carol's face darkens, standing straight up, she asked in a dangerous tone, "What hospital is she in, again?"

You gaped at her, eyes wide as you clenched her wrist tightly, "No, she— she said she'll stop drinking if I take her back."

Carol's mouth sets in a hard line, a muscle in her jaw twitches as she tries to calm down the leaden feeling of anger bubbling in her chest. "She's threatening you? What the fuck is wrong with her."

"Maybe, maybe, it was a mistake. She told me they just slept in the same bed."

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Carol scowled, "Do you really believe her? She just threatened you, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. Pack your things, we're going back home." 

When silence ensues, Carol whips her head to look right back at your unmoving state. Frozen, time stopping as you watch unmovingly in a wall settled in front of you, no sign of following Carol's actions. 

The blonde woman's jaw went slack, "Are you serious? you're running back to her? Y/N, are you serious?"

"I had to, she– She'll drink again, she will do it, Carol."

"Then let her do it. Let her ruin the life she have, let her fucking do it." Carol took a step, grabbing your hand, forcing you to come with her but your body remains unmoved, unpaced. 

"Y/N, why would you… why?" Carol resigns, her eyebrows furrowing so deep. 

"I'd rather have her than nothing at all." you uttered quietly.

Quiet surrounds Wanda's hospital room, its white walls and cold temperature didn't help the loneliness she had felt, it runs deep in her veins along with it are guilt and regret. She hadn't meant to say those words to you, watching the downfall of your face, the crestfallen expression you have given her were enough in wanting to take back the words she had muttered. 

She didn't mean any of it, the desire to have you, to be able to be with you, was just too heavy for her to handle. She just wants you back, the weight of it latches into her being driving her to say those words, to make up anything to make you stay.

She hadn't meant to be this… bad. 

She just wants you, she will do anything to have you back. She'll villainize herself if she had to.

"You're up early." Wanda looks up to stare at Natasha's half-smile. 

"Yeah, can't sleep." she replied, sighing as her mind drifted back to you. "Nat, have you– have you contacted Val?"

The redheaded woman sat beside Wanda's bed, her expression solemn as she shook her head, "Got blocked. She's pissed at you, by the way. Good thing she signed the contract that night so she really can't back out now." 

Natasha has been Wanda's right-hand woman, trusted by Tony, a loyal worker at his company for so long, it's not gonna be a surprise if months from now she's gonna take a much higher position in the company but that would be up to Wanda's popularity. If Wanda succeeded, Natasha would be too.

Then Natasha gazes at her, eyes curious, "Why do you even need to contact her?"

Guessing Wanda's expression was not hard for the redhead in fact it was so easy that her eyes widened at the thought, "You have a girlfriend, you're guilty."

She continues on, "You fucked Val? Is that why she's pissed? I thought you just ran your mouth dirty at her. What the hell, Maximoff."

Wanda groans, "We did not do that. I did not remember anything at all."

"Doesn't mean nothing happened. She's pissed, you two clearly did something." Natasha then leans her back, her eyebrows scrunched up, "You cheated with your girlfriend. The media would eat this up, cheating scandal always outrages the public. Who's the girlfriend so I could contact her, asap."

Wanda's head throbs at Natasha's reverberating voice, "She's from my hometown."

Wanda could see how the redhead visibly relaxes at her words, "Oh, thank god. So, she's a nobody."

"She's not—"

The knock cuts deep into Wanda's blossoming tensed energy, her eyes lingers on the door as Natasha walks up and greets the woman outside Wanda's room. 

Green eyes stare at yours, blown and wide, you awkwardly stare at the redhead before you. Doubt claws its way out of your chest as insecurities dangle within it. Natasha, ever the bright woman, notices the shift of atmosphere, she excused herself, leaving you and a green eyed woman alone.

Wanda wants to run towards you, to meet you halfway, to fall in her knees and beg but she remains unmoved, her eyes following the hesitant steps you took towards her. Then, her eyes settled on your face, guilt engulfed her, seeing your eyebags prominent, no lightness casted upon your features, it was just dark and sad. 

"Y/N, I'm sorry." she started, voice whisper-like. "I didn't mean to say those words."

"What are you trying to do, Wanda?" you asks.

There was no exasperation evident on your voice, no tiredness, no sharp edges, it was just a genuine question for her to answer.

