ninus9607

[ninus9607]

To love a witch pt2 - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Vampire reader

Word count: 6.1k

tags: l content: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Dark Themes, Blood & Violence, age-gap, Morally Grey Protagonist, Supernatural Abilities, Blood Drinking

The story contains graphic violence, dark themes, and slightly possessive behavior

AN: Hiii guyss! here's the second parttt i hope u liked itt, alsooo sorry about every mistake I finished this at 4am ahhahah alsooo 3rd part asap.

xx

Avengers Tower, a few weeks later...

The mood in the Avengers meeting room was terrible.

Thick glass and steel walls couldn't contain the storm that was rising between those who sat around the long table.

Steve walked the length of the room, his heavy boots slamming against the floor with each step,

"She's gone too far this time," Steve muttered, eventually pausing with his palms firmly planted against the tabletop. "Another building has been destroyed. Twelve men died. Three of them are security guards with families. "How long are we going to let this happen?"

Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, a glass of bourbon in hand, but his eyes lacked the typical glint of irony. "It's not like she's taking out Girl Scouts, Cap," he observed dryly. "Most of those men had deep ties to Hydra, were protected by fake firms, and had clean records. Do you think the government would have intervened in this situation? We both know they won't."

Steve turned, "She isn't a vigilante, Tony. She's a murderer. And every time we let her slip past our grasp, she leaves another body behind."

Natasha pulled away from the window, having remained silent up to that point. "He's right," she admitted, folding her arms. "I warned you the night we saw her at the gala- she doesn't stop. It is not in her nature."

"She's hunting people worse than monsters," Wanda said finally, her voice calm but alarming. The tension in the room increased like static before a thunderstorm. "People who have done unbelievable things that will keep you awake at night. She is cleaning up messes that your governments pretend do not exist."

"By burning down half the city in the process?" Steve shot back.

"Because no one else will."

A deep, strange hush settled over the room. The team had always understood what you were: a beast that formed centuries ago in bloody warfare, improved into something both deadly and beautiful. They knew when Wanda stood for her that they were betting on more than just politics. They were gambling with their lives.

"I got a call from Ross this morning," Tony explained gently, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "They are putting together an operation team. And, before you ask, it's not one of ours."

Steve muttered under his breath.

"We have to find her before they do," Natasha replied, looking at Wanda.

Wanda tightened her grip on the chain around her neck,

"I can reach her," Wanda said quietly.

"She's not going to listen to you," Steve warned.

"You're wrong," Wanda murmured softly, but her confidence was fading.

"She's had weeks to come here. She has not. You think that was an accident?"

"She's confused," Wanda said.

Tony snorted. "Kid, this is exactly what she is. The question is whether we can use it to our advantage or if we will end up burying a teammate."

Wanda's stomach twisted. No one else saw how her fingers trembled as she placed them against the table's edge.

"I still believe in her," she murmured, sounding more like a prayer this time.

Steve shifted his gaze away. Natasha just sighed.

"You're acting as if she's the problem," Pietro hissed, his Sokovian accent wrapping around the words like a knife. "You forget the kind of people she's taking out."

"No one's forgetting anything," Steve said, his tone strict but not harsh. "But there is a line, Pietro. And she crossed it."

"She's doing your job for you."

"And people are dying," Steve explained solemnly. "People who don't deserve it."

Natasha sighed and leaned back in her chair. "She is unpredictable. Unstable."

Wanda's voice sliced across the room, "She won't hurt me."

Tony scoffed, "Okay, witchy. Here is my question: What is your genius plan? What, you're just going to walk up to her, bat those pretty eyes, and poof... vampire killer becomes house pet?"

"I'll find her," Wanda stated, her Sokovian accent increasing with the weight of her words.

"And then what?" Steve inquired, calmer now. "Wanda... I need to know you've thought this through."

"I have," she replied, and her expression softened for a short period. "I know what she is. But I also understand who I was. A threat. A liability. Dangerous. You did not give up on me."

"That was different," Steve remarked.

"Was it?" Wanda replied quietly. "Or did you just decide I was worth saving?"

Steve took a moment to stare down, his jaw hard, before returning his gaze to her. "You are. You still are."

"Then trust me when I say she is, too."

Pietro grinned as he leaned against the wall. "Well, isn't this touching?"

Tony pointed his finger at him. "Don't push it, Speedy."

"Fact is," Pietro said, ignoring him, "everyone in this room has blood on their hands. But because it is hers, you are prepared to fight."

"She's not stopping," Natasha replied. "You don't understand it. She will not."

"I'll make her,"

Tony sighed and rubbed his palm across his face. "Look... as much as it physically pains me to say this, she's got a point."

Steve lifted his eyebrow. "You're siding with Wanda?"

"I'm siding with not having half of NYC demolished by a pissed-off woman," Tony quipped. "If Maximoff's the only one who can reel her in, we let her try."

Wanda's lips formed a stiff, humorless smile. "Stark, don't get comfortable. I still hate you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, " Tony replied, raising his glass in a false toast.

Steve exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Wanda, you have one shot at this. One. But if you go too deep"

"I won't."

"Then go," Steve said softly.

Wanda gave him a small nod, and without another word, turned for the door, Pietro on her heels.

With a slight push, the door clicked open, and Wanda walked inside, shoulders sagging from yet another disagreement. Steve's disappointed sighs and Tony's angry words were still playing on repeat in her thoughts, as was the tension she had felt earlier. All she needed was silence so she could think about the plan.

But, of course, fate would not let her do that.

"Finally," a familiar voice said from the direction of her bed. "Took you long enough, сестрa."

Wanda blinked, surprised to see Pietro spread out lazily across her bed, one arm behind his head, a smug grin written across his face like a bright light.

"What are you doing in my room?" she groaned, throwing her jacket onto a chair.

He let the stillness last, his hitting stare never leaving her face, looking at every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. Then, in an almost sadistic tone, he said:

"Y/N?"

Wanda scowled instantly, her cheeks burning up wildly. "Pfft. What about her?"

Pietro's grin spread like wildfire, slowly.  "Oh, come on. That was the worst acting I had ever seen. And I've seen you pretend to like Vision's cooking."

"Shut up."

He laughed and sat up, elbows on his knees. "I knew it. I knew you had a thing for ladies; don't attempt to deny it. But a vampire assassin, сестра? That's bold, even for you."

Wanda crossed her arms, attempting to fight off the flush creeping up her neck. "She's not just"

"A total stranger you've shared maybe three conversations with?" Pietro finished for her while grinning. "Yeah, no, sounds like the perfect base for a relationship."

"I never said"

"You did not have to. I can see it on your face. "It is written on your soul, little sister." He smiled widely, with a taunting glitter in his eyes. "You're gone for her."

"I hate you," Wanda whispered.

"Love you too."

For a moment, the joking faded into calm sibling harmony. Then Pietro cocked his head. "So... what's the plan?"

Wanda paused, biting on her bottom lip, her defenses down.

"I'm going to find her," she said, her voice low. "And when I do... I'll bring her back."

Pietro snorted. "Figures. You've never been good at letting things go."

"I'm serious."

"I know," he replied, rising up and ruffling her hair as he passed. "That's what makes it fun."

"So," he drawled, "are you going to tell me what brilliant plan you've created, or should I just guess?" Let me see... stalking your vampire girlfriend?"

Wanda grumbled and flopped onto the bed alongside him. "She's not my girlfriend."

He grinned. "Yet."

"Pietro."

Wanda glared at him while he chuckled.

"I'm serious," she mumbled. "I have a lead."

That made him sit up a little straighter. "Oh?"

"There's a gathering tomorrow night in the old district. Arms dealers, black market traders... and a contact swears she'll be there. Alone."

Pietro took a deep breath. "That's risky."

"I can handle it."

He snorted and shook his head. "You always were stubborn."

Wanda smirked. "Runs in the family."

He stood and ruffled her hair before she could slap him away. "Okay, alright. But if you get yourself murdered, I'm going to be annoyed."

"Noted."

When he looked back, he was about halfway to the door. "And for the record — still terrible taste."

"Goodnight, Pietro."

You hear quiet footsteps behind you before she speaks. You don't have to turn around to recognize her.

"You're late," you say, your voice quiet and slightly mocking.

Wanda reaches view, hands put in the pockets of her jacket, face guarded but not cold. You can see nervousness in her eyes, despite her best efforts to seem calm.

"Didn't realize you were waiting," she says.

You smirk. "I always know when someone's looking for me."

There is a moment of silence between you that neither of you seems willing to break. The tension remains thick and biting, just as it has since that night. You try not to think about how good she looks under these streetlights, but you do. Of course you do.

"I didn't come here to fight," she explains.

"They could have fooled me. I expected you and your small team would have kicked in my door by now."

"I came alone."

You narrow your eyes. Brave. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

"Dangerous choice, sweetheart."

She shrugs and takes a step forward. "I can handle myself."

That makes you smile. God, she's stubborn. And for some reason, you enjoy it.

"Then why are you here?" you ask.

"I want you to stop."

This takes you off guard more than it should. You raise an eyebrow. "Stop what exactly? Doing what I am good at?"

"You're not like them."

You gave a quiet laugh and shook your head.

"I think you've got me confused with someone else, Maximoff," you comment, resting against the wall as if you have all the time in the universe. "I don't do the hero thing. I don't play nicely. And I definitely don't take commands."

Wanda does not flinch. If anything, she moves closer.

"I'm not asking you to be a hero," she explains calmly. "I'm asking you to stop killing people who don't deserve it."

You tilt your head and study her face. That beautiful accent wrapping around her words. Her jaw tightens when she tries to remain calm. It's frustratingly charming.

"And who decides who deserves it, huh? You? Stark? The government?" You smirk. "I have seen enough of the world to know that no one is innocent. Not even you"

Wanda's eyes spark with a mix of rage and other emotions. It causes a rise in your pulse.

"I never said I was."

You grin. "Good. Would've hated to ruin that perfect little illusion."

There's a long pause, tension thick between you. You should leave. She should leave. Neither of you moves.

"I'm not here to save you," Wanda says after a beat. "But you could be more than this. You don't have to be their weapon."

"I'm my own weapon," you shoot back. " I like it that way."

And you do. The blood. The freedom. The chaos. You've made peace with it a long time ago. There's no guilt left in you. Only hunger.

"You don't have to trust them," Wanda continues, her voice lower now, her gaze fixed on yours. "Hell, you don't even have to trust me."

You raise an eyebrow. "Then what exactly are you offering, Maximoff?"

She hesitates for a second. It's short, so most people would miss it. But you do. She's good, but you've been reading people longer than she's been alive.

"I'm offering you a choice," she continues. "Stop running. Stop hiding behind whatever nonsense you are telling yourself. Do you want blood? Fine. But use it for something important."

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. "And what, I join your little club of morally confused misfits? Fight for some cause I don't believe in because you asked nicely?"

"I'm not asking nicely," Wanda says, stepping in close now. Too close. "I'm asking because whether you want to admit it or not... you're tired. Of all of it."

You clear your throat, and the grin slides back into place. "You talk like you know me."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't."

Another beat of silence. Her lips curled into a knowing scowl.

"I'm starting to."

You look aside, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, then return to her. "Say I'm considering it. What makes you think I won't turn on you the moment things get boring?"

"I don't," she responds casually. "But I'm willing to take that risk."

God, she's reckless. Stupidly brave. And you kinda love it.

You gave a quiet, humorless chuckle, your eyes narrowing as you closed the gap between you and Wanda again. She was close enough to feel the icy edge of your power sliding in the air around her if she looked closely.

"I could kill you right now," you say quietly, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Right here, without anyone even hearing you scream."

Wanda does not flinch. Does not even blink.

"If you wanted to," she tilted her head to the side, "you would've already done it."

And it's frustrating because she's right.

You stare at her, jaw tight, a hundred conflicting things racing through your mind hunger, anger, that goddamn spark of something you can't name or get rid of when it comes to her. She isn't afraid of you. And that's dangerous.

Your fingers flex at your side before you step back with a frustrated scoff, running your tongue across your fangs like it might bite back the irritation.

"Maybe," you mutter, the word foreign and reluctant on your tongue. The closest thing to a concession you've given anyone in centuries.

Wanda's lips twitch like she knows it, too.

You reach for her hand. Take it gently, you place a lingering kiss on her hand, your eyes fixed on hers the entire time.

"Goodbye, Miss Maximoff," you say softly against her skin.

Then, like mist in the night, you vanish.

That night, you and Wanda couldn't sleep....

2:03 AM, Avengers Tower... two days later

The alert sounded as if the world was ending. Red lights flashed across the peaceful tower's walls, and doors slammed open one by one as half-asleep Avengers flooded into the corridor, guns ready.

Steve was already in full Captain mode, shield raised.

"Who the hell is breaking in at two in the goddamn morning?" Tony grumbled, his suit half-deployed and his hair sticking up as if he were in a dream.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," Steve said. "Where?"

"Kitchen level, unauthorized entry detected."

"Kitchen?" Wanda mumbled, falling into stride with Pietro, whose hair was a jumble, and his eyes were drowsy yet keen.

They turned a corner.

And there you were.

Leaning against the kitchen island as if you owned the place, hair perfect, a wonderful expensive satin shirt half-unbuttoned, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping red wine as if you'd just walked in from an underground jazz club. The refrigerator door was open, and a trail of food was scattered across the counter, including several luxury pastries, a stolen bottle of Tony's best whiskey, and a blood bag from medical storage.

What is the best part? You were chewing something.

"What the actual hell," Tony began.

You stuck up a finger, still chewing, and took a plate off the counter. "Who cooked this?"

You asked casually, pointing with the fork to a strange, gelatinous gray mass that smelled of damp paper and despair.

"That'd be Vision," Steve mumbled.

"Figures," you exhaled deeply, spitting the bite onto a paper towel. "Jesus, you guys let a robot cook? "No wonder you're all so tense."

Pietro snorted before Wanda elbowed him again.

"Why are you here?" Natasha replied, her tone so harsh it could cut glass.

You didn't even flinch, simply finishing the rest of your wine. "To chat," you said with a smirk. "Maybe a snack. You know how it is."

"You broke in," Steve hissed, moving forward.

"I do that," you said with a shrug. "Don't act so shocked."

The alarm finally turned off, leaving a strange silence as the red lights faded back to normal.

You slowly set down the wine glass, your stare fixed on Wanda like a hunter who has just spotted her favorite prey. "Relax, Miss Maximoff," you murmured. "I'm not here to kill your friends."

"Could have fooled me," Tony murmured.

"Oh, if I wanted to," you told him with a harsh grin, "they'd be dead before the alarm went off."

You sighed, as though you were already bored. "Let's remove the dramatics. I am here because you would not stop sending people after me. It's becoming annoying."

"Then stop murdering people," Steve shouted.

You tilted your head, mockingly offended. "I only murder extremely cruel folks. Or extremely boring ones. Which, depending on how this conversation develops, may include you."

A beat of quiet.

Wanda moved forward, her Sokovian accent softly curling over your name. "Y/N."

And, God, the way she said it. It instantly triggered your hunger and long-buried humanity. You despised it and loved it at the same time. You may have drowned in it.

"Save it, I don't give speeches."

"Then what do you do?" Natasha asked coldly.

You grabbed another piece of Vision's weird culinary experiment, sniffed it, made a face, and hurled it straight into the trash without a word.

Pietro outright laughed this time.

"Conference room," you said, swiftly rising up as if you hadn't just insulted half the team's cooking and threatened to murder the other half. "Now."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

You flashed him a lazy smile. "Or I will begin renovating your beloved tower with the guts of whoever is nearest. Your call, Stark."

Natasha moved first, which was typical. Silent and threatening, with a careful regard in her eyes.

The others followed one by one, complaining or frowning but with a tinge of curiosity on their faces. Wanda lingered in the doorway as you passed, her eager green eyes tracking your every movement. You did not look at her.

With a loud thud, you dumped an overstuffed black leather folder onto the table. A few stray photographs and bloodstained documents flew across the glass surface, including crime scene photos, ledgers, coded communications, and the faces of those who had died by your hand.

"Here," you said simply.

Then, like the total threat you were, you dragged a chair back, kicked your boots up onto the table, pulled a blood bag from your jacket pocket, and took a casual sip via a straw, as if this were a brunch date.

Steve grimaced.

"Dramatic," Tony mumbled.

You tilted your head. "That," you motioned to the pile of paperwork, "is the complete inside story of the Donaletti family—human trafficking, arms smuggling, contract killings, underground operations in five countries. Or should I say was? They won't bother you anymore."

Wanda blinked. "You... took down the Donalettis?"

"In a night," you replied, comfortably twisting the bag between your fingers. "Boss, soldiers, hired muscle, and the accountant- poof. "As if they never existed."

"Why?" Steve's voice was low.

You grinned, your teeth slightly sharper than usual. "I was bored. And you guys wouldn't quit following me."

Natasha sorted through the files, inspecting them. "This is solid data."

"Of course it is. I am many things, sweetheart, but sloppy is not one of them."

Steve's voice was harsh. "Why are you giving us this, Y/N?"

You did not respond right away. Before reaching for your blood bag, take a cautious, deliberate sip. The squish of the plastic in the dead quiet room caused Tony to move in his chair.

You slapped the bag down on their clean conference table, putting a smudge on some unfortunate intern's printed report. Then you smiled.

"Because," you said softly, "this isn't the end, lads and girls. Not even close."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "You gonna explain, or should we just assume you're here for dramatic effect?"

"Oh, goatee," you groaned, "While taking apart Donaletti's small playhouse, I stumbled on something worse. A cult. The kind of thing your government likes to pretend doesn't exist. They're here, in this city. And trust me, you want them dead."

"Why bring it to us?" Steve demanded.

Your eyes glowed, "I need something. And you're the only ones foolish enough—or desperate enough—to give it to me."

Tony furrowed his brow. "What kind of something?"

You allowed the silence to last a beat too long. Then you spoke, your voice velvet-soft yet ice-cold.

"Diplomatic immunity."

Steve's face stiffened. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

"I want to be untouchable," you continued, still calm, still smiling. "I want every bounty, every warrant, every record of me erased. I want access to your protected databases and the freedom to kill whoever the hell I please, as long as it isn't one of you. And in return, I'll hand you the biggest threat this world's ever seen. You'll get your cult, your conspiracies, your bloodless little world peace... and I'll get my freedom."

Tony actually laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Jesus Christ. You're asking us to hand you a goddamn license to murder."

You stood, slow and smooth, gathering your files and blood bag. "Oh, Stark, I don't need a license. I just like watching you suffer."

"Forty-eight hours," you whispered, your gaze moving across the strained faces in the room. "Decide if you want your world burned... or cleaned."

You slid a sleek black card out of your pocket and onto the table. The number shone under the light. No name. No hint of identity.

"For when you're ready to beg."

Steve scowled. Tony rolled his eyes.

And then you turned to Wanda. The room felt heavier, as if the air had thickened. You took out a single blood-red rose, a thin black ribbon wrapped around its stem, and a short letter hanging from it.

You took a step closer, the brush of your fingertips intentional, and placed the flower in her hand.

"Para ti, mi amor," you said softly.

(For you, my love)

Wanda's breath caught, and her gaze met yours - no fear, no hesitation.

You smirked and took a step back, saluting everyone in the room with two fingers.

"Tick-tock, Avengers."

And then you were gone.

The stillness was dense until Pietro smirked at his sister. "Ты попaла, сестра," he teased.                                       (You're screwed, sister,)

Wanda said nothing but stared at the rose, tightening her fingers around the stem.

In the weeks that followed, everything changed...

You were officially a consultant - an external resource, according to the documentation. In practice? You were the person they called when things were so bad that no one else wanted to touch them. Assassinations, sabotage, and covert activities unrelated to the Avengers. You handled the dirt as if it were nothing.

A compromise has been made. The offer is accepted. They didn't want to, but they had no choice. You'd presented them with something they couldn't pass up: the leader of a crime empire on a silver platter, along with knowledge on a violent underground cult that made Hydra look like amateurs. You made yourself indispensable.

At first, the team barely spoke with you. You were a ghost in their universe, always present when they needed you, but gone before they could decide how they felt about it. But things gradually changed.

Natasha was the first to crack. She appreciated effectiveness, and you were nothing if not efficient. You'd cross paths in conference rooms and hallways, exchanging dry remarks as a wordless understanding developed between two people who'd seen and done far too much.

People who had witnessed and experienced much too much.

Tony despised how good you were. Hated the fact that when no one else could provide results, you could walk into a room and have it done in minutes – violent, brutal. "She's a walking PR disaster," he complained one night, sipping whiskey. However, he still invited you to his lab when he needed old-world expertise about cult symbols or ancient blood rituals.

Steve was cooler. Every time you walked into a room, you could feel his suspicion. You did not blame him. You did not care either.

And then there was Wanda.

God, Wanda.

She surprised you. Not only did she look at you as if she could see every broken part of you, but she also did not flinch. She was not afraid. Even when you casually mentioned cutting out a man's throat in an alleyway, she simply arched an eyebrow, as if challenging you to surprise her.

Late-night planning meetings were your favorites. Most of the team would be asleep or avoiding you, leaving only you and her in the conference room, paperwork spread out, blood bag in your hand, and coffee in hers.

Wanda mocked you about your fascination with classical literature. You called her a youngster because she didn't know what a phonograph was. She accused you of dramatics; you accused her of terrible taste in movies.

There was tension. Thick. Electric. Not just because you were meant to be on opposite sides of the moral range, but because, despite all odds, you found yourself yearning to be near her.

You've stopped avoiding the tower. You started leaving your blood bags in their refrigerator. Tony protested, Clint made vampire jokes, and Natasha simply shook her head.

And Wanda? Wanda kept popping up.

Some evenings, you found yourself on the Tower's balcony well past midnight, feeling the world change under you. Wanda would show up as a ghost by your side, no words necessary.

Pietro, of course, noticed first. He'd nudge Wanda, smirking and mumbling jokes about her "little vampire problem." She hexed him frequently.

The invitation to Tony Stark's infamous party had arrived wrapped in as much glitter as the man himself.

You arrive at Stark's gala dressed in shadows and silk, every step precise and every movement showing the confidence that only power and money can provide. You want to be noticed on your own terms.

Heads turn as you glide through the room, but you're too used to having eyes on you to be afraid. Wanda is easy to spot—her posture is rigid, her eyes flit uncomfortably to Pietro, who is sitting at the bar with that terrible sneer on his lips. Pietro always manages to rile her up.

Wanda gives him a pointed glance, her cheeks swollen slightly, but you can see a little spark of curiosity in her eyes.

Before you can take another sip of your wine, Wanda approaches, strolling purposefully but with a tinge of nervousness.

"Miss Y/N," she adds, her voice soft but full of weight, "I believe I owe you a dance."

You bend your head and allow that slow, seductive smile to spread across your lips. "Is that right, Miss Maximoff? I don't think I could turn down a request like that."

She gently grabs your hand, and the world narrows to just the two of you. The music builds, and you allow yourself to be drawn onto the dance floor.

You're not sure when one dance blossomed into two... Then four, then the whole night.

Maybe it was because Wanda's hand lingered just a second too long against your shoulder. Perhaps it was the teasing look you wore as you drew her closer during a slow waltz. Or perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to admit what this was becoming.

The party around you kept spinning: drinks poured, laughter rang, and glasses clinked. But for you, there was just Wanda.

You'd exchange scathing remarks between turns, quietly enough for only the other to hear.

The music eventually faded, the guests walked away, and the Avengers were the only ones remaining, sprawled across couches in different states of tiredness and tipsy contentment.

You lie out on one of Stark's extremely priced couches as if you owned it -  because, why not? Wanda plopped down next to you, Pietro nearby, Tony nursing a drink, and Steve loosening his tie as if it were the most rebellious thing he'd done in years.

"So..." Tony started by elevating his brow. "I guess we survived another party. Barely."

"Speak for yourself," you said, smirking as you reached for the glass someone had left behind. "I could go another round."

He slapped his hands together with a way too big grin for the hour, his tie loose around his neck, and a drink in his hand. "Alright, kiddos," he proclaimed, standing up a little too dramatically, "I say it's time for a game."