"I–"

"What are you trying to do?" you asked once again. 

Wanda lets out a shaky breath, her eyes welling up with tears, "I just want you back."

"Okay."

Wanda whips her head up, pupils dilated as her chest thumps wildly, "Okay?"

"You'll have me back," you declare, voice hardened, eyes piercing right at Wanda's. "You'll have me back after a year."

"Baby, I can't do that."

"I don't care. Do it. I want to see your songs doing well, I want you to continue writing, to stop drinking, to be better. I will forget what you had done if you'll do this."

A year. It's too long for Wanda, she'll be back again chugging drinks after drinks just by missing you. She can't do this, months without you was enough for her to be hospitalized what more for a year? 

Will she be dead by then?

"Your wants will not be followed here, Wanda. You betrayed me, you can't possibly think I'll take you back just like that?" you uttered, the look on Wanda's face made your heart sink, it's doubt, hesitation. "You have my word. We will be together after a year, I just don't want to lose you."

"Is that a promise? Only a year and then we'll be together, here?" Wanda finally muttered, she reaches out for your hand, caressing it softly.

You nod, "Every milestone with me, right?" 

Wanda's chest staggers, her heart beating wildly as she nods quickly, pulling you close, her arms wrapping instantly around your body. 

You remain slack, of course she wouldn't notice the bitterness in your words.

Anything could happen within a year and Wanda achieved all of it quickly. Sweeping awards everywhere, charts all on top, her songs coming in like a big wave crashing through the crowds. 

Her only motivation was you. 

It was torture, no contact from you, the only thing she's holding on was your words, your promise to be with her. She remembers it clearly, the conversation in the hospital, the joy she felt after finally having the assurance of being with you. 

"We'll meet at the bar, the one where you sang my favourite song. Do you remember?" Wanda remembers clearly that bar, the song, the notes of it, everything. So, she nodded, leaning in as she kisses your cheeks, sighing at the contact.

That was the last of it, the last of your words before you flew back to North Carolina, leaving her alone, her heart clenching on your promise. She never touched another drink again, never took a sip of it, even looked at it. She avoided it all, focused on becoming better for you. She behaved, became the most beautiful version of herself, just because of you. 

The weight of the guitar hanging low on her body snapped her out of the trance, she eyed the crowd in front of her, a faint smile playing in her mouth as she grabs the mic and lean towards it.

"This song is a favorite of the most important person in my life. She loved this so much that she would beg me to sing it every single time and I never got tired of it." she started on, her eyes shining with tears as the longing for your being starts to pool down her chest. "This song has been engraved rightfully in my heart and soul."

Then her eyes settled in front, "I love you, you know that, right?"

And then tunes of melodies surrounds the place.

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No, I won't be afraid

Oh, I won't be afraid

"Just as long as you stand, stand by me."

Wanda's voice trembled with the words slipping out from her lips, quiet and uncertain. Her eyes remained pinned on the crowd before her, shining stage lights dulled low for once—nearly like they understood this wasn't a show, not exactly. The guitar lay against her, her fingertips touching the strings with more trepidation than sound.

Her fingertips trembles under the strings of her guitar, the longing, the heartbreak, the painful thrumming of her chest reverbates throughout her whole being, just as she was about to continue singing, a painful sob broke out of her. 

Wanda takes a deep breath, her eyes settled onto the crowds in front of her, her voice trembling as she once again continued forming her mouth to let out melodious tunes of the song, of your favorite song. 

She dared not glance to her left.

She couldn't.

If she did, the dam would break.

The heaviness in her chest had been building for weeks, crushing and relentless, but she pushed on. She owed it to you, to the promises she'd promised and broke and the ones she never got the chance to keep.

Her fingers stuttered along the frets. She drew a quick breath, straining to force past the constriction in her throat, to continue the melody. But it wasn't a song anymore, it was a memory of stolen nights, whispered words, your voice humming the chorus against her skin.

The first tear escaped before she realized it.

Wanda still didn't glance to her left.

She attempted to play again, but her hands were shaking too hard now, each chord becoming brittle under her fingers. Then, finally, her eyes betrayed her, pulled, like gravity, to the center of the room.

To the white flowers.

To the candlelit photo frame.

And only then, softly, like a last note in a dying song, the truth came home, you weren't in the crowd at all.