"Oh god," Natasha murmured, half-laughing and burying her face in her hands.

"What kind of game?" Steve asked

Tony shrugged and smirked. "Something fun. Something damaging. Something slightly illegal in at least three countries - like everything I do."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now you're speaking my language."

Pietro grinned as he slouched on the arm of a chair. "If it involves shots, I'm in."

Thor gave out a loud laugh. "Yes! A test of will and strength—I welcome this challenge."

Wanda drew in toward you, her voice low, amusement in her eyes. "I probably should warn you..." His previous 'games' resulted in arrests.

You grinned and said in a dark, mischievous whisper. "I've broken out of worse."

Tony pointed at both of you. "See, this is why you're my favorite threat to national security, Y/N."

"Flattered, Tony."

He spun towards the group. "All right—truth or dareBut no wimping out, no playing nice, and if somebody throws a punch, you replace my coffee machine."

Steve moaned. "Do we have to?"

"Cap, come on," Tony said, smirking. "Let loose and live a little. You may even smile."

"I smile plenty."

"No one's seen it since '42," you teased.

The crowd burst into laughter as Steve rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Fine. I'm in."

The first few rounds were exactly what you'd expect from a group of emotionally disturbed, augmented people with no supervision.

Pietro quickly challenged Tony to shotgun a can of beer while upside down. To everyone's dismay and small surprise, he did—only to tumble straight off the counter and take a lamp down with him.

"Worth it, tho," Tony said from the floor, holding the empty can in victory.

Natasha coolly won every truth round by flat-out refusing to answer and daring people to test her. No one did.

"Alright, alright," Tony clapped his hands, moving whiskey over the rim of his glass. "Y/N. Your turn. "Truth or dare?"

You took a slow sip from your drink, smiled over the rim. "Truth."

A series of loud gasps filled the room.

"Booooring," Pietro mocked, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

Tony's eyes glinted, indicating that he was already planning something. "Okay, vampire queen — here's your question: what's the most messed-up thing you've done to someone... y'know, before you joined our lovely dysfunctional family?"

"Well..." you began, swirling the blood-red wine in your glass, allowing the expectation to hang in the air for too long. "There was a duke. 1894. "Arrogant little thing who used to hunt people like me for fun."

Wanda's brows rose with interest, and you caught her gaze.

"I let him think he was winning for weeks," you said, your voice slick and incisive. "Then, on the night of his wedding, I drained the entire wedding party. I left him alive. Tied to a chair. Made him watch. "And when the sun rose...you can guess the rest."

A brief and startled hush.

"Holy shit," Sam said.

Thor gave a strong, slightly unpleasant laugh. "Remind me not to cross you, Lady Y/N."

Pietro's grin grew like a child on Christmas morning. "Okay, сестрa...Truth or dare?"

Wanda squinted her eyes, hating her birth with a twin. "Dare."

The entire room gasped and cheered.

"Oh, she's brave," Sam laughed, raising his glass.

Pietro tapped his chin impressively before snapping his fingers. "Okay, okay — I dare you to... use your powers to convince Thor to give Captain America a lap dance."

The room has lost it. Sam doubled out laughing. Tony nearly fell off the couch while gripping his chest. Natasha only smirked and murmured, "This I gotta see."

Wanda's jaw dropped. "You're an idiot."

"I'm a genius," Pietro said

You were amused by the situation: "Now this is comedy."

"Come on, Wanda," Tony taunted, elbowing her. "You're not scared, are you?"

Wanda groaned and hid her face in her hands for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But if I'm struck by lightning, I'll haunt you all."

With a flick of her fingers, a soft crimson glow flashed around her hand as she turned to face Thor, who was already chuckling, utterly oblivious of what was about to happen.

Thor's look slowed for a second before brightening with a grin as he clapped his hands. "Captain Rogers!" he exclaimed.

Steve suddenly appeared terrified. "Wait, what's happening—?"

Before anyone could blink, Thor began bouncing his hips and making his way toward Steve.

"Oh my God," Sam exclaimed, pointing. "It's happening!"

"Wanda, stop him!" Steve yelled, attempting to stand up, but Thor was quick.

Wanda cackled, letting go just as Thor arrived.

Thor blinked, perplexed. "Why am I...? Why do I feel like I'm about to—?"

"Nothing!" Wanda called swiftly, laughing so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.

Steve scowled at Pietro. "You're dead."

Pietro only shrugged, smirking like a proud evil. "Worth it."

You lifted your drink to Wanda with a mischievous look. "Impressive, Miss Maximoff."

Wanda performed a fake curtsy. "Thank you, malysh."

The night dragged on after the chaos of the game. People began to leave one by one, with headaches or outright shame. Thor left first, complaining about Midgardian customs being weird. Sam and Pietro quickly disappeared, most likely to plunder the kitchen again. Steve fled, grumbling about decency. Even Tony, half-drunk and yet beaming, went off to his floor.

You stayed.

Not because you couldn't sleep—you didn't have to. However, there was something quietly pleasant about how the Tower felt at night. The hallways are empty.

Then you heard it.

Faint at first, but your senses sharpened without permission. A voice—strangled, sobbing. Another scream muffled behind a door, somewhere down the hall. Wanda.

Something inside of you moved before your thoughts could catch up with the harsh and broken scream. The book dropped from your lap, pages fluttering shut. You were already out the door, the gentle click of it closing behind you drowned by the beating of your own dead heartbeat.

You didn't think about it

Only her voice did.

You were on her floor in seconds, your steps soundless on the slick flooring. Another stifled sob pierced the air, and you did not hesitate.

"Friday," you said, your voice low

A gentle chime rang above you, the AI's tone polite. "Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff's room is locked." Should I ignore security?"

You did not pause. "Do it."

"Access granted."

The door slid open with a hiss, and you slipped inside before it even completely opened.

The room was dim, with only a gentle glow from a bedside lamp throwing long shadows on the walls. Wanda lay tangled in the covers, her face contorted with misery even while sleeping, tears streaming down her cheeks. The tiny red flicker of her abilities danced wildly at her fingertips, and her breath came in loud, uneven gasps.

You crossed the room, dropping to a crouch beside her bed, your hand hovering just above her shoulder. "Wanda," you called her name softly, "Wands... wake up."

But she didn't. The nightmare had her in its grip, powers crackling faintly.

Your jaw clenched.

"Wanda," you whispered, voice barely there. "It's me."

Her eyes widened, glassy with panic, and she lost sight for a second. She shrank back, confusion on her face.

"Shhh, it's fine, little witch. It's me. Y/N." Recognition showed up, bringing with it something raw. She nearly threw herself into your arms, burying her face in the crook of your neck while her body rocked with tears.

"I...I dreamed you were gone," she gasped out, her voice trembling. "They killed you. And I couldn't stop it."

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

"I'm not going anywhere, darling," you said softly into her hair. "I am alive. I can't die, remember? I'm cursed, immortal,  whatever word makes you feel better."

It provoked a weak laugh from your throat, and you smiled softly, brushing your lips against her temple.

"You'll have to do a lot worse than a nightmare to get rid of me."

"Promise?" She whispered, so little and afraid.

"Promise."

You could feel her fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, as if she was frightened you'd vanish if she let go.

"Stay," she said quietly this time.

"I'm not leaving," you said again. After a while, you could feel the way her breathing slowed, she fell asleep again..

You gently pushed your lips to her temple, allowing her warmth to soak into you.

And in a low, soft murmur meant just for her, you muttered, "You have no idea how long I've waited to hold you like this."

She shifted, burrowing her face more into your chest, and even though she didn't say anything, the way her lips curved against your skin gave you the impression she was smiling.

"I'm yours," you said quietly into the darkness, stroking your hand through her hair. "Always. "No nightmare, war, or death could separate me from you...."

[ninus9607]

To love a witch pt1 - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Vampire reader

Word count: 5.5k

tags: l content: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Dark Themes, Blood & Violence, age-gap, Morally Grey Protagonist, Supernatural Abilities, Blood Drinking

The story contains graphic violence, dark themes, and slightly possessive behavior

AN: Hiii guyss! I am back! Finally ahahahha.... I decided to split one big oneshot into 2 parts soo enjoyyy. I will try to write the second part asap <3 Also sorry about every mistake, and I will be glad for every comment, like or vote <3

xx

The clock on the wall rang too loudly in the silence, and the smell of aged whiskey and stale cigar smoke hung heavy in the air. You did not mind. You thrived in environments like this—quiet, heavy, and unpleasant. It improved people's ability to read. And the man sitting across from you was nervous despite his well-made clothing and government connections.

You could smell it on him.

You sat back in the leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, one hand resting lightly on the armrest, and the other casually tracing the rim of your drink. When his gaze shifted to the clock for the sixth time, your lips curled in a slight grin.

"Relax, Mr. Calloway," you said, your voice silky smooth yet with a sharp edge. "You've called me. I believe you know what type of organization you were looking for."

He cleared his throat, attempting to find bravery that he did not have. "Yes, I did. I'm just- this is complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You answered in an annoyed tone. "You fools never call me when it's simple."

He slipped a thin, cream-colored folder across the table. You did not rush to open it. Instead, you fixed your focus on him, seeing the slight shine of sweat forming at his temple.

"You don't seem like the type to be this anxious," you said, enjoying how his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

"This man is dangerous. And connected," Calloway stated hastily, as if saying it faster might help him get out. "It has to be clean, quiet, no traces back to me."

"Of course," you said quietly, eventually reaching for the file.

Your fingers grazed the front cover, and you waited a moment before opening it. A few security photographs, clipped stories, and a name you had heard in traveling: Thomas Crane. Former government spy. Asset has gone crazy. Nothing you hadn't come across previously.

Until you noticed a line buried halfway down the final page.

Currently under the protection of the Avengers.

Ah.

A smile pulled at the corner of your mouth as you leaned back, the folder still open on your lap.

"You left out an important detail, Calloway," you remarked, your tone cold but strong. "He's got Avengers breathing down his neck."

Calloway paled and tugged on his collar. "I-I didn't think--"

"No," you interrupted him, raising your hand. "You didn't. Luckily for you, I'm good at cleaning up other people's problems."

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and wrote a fast message. Full info. Tomas Crane. How heavy is the shield that surrounds him?

The response came very instantly. Stark monitoring is at its highest degree. Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff are on rotation.

That got your attention. You let out a soft giggle. Interesting.

You put down your phone, meeting Calloway's chaotic glare. "Normally, I'd ask for eight hundred grand."

His face twitched, revealing an anxious smile. "Consider it done-"

"I'm not finished." You lifted your eyebrows, cutting him down with just a glance. "Since you forgot to add Earth's Mightiest security detail, it's one million. Half now and half when his dead body is cold."

The room became quiet. Calloway soaked his lips, clearly considering his choices before immediately nodding.

"Done."

You grinned, slowly and dangerously. "We didn't even negotiate. You must really want this bastard to die."

"I... do."

"Any preferences?" you said softly, scrolling over the file once again. "Quick and quiet?" Or should I send a message?"

He paused for too long, then his expression darkened. "Make it hurt."

You smiled wider. "That's more like it."

You got to your feet and slipped the file back over the table.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Calloway," you muttered, placing your phone back into your jacket pocket. "You'll get your receipt soon enough."

And without another look, you stormed out of the room, the weight of his gaze hanging on your back like a ghost.

You spend your next week stalking him and his routine.

The apartment smelled of old money and terrible secrets. You walked across the room like a shadow, the aroma of perfume and cigars lingering on the walls. Thomas Crane wasn't at homehis calendar was busier than most politicians', but you knew how to sneak in. Your inside contact had handed you the codes an hour ago.

It was far too simple.

You searched through his desk drawers, looking for confidential information, coded records, and images you couldn't take your eyes off of. The man was worse than the whispers said. Not only a trafficker in influence and blood money, but a pedophile. One drawer had horrible photos. Your stomach twisted with disgust, and the anger was sharp and icy.

Your throat tightened. Even a vampire that has lived for hundreds of years might feel sick.

You weren't focused on the photos, but the one you caught made you uncomfortable. Killing this man no longer seemed like a job. It felt personal.

"Fucking bastard" you said under your breath.

You went for your phone and sent a discreet text message to one of your team members who was waiting outside.

Find the nearest opportunity for assassinating him. now

You'd complete what you came for tonight.

But before you could go, your stronger senses noticed something. Footsteps. Not one pair, but several. Moving quickly and with discipline. You froze, your head jerking towards the door.

Voices.

Shit.

A female voice talked clearly and confidently over an earpiece. "We're in position."

Recognition flashed. You have heard that voice before. Black Widow. Natalya Romanoff. That meant...

Avengers.

A cold feeling rushed through you.

You rushed back toward the balcony window, disappearing into the shadows as the front door flew wide.

Then you felt it.

A pull. An unusual current of electricity in the air. Old magic grew on your skin, like something awakening after decades of sleep. Your pulse quickened. Your fangs pushed firmly on your bottom lip.

Then you saw her.

She stormed into the room, wild hair, piercing stare, and strength hanging to her skin like a second, living creature. Red energy flashed across her fingertips.

You didn't know her name. You'd heard murmurs of the Scarlet Witch, but files never did acknowledge the truth.

Because one look, one heartbeat, and your world is shattered.

Time slowed. The air thickened.

Your vampire instincts - honed, cruel, and disciplined- were destroyed by something older than bloodlust.

Your body reacted before your brain did. Fangs dropped. Pulse roaring. Every inch of you lit up with wild, unrestrained want.

Your hands held the window frame so tightly that the metal cracked beneath your fingers.

You should not have stayed. You should have gone as soon as you felt them coming. But you could not move. You couldn't take your eyes off her.

She looked around the room, her power surrounding her like a real being. And for a single second, her eyes shifted from the window to you.

A burst of fresh, essential electricity passed through you.

She did not see you. Not really. But she felt something.

You could see it in the slight wrinkle on her forehead, the way her eyes narrowed, and her lips parting slightly as if to taste the air.

"Someone was here," she said softly, her voice heavy with accent and skepticism.

Natasha said behind her, "Then they're long gone."

However, they weren't.

You were still there, huddled just beyond the balcony, hidden by shadow and glass, watching her.

Your chest heaved, and something deeper was twisting in your stomach. You'd never felt like this before. Not with anyone. Not even close.

It scared you.

And it surprised you.

"What the fuck are you?" You whispered to yourself.

Because you weren't meant to have a soulmate, that was not in your cards. You symbolized death, violence, and decades of blood-soaked nights.

But one look at her—one incredible, soul-binding glance—and you knew.

That was her.

And she'd destroy you.

You waited a little longer, putting her face on your mind. You had never seen a picture. Only classified information. Names in a file.

Then, finally, you forced yourself away, dropping down silently onto the fire escape, vanishing into the night. But even as you fled, your heart, your bones, your blood screamed for you to turn back...

Later that night, the city sprawled out in front of you, bursting with neon lights and noise.

The world seemed small from your position on the ledge of the high-rise rooftop. Cars snaked through the streets like arteries, lamps blinked like distant stars, and a faint thrum of music, sirens, and drunken laughing slipped into the darkness. The wind tugged on your hair, expressing the bitter fragrance of rain, yet the storm clouds stayed without breaking.

It should have calmed you.

It used to.

You'd always enjoyed looking down at the city from above, feeling distant and untouchable. The world below, with all its cruel secrets and ruthless little games, could not reach you up here.

But tonight, it seemed too loud.

Too alive.

Because of her.

Your fingers beat wildly on your thigh as you leaned back against the cold stone ledge.

You had not seen her face until this evening. You'd heard murmurs, sure, but everyone in your line of business knew who the Avengers were. An issue that you avoided. Something that you didn't want to start.

But then you walked inside that flat,

That pull.

And then you saw her.

You knew what it meant. Your kind only got one.

And yours... yours was standing in the same goddamn room, "Fucking perfect," you'd hissed to yourself.

Your vampire instincts didn't make mistakes. She was yours. Fate had written it in blood centuries before you were born.

And you'd rather tear your own heart out than claim it.

Because you didn't do love.

You didn't do forever.

You killed people. You enjoyed it, you survived.

Not this.

Your phone buzzed.

A text from one of your people.

"Files secured. Attendance confirmed. Party next week."

Good. Work. A distraction, you slammed the file shut. But the job wasn't done.

The event was set for a week starting tonight. A high-profile gala. Charity for appearances; dirt behind closed doors. Politicians, businessmen, military leaders, and, as you may have heard, the Avengers are on security detail. Of course, they'd be there. A perfect, shining cover.

You had already set the plan in acmotionPower would go out at your signal. Your blow would be covered by chaos. Inside and outside. Quiet and clean.

You took the paperwork and tucked it under your coat, your fingers firm even if your heart wasn't.

"One million dollars, you son of a bitch," you mumbled. You tipped your head back, one last look at the restless city, then stepped off the building's edge, vanishing into the night.

Next week....

Your car's engine hummed as if it were alive, sleek and threatening beneath your palms. It was midnight black and polished to a mirror shine, cutting through the city streets like a predator on the chase. The city lights flashed across the glass as you drove, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping the earpiece between your fingers.

"Status report," you whispered, your voice cool and chilly, conveying authority without having to exude it.

"Perimeter's set," Becca said via the communicator, "Security at the west gate has doubled since this morning, but we have eyes. The power grid is ours as soon as you say so."

You grinned while tapping a nail on the driving wheel.

"Good. What about Mr Crane?"

"Upstairs. VIP lounge on the third floor. A tight circle of bodyguards. There has been no evidence of the Avengers, but rumours suggest they will arrive soon."  Pffft

Of course they will. You almost hoped they would.

As you got long road leading up to the event, the magnificent mansion became visible. A huge, large property served as the site for the evening's incredible show. Expensive cars lined the way in, and photographers flashed lights at everyone with enough money or power to matter.

"Final check," you repeated into your communicator. "Exit ways?"

"North gate is left alone. The east hallway leads to the removal spot. There are no snipers or drones overhead."

A delighted murmur escaped your throat.

"Then it's a beautiful night to have fun, right?"

You came to a stop near the red carpet, and an attendant arrived, showing nervousness soon as he noticed your sipresenceGood. You wanted them to be nervous.

You stepped out of the car, heels clicking on the ground, your dress catching the light like spilled wine. Conversations stopped, heads turned, and gazes lingered. You didn't recognize any of them.

You were here for one reason.

As you neared the great hallway, a security guard stood in your path, hand raised.

"Name, invitation, and—"

You glanced at him, a slow, deadly smile twisting your lips.

"Look at me," you murmured, your voice a gentle blade, "you're going to let me through." His eyes widened immediately, as the vampire's affect slipped over his mind.

"I'm... going to let you through," he repeated, dazed, stepping aside as if it had been his idea all along.

"And forget about me." He simply turned around and let me in; oh, how simple that is.

The hunt had begun.

You slipped through it all as if you belonged there, which you did. Nobody would question you. Not tonight.

A glass of rich red wine slipped into your palm, snatched from the table with expert elegance.

"Eyes on him yet?" Becca's words crackled in your ear.

"Not yet," you muttered, gazing at the shining crowd.

You moved to one of the tall, arched windows, leaning a shoulder against the marble frame as you let the soft notes of the quartet wrap around you. It was a game of patience now, and you were very, very good at waiting.

Another sip.

You let your gaze wander, catching snippets of hushed conversations... 

Every clink of glass, every scent of perfume, and every heartbeat in the room fought at the back of the throat. The wine had been a poor replacement for what you truly desired. You could feel it: the tightness in your jaw, the way your eyes remained just a little too wide in the dim light, and every pulse in every neck around you ringing out like a siren.

Hunger.

You rolled your eyes and tipped your head back, suppressing the urge to groan. "God, I need a drink," you muttered under your breath.

Thomas Crane, greasy little bastard in an overpriced suit, reeking of power and fear, moving through the crowd like he owned the place. You straightened from where you leaned against a marble column, eyes locking on him like a hawk. The pulse in your throat skipped.

There you are, you piece of shit.

You began to move, moving through the crowd with the grace. The world slowed, and your senses sharpened like blades.

And then—of course.

Captain America himself was standing alongside him, smiling as if this was a healthy gathering rather than an evil lair. Steve freaking Rogers. A clean-cut, good boy scout with biceps. His presence was like a cold shower in your warm, twisted night.

You paused in your steps, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

"Are you kidding me right now?" You whispered, partly to yourself, half to the communicator. "Of all the goddamn nights..."

Becca's voice cracked back, suppressing a chuckle. "Problem, boss?"

"Yeah, America's Ass is speaking up my payday." You looked at them with droopy eyes. "If I didn't already want to kill this guy, I'd do it just to get the blonde boy scout off my case."

Your hunger spiked again. Not just for blood, but for the satisfaction of sinking your blade into Crane's smug chest and feeling the heartbeat stop under your hand.

Your communication crackled faintly in your ear. "The south doorway is protected. The power generator is ready when you are, boss."

You grinned, one sharp canine just grazing your lip.

"Good," you muttered, your gaze never leaving Crane. "We drop it on my word."

Someone is watching you.

Natasha Romanoff appeared in front of you, over polished marble and clinking glasses.

Red dress. Eyes like ice. One brow rose in silent awareness.

Shit.

She was not shocked to see you. But she was worried.

You saw her tilt her head, fingers quietly stroking on her comm. Your increased hearing allowed you to hear the words as if they were said right next to you.

"We have a problem, guys. Protect him immediately."

Your lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

The music kept playing. The guests kept laughing. But for you, time felt like it held its breath.

Your hand lifted, brushing dark hair off your shoulder as if to flirt with someone across the room, but the motion was for your team.

"Lights down."

You whispered it.

And the world obeyed.

A heartbeat later, the chandeliers flickered once. Twice.

Then the entire room plunged into darkness.

Steve Rogers was good. Fast, powerful, and experienced. But you were something else completely.

Before he could respond, you appeared in front of him like smoke, a blur of grace and power, and swung your arm once, one clean, amazing backhand — sending him falling into an iron pillar with a loud boom.

He collapsed to the ground with a moan, stunned but breathing. Not your problem.

Your dagger was already at hand.

You turned on Crane, your grin wild in the darkness, teeth shining as his eyes widened.

There was something delightful about his fear, the way his throat shook as he tried to swallow it, the way he stumbled back against the wall as if he could melt through it and get away from you.

"P-please—"

You put a finger to your lips, mockingly. "Shh," you grinned. "You're ruining my fun."

Then you laughed.

Not respectful. Not gentle. A deep, rich, sharp-edged sound rang true through the darkness.

Without saying anything further, you plunged the dagger immediately into his belly, twisting as you went. He made a wet, gasping sound, his eyes became hazy, and red spilled down his front.

You leaned in closer. "I normally take my time," you hissed against his ear, voice smooth and deadly, "but you, Thomas... You were never worth the effort."

He slumped. Dead weight.

You let him fall.

And as his body hit the ground, you lifted your gaze to the shadows, already hearing the buzz of a repulsor charging and footsteps scrambling.

But you simply grinned. Because it was done.

The lights snapped back on.

Everything stopped for a single second. The shining room was a jumble of fallen tables, broken glass, and terrified guests gathered together, murmuring in terror.

Natasha was already moving. She ran across the floor, dropping to her knees near Thomas's crushed body. Blood pooled beneath him, painting the marble floor a rich scarlet. His dead eyes gazed up at the ceiling.

"Shit," Nat whispered under her breath, pushing two fingers on his neck despite knowing it was pointless.

Tony burst in through the glass in full costume, metal boots crashing against the floor.

His mask pulled out, revealing a confused, annoyed Tony Stark.

"What the hell happened here?? I leave for two minutes, and it turns into a murder mystery?"

Steve stared around, tensed. "Someone took Crane. Fast."

Tony reviewed the room. "Security said there was no breach of security. Whoever did this was already inside."

Natasha kept silent, her gaze fixed on the window.

Tony gazed at her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Natasha's voice seemed calm, yet something about it was odd. "We need to talk in private."

Steve lifted his eyebrow. "You know who did this?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "But I've got a bad feeling."

Tony frowned. "That's helpful."

Natasha stood slowly, cleaning blood off her gloves. "Trust me. If it's who I believe it is, we have a much bigger problem than one dead billionaire."

From across the city, you stood on a rooftop, one hand resting comfortably on your hip. A smirk tugged on your lips.

You knew she had seen you. And that was the fun part.

Avengers Tower – Next Day

The conference room on the top floor of the Tower felt naturally quiet. The morning sunshine came through the huge glass windows, catching on the edges of modern technology.

Wanda Maximoff sat at the far end, holding a cup of tea with both hands. She looked drained, her dark brown hair a little tangled, her eyes influenced by a sleepless night.

Pietro fell into the chair next to her, his fingers beating on the polished table like a clock. He wasn't meant to wait.

"Why are we even here?" he murmured, flashing a gaze at the door. "It's too early for this."

Wanda glanced at him. "Maybe if you didn't stay out half the night causing trouble, it wouldn't feel early."

Pietro grinned. "I wasn't making problems. I was practicing."

"конечно" (of course)

Across the table, Sam Wilson rested in his chair, nursing a mug of black coffee. "Practicing what? How do I get detention?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Tony Stark said as he entered the room, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and a cup of something expensive-looking in hand. He sank into a seat with a big sigh.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Where's Natasha? She called this meeting."

"No clue," Tony muttered.

For a little while, the room was quiet.

Sam looked around. "Does anyone else feel like...? Is something wrong?"

"You mean besides someone getting murdered right under our noses?" Steve murmured.

"Yeah. That."

Before anybody could respond, the door opened and Natasha walked in, a file clenched in her hand and her face stone.

"Morning," she responded, her tone harsh. "We've got a problem."

Without saying anything, she dropped the folder onto the table. Photos poured out — primarily unclear security camera footage,

A woman. Dark eyes, like twin daggers. A bright dagger in one hand. Blood splattered on a cheekbone like battle paint.

"That's our killer," Natasha said without preamble.

Everyone leaned in.

"Who is she?" Sam asked.

Natasha took a deep breath.

 "Her name is Y/N. We've known about her for years, or believed we did. She is a vampire. A professional assassin. No loyalty, no reason. People hire this type of person when they do not want to leave any trace. Shield had attempted to track her previously. "Never came close."

"A vampire," Tony repeated, as if to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Fast. Strong." Natasha continued, "Smart as hell." And risky. She has taken out politicians, CEOs, and military officials. Last night, she threw Steve across the room as if he weighed nothing. That alone should frighten you."

Wanda muttered softly, "She was laughing." Everyone turned to her. She hadn't intended to say it out, but the picture stuck in her brain. That grin. Like a beast in blood-soaked silk.

"She's the best there is," Nat replied, holding Wanda's gaze for a time, something unreadable going between them. "And she doesn't miss."

"Why the hell was she after Thomas?" Tony asked, confused.

"This was not a random hit. Someone spent a lot of money to get Thomas Crane out, and Y/N doesn't do favors. Whoever it was has money and influence. And I do not believe this is over."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"I mean, whoever hired her isn't done," Natasha said gently. "There will be another target. And another after that. I can feel that this is part of a larger play."

"So what's the plan?" Tony asked.

"We don't just hunt her down. We get her on our side."

"She's dangerous, yeah," Natasha said. "But if we don't get her first, somebody else will. And we cannot afford to allow whoever is behind this to continue to use her as a loaded gun. She may be the only one who can bring us close to whoever is pulling the strings."

Wanda's fingers curled around the cup. She wasn't sure if it was an itch of fear or something else completely, but she didn't speak.

"We find her," Natasha murmured, her voice quiet and confident. "And we make her to be on our side before they do."

A few days later....

You noticed her long before she showed up.. The quietest sound of a heartbeat struggling to keep steady.

Amateur.

You turned onto a side path without breaking stride. The darkness greeted you like an old friend. You waited.

"Miss Romanoff," you said without looking around, your voice silky as good whiskey. "Surely you have better ways to spend your afternoon than chasing creatures older than your country."

Natasha entered seconds later, mouth set and arms folded. "You don't make yourself easy to find."

"That's rather the point."

A pause. The tension was tight, heavy. Natasha gazed at you seriously, but you were not in a hurry. You never were.

"We need people like you," she eventually said, her voice low. "Things are moving. Borders are being drawn. We could need a lady who knows how to get her hands dirty."

You smiled softly. "Delicious. But, sweetheart, I've been through more of your selfish problems than you can count, and they all end the same way: bodies in the ground with no one left to remember why."

Natasha kept staring. "It doesn't have to be that way."

You took a step closer, the distance between you charged, but you made no effort to threaten. "I am not a soldier in your battle, Romanoff. I choose my own battles. And my loyalty, once bought, is expensive." A smirk. "More than your Stark's pocket change can cover."

Natasha exhaled through her nose. "Think about it."

You dipped your head with that old-fashioned, mocking bow. "I do not think, miss.  I make the decision."

Without extra word, you turned and vanished into the darker streets, leaving Natasha alone.

"She's going to be a problem," Natasha whispered into her comm.

And you smiled to yourself as you blended into the crowd.

They've been doing this for almost a month now.

You feel them – they're always watching and chasing shadows. Their footsteps are trying too hard to be quiet, and their gaze stays just a second too long when you pass by in the crowd. When one of them gets closer, the tension in the air is palpable.

Foolish.

You always manage to slip past their grasp. You're there one moment and gone the next, like a ghost in the wind.

And in the meanwhile, you feed.

Not recklessly - you're far too careful for that. However, your hunger has always cost a price. A politician here and a trafficker there. A man whose crimes would make the devil tremble. Targets for hire, or simply those that the world would not miss. The monster is kept under control, but only just.

Until your last mission…

The ballroom was a return to another era, with tall chandeliers shining with hundreds of candles.

It felt like home.

This was your world once. A world where monsters wore silk and pearls and death arrived disguised as midnight.

Your target tonight: Lord Sebastian Hale. A man as vile as the rumors claimed. Whispers of the children gone missing in the neighboring villages.

You watched him now, laughing too loudly, his hands too familiar on the waist of a girl who couldn’t be older than sixteen.

Pervert.

You swirl the wine in your glass, seeing the crimson wine reflect the candlelight like blood in a vase. The old ballroom hums with subtle string music.

You lean against a stone pillar, mainly listening to the symphony and half watching your target giggle at a private joke near the fireplace. His fate was locked in the moment you accepted the job, and his blood would soon mark the floor.

But for now, the wine is plenty, and the night is young.

A presence draws you, and you recognize it before you see her: warm, electric, pulling at something old and buried in your chest.

And then you see her.

The woman in front of you is clothed in red, which seems wicked against her pale skin, and her dark hair falls loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes—God, those eyes—were a shade of green you'd never seen before, soft and powerful all at once. You feel like the world is closing in on you.

"May I have this dance?" Her voice is lilting, with a strong accent.

For the first time in a very long while, you forget how to speak.

You gently placed your wine down, a tiny, amused smile curving your lips. "I suppose I can spare a moment," you say softly, your voice softer than normal.

Her smile grows wider, and she extends her hand.

Without hesitation, you accept it. Her touch is warm, and it causes a shiver in your freezing skin. Everything falls into place as if it were always meant to be.

She brings you to the floor, and you let her, which surprises you more than it should.

The music surrounds you both as you drift smoothly around the floor. Wanda's hand feels warm in yours, steady and confident. You attempt to duplicate her calmness, but your dead heart beats a little quicker than you would want.

"So," you continue quietly, trying to sound casual, "how is the Avengers' recruitment work going? I guess I am not your first target tonight." You said ironically.

Wanda giggles softly, as if revealing a secret. "You're definitely the most interesting one."

Your lips move into a little smile, a nervous habit you don't notice yourself doing. "Is that a compliment, or a warning?"

She leans in, "Maybe a little of both."

You swallow, trying to focus on the dance rather than the fire building in your chest. "I've been around for a long time. You believe you know someone based on a few stories and rumors, but the reality may be darker."

Wanda nods and takes a step closer. "I'm not afraid of the dark. Sometimes it's the only thing that seems honest."

Your eyes meet...

"So, what's next?" You ask, dropping a tone. "Are you going to convince me to join you? Or threaten to stop what I'm doing?"

She smiles,  "Neither. I want you to decide. "Because only someone like you can make that decision."

You chuckle with a short, breathy tone. "Miss Maximoff, you're brave. I like that."

"And I'm just getting started," she continues, keeping her gaze fixed on you.

You tighten your hand slightly around hers, a delicate, almost undetectable move, and guide her into a slower turn as the orchestra transitions to a more gentle melody.

"So," you mutter, your voice a little harder and softer, "tell me, Miss Maximoff... Do you ever get tired of the hero business? Saving the world must be exhausting."

Wanda lets out a small laugh, her lips curling into something genuine. "More than you'd imagine. But I suppose being hunted down for a living isn't really a holiday."

You chuckle, your thumb brushing over her hand in a way that could have been innocent if not for the way your gaze stayed on her. "Touché. But we aren't here to talk about me or the world breaking apart, are we?

Her brows rise, revealing a hint of question and maybe something warmer beneath. "Then what are we here for, exactly?"

The song is slowing, though neither of you makes a move to leave the floor.

"You're not what I expected," Wanda said softly, her voice cutting across the thick air between you.

The corner of your mouth twitched. "Is that so, Miss Maximoff?" you drawled, allowing an old accent to twist your words. It always made them pause and made their pulse race. However, she didn't. No, she only grinned, as if she knew you too well already.

"I expected a monster," she said.

"And what am I, then?" Though your throat felt tight, you asked with a light expression.

"Something dangerous," she confessed. "But not heartless."

"You shouldn't say such things, Miss Maximoff," you murmured, leaning in just enough to get a whiff of her perfume.  "You might give a girl the wrong idea."

Her smile became cheeky. "Maybe I'm hoping to."

The music slowed down, the violins soft and quiet. The rest of the world was focused on her hand in yours, the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight flicker of red light beneath her lashes when she blinks.

"Come with us," Wanda asked softly. "Please help us put an end to this.You don't need to be alone in the dark anymore."

You swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed to run. You didn’t owe them anything. Didn’t owe her anything.

And yet.

"Yes."

Wanda's lips parted, a little flicker of surprise reflecting in those forest-green eyes.

But before that warmth could sink in, you leaned in closer, your breath ghosting across her ear.

"But first," you muttered, "I have one last piece of business."

Wanda hardly had time to respond before you gently removed her hand. You moved across the floor, the crowd separating like water in your path.

Your gaze fell on Lord Hale, who was too busy talking to a group of impatient, pervet nobles to notice death coming.

You removed the blade hidden beneath your dress with one quick, trained move, its silver sparkle catching the light of the chandelier. Before anyone could shout, you stabbed it deep into his chest.

His shocked cry rang in the sudden silence.

Blood erupted against his white waistcoat, leaving a growing, damning sign.

Gasps, shouts, and everyone comes to a stop.

Across the room, you caught Wanda's gaze: calm, steady, and without judgment. Only the same quiet promise.

You grinned, blood pouring through your veins and your vampire senses burning. Around you, chaos exploded. Guards reach for weapons, guests cry, and someone shouts orders via a communication device.

"We've got a situation—" a voice crackled over the Avengers communication line.

"сестра, what's going on?"  Pietro asked.             (Sister,)

But Wanda... Wanda just grinned. A slow, secret thing as she tilted her head and spoke into her communication device:

"Let her go."

That stupid smile was the last thing you noticed before diving through the stained-glass window in a spray of color and light.

You knew you'd come back.

Because now you belonged to her.

And she'd wait.

[ninus9607]

hi there! I just recently found your works and absolutely love them! do you think you’d ever consider writing a second part to billy's and tommy's wishes? I’d love to see their journey during the pregnancy and after with their baby girl if that’s something you’re comfortable writing! either way, thank you for your wonderful stories! (:

OMG THANK YOU!

I'm so glad you like my storiesss, and yeah!

After I'm done with my new work I probably start to think about it, because at first, it was supposed to be only one part, but a lot of you texted me if I could write second partt anddd I can't resist you sooo...

Officially be PREPARED FOR PART 2.

Asap.

[ninus9607]

Heeyy!

Soo recently, I was thinking about something that I need to ask u...

I'm writing a new oneshot with Wanda, but i felt like my stories are maybe too long for oneshot's.... So, should I start a new series?

Thank you guyss

[ninus9607]

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER POLL

Hello, my loves!

So you know, whaat's going onnn....

Thank youuu

[ninus9607]

One and only - Agatha Harkness

Pairing(s): Agatha Harkness x Female! reader

Word count: 14K

tags: l content: Dark Romance, Forced Marriage, Manipulation, Abuse, Smut, Angst, Praise Kink, Magic, Passionate sex, Fluff and Smut, Magic Strap, creampie, dirty talk, 18+,

AN: The story contains elements of abuse, manipulation, graphic sexual scenes, Mental and emotional trauma. Also, I hope u guys will like it, it's my first ff in second pov

The rich aroma of sage and honey hung in the air, wrapping in ghostly fingers around the flickering candles perched on stone walls. With its shelves loaded with books so old that their spines had cracked and flaked with age, the Harkness estate's study was a temple of ancient power. But none of it mattered at that time.

The cool, steady voice of her mother filled the room as Agatha Harkness stood straight in the middle, her purple power pulsing beneath her skin, threatening to spill over.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace."

Evanora's words poked Agatha like a sharp sword, cutting her too many times to flinch now. The elder woman stood tall beside the fireplace, her long black robes brushing the floor like trailing shadows, her gray-streaked hair tied securely, and she looked harsh and strict.

"I built this coven. I kept it through war, fire, and abuse," Evanora said, her eyes narrowing like sharpened glass. "And you... You waste your gift chasing petty distractions and self-serving rebellion."

Agatha's jaw narrowed. "I have never wasted a damn thing," she said, her voice frosty. "Everything I've done, from studying spells to fighting battles, has been for this coven. For Salem."

"For yourself," Evanora said strongly. "For your personal pleasure. You think I didn't notice it? The way you push past the limits of your power, ignoring the advice of your elders. You're careless. Wild."

The muscle in Agatha's cheek trembled. "I'm powerful."

"And power without control is dangerous," Evanora warned. "You walk the edge of ruin, Agatha."

"I can control myself just fine," Agatha hissed, blue magic blazing at her fingertips. "It's you who can't stomach the thought of me not bending to your perfect little plans."

"I will not debate this," Evanora said, the air in the room sizzling with restrained energy. "You are of age. Your name will be called upon before the council. You will take a wife. Or a husband. I do not care. You must form a connection that strengthens the coven's future, or you will be passed over."

Agatha's lips twisted in disgust. "You'd rather marry me off like a bartered sheep than let me lead as I am?"

"You forget yourself," Evanora warned her, her tone low and deadly.

"This coven is based on tradition. About alliances. On peace. A leader without a relationship with others is weak. Salem cannot afford weaknesses. Witches are once again fighting a frigid world. We cannot rely just on strength. We must integrate ourselves into the fabric of this town. Through the bloodlines. Through marriage."

"I would rather die alone than be bound by expectation," Agatha said.

Evanora gave a bitter, humorless chuckle. "You speak like a child, high on the fantasy of liberty. You think the world will let you go unclaimed? That you'll carve out a space based just on power? You are powerful, yes, but you are still a woman. A witch. If you don't anchor yourself, the world will take everything from you."

"I don't need an anchor," Agatha hissed as the air around her vibrated and the candles flickered furiously. "And I don't need your approval."

"No," Evanora answered gently, with a bitter and satisfied tone. "But you need the coven. And this coven would never follow a lady who can't even commit to another."

Agatha moved closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. "So what?" You'll marry me off to the poor soul you believe would control me? Watch me choke on a loveless marriage to guarantee your own tradition?"

Evanora responded calmly, "I will do whatever is necessary for Salem. As you will, or you will not lead."

The room fell silent, packed with years of unspoken pain, unmet expectations.

Agatha's voice fell, shaking with suppressed anger. "I will select. But it will be my decision. Not yours. Not the council's."

Evanora's eyes narrowed. "You have until the next full moon."

And then, as if to wrap up the argument, Evanora turned and exited the chamber, her robes murmuring against the stone floor.

The huge oak door slammed shut with a shocking crash, leaving Agatha alone with the pounding in her chest and the faint aroma of sage and strength....

The morning started like any other.

Cold.

Anxious.

You walked gently across the dark kitchen, the floorboards groaning beneath you. The hearth had long since gone cold, and you knew better than to waste wood without permission. Your fingers moved rapidly to grab the little packets of dried tea leaves your mother had set out the night before.

"You better sell every single one of those," your father's voice shouted from behind you, gruff and sharp as a needle. You tensed and held the basket to your chest.

"I will," you said, your gaze fixated on the floor.

"What was that?" He yelled and stepped closer. You noticed the bitterness of last night's alcohol on his breath.

"I will," you replied loudly, your voice trembling around the edges.

His hand came down hard on the table next to you, causing you to flinch.

"I don't send you out there to laze around like a worthless little thing. Do you hear me? No tea left by dusk. And don't you dare return with less money than yesterday. Bitch."

You instantly nodded, knowing you shouldn't debate. Your mother sat calmly at the table, eyes downcast, hands busy stitching, never meddling or saying.

"Get out of my sight," he muttered and turned away.

You snatched up the basket and slipped through the doorway, the cold morning air hitting your skin like a slap. You took a deep breath, the scent of frost and woodsmoke a sharp contrast to the weight of the house behind you.

You wouldn't cry.

Not out here.

Not where people could see.

So you straightened your shoulders, wiped your sleeve across your face, and started down the path toward the market square.

By the time you arrived, the market square was already full of activity, with the sound of voices echoing through the cool morning air. Sellers promoted their products, the aroma of fresh bread and roasted meat mixed with the minerals of wet straw and herbs. Villagers walked between sellers in groups, sharing gossip as easily as coins.

You located your normal location near the square's edge, where the sidewalks broke and plants sprang between them. It wasn't much, certainly not as busy as the main stretch—but it was far enough away from the worst of the stares and sharp tongues.

You placed your basket on the aged wooden box you used as a temporary table and began arranging the small bundles of tea. Lavender, chamomile, and mint. All were neatly wrapped with rope and marked in your mother's cramped handwriting.

"Tea for aches, tea for sleep," you shouted gently, barely heard above the noise of the market.

A few passing ladies gave you sympathetic glances, some pitying, others uncaring. A hunched old guy talked you down to half price on a bunch of lemon balm. You let it go without protesting. You didn't really care about the currency. You simply wanted to be done before the sun went too low, and your father's comments turned into punches.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at the crowd.

That is when you noticed her.

A dark-haired woman near one of the nicer stalls reviews a package of herbs with casual authority. She wore rich blue leather, which only the village's witches dared to wear so publicly. Her posture, the way the other villagers parted like water around her, showed that she wasn't just anybody.

You have seen her before.

Agatha Harkness.

Everyone in Salem recognized her name.

And for reasons you couldn't explain, your heart gave a little kick in your chest when her eyes flicked up and landed on you.

When her eyes met yours, you instantly shifted your look, showing that you were busy rearranging the little bundles of tea. Your fingers stumbled over the rope, becoming clumsy all of a sudden.

Why is she looking at me?

You felt her presence before seeing her, a slight change in the air as she arrived. A scent of mint and something deeper, like rain-soaked dirt, surrounded you.

"Good morning," said a quiet, silky voice that sounded exactly as you expected.

You swallowed hard, raising your gaze just slightly. Agatha Harkness stood in front of your stand, one eyebrow lifted and the corners of her lips curled perilously near to a grumble.

"G-Good morning, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice a bit faint, and the words stuck in your throat.

Her glance swept over your small appearance, stopping at a little bundle of lavender and petals of roses. "I'll take this one."

Your fingers trembled as you grabbed it up and carefully wrapped it in a scrap of cotton. "Miss Harkness, it's good for sleep. A-and to calm the nerves."

"Is that so?" she said, her gaze causing your skin to tingle. Not rudely, but interested, as if you were something she hadn't expected to find.

You nodded and handed her the package, your hands brushing against hers for just a second. It sent an odd warm sensation up your arm.

Agatha put the Pine (money) into your hand, significantly more than the bundle was worth, her fingers lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

"Keep the change, sweetheart," she said, and your breath caught at her affection.

You barely thought to thank her as she turned, the dark velvet of her cloak catching the early light as she walked away and vanished into the crowd. But not before returning your stare with a quick glance back over her shoulder.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

You had no idea why, but something told you this wouldn't be the last time you saw her.

You returned home as the day came to a close and the sun began to set. When you pushed the door open, the home smelled like old ale and wet wood. The light from outside just broke through the crooked doorway, and your stomach squeezed as it usually did when you crossed the border between market freedom and home.

Your father had already fallen into his normal chair beside the fire, a bottle in hand, his face red and bad. Your mother barely glanced at you as she sat stitching in the corner, her fingers working mechanically and her eyes blank.

"Well?" Your father growled, stretching out his rough hand.

You quickly went into your dress pocket and took out the money. The material felt too heavy in your hand now. You knew well than to hesitate, yet your fingers remained closed for a heartbeat too long.

He noticed.

"The hell are you waiting for, girl?" He snapped, his voice heavy and garbled.

You were shaking and placed the money in the palm of his hand.

His sleepy eyes counted them, and a frown formed on his face. "Where's the rest?"

"That's all of it," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor.

Without warning, his hand slammed into your cheek. The power of it knocked you back, searing the skin where his palm had impacted.

"Lying little wretch," he hissed. "Do you think I don't know your tricks? As useless as your whore of a mother."

Your mother didn't say anything.

You didn't wait long enough to see if there was another hit coming. You ran to your little room in the back of the house, closing the door behind you with shaky hands and leaning your back against it while your chest heaved.

The sting on your face hurt, yet you did not weep. You had stopped sobbing long ago.

Instead, you closed your eyes and thought about her.

The way Agatha Harkness had looked at you like you were something worth seeing.The touch of her fingertips brushing across yours. The velvety lilt in her voice as she called you sweetheart.

An odd aching started in your chest, foreign and delicate, yet it was enough to make you forget where you were for a short while.

You curled up on your small bed, fingers ghosting over the mark on your face, and mumbled her name as if it were a secret you weren't willing to share with anybody.

"Agatha..."

And for the first time in weeks, you fell slept.

The morning sun had barely passed the trees when your father yelled at you to go. A basket full of nicely wrapped tea bundles hung heavily on your hip as you ran down the old road to the market square. Your cheek still ached from yesterday night's hit, but you'd learned not to waste time on things like that. There was no point in it.

The market was busy as usual, with sellers shouting out their products, kids racing between stalls, and the aroma of new bread blending with smoke from neighboring hearths. You returned to your normal area by the well and gently placed your basket, arranging the small cloth bags of dried herbs and flowers.

"Two for Pine," you said to people walking by, keeping your head down and your voice mild.

It wasn't long until a familiar face drew your attention.

It's her again...

The second-most powerful witch in Salem. Daughter of Evanora. Everyone knew her name, and you'd never forgotten her captivating face from yesterday. She walked through the crowd with the relaxed attitude that you admired, her black hair falling in waves down her back.

You tried not to look, but when she turned towards your stall, your breath caught.

"Good morning," Agatha said, her voice silky as silk and readily heard over the market's clamor. Her blue eyes ran throughout your small desk.

You gripped the edge of your basket. "G-Good morning, Miss Harkness."

The corner of her mouth rose. "Selling tea again today?"

You nodded rapidly, avoiding her gaze as heat crawled up your neck. "Y-Yes, Miss. You can add dried lavender, chamomile, or peppermint if you want."

Agatha's eyes remained on you, not the tea. "I'll take some lavender."

Your palms shook as you grabbed for the bundle. "T-Two for Pine, miss."

Agatha dropped a silver coin into your palm, greatly beyond the asking price. "Keep the change."

Your fingers curled around the penny, and your heart beat like a scared rabbit's. "T-Thank you, Miss Harkness."