Sadness clouded in Wanda's features. She sets her eyes out for the crowds, never at you, never at the open casket settled in the middle of the premises.

Anything could happen.

Anything.

Anything means breaking the promise you had forged in her heart.

She should've been the one to promise you not to drink, it must be her karma. Fate must be laughing at her right now.

Minutes from now you're gonna be there, beneath her, beneath in the ground, away from her, out of reach from her.

It was in the tenth month, october. A single phonecall was enough to crumble Wanda's world.

"She's gone." It was Carol's voice that greeted her.

Confused, Wanda asks, "Y/N? Is she going somewhere?"

"She's dead, Wanda." 

She could clearly remember the painful blaring of her ears, the ringing of it as her mind stops midway, her heart beating out fast and painful. She remembers not breathing fine and then muffling Carol's voice. 

"She must've gotten the idea from you." Carol's voice reverberates throughout Wanda's ringing ears. 

"She must've thought she could understand the thing you have done if she had done it herself." 

Wanda stepped back, clutching the phone so hard it was going to shatter in her fingers. Her legs buckled beneath her, but she braced herself on the kitchen counter's edge, a harsh breath rippling between her lips like a shattered sob.

"No," she whispered, the sound shuddering out of her lips as if it could reverse reality. "No, she—she wouldn't—”

"She did," Carol broke in, her tone harsh, thick with controlled anger. "She stepped into the line of fire, Wanda. Just vanished, just like you did once."

Wanda's eyes flashed, the burden behind them tugging at tears she could not yet let free. Everything seemed distant like she had been yanked underwater and everyone else stayed behind at the surface. She felt her lungs filled with water, every breath she took felt like a fire, burning, sizzling in every corner of her chest.

“She told me," Carol went on, voice shattering under the pressure of unexpressed sorrow, "—that if she could see your pain, perhaps she'd know why you left, why you cheated, why you broke her."

Wanda's breath hitched like something like a glass is stuck in her throat.

"I didn't mean to," she murmured, barely childlike. "I am better, if she— if— I’m sorry."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, again and again.

It was pathetic, really. Fragile. Helpless against the snowbank of quiet that lay in wait for her. But it was all she could do. Two words, quivering on her lips like a surrender flag held far too late.

Because what else was she supposed to say?

I loved you but broke you.

I was better, but not in time.

I thought there would be time.

But none of that mattered anymore.

So she said it again, quieter this time like if she spoke it gently enough, maybe it would travel across the wind, down through the earth, and reach whatever corner of the universe you now called home.

“I’m sorry.”

Because that was all that was left of her now—regret in a red coat, a voice without a stage, a promise she kept too late.

And even if the stars wouldn't reply, even if the grave wouldn't answer, she would still say it.

Until only a memory was left of her voice.

general masterlist

[aubvrns]

holy shit, jackpot

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

Synopsis - Woken by a late night call, you find out why Wanda wasn’t home yet during this hour.

Tags - Fluff, Grumpy x Sunshine (But Sunshine’s just Sunshine because she’s drunk), Partying, Drunk in Love, The Avengers discover alcohol, Soft Wives on Soft Sheets

Note - Bob as a club owner was not on my 2025 bingo card. Might make Thunderbolts* headcanons soon!

Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night, waking you from your deep sleep. The rain poured tremendously outside, its deliberate sound against the windows made you groan, putting a soft pillow on your face.

Wanda was supposed to be back at this hour, but when you extended your hand to her side of the bed, it remains cold. The room was too quiet without Wanda, the thought alone made you think about her whereabouts.

The buzzing sound from you cellphone never left, cutting through the still air of silence. With a sleepy sigh, you picked up: it read;

spider in heelz

is calling...

You blink, answering instantly. The last time Natasha called this late, you’d let it ring. But something tells you that this time was different, especially with Wanda still not home.

“Nat?” You murmur, your voice thick with sleep and the groggy sound of exhaustion.

You hear partying and the faint sound of Last Friday Night by Katy Perry in the background, and glass breaking while someone asks for more beer. You could feel the joyous celebration from the phone, and a chuckling redhead laughing before eventually looking at your concerned and worried face on the screen.

“Y/N. Hey. Listen. I love you. You're amazing. Are you doing— doesn’t matter. We need you.”