She smiled, and for a moment, it wasn't the cold smirk the villagers gossiped about. It was warm. Almost tender.

"I'll see you again," she murmured, and then she was gone, swept back into the crowd like a dream you weren't sure you'd truly had.

And she did..

She showed up every other day, without fail.

Always dressed in deep-colored dresses, her presence was dominant but never cruel. She'd stand by your stall, buy something she didn't need, and leave you with much too much money for it. At first, you believed it was an accident. Then, be nice. Then something else you wouldn't dare to mention.

She spoke to you more on each visit. Casual conversation about the weather, local gossip, and the aroma of your tea.

You began searching for her.

Agatha returned one day, with clouds hanging thick in the sky. Her hair was tied back loosely, and she wore a deep violet shawl across her shoulders. You gave her a careful grin, your heart skipping like it usually does now.

"Afternoon, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice light as the wind.

She cocked her head and studied you. "Afternoon, my dear."

The nickname stunned you. Nobody has ever called you anything like that before.

"I brought a new combination today," you explained, holding out a little packet.

But Agatha did not reach for the tea. Instead, her gaze tightened, concentrating on the small darkening developing over your cheekbone - a bruise you'd done your best to cover up.

Her hand reached out before you could react, her fingertips brushing against your skin with such care that you felt a thrill down your spine. "Who did this to you?" she said, her tone low and dangerous, unlike her usual mocking.

You tensed. Panic rose in your chest.

"I—I tripped," you said hurriedly, looking down at the basket you were carrying. "Fetching a drink this morning."

Agatha remained silent for a long, painful beat. You could feel her eyes piercing into you, and her hand lingering on your face.

"Clumsy thing, you need to be more careful," she said quietly, but her voice was tight and strained, and you swear you saw her jaw quiver.

"I'm fine," you quickly added, thinking that was enough. "Truly, miss."

Agatha said nothing else, only dropped the usual pine into your hand and took her tea. But as she turned to leave, she cast a glance back over her shoulder, blue eyes smoldering in a way that made your breath catch.

"I'll see you soon, my darling," she said softly.

And she did. Every other day. Always.

You hadn't meant for it to happen.

Falling in love, you mean. Except for what is written in your romance novels, you have no idea what love is.

It started with a sparkle, a quick look across the marketplace, a kind comment when no one else was willing to offer one.. She was everything you shouldn't even look at, let alone talk to. But she continued to be there each day.

You were waiting for her there.

You convinced yourself it was nothing at first. She liked your work, purchased your tea blends, and gave you a smile that made your cheeks flame and your stomach turn. Her voice was like smoke curling in your ear, and she always called you a beautiful girl.

However, it went past that.

She saw you. Not in the manner that others did—as a servant girl, a tool, and an insult to her family. Another object caught her eye. You hardly recognized it yourself.

Her visits became a way for you to mark your days. You would wake up every other morning with a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe Agatha would visit your stand once more today. Even if your outfit was made of the same faded fabric as usual, you would take extra time to smooth it and put the bundles of herbs and teas. Even if your face still had the faint traces of your father's anger, and your fingers hurt from work.

Then she would show there, tall, graceful, and with a sparkle in her eye as if she knew a secret you would never hear. She would always laugh softly and tell you to just call her Agatha, but you would fumble your words and keep calling her Miss Harkness.

However, you were unable to. Not quite yet. Not when she was feeling so far away.

At first, when you didn't even know what love was meant to feel like, it wasn't love. However, it was something. A feeling of warmth in your chest. A glimmer of hope in an otherwise dismal and frigid world.

And it built slowly without anyone noticing.

When you boiled the water for your family's meals, you thought of her, wondering what her house would look like and whether she drank tea at night like you did, in peace and quiet. You were curious about the sound of her laugh when she wasn't hiding it in public behind her palm. If she had ever spoken to someone as gently, cautiously, and kindly as she did to you.

You held on to those times. Because your mother's nasty words and your father's anger dominated the rest of your life. To empty nights spent gazing at your small room's ceiling, to bruises that blossomed on your skin like dark blossoms.

And it had been harsher than normal tonight.

When you got back from the market, he was drunk, and your small supply of cash wasn't enough to calm him down.

He snatched them out of your fingers and hissed, "Useless. Not even able to retrieve what is due. You foolish girl, you'll starve us before winter arrives."

"I sold everything, I swear," you whispered quietly, your stomach tightening and your voice little and harsh.

"Shut your mouth," he said, standing so quickly that the chair scratched against the floor.

You flinched before you even noticed his hand move.

The impact was sharp, splitting across your cheek and hurting you instantly. Your head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood sprang to the corner of your lips. You never cried in front of him.

"Sit down," he said, pointing a shaky, calloused finger toward the table. "Now."

You hesitated for a few while, and your mother stepped from the shadows of the room, her face strained and cold. If she had ever protected you, she had long since stopped doing so.

"Do as your father says," she demanded.

You sat.

The silence that followed was deep, with the only sound being the flickering of the single candle on the table. Your mother cleared her throat.

"There's news," she announced. You'll be married by the end of next week."

The words didn't land correctly. For a time, you simply stared at her, as if you had misheard. "What...?"

She talked without looking at you, her jaw taut. "Jonas Mercer made an offer. "A decent sum for a girl like you."

Bile rose in your throat before you could control it. Jonas Mercer. A man twice your age, brutal to animals, and said to have beaten his last wife to death. You'd seen him at the market, with his eyes fixed on younger ladies and his teeth yellowing at the edges.

"No," you answered, your voice weak but clear. "I won't marry him."

Your mother's eyes sprang open, narrowing into sharp daggers. "You'll do as you're told."

"I won't," you shouted out, shaking your head and heart pounding. "I'd rather die."

It happened so quickly that you barely saw it coming.

Your father was on you in a split second, his rage like a hurricane breaking free. A hand in your hair, pulling you out of the chair, his fist pounding into your stomach, side, and jaw. You landed hard on the floor, gasping for air and feeling sorrow in every nerve.

"Ungrateful little bitch," he said, standing over you, his breath smelling of alcohol. "I'll beat the defiance out of you yet."

You did not wait for the next hit.

Your body moved somewhere between pain and fear. You climbed up, stumbling toward the door, your father's shouts following behind you as you ran into the night.

The cold air hit your face, and the town lamps blurred through your tears as you hurried past the town square, the baker's home, and the market stands that would be empty until morning. Nobody called after you. Nobody cared.

You didn't stop till the forests swallowed you completely.

The forest was deep and dark, and the aroma of grass and damp dirt lingered on your neck. You ran until your legs failed and fell to the chilly, leaf-strewn ground. The sob that tore through you was ugly and brutal, and it made your entire body shake.

You curled up on yourself, hands sinking into the dirt, tears blinding your vision. Every inch of you hurts—especially your ribs, face, and heart.

Your body was still shaking.

The cold had gone into your bones, but neither the night air nor the damp ground below you made your teeth crack. It was terror. The deep, burning horror sat in your chest like a stone, making it difficult to breathe. Your fists were gripped so tightly that they pained, and your nails dug into your palm.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps at first—soft, fast, and getting closer.

"Sweet mercy," a voice breathed, and you recognized it despite your haze. Warm and rich, with a keen edge of worry.

Agatha.

You raised your head, your eyesight unclear; the woods blurring around her as she dropped to her knees beside you. She was not wearing her regular cloak, but rather a modest dark dress with her hair flowing about her shoulders. And she was really attractive. Beautiful enough to make your heart throb, even when it was broken.

"Y/N," she muttered, her voice so delicate that you felt something crack. "Are you hurt? May I touch you?"

You attempted to speak, but your throat felt tight, and no sounds came out. The world swirled, and your hands trembled furiously in your lap.

Agatha's eyes softened, and she slowly reached out, hesitating just as her fingertips touched your skin. "It's alright, sweetheart," she said quietly. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Simply breathe for me, sweetheart... just like that."

Your chest tightened, and a sob caught in your throat.

"Good girl," she said softly, the warmth of her magic touching against you like a summer air, calming and comforting. You felt it wrap around your heart, calming the frenetic beat and releasing the knot in your stomach. It wasn't harsh; it was kind, like a hand smoothing out raw nerves.

She waited until you stopped shaking before slipping her arms beneath you without saying anything more.

Without saying another word, she slipped her arms beneath you after waiting for your trembling to subside.

You should've protested. You should have been ashamed of your situation, but you were too worn out and too empty of self-worth. And there was something about her touch that made it impossible to resist—steady, wary, as if she was worried you might break.

Agatha took you up as if you were weightless and held you to her chest, whispering, "Got you, my love."

The aroma of her, which included smoke, wild herbs, and a darkly sweet scent, filled you as your face leaned against the crook of her neck. You hadn't felt so secure in years.

She spoke in small things you couldn't quite understand as she carried you through the trees. "Safe now, never again," and "mine to keep safe" are other examples. As she moved toward the northern parts of the coven's grounds, the forest behind you disappeared and the night air became warmer.

The tiny residence she took you to was nestled away close to the woods, half-hidden by ivy and blooming flowers, and you hardly noticed it. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the door open, burning the fire inside and filling the room with the aroma of lavender.

Agatha gently placed you on a soft bed, stroking your cheek with her fingers.

"Sleep now," she said, her voice heavy with something you couldn't name.. "When you wake up, I'll be right here."

...

The first thing you noticed was the warmth.

It wasn't the bitter cold of the forest ground or the stuffy heat of your family's little cabin. As if it were a second skin, this was delicate and kind. You heard the steady crackle of a fire in the distance and the subtle smell of herbs and lavender.

You woke up with a dull ache behind your eyelids and pain in other parts of your body that you had not previously noticed. You didn't open them for a while. Your fear of what you may see was too great.

Then you saw that there was no yelling. No angry voice yelling your name, no door slamming, no squeak of heavy boots.

Just silent, as well as comfort.

You opened your eyes.

The space surrounding you was little but beautiful in a way you had never experienced. The walls were lined with bookshelves, glass vials, and bundles of drying herbs, and the windows were lace-curtained, letting in the morning light. You reclined in a broad bed with soft, heavy covers that had a subtle wildflower scent.

You were hit by panic like a lightning strike.

Where—?

The world spun around you as you pulled yourself up too quickly, and you let out a frightened cry.

"Easy, easy, it's me."

You froze at the voice.

Agatha Harkness was seated on a chair by the fire as you turned toward it, your pulse thumping.

Her hair was somewhat messy, as if she hadn't slept, and her coat was slung across the back of it. In her palm was an unfinished cup of tea. Her eyes, however, sharp, storm-dark, and unusually tender, were what made your stomach turn.

Your voice broke, "I- Where-where"

"You're safe," she whispered as she put the cup down and got to her feet. She didn't come closer. Not yet. "You're at my house. You were hurt. Last night, I found you in the forest."

The memories of the yelling, the slap, the pain that was spreading over your body, and the way your feet had taken you without thinking about it came flooding back in pieces as you swallowed hard. Then arms. Warmth. Lavender.

Your throat tightened as you attempted to speak.

Agatha seemed to understand.

She pointed to a little table close by and said, "Would you like some water?"

She came across the room, pouring a cup from a ceramic pitcher after you managed a slight nod. She didn't allow her fingers to touch yours when she passed it to you with both hands.

The cool water reduced the itchy feeling in your throat.

After a while, you murmured, "I... I'm sorry," with a tone full of shame. "Miss Harkness, I didn't mean to bother you."

Something harsh flickered over her face as her brow folded. "There's no trouble with you," she stated confidently. "And enough of that bullshit from Miss Harkness. Call me Agatha."

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you paused. "—I should not to be here. I need to go before..."

"No." It was a kind yet firm word. At that time, she knelt before you and kept a respectful distance. "Y/N... explain what happened."

It hurt in your chest. Your throat ached from the words.

"I-I made a mistake," you whispered. "I didn't have enough market money. And my-" you stumbled, turning your head away. "My dad was drunk. That's how he gets. Likewise, my mother said she was planning to sell me. For money, marry me off to an old man."

Your heart was pounding in your ears, and the room seemed too tiny.

You concluded, "I ran," in a voice so little you barely recognized it. "I ran, but I had no idea where I was going."

Agatha's eyes remained kind despite her tense jaw.

You explained, "I can't stay," but your tone lacked conviction.

"Yes," Agatha murmured, her voice so low it almost seemed like a promise. "You can."

Then, slowly, as a sunrise, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. A spark of ancient terror made you shudder before you could stop yourself, and her hand stopped.

She said, "I will never touch you unless you wish it, I will never hurt you. Not right now. Never."

It was you who spoke first, your voice barely a whisper. "But my father - "

"You're not going anywhere," she replied softly, but there was steel beneath it. "Not until you've eaten. And I heal you're injury"

With only the sound of the odd humming of wind against the window and the gentle crackle of the fire, the room had once again become calm. Agatha gathered a cloth and a tiny bottle of something sharp and scented and walked about with a wound, strained intensity.

She went back to kneel in front of you again, and you sat there shaking.

She said, "This will hurt," but her voice sounded tighter than usual, as if she was struggling to maintain her cool.

Her fingertips touched your cheek, and you hardly nodded, your skin tingling with heat. Despite the harsh taste of whatever cure she applied to your broken lip, the cold, soothing towel was comforting.

Agatha, however, was not checking the wound. She has her eyes on you. At your skin's black bruises that are already growing. At your jaw's tiny handprint that is still there.

Her expression flickered darkly, something raw and terrifying.

Her voice was so low that it seemed more like a growl than actual words when she whispered, "I'll kill him."

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, Agatha was on her feet, swishing her skirts over her boots and pacing the room like a hurricane that was hardly controlled.

She said, "I'll bleed him dry for this." He, as well as your mother, for allowing it. I need to burn their house to the ground. Allow the smoke to strangle them."

With one hand snapping out, she whirled toward the firebox, and the fireplace's flames responded by flaming higher and licking violently at the stone. Her face was painted in a wild manner as the shadows moved over it.

Your voice cracks as you croak, "Miss!!"

Her breathing was heavy now, and her anger was pouring from her like fire, as if she hadn't heard you. As if in response to her anger, the wind outside rocked the glass.

"I'll rip his miserable throat out," she growled. "Before I burn him alive, I'll make him beg." No guy touches what belongs to me. No one is supposed to hurt you."

Her final word hit you like a spark to dried wood.

You weren't scared, even though a part of you should have been. Not her.

She then slowly glanced down at your hand gripping her and the tears in your huge, terrified eyes. Her own eyes grew softer, the fire in them fading as if you burned out the blaze with only your trembling hand.

In contrast to the anger that had raged just a minute earlier, she was careful and kind as she leaned back down and cupped your cheek.

"I apologize," she muttered. "I scared you."

With tears streaming down your face, you shook your head. "No, I just said that they will harm you if you go to them. Or worse. The whole village would come for you."

Agatha laughed bitterly. "Let them try."

However, she sighed and softly leaned her forehead against yours when she noticed the fear in your eyes.

Her voice was more tightly controlled now, but the danger still pulsed under it as she said, "I won't leave you. Never. But tonight, I won't hurt him. For you."

You gave a weak nod.

She touched your face with her thumb. "I swear on my bloodline, Y/N, that he will regret the day he ever breathed again."

An odd warmth grew in your chest despite the terror and the lingering sadness.

That was the first time someone had ever spoken for you.

"Come," she said softly, rising to her feet again. "You need food. And rest."

Later that day.....

The cottage was quiet now, save for the soft, steady crackle of the fire and the occasional sigh of wind against the old wooden shutters. You were lying on Agatha's bed, tucked under the thick blanket, breathing comfortably and slowly for the first time, the tension that had wrapped your tiny body fading into restless sleep.

A big leather-bound book was open in Agatha's lap as she sat close by on her old sofa, one leg curled under her. As she read, she hardly noticed the words, but the yellowed pages caught the shifting light, the writing symbols shining faintly.

Her eyes were drawn to you repeatedly.

To your cheek's bruises. The delicate shadows your lashes create on your skin.

The knock on her door was barely noticeable before it pushed open.

Evanora, towering and strict in dark midnight-blue robes, pinned back with silver hair and her keen gaze scanning the room like a predator, entered without asking for permission, as she always did.

Behind her, the door clicked softly shut.

Agatha tensed, putting the book down and putting it away. "Mother."

Evanora's lips curved in dislike as her eyes fell upon you, sleeping peacefully and exposed in a stranger's bed.

Evanora grumbled, "A village girl," and stepped inside, her gown's hem rustling over the flooring. "Like some reckless, lustful idiot, you bring a village girl into your bed."

Agatha's mouth tightened. "Leave her alone."

"She isn't connected to us. She is nothing." Evanora's eyes glinted, and her speech was as sharp as a knife. One day, Agatha, you will be in charge of this coven. Don't bring it into shame by taking in strays you see crying in the forest.

Agatha raised her back and stood up. "She's not stray."

Evanora smiled icily, without humor. "So, daughter, what is she to you? A pet? A pet? Don't assume that I'm unaware of your years of avoidance. You will get married, I told you. And you'll make the decision. Or the coven will never be yours."

At her sides, Agatha's hands rolled into fists. "I've made a choice."

Evanora's eyebrows raised, arching. "Oh?"

With her heart racing, Agatha's eyes briefly shifted to you before returning to her mother.

"Y/N," she murmured yet firmly. "Her or nobody."

The room became silent.

After a long, horrible time of staring at her, Evanora laughed sharply and cynically.

"That filthy girl?" She growled.

"Jonas Mercer is the owner of that girl. They promised her. His father is wealthy, as you are aware. The village as a whole gains from the agreement. She was sold by her parents for three acres of land and a silver bag."

Agatha's voice was low and trembling with controlled rage as she answered, "I don't care. I want her."

"You cannot have her!" Evanora snapped. "Would you give up your future for that girl? You'd be ashamed of our coven for some scared slip of a thing that couldn't fight back?"

"I would burn this whole village to the ground before I let another hand touch her," Agatha responded, her voice dead calm. "I would see Mercer's bones ash at my feet before he so much as looks at her."

Evanora's nostrils widened, the air between them thick with tension, and magic crackled slightly, like a storm barely kept back.

"You are reckless," Evanora yelled. "Selfish. I should expel you right now."

"Then do it," Agatha replied, stepping forward, her chin raised. Her purple magic pulsing, "But I will still take her with me. Title or not."

For a long time, the only sounds were the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow, steady rise and fall of your sleeping breaths.

Evanora clinched her jaw. She raised her shoulders with slow, toxic calm.

"Very well," she responded last, her voice icy. "If you wish to be bound to a peasant girl, so be it. I'll pay her parents a visit in the morning."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "If you hurt her, I swear—"

"Don't worry," Evanora cut her off. "The arrangement will be done. And she'll belong to you. Let's see if you're still so brave when you bear the consequences."

With one last look of disgust in your direction, Evanora turned on her heel, her gown billowing as she swept from the room.

The door shut sharply behind her.

Agatha exhaled, her shoulders slumping for the first time since the argument began. She crossed the room in two strides and knelt by the bed, brushing a lock of hair from your sleeping face.

"I saved you my love, you will be safe with me," she whispered, a promise more than a word.

......

The morning began cold and gray, with the mist still clinging to the ground like a restless spirit. Evanora Harkness walked through the village with the kind of confidence that split crowds without saying a word. The market women dropped their heads, the men moved aside, and no one dared to catch her eyes for more than a moment.

She made her way to your family's cottage, a little old structure on the edge of the forest. The door creaked open before she could knock.

Your mother stood in the doorway, her face tense with tension, and her hands wringing a dirty apron. Under her, your father lurked in the darkness, with a dark, hangover fury hidden under bloodshot eyes.

"Lady Harkness," your mother said, lowering her head.

"Let us not waste time with welcomes," Evanora whispered, her voice hard as glass. "You've got a daughter. Y/N." "She—she's not here," your mother remarked, looking back with anxiety. "We don't know where she is, she ran away."

"She's in my daughter's home," Evanora stated. And she will be returned. But the terms have shifted." Your father scowled. "The deal has been completed. Mercer paid an enormous price for her." "And you'll return it," Evanora said coldly, removing a little velvet packet from her sleeve and putting it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink of silver. "With interest. That girl is now part of my family."

Your father opened his lips to argue, but Evanora raised her palm, a small shimmer of magic visible at her fingertips. He became silent.

"Do you realize what it means," Evanora said, her tone cold, "for a Harkness to claim a wife? She will bear a child from our bloodline. Heir to my coven. Her bloodline, no matter how lowly, will be linked to ours. The child will be a powerful witch."

Your mother turned pale, her lips twitching. "M'lady, we didn't know. We didn't realize she was important."

"She will be. Or she'll break trying," Evanora murmured, her face as cold as stone. "You'll welcome her home today. There are no questions. No beatings. No warnings. And Tomorrow, you'll convey her safely to church. Fail to do so..." She let the threat hang in the air like a storm cloud. "I'll not tolerate disobedience."

Your parents swallowed hard and nodded.

Then she lifted her hand, curling her long, pale fingers slowly and methodically.

A glimmer of dark violet power ignited at her fingertips, twisting and swirling down into the air before her. Threads of silk appeared from nowhere, weaving together in the empty space. Layers of midnight blue and deep wine-red velvet mixed with beautiful lace, as if brought from another realm.

Before your mother's wide, startled eyes, a bridal gown appeared, floating between them.

It was breathtaking, and clearly witch-made. The bodice of this dress was tight and gorgeous, the neckline royal and extravagant, and the sleeves were long and pure, with delicate stitching that sparkled like starlight. The skirts were thick with leather and lace, trailing mist-like edges along the floor and reflecting the pale light like water.

A veil of soft, invisible silk floated beside it, bewitched to move freely.

Your mother gasped and backed up a step. "M'lady..."

Evanora's voice was low, icy, and final.

"She'll wear this when the vows are said."

Evanora left without saying anything else, the wind stirring her dark cloak behind her.

The sun had already begun to set behind the trees when Agatha eventually took you to the edge of the woods. The air was heavy with the aroma of wood and moist dirt, and for the first time in years, you weren't terrified of the incoming darkness.

Agatha softly cupped your cheek, sliding her thumb across the reddening bruise behind your eye. Her face softened in a manner it rarely does in front of others, an expression of unsaid emotion sitting beneath her eyes.

"Go home, darling," she muttered. "Only for tonight. Everything will be okay shortly. I promise you."

You wanted to believe her. Gods, you wanted to. But your stomach twisted all the time.

"Thank you, mis- Aggie."

She leaned down, laying a gentle kiss against your temple, her touch lingering for too long. "Tomorrow... things will be different."

You nodded, but you weren't sure why the words made your heart accelerate. You turned, her eyes resting on your back the entire way down the straight road.

When you stepped through the crooked gate of your family's cottage, it seemed as if the air itself had fallen apart.

Your father was already so drunk that his face was red and sweating, and the smell of stale ale clung to his clothes. His voice rang out across the small room as soon as he laid eyes on you.

"Where the hell have you gone, little whore?! Do you think you can just disappear and make a fool of me?!"

You flinched, automatically bracing for what was to come.

But before he could reach you, your mother's hand came out, seizing his arm and stopping him mid-swing. She spoke up for the first time since you can remember. "Leave her be," she murmured, her voice firm and her mouth drawn in a thin line. "Not tonight."

Your father snarled and jerked his arm free, but did not attack. Instead, he vomited on the floor and stormed to the back of the cottage.

Your mother did not glance at you. She pointed firmly to your room. "Get inside. Now."

You obeyed, your heart hammering and your hands trembling so much that you struggled with the latch.

Once inside, you heard the lock turn on the other side.

"Don't even think about runnin'," your mother's voice warned through the door. "Wedding's tomorrow at first light. You'll do what you're told, or gods help you."

You stood there, staring at the rough wooden walls, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It was then you saw it.

Laid across your narrow bed — a dress.

Your throat clenched, and tears stung your eyes. You moved closer, your fingers brushing against the material. It seemed surprisingly sensitive to the touch, as if it hummed with some old magical ability.

And suddenly you couldn't take it any longer.