You squint your eyes at her drunkly said words, practically feeling the breeze of vodka from her lips. You sit up straighter. “Are you okay? What happened?”

A raspy cough leaves Natasha's throat as she chuckles at someone beside her, assuming it’s Yelena based on her green pocket-filled jacket she was wearing that caught your eye.

“Wanda’s drunk.” Natasha announced like she was declaring your future. “Like super, mega drunk. No one’s sober enough to drive her home, so I called you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

An amused chuckle escapes your lips, already putting on your sweatpants, out of bed. On the other side of the screen, Yelena sneakily takes Natasha’s phone from her hand with Kate by her side, singing along to some remix being played. You say hello to the two, half-asleep, already fighting with your tangled shoelaces.

“Lena, where are you guys?”

“We're at The Void. You should come!” Kate giggles, putting the phone so close to her mouth it made you jump. Yelena mutters something about how scared she is if ever Ava phases and secretly takes a sip in all their drinks.

“Okay, just stay alive. I’ll be there in ten.

—

New York City is a city that never sleeps. The Void, however, filled the nights with neon lights and music you could hear from a mile away. Ever since its owner, Robert Reynolds, established it last month, it became one of the famous spots in the city known as ‘The club where Thor Odison made his personal rage room’.

You step in front of the large building, earning a sympathetic look from the bouncer when he realizes who you are, smiling at you before opening the gates of chaos. When you walk inside, a spotlight finds you as soon as you enter.

“Y/N!” Someone screamed from a distance as the music blared in your ears.

“Oh god.” You muttered under your breath.

You reminded yourself you could always leave them to fend for yourself, but you remember how easy Wanda gets drunk. You let out a heavy breath, scanning the room. Your steps were firm as you approach Natasha. She was beside Bucky, talking deeply as he massaged her hand to fidget amidst the chaos, nodding as she talked.

Yelena, Kate, and Ava were beside them playing cards. They laugh loudly when Kate starts calling her mother because she lost.

“And the lights just went out! Just as the best part of the movie comes— Y/N!”

Natasha jumps at you and hugs you tightly. You let out a gasp, holding her still as she wobbles. “Wanda’s sooo drunk. She started talking to the plant next to Steve and calling it the better Captain America.”

You wince as Natasha tugs you through the club with Bucky following behind, his metal arm casually slung around your shoulder.

Your eyes spot Steve and John having an arm wrestle. People were around them, placing bets about who they think’ll win.

Sam, who looks like five minutes from passing out, sits comfortably against the wall with Pietro, who has a tilted party hat on his head like a crown.

These are the mighty Avengers?

Then you see her— your eyes spot your wife, slouched and out of this planet.

Wanda, who was slumped over a table staring at her reflection in a half-empty glass with cranberry vodka held steadily by Carol, singing Fireworks with her whole chest.

It wasn’t the first time Wanda was drunk like this. Since then, she wrote a long essay dedicated to herself about how she won’t ever, in the name of peace, drink again.

“Sweetheart?” You approach her after assisting Natasha to the nearest couch, but she stands up again and runs to sit down with Sam and Pietro.

Wanda looked up, eyes glassy. She was intoxicated, the way her face flickered with confusion.

“Uh, do I know you?” She mumbled, taking the glass from Carol and drinking the vodka inside, nose scrunching at the bitter taste.

“Seriously?” You sit beside her, carefully taking the glass away from her. She examines your face for a couple of seconds before touching your cheek.

“You’re pretty, like a finished painting with all the right colors.”

“Thank you, we’re married.” You say, deadpanned, putting the glass on the nearest table.

“We are?”

“As far as I know.”

Wanda blinks at you again, letting it sink in and whispered, “Holy shit, jackpot.” and tries to kiss you but you tap her lips instead.

You smile, hooking your arm under Wanda’s and pulling her up as she whines. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Wanda clung to you instantly, her scent wrapping around your senses as she hides her flushed face against your arm. “You smell like rain and cozy sheets, wifey.”

“Because it’s pouring rain outside. I was sleeping very peacefully before you turned into a frat boy.”

“You’re so sexy when you’re mean.”

You sigh so deeply it could extinguish a candle from across the room. You turn to find the three still sitting down against the wall like college students who tried weed for the first time.

“I’m calling cabs to pick you guys up, okay?” You say loudly to Natasha, who was now playing cards with Yelena and Ava, with grumpy Kate watching them.

“Thank you, our angel sent from heaven!”

—

You got Wanda home in one piece.

On the drive home, she kept opening the window, sticking her head out and saying that it was ‘her way of paying respects to mother nature’.

Wanda immediately kicked off her heavy heels the moment she entered your house. Then flopped down to the soft, velvety couch face-down

“Darling,” You call softly.

“I live here now.”

“You’re sleeping in bed.”

“Says who?”

Your eyes roll, removing your own shoes and placing her purse on the counter. Then, you drag her upstairs, wrangled her in the bathroom and handing her a toothbrush.

“Have I been kidnapped? Are you really my wife?” She says slurrily, the toothbrush still in her mouth as your hands stretch a hair tie, your fingers meeting her red locks and tying it into a cozy ponytail.

“Tomorrow I won’t be.”

Wanda pouts as she rinsed and spat. Then she hugs you like a koala sleeping on a tree, about to fall off. You swear she looks like she's about to cry. “Don't say that, krasivyy.”

You pause at the way her voice trembles and how her arms wrap around your waist like you’re going to run away from her grasp.

God, she’s so drunk.

It took about ten minutes before you got her ready for bed. The teasing grin on her face when you removed her shirt is still there as she clung to you against the cold sheets, poking your cheeks.

You called cabs for the others, putting your phone down to finally get the well- deserved sleep you’ve needed since you stepped inside that club packed with people dancing their problems away.

“You’re mad at me.” Wanda traces circles on your hip, her delicate hands intentionally brushing the swell of your butt when you hug her back.

“I’m not mad. Just tired.” Wanda kisses your shoulder, pressing more kisses until it reaches your face, softly— and slowly— lingering on your lips.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow. Naked.”

You laugh despite yourself, being pulled by Wanda closer as the redhead presses more kisses and nuzzles against your collarbones.

“Next time you decide to get drunk and forget me, at least text me first.“

In the dark, with your limbs tangled underneath the cotton sheets, heartbeats soft in your ear, Wanda whispers one thing before sleep took her.

“If I don’t make it to the bathroom in time, just remember, I love you.”

A bucket sits nearby next to her side of the bed on the ground, just in case she wakes up from her dreams of drinking more vodka. And you, always composed, always patient, just held her tighter in hopes that she won’t pull away from the sheets that smell like rain.

“Go to sleep, idiot.”

[aubvrns]

vampire elizabeth olsen taking trash agenda

[aubvrns]

elizabeth olsen... playing a vampire... who seduces people... and drinks their blood...

needless to say, i am so ready. 🫣🙌

[aubvrns]

lose the attitude, darling

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

Synopsis - When Wanda comes home distant and cold, your quiet evening turns into a silent battle for her attention.

Tags - Hurt/Comfort (Because, yes), Light Angst (Just light, don’t worry) Eventual Fluff (Happy endings for sad people), Mentioning something that tastes better than your cooking (Because I am, in fact, a freak)

Note - Notice a certain pattern for the titles of my works for Wanda? Hehe.

It started with the thud at the door.

You thought Wanda had accidentally banged her head on it because she was too tired to notice that there was, in fact, a door. But instead, you weren’t even greeted as the witch walked right past you.

No greeting, no surprise kiss to your cheek, nothing.

You knit your eyebrows, contemplating if you should run after her and beg for her to tell you what's wrong. Unfortunately, you were glued to finish cooking her favorite food. The faint scent of her favored pasta and the silent hum of the stove filled the air, basking in the silence.

After you set the table, you walk towards the living room, seeing a certain brunette with a frown on the couch, scrolling on her phone.

“Hey, dinner’s ready.” You spoke softly, leaning against the doorway. Your brows raise in anticipation, waiting for her response.

But instead, she doesn’t even look at you. It was as if she didn‘t hear you at all. Your fingers drum against the door, waiting patiently.

“Wanda?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Wanda gave you a short glance, before resuming the typing on her phone again. You tilted your head, knowing she just came home from a mission and is probably hungry, offering the smallest of smiles. “Are you okay?”

She let out an irritated sigh, “I’m fine, just need to finish something for work.”

You feel skeptical, biting your lip, trying to figure out what could be wrong. “Wanna talk about it or should I start drafting a resignation letter?”