You dropped into the bed, your clothes crushing beneath you as you curled up against yourself. Silent, racking sobs ravaged your body, your tears seeping into the thin cotton.

Your eyes are heavy, and your body is sore from the night's disturbed sleep. For a few brief seconds, you forget what day it is. You forget the bruises on your skin and the pain in your chest.

Then the door unlocks.

It's your mother. Her face is unreadable as she walks inside, clutching a bundle of white fabric. She does not speak. No yells, no insults, and no slaps. Just silence. It almost gets worse. You swallow hard while sitting up in bed.

"Get up," she mutters,

"Put it on," your mother says, her tone icy and distant.

You swallow hard, attempting to calm yourself. You wanted to say no. You wanted to shout that this was not your life and that you had no option, but your mother's glare silenced you.

You grasp the dress with shaky fingers and stand, moving mechanically as you pull it over your head. The cloth fits you perfectly, as if it were made just for you – and you know it was.

She checks you out when she's finished. Her eyes narrowed, as if she were looking at something of value rather than her own daughter.

"Don't make a scene," she says quietly and sharply.

She doesn't wait for a response, instead grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the door. Her grip is tight and stubborn. You're her property now. You can feel it in every tug and step. She leads you out of the room and into the house's frigid corridors.

The village awaits you.

You move through the streets like a ghost, and people turn to gaze, their eyes filled with sorrow, curiosity, and apathy. You keep your gaze on the sidewalks, focusing on each step. Every part of you wants to run away, scream, and be free. But you don't. You still think of her...

The path leads you out of the village to a clearing near the coven's sacred grounds. The air feels dense, as if something ancient is poised in the balance, waiting. As you go closer, the sounds from the crowd become more audible. Their whispers blend with the rustle of the trees, but nothing compares to the beating in your chest.

You take a deep breath, your hands shaking slightly as your mother pushes you ahead through the crowd. The weight of the gown bears down on your shoulders, as if it is attempting to drag you back into the darkness, back to a life you never wanted.

As you enter this location of the church, your gaze naturally moves toward the group of people. The town has come together, their murmurs filling the air like a swarm of insects. You attempt to avoid looking at the faces, but your sight is drawn to one in particular.

An older man stands in the back of the group. His features are sharp, his face furrowed with age, but it's the way his eyes glitter that draws you in. He's the one. The one your parents promised you to. The one who will transport you from this painful life to a fate of awful silence.

Your stomach churns. You can barely breathe, your thoughts reeling with the realization that this is it. This is your fate. This is the man you should marry. Your legs feel weak, but your mother's grip never relents.

You glance up at the altar, your heart beating in your chest. The priest stands there waiting, his eyes devoid of emotion.

But when you take the final steps, something changes. He did not move.

At the altar, you don't see the man you were expecting. Instead, there is a woman. A woman dressed in dark, flowing robes that shine with a strange, mysterious sparkle. Her presence fills the air with electricity and life, like a storm. As you get closer, you notice a shift in the atmosphere, a touch of magic so strong it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.

Confusion floods your mind. Your eyes lock onto the figure, but you can't make sense of it. This isn't right. This isn't who you were promised to.

And then, as you draw nearer, the woman turns to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that makes your breath catch.

Agatha.

You freeze, your heart stopping in your chest as you finally process what you see in front of you. She stands there, majestic and powerful, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight halo. You're not sure what to say or how to feel. The entire universe seems to tilt on its center as the knowledge flows in.

The crowd is strangely silent, waiting for anything, anything. Your mind is racing, with confusion swirling around you like a hurricane. This...is not possible. Agatha?

But she's standing at the altar, waiting. For you.

Your breath hitches, your pulse quickening. How can this be? You were told it would be the old man. That was your fate.

But now, now it's her.

Agatha steps toward you, her expression softening, but there's a glint in her eyes. A glint of something powerful, something determined.

"You look beautiful," Agatha says softly, her voice wrapping around you like velvet.

She holds her hand out, her fingers brushing against yours, sending a shock of warmth through your body. You want to pull away, but you can't. You're frozen, caught between disbelief and something else you can't quite grasp.

"You're not alone," Agatha whispers, her gaze never leaving yours. "I will always protect you. You belong to me, now."

As the priest continues the ceremony, when you gaze into Agatha's eyes, you can't help but feel safe. She is not the old man. She is nothing like the life you feared.

You take a long breath, your confusion melting into something gentler, even reassuring.

"Do you, Y/N, take Agatha Harkness to be your wife?" The priest asks, his voice faraway as you stand on the verge of something unknown.

"Yes," you whisper. "I do."

You two head back to Agatha's house following the ceremony. It's calm, silent, and almost unbelievable.

Agatha detects your nervousness as you stand in the room staring at her. She puts her loving, cautious hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, you don't have to do anything tonight. There is nothing you don't want. This is your choice. If you are not prepared, I will not force you. I want you to understand that." You hesitate, wondering how to feel. Part of you expected you to fulfill your marriage duties. But Agatha's words, her compassion, trigger a change within you. The strain you've been carrying has eased slightly.

"But we're married now, and that doesn't mean more than what you're comfortable with. I don't care what tradition tells me. I care about you. And if you're not prepared, that's fine. We'll take it one step at a time, I promise.

Her replies, both compassionate and stern, relieve the tightness in your chest. You nod, feeling both relieved and guilty. You wanted to be the kind of wife that Agatha deserves.

Agatha drew back slightly, stroking a stray lock of hair from your face, her soft touch making your throat narrow.

"You should take some rest, sweetheart. It has been a long, harsh day for you."

You nodded, tiredness sinking into your bones. Without saying anything, Agatha led you to her bed, with the sheets smooth and inviting. She did not follow you in, but instead stood by your side, her eyes gazing over you like a silent protector.

As you lay down, the weight of everything you'd endured started to slip away. You pulled the covers around yourself, the scent of lavender and something distinctly Agatha surrounding you.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching her silhouette in the dim candlelight.

"Thank you, Aggie," you whispered, your voice fragile but sincere.

For a moment, Agatha stilled, her face softening with something unbearably tender. She reached out once more, her fingers brushing through your hair in a lingering, careful stroke.

"You never have to thank me, my sweet girl. Sleep now."

Weeks slipped by.

Days in the Harkness family had settled into a quiet, regular pattern. You still weren't used to the softness of the blankets, the way the air smelled of herbs rather than damp wood and sour ale, or the fact that no one yelled commands at you the moment you woke up. It was confusing in its own way.

Since the wedding. She hadn't forced herself into your space or touched you unless you reached for her first. In the nights, she'd sit near the fireplace, a worn leather book perched on her lap, and you'd pretend not to notice her as the firelight painted her face in gold and shadow.

It wasn't long until she began courting you properly, as if from an old story you'd forgotten you ever believed in.

She brought you flowers from the forest's edge, wild lavender and gentle white blossoms you couldn't identify. She placed them at your bedside in the mornings, while you were still sleeping. She'd returned home from coven meetings with modest gifts: a smooth stone shaped like a heart, a charm to ward off nightmares, and a ribbon in your favorite color — but you'd never told her what they were.

She would sometimes suggest that you walk with her through the market, her hand brushing against yours, but never taking it unless you allowed her. The villagers gazed, but no one spoke out against it. Nobody dared. Agatha Harkness was not a lady to mess with. And her power was always ready to protect you.

It was nearing midnight as you moved lightly into the sitting room, the house gloomy but for the faint glimmer of the fireplace. You'd been unable to sleep yet again. Your thoughts were too loud and jumbled, drawing you into memories you didn't want to remember.

When you spotted her, you came to an abrupt end.

Agatha sat on the floor near the hearth, knees crossed and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Books were lying all around her like fallen leaves, their pages shining softly in the darkness. Her fingers glided through the air, sketching delicate, ancient patterns that you couldn't identify. Between her palms, a brilliant globe of purple light shifted.

Your breath caught. You'd never seen magic like this.

Sure, you'd heard whispers in the village about witches, about Agatha herself feared, respected, untouchable, but this was... beautiful.

Agatha turned her head slowly. Her eyes weren't icy or keen like others'; they were gentle, shining softly in the firelight. "Couldn't sleep?" she said, her tone low and slow.

You shook your head, looking at the spot where the magic had been. "What was that?"

"Just practice," she murmured, running her fingers through her hair. "A basic spell. Pretty but useless."

"It wasn't useless," you blurted before you could stop yourself. "It looked like... like starlight."

That garnered the tiniest grin.

"Come here," Agatha urged, stroking the rug next to her. "I'll show you something better."

She raised a hand, palm up. "Give me yours."

You nervously placed your hand in hers. Her skin was warm and solid, and her hold was steady.

"Close your eyes," she instructed. "And don't let go."

You obeyed.

You let out a gasp as you opened your eyes.

The ceiling had disappeared above you, leaving only a swirl of stars and galaxies that glowed faintly in the emptiness above. You gazed, jaw open, pulse pumping. It seemed like you were sitting beneath the whole cosmos.

You turned to her, dumbfounded.

Agatha only gazed at you, her face inscrutable. "Not real," she whispered quietly, "but it feels nice, doesn't it?"

You simply nodded, unable to respond.

The stars had faded hours earlier, yet neither of you had moved far from the rug in front of the fading fire. The warmth of the room had long ago faded, replaced by the significant silence of the night. You sat cuddled alongside Agatha, head against knees, sleepy yet unwilling to leave her side. Something about her presence made me breathe better.

You sneaked a look at her, the way the flickering fire threw shadows on her face.

You did not intend to say that. The words came out quietly and uncertainly. "Aggie, can I... would you mind if I slept in your bed tonight?"

She carefully turned her head, focusing those keen blue eyes on you. For a minute, you worried whether you'd gone too far, but then the edges of her mouth twisted into something deeper than a grin - satisfaction. As if she had been waiting for you to ask.

"I was wondering when you'd finally say it," she said softly, her voice velvet-dark. She stood silently, giving you her hand. "Come, pet."

You allowed her to pull you to your feet, your fingers little against hers. She said nothing else as she guided you through the shadowy halls of the mansion, your bare feet brushing against the cold floors. The only sound was your quiet breath and the odd groan of wood.

When you reached the bedroom, Agatha paused, glancing at you over her shoulder. "You're sure?"

You swallowed and nodded. "I just... don't want to be alone."

This seemed to satisfy her. "Good," she murmured, standing back so you could climb into the bed. The covers were still warm from earlier, and you snuggled beneath them as Agatha snuffed out the final candle with a flick of her fingertips.

The room went into darkness.

A minute later, you felt the bed sink as she slid in next to you. The mattress moved, her presence a hefty, constant weight alongside you. You pulled slightly as her arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you back into her chest, hard, possessive, and without hesitation. She did not seek permission this time.

"I love you, you're mine now," Agatha whispered against the back of your neck when she thought you were already asleep...

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the worn path as you made your way back to the house, the small basket in your arms filled with herbs Agatha had asked for. It was quiet, save for the crunch of dry leaves beneath your shoes. Birds sang in the trees, the scent of lavender clinging to your fingertips.

For a time, you almost forgot about the sharpness of this world—Evanora's imposing presence, the overpowering anticipation that hovered over the Harkness name. Things were gentler with Agatha. Warmer. She had smiled that morning, kissed your wrist after you had accidentally burned it, and called you her darling in that deep voice that made your chest hurt.

You didn't want to go out, but she pushed. But she insisted. Said you needed the air.

And now, as you reached the home, a voice pierced the silence like a knife.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace to our bloodline. You were born to lead, not grovel for the affections of some worthless village girl."

"I married her because I wanted to," Agatha said next, her voice gruff and furious. "Because for once in my wretched life, I chose something for myself."

Your heart hit as you drew closer, sliding through the partially open door. The voices were coming from the sitting room. The air within crackled with magic, dense and repressive, and despite your impulses to run, your feet refused to move.

"Do you believe you can quit your duty? Are you willing to sacrifice our family's future for love?" Evanora spat the word with hatred. "She is a waste, Agatha. "A mortal girl with nothing to offer but a beautiful face and empty hands."

"I'll kill you if you touch her," Agatha hissed.

The rage in her voice made you blush.

"I don't care," said Agatha, her voice low and threatening. "I married her because I love her. I chose her."

"Love? Do you believe love will rescue you when the coven comes for your head? When will your family vanish because you failed to fulfill your duty? You've spent months playing at home with a local girl rather than completing your vows. There is still no heir."

"I'll never force her," Agatha growled. "She isn't cattle to be bred for power."

Evanora laughed coldly and without amusement. "Then you leave me no choice."

"Either that girl carries a Harkness child by the end of this season," Evanora shouted, cutting through the room like a blade, "or this marriage will be annulled, and she'll be wed to Mercer before the harvest moon."

Mercer.

The man your parents promised you to. A vicious, heavy-handed thug with yellowed teeth and a sneer that made you shiver.

You hugged the basket to your chest, feeling as if the walls were closing in. Your heart struck so fiercely that you believed you'd pass away.

"I'll kill you before I let you touch her," Agatha hissed.

"Get out of my house," Agatha spat, her magic crackling like thunder against stone.

You did not sleep that night.

The words you'd overheard echoed continuously in your brain, each one heavier than the previous. Your chest discomfort was no longer due to dread. It came from something else—something piercing and rigid. You were not foolish. You knew what Evanora wanted. What the entire town most likely murmured about behind your back.

And you were aware of the consequences of leaving this decision in the hands of others.

Agatha loved you. You could tell it by the way her eyes softened as you talked, and how her touch lingered on your skin, as if she were trying to remember you. But you also knew she'd never accept what wasn't freely offered, that Evanora would rather burn the earth down than give you both peace.

Perhaps you can take charge of it yourself.

The next morning,

You sat up in bed, the aroma of lavender and smoke clinging to the blankets where Agatha had held you all night. You could sense her absence. The home was silent, but not in a scary manner. It seemed like the quiet before the storm, and you wanted to go into it.

Maybe it was time to quit being a terrified little girl.

Perhaps it was time you created your own storm.

You crossed the room to the closet, your fingers brushing across the row of dresses. Stiff. Modest. Boring like the muddy streets of your former home. But there was something else at the further end, almost hidden.

Dark blue dress. Soft to the touch, the sleeves hung barely off your shoulders, and the neckline plunged scandalously low. You didn't remember seeing anything there before, but maybe Agatha left it for you.

Your lips formed a little, evil grin.

It was perfect.

You put it on, the silk clutching your waist and dropping like nightfall on your body.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and garlic, and the steady simmer of a stew warmed the house. You went between the counter and the stove, humming quietly to yourself, your hair loosely pulled back out of your face. And let it fall over your shoulders in beautiful waves.

You waited for her.

And, as if called by your thoughts, the front door creaked open, the gentle click of boots against wood signaling Agatha's arrival.

You didn't glance up immediately, pretending to be overly involved with the soup, mixing it gently.

Then you felt her.

The usual electric tug in the air, the storm that always accompanied her. The way your skin prickled and the hairs on your arms sprang up, as if the room knew she was around.

"Well, well," her voice rang across the room, thick and black like spiced wine. "Look at yourself, little housewife. Are you attempting to kill me, or do you truly not understand what you're doing?"

You turned, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, pretending innocence. "I'm making lunch."

Agatha's eyes swept over you, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. "Mm. Is that all?"

"I thought you might be hungry," you replied quietly, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, I am," she said softly, crossing the room.

Your heart quickened with each stride she took, the air thickening as she closed the gap between you. She came to a halt behind you, her hands bracing on the counter on either side of your hips, enclosing you.

Her breath felt warm on your neck as she leaned closer.

"You shouldn't play these games with me, darling," she whispered, the danger in her voice sending a rush straight to your gut.

"I'm not playing," you said, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted.

Agatha giggled darkly, her fingers ghosting over your arm, leaving a trail of fire behind them. "Liar."

You swallowed hard, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Her eyes clouded. "What are you doing, my wife?"

You slipped down the counter, your bare feet touching the chilly floor. You swallowed hard, collected the ragged pieces of your bravery, and moved closer to her.

"I heard you," you whispered.

Agatha's eyebrow twitched. "What?"

"I heard you and your mother the other night." Your throat clenched, but you pushed the words out. "This is about the marriage. About the heir."

Her stare became sharper, and something menacing flickered in her expression.

"I... I know you didn't ask for any of this," you said, your voice quivering. "I know you're angry. You have every right to exist. So—" you drew a breath, your stomach churning, "if you still want to, if it'll help you, you can have me."

Agatha's lips parted, surprise on her face.

You met her stare, your heart racing in your ears. "I won't stop you."

For a short moment, the entire room stood still.

Then her expression turned feral, with a dark, greedy smirk curving at the corners of her mouth.

"You really don't know what you're offering, do you?" She mumbled, her voice low and harsh, like thunder rolling in the background.

"I don't care," you muttered. "If it's you… I don't care."

That is all it took.

In a blur, her arm was around your waist, and before you could blink, you were tossed over her shoulder with a startled gasp. The world tilted as she carried you down the hallway, her hand gripping your thigh possessively.

"You had your chance to stop me, love," Agatha growled, her voice a dark promise in your ear.

With a flick of her wrist, she slams the bedroom door shut behind you, magically locking the lock into place.

She places you on the edge of the bed, and for a little minute, everything is calm, except for your rapid breathing and the storm of something unknown in her black eyes. Agatha steps once and then stands before you, her fingers twitching at her sides.

"I need to hear you say it," she says, her voice low and harsh, "If you want this, if you want me..." I need to hear it from your own lips. There are no tricks. No lies. "You do not owe me anything."

You raise your gaze to hers, speaking softly but steadily. "I love you, Aggie."

She stiffens.

"You're the only thing in my life that's ever made me feel like I wasn't nothing," you say with a whisper. You make me happy. And I-I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to be a perfect wife, but I know I want you. If you will have me."

For a moment, you believe she stops breathing. Her jaw clenches, and she speaks with a growl. "I should leave you alone. I should do better than this. But, God help me, I can't."

She rushes you quickly, her hands holding your face with such tenderness that it almost tears your heart. "I swear on my magic and my life. I will never touch you unless you want to. I will never hurt you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

You nod, your eyes hurting from tears you don't want to wipe away. "I want you, Agatha. I am not afraid. Not of you."

A shaking sensation passes through her, something dark and wild in her gaze melting for the first time since you met.

"Then you're mine," she murmurs. "In every way that matters."

You lift a hand, your fingers trembling as they curl around her wrist. "Kiss me," you whisper, your voice breaking on the words. "Please, my love."

Her lips crash against yours, and it’s nothing like you imagined. She tastes like magic, like dark forests and old secrets, like something forbidden you never want to stop craving.

You melt into her, fingers grabbing the neck of her robes, bringing her closer, craving more. Her mouth moves over yours with practiced ease, her tongue gliding over yours in a way that weakens your knees and twists your stomach most evilly. The warmth of her magic swirls around you like invisible threads, tingling your skin.

She groans into your lips, as if she's been craving this, for you, for far too long. Her hands slide down to your waist, grasping you tightly, then lowering again to your hips, pressing you hard against her. The pressure of her body on yours makes you shudder.

You can scarcely recognize your own voice as you moan, "Aggie..."

Her lips leave yours and trace down your neck, teeth scraping sensitive flesh, causing your breath to catch. She says against your throat, her voice low and strained, "Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?"

You are unable to respond because you believe you have never felt this level of yearning before.

Agatha leans back, eyes black, nostrils dilated, her thumb brushing across your swelling lower lip. "Tell me something," she says, her voice like silk scraped over a knife's edge. "Have you...? Have you done this before?"

Your stomach flips. You shake your head, your cheeks blazing hot, your voice gentle yet confident. "No… you're the first."

Agatha hovers over you, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. "I need you to tell me one more time," she murmurs, voice low and steady, though you can hear the strain in it. "This is what you want, dove. Say it. Tell me to stop, because if you don't know, I am not sure if I can stop myself later."

You reach for her hand, fingers lacing with hers, grounding yourself in the warmth of her skin.

"I don’t want you to stop," you whisper, voice cracking on the words. "I want this. I want to be yours."

When her lips leave yours, she speaks so softly you barely hear it. "You’re mine now. Only mine."

And you don’t even hesitate when you nod.

"Yes, Aggie. Always yours."

She groans softly at the sound of it, dipping down to kiss along your throat, leaving warm, lingering marks in her wake. "Good girl."

Agatha’s mouth is everywhere warm, possessive, and maddeningly slow. She starts at your throat, lips brushing softly before her teeth catch your skin, sinking in just enough to leave a mark. You gasp, arching beneath her, and she hums against your skin like she’s savoring the sound.

When her lips touch your chest, you shudder. She teases you at first, with gentle, delicate kisses on the tops of your breasts, her tongue shooting out to taste your skin before her teeth scrape your skin, leaving another mark. It's as if she's marking you, claiming you with each touch.

"Aggie," you murmur, your fingers running into her hair.

She grins darkly at your skin, her voice low and gruff.

And then her mouth closes around one of your nipples, her tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. Her other hand slides down, teasing between your thighs, finding how soaked you are for her.

"Good girl," she murmurs. "Look at you… so ready for me, so perfect."

The sensation of her lips and fingers is overpowering, and when she goes on to your second nipple and tortures it with the same tenderness, you can feel yourself breaking apart.

Every kiss, bite, and muttered phrase of possession propels you higher, your body arching into her, craving more and wanting her.

"Come for me," Agatha says gently, her magic whirling around you, increasing every touch and pleasure. "Just now. Let me have it." Her fingers slowly stretched you in your pussy, and her thumb made circles on your clit.

And with one more sharp, perfect bite just above your heart, you shatter, crying out her name as your body trembles, wave after wave crashing through you.

"You’re so beautiful like this," she whispers,

She’s holding you close, one hand stroking along your back while the other traces idle patterns over the marks she’s left on your skin.

But the question has lingered in your thoughts since you overheard her argument with Evanora about heirs and children. And now, with your body wrapped around hers and your heart secure in her embrace, you finally speak it.

"Aggie… how does that even work?" You ask quietly, turning your head up to look at her. "How… how would I have your child?"

Agatha's lips twist into a slow, knowing smile, and her hand brushes the hair away from your face. "Curious little thing," she says, her voice full of softness.

Your cheeks burn, but you refuse to look away. "I… I just wanna understand."

She sighs gently, almost as if she is affected. "Witches," she says, her voice a bit softer now, fingers stroking across your stomach, "have methods. We are not bound by the same rules as humans. Magic allows us to accomplish things that men could never think of."

Agatha continues, her palm resting possessively on your belly: "I'll create a spell. A creation. A means to implant a kid within you, my child. Witches can conjure it as a blood-enchanted strap. It will not be just any child, Dove. It will carry my strength. My bloodline. A Harkness heir."

When you pull back just enough to whisper, your voice is shaky but certain. "Do it."

Agatha freezes. You see the exact moment her control shatters, her eyes flashing a brilliant, unnatural violet as magic flickers in the air around you.

But just as her hand starts to move, conjuring what you called for, you exclaim, "Wait!"

Her brow furrows, the light in her eyes flashing. "What is it, love?" She whispers, her voice scratchy, as if she's barely holding on.

You bite your lip and grab for the hem of her clothing, speaking softly. "I just want to see you," you say, cheeks flushed. "I don't wanna be the only one like this."

For a moment, something in her face softens—the sharp, deadly Agatha gives way to something more human, more vulnerable. Without saying anything, she stands, the cloth dropping from her shoulders and pooling about her feet, revealing her to you.

You nod, swallowing hard.

And then, with a wave of her hand, the air thickens with energy, and the spell forms between you- a smooth, enchanted creation of her magic, warm and pulsing like it’s alive, like it knows its purpose.

She leans down, brushing her lips over yours again. "If it hurts… You tell me."

You nod, trusting her.

When she finally pushes inside, the stretch makes you gasp, a sting of discomfort blooming sharp and bright. Your hand clutches at her arm, and Agatha immediately slows, cupping your face. "Look at me, my love, it's going to be okay, it will hurt just for a moment..." she murmurs, her voice low and so gentle it makes your heart ache.

You force yourself to relax, breathing her in, and the pain fades beneath the warmth of her touch, the possessive tenderness in her eyes.