Rolling her eyes, “Not in the mood.”

That was her warning, but you ignored it. Stepping behind her, your hands find their way to her tense shoulders. You kneaded gently, easing her annoyance.

“I can save you a plate, or you could join me— if you’re done with the attitude.” You say softly this time, smiling even though she couldn’t see it.

She scoffs, “Don’t baby me. I’m not a child.”

You’re acting like one right now.

Your arms are still on her shoulders. The tone wasn’t new, but it was still oddly unfamiliar. Being incredibly distant was her brand, until it convinces you that she's okay and she doesn’t need you hovering.

You weren’t going to give in to her attitude, instead, you give her one last rub on her shoulder before walking away. “Whatever suits you, then.”

The kitchen welcomed you quietly as you put Wanda's plate away. You stared at it on the counter as you eat your pasta, taking small bites. You lost your appetite, but you can’t let the food go to waste.

Minutes of quiet had passed, the wicked witch of the couch finally decided to join you. She opened the refrigerator, getting herself a bottle of water before sitting to the chair across you.

“Hey, you.”

You said softly. In the sweetest tone you can, but still, no response.

What could possibly have her attention when she has her insanely hot, sweet, and desirable girlfriend right in front of her?

You huff in annoyance, before standing up to get her plate. Luckily, it was still warm enough to eat. You slide it gently from her with a fork, hoping it at least make her look at you.

Still, niente.

“Wanda.”

“Mhm?”

“Please eat.”

“The food’s not going anywhere, isn’t it?”

Your eye twitched. She was like dealing with a child, moreover, an child who’s glued to their phone. “But it would be nice if you could eat it while it's still warm. I worked really hard on it all evening.”

She didn’t even flinch.

You let out a breath, “Are you really being like this?” Amidst your frustration, your tone was still soft and patient.

“Being like what? You’re the one acting like you can’t live without my attention when I’m clearly busy.” Wanda said sharply, her words like a dagger to your throat.

“Fine.” You grab her untouched plate and put it on the counter. “I’ll put it away until your royal mood swings pass.”

You put your plate inside the dishwasher, letting out a quiet sigh. Her attention was still on her phone, typing away.

You decided you’ve had enough. If she wants to ice you out, fine. You wouldn't beg for scraps of attention.

—

You gave her space. Hours of it.

And it worked. As the night dragged on, her scrolling slowed. As you sat on the couch reading your book, her glances grew longer as she sat on the opposite end of the couch. Her stubborn attitude slowly caving under. The silence felt thick, it was hard to tell if she even cared anymore.

Finally, for what felt like an eternity of silence, you hear a shift on the couch.

“Hey.”

One word testing the waters, her voice was unbearably soft. Although, you remind yourself about how she discarded your delicacy that you spent hours on.

Thinking about it, she could’ve cooked faster. But still, it’s the taste that counts.

“Hm?” You hummed, not even turning your head to look at the woman.

“I was kind of ignoring you.“ Her voice soft, but her distant eyes ignoring you.

“Kind of?”

She nudged your arm with her foot, her body now laying down with her feet on your lap. “Okay, I was ignoring you a lot.”

You stayed still, not paying her any attention. After a moment, she nudges herself right into your personal space until her chin was resting on your shoulder.

“I was mean,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin.

“Uh-huh.”

Her lips brush against your cheek, feather-light, her hands slowly draping over your waist. “And cold.”

Another soft kiss, right on the edge of your jaw, kissing up to the corners of your mouth. “Unfair and downright cruel.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “Is this your way of apologizing? Because it’s not working.”

“Is it?” Her lips curved into a teasing smile, brushing her lips against yours, a kiss that leaves no room for denial.

You rolled your eyes, but your hand was curling into her hair, pulling her closer.

“I would appreciate an actual apology, y’know.” You mumble against her lips as her arms guide you to lay down on the couch.

She pulls away, now on top of you, and smiles charmingly enough for you to forgive her, “I’m sorry, darling,”. Frowning slightly, “I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

I smile softly at her genuine, yet playful apology. “It’s okay. Everyone has those days.”

Instead of teasing you again, Wanda lays beside you, hugging you comfortably. You lean against her and whisper, “Why were you even having an attitude?”

“Felt like it.”

You stare at her dumbfoundedly before she kisses you again. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Wanda grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the tip of your nose. “I ate the food you cooked. It tastes amazing.”

You smile, putting your arms over her head and pulling her lips back to yours once more. After a minute of being all over eachother, she pulls away and says:

“But you know what tastes better?”

Let’s just say, she definitely made it up to you.

—

[aubvrns]

ladies step aside, i got this 😘

[aubvrns]

you sleep so soundly, baby

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

Synopsis — You struggled to keep yourself awake to wait for Wanda, resulting to her finding you asleep on the couch. She proves how worth it she is to wait for.

Tags — Fluff (because I was happy today), Cuddling (because I am so touch deprived), Mentions of doing something more than cuddling (because I am a freak)

Note — Short, but I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You remember trying to keep your eyes open.

But the soft, white covers of your pristine blanket betrayed you as the clock struck 11:00 PM. A faint anxiety lingered as you awaited Wanda's return from her mission, eager to be close to her after a week apart.

You did everything you could to stay awake—drinking two cups of coffee, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and scrolling through your old pictures on your phone.

Looking at those memories brought a smile to your face, even if it made you a bit emotional. You let out a heavy exhale and adjusted your position on the sofa, tucking your arms under the covers.

The last thing you remember is the thud of your phone hitting the bridge of your nose, followed by a sharp pain. But due to your extreme fatigue, you shrugged it off and fell asleep anyway.

—

“You look so freaking cute.”

You stir at the sound of someone whispering in your ear and reach for the covers, but someone else has already pulled them over you. Your head is no longer resting on the armrest of the couch; instead, it’s resting on a soft pillow.

You slowly flutter your eyes open, and familiar green eyes meet yours. The sight of her bright smile makes your heart skip a beat. As you rub my eyes, strong arms pull you closer to her warmth.

“Hey, you.”

Wanda's raspy voice brushed against your ear as her chin met your cheek, kissing your lips softly. “I missed you so much, my baby.”

Letting out a chuckle, you move yourself closer to her. Your arms wrapped around her torso as her hands lingered around your waist. You assumed she was just as tired as you and that both of you were now lying on the couch, latched onto each other.

“I don’t think I’m exactly baby-sized.”

You responded with a playful quip, causing her to burst into laughter. Without needing to think, you nestled your face into the soft curve of her neck, enveloped by the warmth of her presence. Her sweet, comforting scent of vanilla wafted around you, wrapping you in a soothing embrace that overwhelmed your senses and sent dizziness through your mind.

“You shouldn’t have waited for me. I could’ve just slipped under the covers with you the moment I got home.”

You felt her fingers gently running through your hair, a soft touch that sends shivers down your spine. Her smile feels warm and exciting as you hug, bodies fitting together perfectly.

“I wanted to wait for you. ” You mumble against her neck, placing a gentle kiss before nuzzling into her again.

Your words made her heart flutter. Wanda gazed at you with a warm, affectionate smile that lit up her entire face, her eyes sparkling with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “Go to sleep. Don’t make me love you even more than I already do.”

You roll your eyes playfully, slowly pulling yourself to sit up.

“How much do you love me?” You whisper like you were spying on someone, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You knew she loved you as much as you did. To love someone is worth the effort of pulling them from sitting to lying back with you, and that is exactly what she did.

Wanda grinned, sides of her mouth turning upwards as she sultrily whispered back, “Want me to show you how much I do?”

Oh, she’s good.

“Not really in the mood right now but okay.” You bite back, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before tucking yourself back into the comfortable blanket.

The weight of it was pressing against you, but it was to keep you warm. You knew she was worth waiting for, even if it meant the depravity of the lack of sleep.

“Boring.” Wanda pouts, kissing you back. She waves her fingers gently as she threaded red energy amongst the air, closing all the lights in your home.

The covers weren’t as heavy the moment she hugged you. Wanda made your heart race and your mind dizzy all at once.

You stare at her, the moon reflecting softly at the glint of her eyes. Whispering softly, “I hope it’s you I wait for everyday.”

Wanda hummed in response, astute to knowing that to hope for it is unnecessary. It was already certain.

“I love you, too.”

—

[aubvrns]

do they need a third or

[aubvrns]

happy birthday to me (plays you’re gonna go far by noah kahan)

[aubvrns]

look at me like that please