She moves carefully, tenderly, her lips never far from your skin, murmuring soft things you can barely catch, words in ancient tongues, a promise in every kiss she leaves along your throat.

The room fills with the sound of your mingled breaths, the soft crackle of candles, and the steady pulse of magic in the air.

Agatha looks at you with hungry eyes, lips parted, and blush rising to her cheeks. Each time your body clenches around her, her control gets worse, and her motions become harsher, more pressing.

Your hands run up her arms, claws pressing in slightly as you cling to her, a moan escaping when she brushes across a location deep inside you that causes your mind to spin. Without thinking, your legs raise, wrapping tightly around her waist and drawing her in even further, pushing her to fill you in a way that makes your entire body tremble.

Agatha moans, the sound is low and damaged. "Fuck, sweetheart." You have no idea what you are doing to me."

You moan her name, and the last thread snaps.

Her mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse as she starts to move harder, deeper — not rough, but relentless, like she’s trying to carve herself into your very bones." S o fucking tight for me," she growls against your skin. "Made for me, weren’t you?"

You can’t form words, just a breathless moan as your hips roll to meet her.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," she coaxes darkly. "Take it. Gods, look at you — so beautiful like this, spread open for me, begging without a word."

Your head tips back as a sharp wave of pleasure curls in your belly. You can feel it building, pulling you closer to a ledge you didn’t even know existed.

Agatha notices, of course she does — her hand trailing down to circle your clit, teasing, coaxing, commanding. "Give it to me again," she growls, voice rough with need.

The pressure snaps, and you cry out, your entire body tensing around her as the orgasm crashes through you. Agatha’s name tears from your lips like a prayer and a plea.

Agatha moans at the feel of you clenching, burying herself as deep as she can, panting against your ear. "So perfect for me," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"Fuck… gods, " she gasps on your neck, tightening her fingers on your hip and pushing in deep, plunging herself to the hilt. The raw, frantic shout that comes from her chest is nothing short of wild, and you can feel it, the quick rush of cum inside you, her power lighting bright and electric in the air as she overflows into you.

Your own breath stutters as you feel the weight of her claiming you entirely.

You can feel her pulse hammering madly in her chest as she breaths hard, the last shudders of her orgasm resonating throughout her being.

When she finally moves, it's to carefully draw away with a hiss of softness, her hands hugging you as if you were delicate and fragile. You flinch slightly as the pain settles in, and she immediately murmurs small apologies against your lips.

"Did I hurt you?" she says, pulling a moist strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head, the pain deep within you searing yet delicious, the warmth in your chest unnaturally full. "No… it was… it was amazing."

Agatha’s face softens in a way that makes your heart ache. "You were perfect," she murmurs, kissing your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

After the tempest of your emotions had gone and you were lying wrapped in Agatha's arms, the silence between you two was as comforting as the calm after a thunderstorm. The air felt warmer, and the stress from the previous events disappeared.

You lay there, your heart still beating from everything—her touch, the sheer intensity of it all.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against her chest and listening to her heartbeat. Your fingertips stroked little, languid circles on her skin, providing comfort for yourself.

"Aggie?" Your voice was quiet and almost hesitant.

She hummed in answer, her fingers gently caressing your back, the gentle touch making your pulse skip a beat. "Hmm?"

You bit your lip before asking, your words seeming somewhat more vulnerable than you intended. "How did you find me that night? I mean, you knew where I was and came for me. But, how?"

Agatha was silent for a moment, as though she was considering her answer.

"I've been watching you for a while, love," Agatha said softly. Her fingers stopped moving as she turned to face you, her dark eyes examining yours with an unreadable look.

"Not stalking you, not in the way you might think." She chuckled softly at the concept. I noticed you for the first time when I saw you on Market Street.

"I couldn't let you get caught up in something that wasn't right," Agatha said, placing her hand on your back and comforting you. "I knew you weren't happy with your family and what they wanted from you. And I knew I had to protect you, and if I knew what they've been doing, I would have had you earlier."

You felt her words sink deep into your chest, sparking something inside you. She saw through everything, even when you couldn't see it for yourself. You bit your lip, experiencing a strange combination of feelings, but largely a sense of safety, as if you weren't alone anymore.

"You've been looking out for me?" You whispered with a small tremble in your voice.

Agatha’s gaze softened, and she nodded slowly.

"I’m glad you did," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You pulled her closer, pressing your lips to her chest as if trying to anchor yourself in the moment, in her. "I didn’t know… I didn’t know I needed you."

Agatha kissed your forehead, her lips lingering there as she held you close.

Two months later...

You had been feeling off for several days.

It wasn't noticeable at first: a hazy heaviness in your stomach, some exhaustion, and a flutter of sickness in the mornings. Agatha became concerned when the simple scent of fresh herbs turned your stomach. When you brushed it off, Agatha went to get the one person you didn't want to see: Evanora.

You're sitting by the fireplace when she appears, her presence as piercing and cold as ever, magic lingering behind her like a thick perfume. You swallow hard as she walks across the room with the kind of elegance that makes you feel like a child again, sitting there in your simple dress.

"Well," she replies curtly, standing over you with her eyes narrowed. "Let's see what we have here."

You look at Agatha, who stands stiffly by the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and defensiveness.

"Mother, if she's unwell, we should

Evanora raises her hand, silencing her daughter with a look. "I'll be the judge of that."

Without asking, she brushes her icy fingertips on your temple, mumbling ancient words beneath her breath. The power seeps into you, causing a slight tugging sensation deep within your center, like something stirring in the darkness.

Your stomach tightens, and you almost draw away—but something in her look shifts. The hard, judgmental frown softens only slightly.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice far too pleased. "Finally. It seems the little witch is carrying. How delightful."

You froze. Carrying? It didn’t make sense. Not at first.

And then, as the words sank in, the weight of it hit you. You were pregnant. Pregnant.

"I… I am?"

Evanora’s eyes flicked to Agatha, a sly, self-satisfied smile curling at her lips. "Yes. Two months along. Congratulations, Agatha. It’s about time."

"You’re… carrying my child," Agatha whispered, as if the words were a prayer, a promise.

Evanora's voice cut through the tenderness like a razor.

"Well, this is all very touching," she remarked, her voice full of hate. "But there is still work to do. You have to protect the child, Agatha. I'll plan the rituals. The family line must be secured."

Agatha's palm clenched around yours, her countenance hardening as her eyes shifted to Evanora. "I will not fail. I'll protect them."

Evanora snorted, producing a nasty, mocking chuckle. "Will you? Will you succeed, or will you keep being pathetic, darling? " She returned her stare to you, and the cruelty in her eyes was undeniable. "As much as I hate to say it, you are now a useful girl. And that child will hold the key to everything."

"Mother," Agatha said, her voice quiet but sharp, a warning laced in it. "Enough."

When she returned her gaze to you, her face softening once more, you saw the true warmth, the love that had driven her this far, the love that would keep you both safe.

"I will protect you," Agatha whispered again, her voice fierce, possessive, and full of promise. "Always."

AN: OKAY WOAH THIS IS MY LONGEST FF I EVER WROTE! I HOPE U GUYS LIKE ITTT AND DON'T FORGET TO WRITE ME YOURR FEELLING ABOUT THISSSS <3

[ninus9607]

HELLO AGAIN !

soo, I'M BACK!

Sorry guys, I was not active in these days because I'm so busy with school and life etccc.. but I don't forget about u!

SO I HAVE MULTIPLE WIP AND I DON'T KNOW WHICH I SHOULD FINISH FIRST

Thank youuu 🩶

[ninus9607]

HELP AGAIN

Okayyy, so yep, here I am again....

So I was thinking about this lately, and I can't decide which POV. I should write my stories. I'm gonna be honest and tell you that I like 1-POV more, but also I don't mind writing in second so

Thanksss ❤️‍🩹

[ninus9607]

✨ Welcome to my Agatha Harkness Masterlist ✨

Whether you're here for soft romance, dark obsession, or a little (a lot) of smut, you're in the right place.

🔮🔞Fem! Reader focused | Obsession themes | NSFW included

✨ Soft & Romantic

💋/🖤 Dark & Obsessive

🔥 NSFW / Smut

🩶 Hurt / Comfort

💔 Angst

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

nothing yet...

𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:

One and only ✨🔥🩶💔

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬:

Surprise ✨

upcoming works -

[ninus9607]

Surprise - Agatha Harkness

Pairing(s): Agatha Harkness x Female! Wife! reader

Word count: 0,6K

tags: l content: nothing just pure fluff

AN: GUYS, I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE IT, PLS FORGIVE ME FOR EVERY MISTAKE... ALSO THIS IS A DRABBLE

I've always known Agatha wasn't into romantic clichés. Roses and chocolate hearts weren't her thing, unless they were bewitched to bite you back or whisper something terrible. However, this morning, something felt different.

I shifted, the warm morning light barely filtering through the drapes. Our room was still filled with the comforting aroma of dried herbs and lavender from last night's spells, and the warmth of the covers made it impossible to move. I reached toward Agatha's side of the bed automatically. Cold.

Before I could complain, the bedroom door creaked open with a distinct whirl of magic, followed by the aroma of cinnamon and coffee. My eyes opened just in time to see her step in, levitating the plate in front of her, a smug little smile on her lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," she said, placing the plate beside me with a nearly ridiculous gesture.

I blinked. "You… made me breakfast?"

"I did," she responded proudly, sitting on the side of the bed, seeming to expect a response.

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze drawn to the plate, fluffy pancakes with heart-shaped strawberries, eggs cooked just the way I loved them, and a hot cup of coffee. My Agatha. Agatha Harkness. Made me breakfast on Valentine's Day.

"What did you do with my wife?" I teased, masking a smirk on my lips.

Agatha rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed with pink that she couldn't disguise. "Do not get used to it. I just, well, you've been working too hard. You have been tired. And I wanted today to be soft for you."

Soft. That is the word she used.

I sat up, pulling the blanket across my shoulders, and truly looked at her. Her brown hair was somewhat blew from sleep, and there were small flour smudges on her sleeve. Her fingers twitched slightly, and magic still crackled softly at her fingertips.

"You're ridiculously lovely when you want to be," I said, unable to control the warmth rising in my chest.

Agatha leaned very close and kissed my temple. "Do not tell anyone. I have a reputation."

I laughed quietly and scooped up the coffee, humming at its flavor. Perfect. Of course, it was. She'd probably charmed each bean.

She watched me while I ate the pancakes, nervous but trying not to show it. I played along, taking my time and licking syrup off my fingers, just to see how dark her eyes became.

"Oh, these are dangerous," I said, finishing my bite. "What did you put into them? Magic?"

"Just a little charm," she confessed. "To keep your heart warm all day."

Gods, she was trying. And my heart? It melted.

I reached out and pulled her closer, allowing me to tuck my legs over hers. She relaxed into it, her hand softly brushing down my arm.

"I know I'm not good at this kind of thing," She said quietly. But I love you. In every way that counts. And today... "I just wanted you to feel it."

"You're better at it than you think," I said, leaning my head on her shoulder. "You always make me feel loved, even when you're being a grumpy witch."

She snorted. "Rude."

"But true."

We sat there for a few minutes, bathed in calm magic and each other's comfort. The space felt priceless, as if it were hiding us both in a warm little bubble, undisturbed by time or anything else.

Agatha kissed the crown of my head, her voice lowering. "After breakfast, I thought we could spend the day in the garden. It's just us. No spellwork, no turmoil. Just you and me."

"You're trying to make me cry on Valentine's Day," I declared, blinking quickly.

"Only a little," she repeated, smugly.

I gazed up at my wife, the centuries-old witch who had faced gods and monsters but still got up early to cook me breakfast.

I grabbed her face, running my thumb along her cheek. Thank you. "For everything."

She leaned into my fingers, her eyes warm. "Always, my heart."

I didn't need roses, chocolate, or extravagant gestures at that moment. It's just her. Just this.

[ninus9607]

Hiii this isn't a request or anything but I just read your "Billy's and Tommy's wishes" and omg probably one of the best fic in a while I feel like it'll definitely need a part 2 (but only if you want to ofc your the writer I'll live if you don't) I just loved the way it was domestic but not too much and the pacing was great I understood everything and only 137 notes!? Definitely deserves more love from people. I also loved how it wasn't short but also not too long, it was like you actually took your time and thought into it and I love it, usually (and no offense to any other writers) I just feel like most writers just write something for people and be done with it and want people to have more, but yours ends where you don't NEED a part 2, but leaves it where it's a good cut off, like you can actually think about what happens if yk what I mean. I also feel like you put a lot of emotion into it and tysm. And please I don't want you to think I'm some writer critic or anything 😭 I've just read fanfiction and fiction for a while so I'm pretty sure when writing is good and yours definitely is! Thank you for reading this rant I sent if you did and have a good day/night or whenever!!

OMG THANK YOU!

I'm so glad you liked it! And yeah, you're right! I'm trying to put everything into my stories...

Also rn I'm writing another ff for Wanda but after I'm done, I might think about second part🤓.

So thank you for this🫶, My motivation is only increasing when I know you guys like it❤️‍🩹

[ninus9607]

HELP NUMBER 2

Heyyy, my loves! I need your help again! Because I can't decide which one I should write first, soo...

Thanksss ❤️‍🩹

[ninus9607]

Billy's and Tommy's wishes - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Wife! reader

Word count: 6,5K

tags: l content: Marvel, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink, Domestic Fluff, Magic, Passionate sex, Fluff and Smut, Magic Strap, Pregnancy kink, creampie, dirty talk

AN: GUYS, I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE IT, PLS FORGIVE ME FOR EVERY MISTAKE

The first thing I noticed was warmth.

The kind that comes from a knotted duvet, warm sunshine shining through cream-colored drapes, and Wanda's arm tightly wrapped around my waist. Her body was pushed against mine, legs lazily wrapped beneath the blankets, and her breath was gentle and warm against the back of my neck.

I gently opened my eyes, gazing at the quiet of our bedroom. It was silent, save for the faint chirping of birds outside and the smooth hum of the house settling.

There are no running footsteps. No screams. No magical messes.

It's just us.

For once.

I sighed happily and sank back onto the pillow, shutting my eyes again, trying to drink up every moment of this uncommon peace. Wanda moved behind me, her arm wrapping around my waist.

"Mmm," she said sleepily, her lips brushing across the back of my shoulder. "You're awake?"

"Barely," I said softly, my voice still hoarse from sleep. I raised my head slightly to get a sight of her. "But you are warm. So I will let it."

Wanda giggled softly in her throat, her voice gruff yet lovely. "I am always warm; that is one of the benefits of being a witch."

I grinned as I felt her move behind me, getting closer. Her hand went gently up my stomach, making little patterns on my shirt before going under the hem and touching the skin. My breath caught slightly.

"Wands," I warned softly.

"What?" she said innocently, even though her hand had moved lower and was brushing the waistband of my panties. "We are alone. They're probably still sleeping. Let me love you."

I turned to face her, still half-smiling, and her brilliant green eyes met mine, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that sleepy glint that always made my pulse race. She leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on the lips, followed by another, slower and deeper, like a promise.

She kissed my jaw, her hand still warm beneath my shirt, thumb brushing against the underside of my ribs. Her leg slipped between mine, and I could feel her breath near my ear.

"I missed this."

"Me too," I whispered, allowing myself to melt a little deeper into her touch. "God, I missed this."

Her kisses moved lower, and just as her hand dipped beneath the waistband of my shorts,

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Mommy?"

We both froze. Wanda let out a strangled groan into my chest.

Another knock. 

"It's me and Tommy! Can we come inside?"

I didn't get a chance to respond before a click echoed throughout the room, the doorknob turning itself with a shimmer of blue magic.

"Billie!"  I yelped.

The door swung open, showing both boys grinning broadly in their matching pajamas, their hair still messy from sleep. Billie stood proudly, hands on hips, obviously proud of his magical door-opening abilities, while Tommy waved shyly from behind him.

"We made a surprise," Tommy stated.

"Why do I suddenly feel afraid?" I murmured beneath my breath and rubbed my face.

Wanda sank onto the mattress, sighing with defeat. "Can I not have one peaceful morning with my wife?"

"C'mon, c'mon!" Billy grabbed one of my hands and tugged hard. "You're gonna be late!"

"You're late for what? It's Saturday," I murmured, allowing him to draw me to the edge of the bed.

"You'll see!" Tommy grinned.

Wanda sat up slowly, murmuring in Sokovian beneath her breath as she grabbed for the big sweatshirt on the floor. She gave me one final yearning glance and whispered in my ear as she pulled it over her head.

"I was going to eat you for breakfast."

I suppressed a giggle and muttered back, "Now you get to eat burnt pancakes."

Wanda exhaled deeply, rising and allowing Tommy to pull her out the door. "Motherhood is a scam."

I smirked back at her as I continued to grip Billy's hand. "But you love it."

"I love you," she said, and despite her sleepy hair and annoyed frown, she meant it.

The kitchen smelled... Suspiciously great.

This was shocking given the two little chaotic goblins who were now preparing meals like professional chefs in pajamas.

I sat at the table, staring in surprise as Billy gently placed a dish of golden-brown pancakes stacked beautifully with syrup poured like artwork. Wanda, still dressed in my old sweatshirt, cocked an eyebrow at me from across the table as she sipped her coffee with a thankful sigh.

"I'm almost afraid to ask how they did this," I murmured, looking at my plate. "Did we leave a five-star chef locked in the pantry overnight?"

Billy giggled, and Tommy moved onto the seat next to him. "We used magic. And YouTube."

Wanda almost choked on her coffee. "That's not a safe combination."

"But it worked!" Tommy said gleefully, inserting his fork into a delicious pancake. "And we didn't set anything on fire this time."

"Progress," I mumbled, still looking at the meal warily before ultimately caving in and taking a piece.

I hesitated.

Wanda halted.

We stared at each other in startled stillness.

I muttered, "This is actually good."

Wanda nodded slowly with her lips full. "Like... really good."

Billy lights. "I told you! We checked everything this time! And Tommy did not attempt to fire anything!"

"Which I believe should have improved it," Tommy said with a scowl.

"You did amazing, both of you," I replied truly, ruffling Billy's hair as he proudly leaned into my side. "But why do I feel like you're buttering us up for something?"

Both lads froze, only for a second, but enough to be obvious.

I did not say anything.

Tommy hurriedly put a bite of pancake into his mouth and said, "We just love you!"

"Sure you do," I said, trying not to smirk. "I'll keep that in mind when I find the paint spilled in the hallway later."

Billy returned to eating silently, staring at Tommy out of the corner of his eye. Something was obviously rising, but they weren't ready to reveal it yet. So, I let it go.

Wanda kissed my cheek and said, "I need to finish those mission reports Fury gave. I will be in my office."

"Alright, Scarlet Witch," I joked.

The kitchen was unusually quiet on a Sunday morning. The rush of dishes was gone, but the aroma of pancakes lingered in the air, and I was drinking my last warm coffee while reading through my phone when I heard the familiar shuffle of small feet.

I looked up to find Billy and Tommy slipping back in, muttering rapidly to one another as if they were planning a very little and very spectacular theft.

"Alright," I responded without looking up. "What's the mission, agents?"

They hesitated, definitely caught, and then attempted to appear casual.

Billy cleared his throat and approached me with his most innocent grin. "Mummy?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You only call me that when you want something."

Tommy sat in the chair next me and leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. "We wanna talk to you about something really important."

"And serious," Billy replied swiftly, nodding.

I carefully placed my mug down. "Okay... I am listening."

The twins exchanged a short glance before Billy spoke out. "We've been thinking about it for a long time. Really, a lot. And it's not just a cool idea; it's something we really want."

Tommy nodded, almost jumping in his seat. "We were wondering if... maybe... we could have a little sister?"

I blinked. "A what?"

Billy beams. "Little sister. Or a little brother! But we believe having a sister would be really fantastic!"

I gazed at them both for a long time, allowing the silence to pass before leaning back in my chair.

"Okay. So, just to be clear, you got up this morning, prepared wonderful pancakes, and buttered me up so you could ask me to give you a whole new sibling?"

Tommy tilted his head. "Well, when you say it like that..."

Billy scooted closer, resting his chin on the table. "Please, Mommy?" We would help. We would be the best big brothers in the world. We promise."

"I've already been tired for ten years," I murmured, glancing between them. "You think we can just click our fingers and poof, a baby?"

Tommy's face lit up. "Actually... we do have magic- "

"No," I interrupted, pointing a finger at him. "Absolutely not. No magic babies."

They both moaned deeply.

"My loves," I added more softly, reaching across the table to grab each of their hands, "you two are everything. Really. You have filled our house with more love and craziness than I ever imagined possible. But what about another baby? That's a serious decision."

"But we're ready!" Billy insisted. "We're old enough to help!"

"And I just started sleeping through the night again," I admitted with a sigh. "Do you have any idea how valuable that is to a grown-up?"

Tommy pouted. "So... that's a no?"

"It's not right now," I explained, squeezing their hands. "I love you both more than anything, but let's enjoy what we have before we try to add more to it."

They nodded unwillingly, obviously disappointed yet respectful.

"...Does this mean no dessert after lunch?" Tommy asked optimistically.

I snorted. "Nice try, kid."

Billy groaned and got up. "Okay. Thank you for listening, Mummy."

"Of course, you two are sneaky but sweet."

I watched as they exited the kitchen, speaking again. I got an annoying feeling that this wasn't over.

Not by a long way.

Meanwhile, in Wanda's office...

The subtle hum of Wanda's computer filled the silent room as she sat at her desk, glasses perched low on her nose and a stack of documents in front of her. She scratched her temple, straining at the computer, attempting to concentrate on mission briefings, but her mind kept wandering to breakfast. Her twins had been particularly silent following their debut as tiny chefs.

That usually meant that something was coming.

Sure enough, there was a faint knock on the door, followed by it opening before she could respond.

"Billy," she said without looking up. "What have we said about boundaries?"

"It's important!" Tommy responded instead, slipping in after his brother and cautiously locking the door behind them.

Wanda eventually glanced up, removing her glasses and putting them down with a groan. "Uh-huh. Important, like when you two said the cat was on fire and it turned out to be a hologram?"

Billy grinned shyly. "No, actually important this time."

Tommy was already by her side, leaning in, and Wanda's expression softened as she reached out to gently comb her fingers through his tangled hair.

"What is it, my loves?" she said, gazing between the two of them. "You are really synchronized. "That is always dangerous."

Billy shuffled awkwardly and pushed Tommy to speak first.

Tommy did not hesitate. "We want a baby sister."

Wanda blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"A baby sister," Billy said hastily, rushing forward. "Or, brother! But we believe having a sibling would be nice. We've been thinking about it a lot. We even spoke with Mummy about it first."

Wanda tilted her head, completely focusing on them. "You did? What did she say?"

"She said no," Tommy stated with a little grimace, perched on the edge of her desk and kicking his legs. "Well, she said not right now, but that's just 'no' in disguise."

Billy said, "But we believe you are able to convince her. You're good at that."

Wanda sat back in her chair, a slow smile pulling on the corner of her mouth despite her best efforts to remain serious. "You two are unbelievable."

"But you want another baby, right?" Billy inquired, hope flaring in his eyes. "You love babies."

"I do," Wanda said gently.

"I didn't carry you," she said softly, putting a kiss on Tommy's hair. "But I watched every flutter of movement in Mommy's tummy. I held her hand during every step. I put you there with my power, and she, she gave you life."

The boys smiled, obviously proud of this fact.

"So," Billy softly prodded, "you can do it again, right?"

Wanda breathed gently, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "I can. If Mommy agrees, I will... I'd love to."

Tommy nearly fell off the desk from delight as both twins lit up immediately.

"But," she right away added, holding up a finger, "you two are not allowed to bother Mommy about it again. Okay, let me talk to her."

"Okay!" they both said at the same time, accepting her hard before running out of the room with triumphant little chuckles.

Wanda shook her head as the door closed behind them, a gentle smile tugging on her lips. Her heart was full, full of the sons they already had and the fresh, small desire they'd just whispered into her chest.

She could immediately feel how it was snuggled inside her.

Now she simply needed to convince Y/N.

A few days later...

The weekend arrived faster than I expected, and she was just finishing up cleaning the boys' room when Wanda entered the room, arms crossed and a curiously calm look on her face.

"Guess who called this morning?"  Wanda questioned, casually leaning into the doorway.

I glanced up from folding Tommy's sweater. "Hmm, Clint?" Trying to convince us to let the boys try archery again?"

Wanda chuckled. "Nope. Tony. He mentioned Morgan was holding a little weekend party. There were a lot of games, movies, and pool time—it was practically kid paradise."

I raised an eyebrow. "Tony Stark voluntarily offered to babysit?"

Wanda shrugged, attempting to seem casual. "Told the boys that they could come hang out. They miss Morgan, and he felt it would be great if they stayed the entire weekend. Give us some calm time."

That last thing was spoken a little too gently: "You're up to something."

"Me?" Wanda batted her eyelashes. "Never, Detka."

I  rolled her eyes, but grinned anyway. "Fine. If Stark wants to deal with superpowered twins for 48 hours, who am I to argue?"

With the bags packed and the boys already excited, I put them into the car and drove to Tony's upstate house. Morgan rushed out the front door, calling the boys' names, and they were out before the automobile came to a complete stop.

"Kids these days," Tony chuckled as he joined me, sunglasses on his head and a half-empty smoothie in hand. "It's as if they no longer understand the concept of dramatic exits. "I taught them better."

I  chuckled, "You sure you're ready for this chaos?"

"Please. I've raised both a toddler and Spider-Man. What about these two? Easy money. He sipped the smoothie. Besides, it is good practice. Pepper says I'm becoming soft."

"Did Pepper really say that, or are you just trying to prove something?"

Tony flashed her a wink. "Does it matter?"

We laughed and turned back to the car. "Alright. You have my number. And Wanda's."

"Exactly. Now go enjoy your suspiciously nice, quiet weekend," he teased, using air quotes.

I rolled my eyes and climbed into the car. "We will see. Wanda's got the look. I'm guessing this 'quiet time' is part of a bigger plan."

The ride back home was calm, the kind of silence I didn't get to experience very often. The sky was coated with watercolor streaks of peach, gold, and that lovely lavender color that always reminded me of bedtime stories and cozy kitchens. I had one hand on the steering wheel and the other comfortably lying in my lap, fingers tapping gently to the smooth beat playing through the speakers.

I hadn't realized how much I missed driving alone until I had a time like this—no backseat laughter, no food crumbs flung, no small voice asking "Are we there yet?" every five minutes. Although I enjoyed the chaos, the calm was refreshing.

Just as I turned onto the main road heading home, my car's Bluetooth pinged with an incoming call.

Natasha.

I smiled immediately and tapped the steering wheel to pick up.

"Romanoff," I said, keeping my tone light. "Didn't expect to hear from you."

"Wow." She mocked, "You're still answering as if you're on a mission. You haven't gone full soccer mom on me, then?"

I snorted. "I've been so close. I actually told the boys '10-4' the other day when they completed brushing their teeth."

"That is adorable. And mildly terrifying," she laughed. "But, hey...I miss hearing your voice."

The sudden seriousness in her tone took me off guard. My fingers curled slightly tighter around the driving wheel as I murmured softly, "I miss you too, Nat."

"It isn't the same without you. Missions felt strange. I keep waiting for you to pop up out of nowhere and do something reckless, then play it off like you sneezed."

I giggled beneath my breath and shook my head. "Well, I am not twenty-five anymore. I attempted jumping over the couch last week and almost ripped a muscle."

"Oh no," she murmured loudly. "Not my reckless queen turning responsible."

"You will survive. Barely."

For a little moment, we both lapsed into a comforting stillness, as if we were sharing a blanket. I turned onto a familiar street, my gaze drawn to the neighboring homes. "Things are different now." In a positive way. Wanda and the boys... It's home."

There was a silent pause on her end. "Yeah. And I am pleased for you. But I'm still thinking about our previous runs. You had a sniper rifle, and I was throwing knives. Good times."

"I still have the scar from Berlin," I said with a smile. "Right on my shoulder. Boys believe it is from fighting a dragon."

"Well, technically, you did fight me before my coffee once."

"That was the most dangerous mission of all."

We both laughed again, and I realized I had already driven into our driveway. The porch light was turned on, creating a nice glow across the front stairs. Something about that made my chest hurt in the greatest way.

"I'm home now," I said, moving into the park. "Thank you for calling, Nat. Really."

"Anytime," she replied kindly. "Say hello to Wanda for me. And maybe show your face at the compound soon before we start calling you 'legend.'"

I smiled. "Deal." 

I hung up the phone and let the silence settle again. For a few periods of time, I sat in the car, glancing at the house, where Wanda was most likely planning something with her sly smirk.

I had no clue what she was up to, but knowing her... I should have been suspicious.

Maybe also excited.

When I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the warm aroma of something delicious hit me like an inviting wave. Garlic, spices, something buttery, it really smelled like love.

I hardly had time to take off my shoes when I heard fast footsteps, and then bam, Wanda emerged around the corner, eyes bright as if she'd been waiting hours for this very moment.

"There you are," she murmured with that unbelievably lovely grin of hers, and before I could answer, her arms closed around me and her lips touched mine.

She kissed me like we hadn't seen each other in weeks: slow and full, as if she was trying to pour something into me. I melted immediately. Of course, I did. How couldn't I?

When she finally pulled back, her nose touched mine, and she said, "I prepared us dinner. Dinner starts early. I thought it might be nice."

I blinked. "You cooked?"

"I do know how, you know," she joked, softly pulling me into the dining room.

"I know you can cook, darling, but I didn't expect a five-star meal on a Saturday," I murmured, allowing her to draw me along. "What is going on? Have you done anything? Is something happening?"

She chuckled, gently swatted my hip, and said, "You're so suspicious."

"You prepared garlic butter chicken with rosemary potatoes. That is not your typical Saturday-night meal when we eat while watching a reality series. That's 'I'm trying to charm the pants off my wife's dinner."

She took out my chair like a lovely little romantic and sat across from me with a grin. "I'm trying to charm the pants off you. But not for a terrible reason."

I raised an eyebrow as I cut into the dish. It smelled insane. Like a posh restaurant, ridiculous. "Then why?" What have I done? Or what did you do?"

"I'm just being sweet. Am I not allowed to cherish my wife?" She inquired, eyes wide with fake innocence.

I gave her a look. "You are. But it's giving... hidden plan."

Wanda took a sip of her wine and hummed. "Mmm. Maybe I just missed you."

"Mhmm"

She leaned on her hand, elbow propped on the table, and stared at me as if I were the most fascinating object in the room. And, God, her expression, her eyes half-lidded, lips twisted in a faint smirk, was dangerous.

I cleared my throat and ate another bite of chicken, pretending I wasn't blushing like a teenager. "Okay. So either you want something or you're about to break something to me, and trying to soften the shock."

Wanda chuckled, poking her potatoes with a fork. "You really think I'm that manipulative?"

"I think you are a Maximoff. So, yes. Perhaps a little."

She let out a full laugh, her eyes shining. "Rude."

"Just mindful," I smiled and chewed attentively. "Besides, you don't usually go full Stepford Wife unless there's a reason."

She took a long sip of wine before shrugging with an innocent tilt of her head. "Maybe I just wanted to remind you how good I am at being domestic."

I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, now that sounds suspicious."

Wanda furrowed her brow, as if shocked by the statement. "So I can't cook for my wife, kiss her like I missed her all day, and act soft without being questioned?"

"You can. But when it comes to wine and candlelight, and you haven't looked at your phone in an hour?" I leaned forward. "Something is definitely up."

She breathed out deeply, as if I was wearying her with my suspicion, yet her grin never wavered. "Fine. Perhaps I had a small idea. A... thought."

"Mhm. There it is."

"But it can wait," she replied, reaching across the table and brushing her fingers across mine. "Right now, I simply want to enjoy it. You. Us."

My hand eased beneath hers. Despite the tease and confusion, her voice was sweet. Honest. And it always surprised me how quickly she could close my mouth with a single light touch like that.

"Okay," I answered quietly now. "Just us."

Dinner had concluded with laughing, warm glances across the table, and Wanda offering me a chocolate-covered strawberry as if we were in a clichéd romantic movie. She kissed my cheek and said something about "grabbing something real quick" before going upstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen with empty plates and wine glasses.

I sighed, smiling to myself, as I collected everything and began washing the dishes. The home was peaceful, with soft jazz playing on the small speaker Wanda insisted we keep in the corner. I hummed along as I washed the last plate, allowing my mind to wander.

I hardly heard her coming before I felt her warm, soft arms wrap about my waist from behind.

"Wanda—" I chuckled, leaning back toward her as her nose touched my shoulder. "You scared me."

She didn't respond. Instead, her lips brushed against the base of my neck, like featherlight kisses, warm and slow. A quiet groan escaped my lips before I could stop it, my hands still resting on the sink's edge as her fingertips moved across my stomach, bringing me closer.

Then her voice, low and filled with something deeper, something hungry, whispered against my skin:

"I want another baby with you."

My breath caught. My heart struggles.

I did not turn. I just stood there, stunned, her lips still searing down the side of my neck as my world shifted slightly.

I blinked. "Oh," I replied directly, "So that's the plan?"

Wanda's lips paused against my skin, and her arms tightened slightly. "What plan?"

I raised my brow as I faced her and folded my arms over my chest. "You, cooking dinner, being so lovely, kissing my neck like that? And then you hit me with the baby bomb." I inclined my head, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Did Tommy or Billy put you up to this?"

Her face broke into a bashful smile. "They might've mentioned something..."

I grumbled and hid my face for a second. "Wanda."

"They just asked," she responded hastily, moving closer and throwing her arms around my waist again. "And I might have started thinking about it... a lot."

"You're serious?" I inquired, half disbelieving, half melting under her touch.

"I am." Her voice dipped slightly, that sensual little hum that always caused my brain to short-circuit. "Come on, we're amazing moms. And you looked stunning while you were pregnant." She kissed the side of my neck. "Glowing. Strong, powerful."

I gave her a dubious look, but she simply smirked.

"And your boobs.. I'm not going to lie, baby: your pregnant boobs? Insane. Like, next level."

"Wanda!" I slapped her arm and laughed in surprise.

"What?!" she exclaimed, plainly not embarrassed in the least. "It's a valid reason!"

"You can't use my boobs as an argument for bringing another tiny human into the world," I replied with a grin, attempting to be angry but failing horribly.

"Why not?" They were huge, soft, warm, and mine," she whispered against my jaw. "You were constantly needy, sensitive, and glowing... I miss that version of you. Not that I don't enjoy this one." Her lips brushed mine. "But I'd like to go through that with you again. Watch you grow alongside our child."

Her hands slipped down my waist, drawing me in until our bodies were touching. I didn't even realize my arms were slipping around her shoulders. Our breaths mixed.

"You're unfair," I muttered.

She smirked, pressing her forehead against mine. "I know."

And then she kissed me.

Deep, slow, claiming.

I moaned softly into her mouth as she backed me into the counter, one hand tangling into my hair while the other stayed pressed against the small of my back. She kissed me like I was hers—still hers, and like no matter what argument I thought I had, none of it would matter once her lips were done with me.

I backed away from the kiss, breathless and heated, but my hands pressed softly against her breast to maintain some distance between us.

"No," I softly replied, shaking my head.

Wanda blinked. "No?" she repeated, puzzled and perhaps a little hurt.

"I'm not saying yes just because you kissed me like that," I said quietly, taking a step back. "It's serious, Wands. Another baby? That is not something we simply decide in the kitchen between making out and cleaning the dishes."

She crossed her arms again, frustration mounting in her gaze. "I understand it's serious. That is why I have been thinking about it. And I'm not just bringing it up for fun; I actually want this. With you."

"You already have two incredible kids," I murmured, trying to remain cool as my chest tightened. "They're delighted, we're finally getting some sleep, and we've created something constant. I just don't know if I'm willing to start fresh."

"You think I'd let you do it all alone?" She said, her voice becoming increasingly heated. "Do you think I don't recall every second I spent at your side while you were carrying them? I was there, y/n. I've never left. And I won't this time either."

"I know!" she shouted, coming toward me. Her voice cracked only a little. "I understand what I am asking. All I can promise is that I'll be there every second."

She came to a halt, breathing heavily. My eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, all I saw was love. Raw and desperate.

Then, without warning, Wanda grabbed me up in her arms.

"Wanda, what the hell—!"

"I'm done arguing in the kitchen," she said, her jaw hard as she walked toward the stairs.

"Put me down!"

"Nope." She climbed the first step. "You want to fight? We will fight. But in our bedroom. Where you can't get away from me."

My heart pounded. My fingers gripped her shoulders. "This isn't fair."

She glanced down at me with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Nothing is fair when you marry an avenger, darling."

And with that, she carried me upstairs.

Wanda smashed the bedroom door open and dragged me to the bed. She put me down as if I were something delicate or fragile, even though her eyes were filled with something far from kind.

She crawled on top of me, her body warm and secure against mine, her gaze fixed on mine as if she were looking for the proper words in the midst of a conflict.

She then kissed me.

Deep. Needy. Frustrated.

It wasn't a kiss that begged for forgiveness; it asked it. She seemed to be trying to carve herself into me with nothing but her lips, breath, and passion.

"My love," I tried to say between kisses. "You're not gonna win just because you kiss like that."

She laughed quietly on my mouth before kissing me again. "No?"

"No," I replied, but my hands had already gripped her hips. "You can't kiss away your anxiety. Or the fear. Or the stretch marks. I've already done this, remember?"

"I remember everything," she said, leaning her forehead on mine. "I remember every second I held your hand during it. I remember the pain. But I also know how your face lit up the moment they were born."

My chest tapped. My heart deceived me with each beat.

"I remember you holding them like your heart had finally found a shape it could fit in," she told me. "I can't quit picturing it now. Just once more, Y/N. One more time, together."

I inhaled gently, and my voice cracked. "Why do you want this so bad?"

She looked at me as if I were the moon and the stars together. "Because I want to create a life with you. Because I want to create more memories with you. Because we make beautiful babies."

She leaned in again, her lips brushing across mine, teasing.

"And, let's be honest..." she smirked. "Your pregnancy boobs were incredible."

I gasped and pushed her playfully, even as heat poured up my cheeks. "Wanda!"

She grinned, confident and confident. "I stand by it."

"You're unbelievable."

"And you're beautiful," she remarked more seriously, her voice softening. "And I love you. And I want nothing more than to do this with you."

I looked up at her, my wife, my everything—and forgot why I was resisting.

I dragged her down and kissed her so passionately that she gasped into my mouth.

Her hands slid under my shirt, fingers dragging on my breasts, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around her waist. Our bodies crushed together in a fever we had been suppressing for too long.

We kissed like we were starving, like the world was going to end, and all we had left was each other.

The argument? Forgotten.

The plan? ...Maybe not as terrible as I thought.

And the fire? Just getting started.

"Wanda..."

She leaned in and kissed me again, slowly and deeply, as if she had all the time in the world to demonstrate how much she meant every word. Her fingertips went down, tracing the contour of my waist and carving tiny shapes into my skin like she was following a memorized plan.

"I want all of you," she whispered between kisses. "Again and again."

I arched up to meet her touch. "You already have me."

"Then let me show you."

The air moved.

Magic shimmered softly across her skin, her power humming beneath the surface, just enough to make my breath catch. Her eyes darkened, burning softly in that familiar red tone, and it felt as if time stood still in her presence.

She did not rush.

She explored.

Her hands moved with purpose, reverence, and just a hint of teasing, like she knew exactly where I was sensitive and was determined to make me melt for her. Her voice, low and velvety, wove between kisses and touches. "You're everything to me, Detka. My love. My life. The mother of my children. And the only one I want to make mine again tonight."

Every praise, every kiss, every breath was a thread tying us closer.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me," she said softly, her breath warm against my skin. "I want you to feel loved and appreciated in every way. I want to give you my everything."

With that, she carefully guided me back, laying me down with the same attention she usually demonstrated. Wanda's eyes were soft and full of admiration, as if she were looking at something too wonderful to be true.

She took her time, tracing her hands over my body as if every inch of it was precious.

Her lips followed, kissing the soft skin on my inner thighs, her breath warm and tempting. Every nerve in my body was alive, pulsing with need, but Wanda took her time, gentle and kind. Her hands massaged the smooth skin on my hips, drawing me closer and encouraging me to relax into her touch.

"Let me take care of you," she said, her voice low and full of longing.

Then she dropped her lips to where I needed them the most, her tongue smooth and warm, licked my folds.. I gasped, a groan escaping from my lips as she expertly worked, her tongue teasing, tasting, and driving me insane with each slow, methodical movement.

"Ahh, Wanda," I whispered, reflexively groping for the sheets.

She glanced up at me, her eyes full of love and adoration, and proceeded to please me, her movements steady and her focus constant. The way she gazed at me, so truly, so tenderly, made me feel as if I were the only person in the world, and that love, that dedication, intensified every touch and kiss.

"You're mine, always," Wanda whispered between smooth, seductive strokes, her palm softly satisfying my clitoris and guiding me closer to the edge. "And I will love you like this forever."

Her words were a promise, a vow that resonated in every movement, kiss, and tender caress. The pleasure grew inside of me, and as she pushed me to the edge, I couldn't hold back anymore.

"OHH WANDA, I LOVE YOU," I yelled, my body shaking with the rush of pleasure, and Wanda held me close, her hands steadying me.

Wanda kissed her way back up my body while I lay there, gasping my breath in the aftermath of her touch, her lips gentle on my skin, her hands stroking every inch of me as if I were something sacred.

She sank over me again, her eyes blazing softly with red magic, familiar, warm, and full of love. Her fingers brushed against my cheek as she smiled, and her hand glided slowly between them, red light collecting in her palm. Her strap-on materialized with a subtle glimmer of energy, smooth and warm, filled with her magic. However, this wasn't just for fun tonight. It was full of something deeper. Love.

Her voice was as faint as a whisper, but it conveyed the full weight of her emotions. "Are you ready, my love?"

I nodded, breathless, moving my hands up her arms and bringing her closer. "Always."

She kissed me again, deep, slow, and possessively, before turning her hips and gently placing the strap-on between us. A shaking sensation ran through her as she gently entered me, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Ohh... detka..." she breathed, shaking. "I can feel you. Every part of you."

Her magic made everything real for her, including every squeeze and flutter of my walls surrounding her. Her hips moved gently and reverently, as if she were enjoying how well we fit together. With each stroke, she let out a loud and needy groan.

"You feel so good...so warm," she muttered, pressing her forehead to mine with trembling breath. "I am in heaven with you. Each time."

Her hands grasped my waist as her rhythm grew, not quick, but deep and loving, as if she were making love to my soul rather than just my body. She murmured quietly against my ear, her voice heavy and breath catching.

"You're mine," she said softly, moving with deeper thrusts, her voice full of amazement and pleasure. "You're the love of my life. My wife. The mother of our boys"

I whimpered, wrapping my legs around her, completely lost in the way she moved, the way she filled me. Her body trembled against mine, overwhelmed by how much she felt, how much she wanted to give.

Wanda's pace quickened but never rough, her hips rotating carefully, her magic pulsating softly where we were joined. Every thrust sent a flood of fire through me, and her deep groan echoed in my chest like a plea.

Her mouth was only above my ear now, her voice rough with yearning.

"You're taking me so well," she said quietly, her breath hot and shivery. "So tight and perfect around me. I can feel everything, Detka. You're already milking me."

She let out a deep sigh as she rocked into me again, the strap-on throbbing with her magic. She could feel it—me with every clinch, smooth pull, and cry of her name.

Wanda's hands roamed my body like she couldn't get enough, one sliding up to cup my breast, her thumb brushing over my nipple in slow, teasing circles. The sensation made me arch into her, a breathy moan tumbling from my lips.

"Look at you," she whispered, eyes locked to mine as her hand squeezed gently. "So sensitive... so beautiful. I love watching you fall apart for me."

She leaned down, lips wrapping around my nipple while she thrust into me, her moans vibrating against my skin as she sucked and licked with devotion. Every roll of her hips was perfectly timed with the flick of her tongue, drawing gasps and whimpers from deep within me.

"I could spend hours right here," she murmured, dragging her tongue slowly across my chest. "Loving every inch of you."

"You want me to fill you up, don't you?" She laughed softly, lips brushing across my cheek. "Do you want me to come inside you and give you another baby?  Is that what you want, my love?"

"Yes," I murmured, my voice scarcely heard. "Please, Wanda...I want everything from you."

A surge of heat rushed over her, darkening her eyes. Her body trembled, every muscle clenching, her hips faltering as she sank herself further.

"Fuck," she murmured, long and guttural, lost in the moment. "I am coming, baby... Y/N—"

A low, broken cry from her lips as she pushed in one last time and came hard, her power exploding in an outburst of red light around us. I could feel her cum—warm, deep, her spell flowed into me, her entire body shaking with its power.

She whimpered and crashed against me, her breath rough across my neck, and her heart beating.

"God, you feel like home," she moaned into my skin, her voice shaking with joy and love. "I could stay like this forever."

I placed my arms around her, hugging her tight as her power faded, the faint red glow disappearing. She softly slid out of me, her touch remarkably delicate and her actions full of love.

Wanda drew me into her arms and kissed my forehead and lips—sweet, slow, and long. She ran her fingers through my hair, stroking it back as if I were the most valuable thing she had ever held.

"You did so well, Detka," she said, her lips running along my temple. "I'm very proud of you. I'm very lucky to be yours."

She produced a soft cloth with a flick of her fingers and gently cleansed us both, muttering beautiful nothings throughout—praise, love, appreciation, and worship.

She then pulled the blanket over us and cuddled me against her chest, her heartbeat strong beneath my cheek.

"We'll rest now," she said quietly, her arms wrapped around me. "And maybe in the morning... We'll try again."

She smiled into my hair, her eyes drooping shut.

"I hope we make a girl this time."

[ninus9607]

HELP ME PLS

So guys, I got this issue like I can't decide which one I should write first, so please help me :)

THANK YOUUUU ❤️

[ninus9607]

Lights, Camera, Action! - Elizabeth Olsen

Pairing(s): Elizabeth Olsen x Female! reader

Word count: 12,3K

tags: l content: slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, actress x actress, wlw MCU, smut, dominant! Lizzie, sub! reader, praise kink, possessive! Lizzie, hickeys & marks, dirty talk, soft smut, fluff, and smutpost-sex cuddles

AN: GUYS, I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE IT, PLS FORGIVE ME FOR EVERY MISTAKE

San Diego Comic-Con – Hall H

The lights in Hall H were brilliant, and the atmosphere was electric with expectation. I sat in my seat on the Marvel panel stage, my heart racing faster than it ever had on filming. This wasn't my first visit, but it was the first time anybody noticed I was here.

Two years ago, I played a "blink-and-you 'miss" character in Age of Ultron. A few lines. A powerful scene. A shadow in the midst of chaos. However, fans remembered. Somehow, they remembered.

I suppose Black Raven left a mark.

Kevin Feige came in close to the microphone, smirking as if he were about to unleash a bombshell. "Some of you might remember a mysterious character who appeared briefly in Age of Ultron."

A renegade force, morally gray and extremely strong... "A vampire who left the fight before the dust had settled."

Whispers spread across the room. The phones were already out. My name was already trending before he said anything.

"Well," he added, "I believe it's time she returned. This time, she's not hiding in the shadows.

He turned to face me. "Please welcome back Y/N Salvatore- returning as Y/C/N, also known as Black Raven, in Captain America: Civil War."

The audience exploded. I blinked under the stage lights, giving a little shocked smile as the room took me completely.

"I'm still trying to believe this is real," I added as the ovation went down. "The last time I came here, I got maybe three minutes of screen time and one stunt scene. Now I am here and just Wow!"

Laughter.

I looked down the table, and there she was. Elizabeth Olsen. Sitting a few chairs away and giving me that familiar half-smile. Soft and illegible. There's something more behind it. Curiosity. Recognition.

We hadn't shot anything together yet, not really. There was only one brief interaction in Ultron that never reached the final edit. But fans have been shipping our characters ever since. Perhaps it was the tension.

Perhaps it was the way my character had watched hers walk away from Sokovia, her face empty as if they had exchanged something neither of them could understand.

The Marvel team went on to other announcements, but I could sense excitement rising around me. Questions from the press. Fan art is already overwhelming social media. Speculation.

Wanda Maximoff and Black Raven are two shattered, deadly women on opposing sides of a conflict.

And somehow, they were destined to clash.

I looked across at Lizzie again.

She was still watching me.

God, I had no clue what was going to happen.

By the end of the panel, I felt like I was floating. The shouting of the audience, the dazzling glare of cameras, and the way supporters sang my name as if I'd always been one of them. As if I hadn't just slipped through the gaps in Ultron and nearly vanished for good.

Outside the hall, the air was dense and bustling. Fans flocked behind barriers with posters, comics, and custom art, and I foolishly attempted to stroll past secretly.

Did not work.

"Y/N! Over here!"

"Oh my god, Black Raven!"

"Please sign this!"

I looked down at a poster of my character, dark and majestic in the shadows, fangs barely visible, red flames curling around her fingers. They even got the cloak correctly. And the eyes—burning with something wild.

"I didn't even know people still cared," I said, surprised as I signed the edge.

"They never forgot you," a devoted fan muttered.

I continued signing. Posters. A sketch of Black Raven and Wanda holding hands and staring at one another like lovers. A shirt with the phrase, "I Do Believe In Killing The Messenger. Know Why? Because It Sends A Message." One female gave me a little plush replica of my character. I laughed so hard I almost cried.

That night, when I returned to my hotel room, the adrenaline hadn't even worn off. I threw off my shoes, opened a soda, and cuddled up on the bed in my huge con sweater. Just as I was going to cruise lazily on Instagram, a fresh notification appeared.

"Robert Downey Jr. added you to the group 'Avengers Assemble 💥'"

I blinked. Then blinked again.

A flood of messages came:

(RDJ) well well well. look who's back from the dead

 (Chris E.): about time

 (Tom H.): I've literally been waiting since I was twelve

 (Lizzie 🥀): welcome back, stranger

(ScarJo): don't read the fine print. you're already in too deep

 (Hemsworth 🍺): A VAMPIRE! I KNEW I LIKED YOU

I laughed into my pillow. What the hell is my life right now?

My fingers hovered over the group chat. I typed, deleted, and then finally sent:

 (You): wait... what exactly did I sign up for?

 (RDJ): That's cute. She thinks she has a choice.

(Lizzie 🥀): don't worry. you're safe with us.

 (Lizzie 🥀): ...mostly.

I bit my lip, rereading the last message. My heart did something strange. Probably just the Coke. Or the heat. On the other hand, Lizzie sent a winking emoji immediately after.

I hadn't even read the entire script yet. I wasn't sure where my character was headed. Whether Black Raven would fight with or against Wanda. Whether they were enemies or anything else.

The sun filtered through the hotel drapes, creating a golden and gentle glow. I lay there for a time, taking in the peaceful morning mood. My body hurt in that slow, wonderful manner after yesterday's rush of panels, autographs, and screaming fans. I should have felt tired. I should have grumbled, nestled further into the cushions, and requested for another five minutes.

But I did not.

Because this was the day.

This is my first official Marvel table read since Age of Ultron. My actual return. Not just a postscript. Not as a supporting character with two lines and a beautiful battle scene. But as a true player, Black Raven. People remember the vampire antiheroes.

I took a long shower, letting the water calm my worries, the steam wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. Once dry, I stood in front of the closet for a little moment, just long enough to feel a flutter in my chest.

I wanted to feel like myself. But I also wanted to appear like I belonged here.

I put on cut black pants that hugged my waist well and made me feel quietly strong. A fresh white shirt was tucked in with a relaxed grace, and I layered on a lightweight, long camel coat that murmured gentle luxury.

Small gold hoops, silver rings, and a pair of glossy black loafers that catch the light. No logos. There's no chaos. Simply classic lines and calm assurance.

I left my hair down, brushed and elegant, with a single clip on the side to keep it out of my face. Makeup was clean, smooth, and very effortless. A little brow gel, a pop of color, and tinted lip balm.

I gazed into the mirror.

European subtlety with a biting undertone. That was me!

The studio sent a vehicle. Standard black SUV with silent driver and darkened windows. Very Marvel. I sat in the back with my coffee, pretending I wasn't sweating.

When I got to the lot, someone from production greeted me with a badge and a big smile. "They're all inside already. "You are sitting between Anthony and Lizzie."

"Lizzie?"

"Elizabeth Olsen."

"Cool," I blurted far too hastily. "Cool, cool, cool."

The door to the reading room opened, and I walked into a strange little dream. Long table. Dozens of chairs. Familiar faces, some I'd only seen in films, others I'd met briefly years before.

Scarlett Johansson gave me a wink and a nod. Sebastian Stan lifted his coffee as a toast. Chris Evans grinned and patted me on the back. "About damn time."

Then Lizzie.

She was already sitting, thumbing through the script, her hair in a loose braid, and a comfortable, oversized sweater flowing down one shoulder. She glanced up the instant I walked in, and her face brightened.

Like, genuinely lights up.

"Hey, stranger," she whispered quietly, rising to hug me.

I froze for a half-second. Just a second. Then I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. She smelled like honey, coffee, and something warm that I couldn't identify.

"You look like you belong here," she said softly against my ear. "You ready to break hearts?"

"Only if you help," I said back.

She drew away, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn't identify.

We sat down. Anthony Mackie leaned in and said, "Just so you know, there are already fan edits of you two spreading."

Lizzie smiled without looking up. "I've seen them."

The reading started.

Tony had lines. So did Steve. But as the image transitioned to Wanda and Black Raven, Wanda stopped outside a decaying structure, her hand lifted in midair as Y/N came from the shadows. I could feel a shift in the collective reaction.

I read my line carefully, eyes fixed on the page. "Did you miss me, little witch?" My European accent went on.

And Lizzie... God! Lizzie's voice dropped an octave. "You were supposed to be dead."

I gazed at her. She stared at me.

The table remained still. Someone let out a faint whistle. Someone another said, "Y'all need a moment?"

We laughed. Just enough to release the stress.

But that moment lasted.

After the reading, everyone went for notes, coffee, and chaos. I found myself near the studio lot, seated on a low wall behind a shade tree, phone in hand, but forgotten. Lizzie stepped up with two iced lattes and offered one to me.

"You were incredible," she stated. "Like you never left."

She raised her head. "Still haven't read the whole script?"

I shake my head. "Trying to savor it. I don't want to learn everything too quickly."

She grinned slowly. "Then I will not spoil it. "But...you and I have some scenes."

"Oh?"  WHAT???????

"Some very close ones." ARE YOU KIDDING ME, MARVEL

My cheekbones warmed. "You say that like it's a problem."

"It's not." She stared me dead in the eyes, funny yet serious below. "Unless you make it one."

And before I could say anything else, before I could even think, she was walking away, sipping her drink, hips swaying like a goddess in worn jeans and an Avengers crew hoodie.

I stared after her, heart hammering like I'd just survived a stunt scene.

Welcome back to Marvel, I thought.

A few months later.

Most of the nervous butterflies had disappeared by this point. The set had become like a second home, filled with familiar voices and traditions. I wasn't simply a new girl anymore. Everyone made it simple.

Chris gave me the nicest bear hugs and always made sure I ate my lunch. Scarlett had the type of cool that made you want to better your game, yet she always welcomed me with a warm smile and a "Hey, superstar." Anthony Mackie was an utter menace - but in the most lovable manner possible. Paul Bettany kept asking me to read poems between takes, saying it was "very Black Raven of you."

And Robert? He was like my dad!

"And Lizzie..." Lizzie was something else completely.

She'd knock on my door, holding a coffee in one hand and a protein snack in the other, as if she knew just when I needed her. Her jokes were dry, her eyes mischievous, and I'd caught myself looking a bit too long on several occasions.

We had gotten close. She was close enough to connect her arm with mine as we headed to the set. My heart skipped a beat every time she leaned close to murmur something only I could hear.

I knew exactly what I was doing.

I simply didn't know whether she did.

That afternoon, I was sitting with one of the directors, Joe, just outside the soundstage. The sun was casting a wandering light on the edge of the asphalt lot as he ran through the following several days' sequences.

"So, for next week," Joe remarked, brushing through his tablet, "we have the rooftop scene. You and Wanda are alone. It's the first time your character truly opens up."

I tilted my head, wondering. "What kind of open up are we talking about?"

He grinned. "The slow-burning sort. The 'I might not trust the Avengers, but I trust you' type."

My face felt heated.

He caught it as he looked up. "You good with that?"

"Yeah. No, yes. I mean, it's a great scene," I said, flicking through my copy of the script. "So, it's just me and Lizzie on the rooftop. At night?"

Joe nodded. "Right after the dramatic battle sequence. You are both still startled. Then it's silent. That time when the city hums under you and there is no goal or strategy. Just—" He hesitated and grinned. "Just feelings."

I swallowed. "Right. Feelings."

I sat in my trailer, flipping over the script. The rooftop scene.

It wasn't romantic, officially. But it may be.

Wanda looks at Y/N with gentle eyes. Y/N does not flinch for the first time. They don't quite touch. But it is near. Too close. 

CMON Y/N, U GOT THIS! YOU ARE A TALENTED ACTRESS, DON'T U?

Interior Set – Rooftop at Night – Scene 57

When I arrived at the rooftop set, the wind machines were already rumbling. Lights positioned to resemble a dark skyline threw long shadows across the faux-concrete, and I adjusted the black leather of my outfit as I proceeded to my destination.

Lizzie was already there, in her deep red coat, gaze faraway and focused, and falling into Wanda's sorrow.

Joe made a few parting remarks off camera, but I hardly heard him. My fingertips brushed over the hilt of the false dagger on my thigh. The character's familiar weight slipped into my chest like a second skin. I wasn't Y/N Salvatore anymore. I was Black Raven.

"Ready?" the assistant director called.

"Rolling!" came from the sound.

"Slate in!"

The clack of the slate snapped, and then - 

"Action!"

I let my gaze fall to the city skyline in front of me, taking in the depth of the picture and the severity of what I was going to say. The director, Joe, was allowing us space to relax into the spirit of the moment. I needed it.

I took a breath and proceeded carefully toward Wanda, each step thoughtful and silent. Raven's boots reverberated softly on the rooftop floor. My expression was inscrutable, meticulously crafted, calm on the surface, chaos beneath.

"Why are you here?" Lizzie spoke, her voice as raspy as Wanda's. She avoided looking at me at first, as if it hurt too much.

Raven paused. Her gaze searched the devastation below. Blood had flowed. Soldiers had died.

"You still believe in me," I said — Raven said. Her tone was not desperate. It was not a plea. Just pure curiosity. "Even after everything."

Wanda finally met her eyes.

"Because you've never hurt me."

A pause.

"And because you care... even when you don't want anyone to see it."

My expression flared. Not too much. Just enough to show that anything impacted her insides. My jaw clenched. I came closer, slowly and cautiously, as if Wanda was something I might damage simply by being near her.

Raven's voice lowered to almost a whisper now. "Maybe I'm tired of hiding."

And then, unexpectedly, her breath caught. Her face crumbled in the simplest, most human manner. Her shoulders twisted inward, as if she were sinking beneath an unseen weight, and tears welled up in her eyes, quiet, genuine, quivering on her eyelids.

"They're still arguing about whether you're dangerous or just reckless."

I smirked. "They're not wrong."

"I saw what you did out there," she said. "To those soldiers."

"They were trying to blow up a refugee truck," I answered casually. "So I ripped their throats out. Problem solved."

"You could've taken them down without... that."

"I could have," I replied, finally turning to face her. "But where is the fun in that?"

"You're not heartless."

Lizzie's voice trembled just slightly, even as her magic buzzed through the air like a quiet hum between us. "You just don't waste your heart on the wrong people."

"I never asked for this," I whispered, voice strained. "I just wanted to protect something, for once."

Then tears began to fall.

Not in the script.

Not planned.

I could sense that everyone was watching.

"You don't have to do it alone," Lizzie said quietly, coming in closer and gently placing her forehead on Y/N's. "We will figure it out. Together."

"Cut!"

I blinked once and again. Straightened. I took a silent step back, shrugged my shoulders, and wiped the tear from beneath my eye with my knuckle as if it were just another spread of makeup.

The entire crew remained quiet.

And then

Applause.

Real, loud applause.

"Holy shit," I heard someone from the lights mutter.

Joe went forward with a shocked expression and raised his hands. "That, whatever it was, we're keeping it. There is no second take."

Lizzie continued to gaze at me, her eyes wide. "How do you do that?" she muttered. "Like—switch it on and off like that?"

I laughed softly, removing an unwanted strand of hair from my face. "I drink a lot of espresso and don't think about it too much."

She grinned slowly, a little confused. "You were amazing."

"You made it easy," I replied softly, my voice totally Y/N again. "Your Wanda breaks my heart."

Joe walked over, his expression surprised. "That... was beyond incredible. Y/N, Elizabeth—your chemistry, the way you two just... felt that scene. I can't even put it into words. That was... magic."

But I felt it.

The way everyone looked at me has changed a little differently now.

The way Lizzie did, especially.

And I couldn't help but wonder, was it still just acting?

My phone lights up...

"Don't judge me," Robert said via text. "But I'm very certain I ate something suspicious today. "

I giggled softly to myself before scrolling down to see what others had said- Chris had tweeted a photo of himself "prepping for battle" with a pile of weights stacked around him. Then I received a text from Lizzie.

(Lizzie 🥀)I'm curious, Y/N: do you ever simply... quit being Black Raven? Is she always on your mind?

The message she wrote took me off guard, sending a shudder down my spine. I quickly composed my reply.

(You)I wish I could claim I left her on set, but she stays. But when you work with people like you, Lizzie, it's difficult not to bring her out, you know?

I waited for a bit, my pulse pumping slightly quicker than normal as I expected her reaction. But before I could think about it, my phone rang again.

(Lizzie 🥀)Hmm, maybe I'll give Wanda a chance at her. 😉 The chemistry is obvious.

I smiled, though no one could see it. I wasn't sure if she was still talking about our characters or something more personal. Perhaps both.

(You): Is this a challenge? Because Black Raven will not back down from one.

I sat back, exhaled, and smiled slightly. Was it a flirtation? I couldn't tell, but I didn't mind being unclear. For once, I wanted to let the words hang in the air without overthinking them. After all, everything was in good humor.

(RDJ) (After Lizzie's message): That's all. Y/N and Lizzie are now a real thing. Someone bring the popcorn.

I blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. Wait, was he talking about the chat? About us?

(Chris E.): You know what? I think they'd make an excellent couple. Don't you think?

(You): Lol, okay, okay, maybe I've had too much espresso today.

The studio lights had been bright for hours, and my legs hurt from running through take after take. The strain that came from filming Captain America: Civil War was finally easing as we took a break and spread across the set, ready for the next scene. The entire team had gathered in the makeup room to cool down, get food, and do everything they could to rest for a few seconds before the chaos returned.

I found myself standing in the corner of the room, trying to recover my breath while checking my phone for emails, texts, and the usual disaster. Lizzie walked in, her hair still a little filthy from the previous takes but looking effortlessly gorgeous as always. She gave me a heart-stopping smile, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"How's the new Black Raven scene going?" Lizzie asked, leaning on the counter near me. Her voice was sweet and playful, as if she understood how hard the day had been.

I rolled my eyes theatrically. "Oh, you understand. Running, battling, and being hit by objects I'm supposed to avoid. A typical day in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, right?"

Lizzie chuckled, her eyes bright with delight. "I'm sure it's nothing compared to the battle we're about to have in the next scene."

I raised my eyebrow at her. "Are you telling me Wanda is going to fight Black Raven? I'm all in on that."

Lizzie shrugged lightly, but I saw how her gaze lingered on mine a little longer than needed. "Who knows? Perhaps we'll be on the same side. Or not. You never know with us. "We have history."

That final part caught my attention.. She said it casually, but there was something more beneath the words, making me question if she was hinting at something more. "So, what do you think about the future?" Will we be best friends or enemies?" I asked, hoping to keep the discussion light, but I could see the air between us shifting, charged with something more.

Lizzie paused, her lips twisting into a cheeky grin. "I believe we could have some interesting chemistry on screen. You and I."

"Alright, guys," Joe Russo's voice echoed through the room, "let's get ready for the next shot."

The Filming Break

After another long sequence, the team took a break, and I found myself seated next to Lizzie again. This time, we were joined by a few other cast members, but the space between Lizzie and me felt different, as if there was an invisible thread pulling us together, even though we were sitting around chatting. We chuckled about the most recent scenario, in which our characters were meant to face off in a dramatic battle.

"You looked incredible in that fight scene," Lizzie added, her eyes shining with real adoration. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to be that ruthless."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Hey, this is all part of the character. But it's difficult to keep a straight face when we're dressed in silly costumes."

There was a silent moment, and the sound of the team preparing the next shot resonated in the distance. But it was not my top priority. I was concentrated on Lizzie, her eyes meeting mine,

"Maybe we could do that," I replied gently, my pulse pounding slightly quicker. "After we finish filming, might we... have a drink? Talk about life beyond the MCU?"

Lizzie's expression softened, and I could see a change in her eyes. She was considering it. "I'd like that," she murmured, barely rising above a whisper.

The last take had just finished, and the entire set burst into cheers. Some of us cheered and accepted. I stood there, hands on my hips, gathering my breath, my heart rushing from adrenaline rather than actual effort.

Months of filming, endless takes, bruises, sweat, early mornings, and late nights resulted in this: the final fight sequence in Berlin.

We were still in costume, half-covered in fake dirt, sweat seeping down between layers of leather, yet no one cared. There was a thrill, the type you feel after doing something incredible.

One of the assistants rolled in a monitor, and the director called out, "Alright, gather around. Let's watch the last sequence. You've earned it."

The screen began to light up. The first few clips of the Berlin combat began to play, with all the uncut footage patched together by one of the editors, who worked like magic. We watched as Cap and Tony fought, Peter helped with his spider ability, and Scott transformed into an actual giant.

But then came the moment we all waited for.

Wanda, or Lizzie in full Scarlet Witch beauty, flew over the asphalt and landed hard. The camera switched to a wide shot. A burst of black feathers and red energy appeared on the screen.

There I was, racing full speed at her, my boots hitting the concrete with amazing elegance. I sank to my knees next to her, scared yet cool. The sound wasn't completely mixed yet, but we could still hear the speech perfectly.

"You shouldn't have stayed behind."

"And let you go alone?" Never."

"You betrayed Tony."

"I don't care."

Everyone else made some kind of noise—"Oof," "Damn," "Okay, chemistry!" but I hardly heard it. I was looking at the screen too much. Specifically, on me, who was almost straining not to gaze at Wanda's chest in that fitting corset. And failing.

Badly.

Lizzie's lips twitched into a grin, and I noticed this out of the corner of my eye. She leaned down and said, "You were definitely not looking at my chest all the time in that scene."

Let forth a faint, regretful chuckle. "I stayed in character."

"Oh, sure," she said, sipping her coffee like a smug witch. "Black Raven was just emotionally overwhelmed by the... depth of Wanda's neckline."

By the time the last fight scene appeared on the monitor, the audience had quieted.

Everything stopped, including the conversation, taunting, and rustling of the food. We all sat there, actors still clad in half-costumes, sweating, hanging to our foreheads, our gaze fixed on the screen. The Berlin conflict was chaotic, but this was something else.

Tony. Steve. Bucky.

It wasn't simply punches and shields anymore; betrayal, sorrow, and desperation were woven into every action. Every punch was personalized. Every breath was heaviest.

When the shield collided with the arc reactor, there was a collective inhalation.

Nobody spoke. Nobody had to.

I noticed Chris and Robert seated side by side, both appearing much more serious than normal. Sebastian had his arms folded and his eyes squinted. Lizzie's fingers remained motionless against the sleeve of her sweatshirt, her knuckles white.

Then the screen went dark.

And another scene started.

Steve stormed down the Raft's hallways, mouth clenched, eyes scouring each gloomy path. The emergency lights flashed to a low red. The doors burst open. Guards had died. Empty cells.

Everyone leaned forward.

We hadn't viewed the footage yet—it wasn't done. Despite knowing what was about to happen, my stomach fluttered. I recalled shooting it and the weight of it. The atmosphere on set had been strained that day.

The camera followed Steve through the prison until he came to a stop.

Right there, bodies sprawled over the floor. Wanda's cell broke open. Debris. Smoke. Chaos.

Then the Woman emerged from the darkness, boots clicking on damp concrete.

Black Raven.

Me.

Drenched in blood, with tangled hair, the black villain's outfit is ripped and wild, like shadows sewn to skin. My character was motionless—except for her arms, which clutched Wanda against her chest. Wanda's hand grabbed my shoulder weakly.

Steve's voice resonated and was raspy. "What did you do?"

"What you would not do. Do not try to stop me, no one will hurt her again. And be careful, Captain. You're only alive because she likes you. And everything on my body wants to murder you, so stand aside."

The place nearly burst.

"Holy shit," Anthony Mackie said, half-standing. "That was badass."

"That's gonna break the internet," Scarlett said, her eyes still wide.

I saw myself on film taking Wanda to the Helicopter before turning around and disappearing into the darkness.

Chris whistled softly. "That's when the audience knows she isn't just a villain. She's something else entirely."

"I've got chills," Lizzie muttered near me.

Paul blinked. "Did... did your character kill all of them by herself?"

I gave a little smile. "She did."

"I love her," Robert announced. "She is terrifying. I love her."

Sebastian nudged me. "You looked like a vampire version of Batman."

"Thanks, I think?"

"No, seriously," the director interrupted, arms folded as he inspected the monitor. "That moment, when she carries Wanda like that? That isn't simply dark; it's loyalty. You can feel it."

Lizzie did not say anything immediately. She simply leaned in again and murmured, "You looked like you'd set the world on fire for her."

I looked at her, my lips parted slightly.

"And you looked like you'd let me."

She blushing but did not look away.

"Okay," Chris broke the quiet. "But can we talk about how Steve literally shows up ready to break them out, and Y/N's already done it and left a dramatic calling card?"

"I like a little flair," I shrugged.

"You carried me like a bride," Lizzie teased.

"You looked like one," I shot back without thinking.

She blinked.

So did I.

Scarlett grinned, she knew. "Guys get a room please, your eye fucking is too much even for me."

Jimmy Fallon show - a few months later

The lights came on strong, and the applause was louder than I imagined, but honestly? I was too high on adrenaline to notice.

Walking onto the Tonight Show set with the rest of the Avengers cast was unreal. The audience exploded as if we were true superheroes - Sebastian grinned, Robert blew kisses, Chris and Anthony began arguing playfully, and Scarlett walked like she ruled the building (she kinda did).

I greeted, smiled, and hugged Jimmy Fallon before sliding into my seat between Lizzie and Paul. Not by accident.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jimmy announced dramatically once we had all settled down, "we have the most powerful couch on Earth right now."

 "So," Jimmy leaned forward, fingers steepled, "Captain America: Civil War. Huge feelings. Large fighting. There's a lot of confusion. And some new faces..."

He grinned as he turned to face me. "Y/N Salvatore, Black Raven herself, welcome to the madness."

The audience applauded again. I giggled gently and smoothed my dress.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm still not sure how I ended up here. One day I'm filming in a castle cellar in Romania, and the next I'm avoiding flying vehicles,"

"You're incredible in the movie," Jimmy replied. "The prison scene? You're carrying Wanda out like you're a goth vampire knight in shining armor?"

The crowd howled. Lizzie gave a little sigh beside me, covering her mouth to conceal a chuckle.

"I-I was doing my best, okay?" I shrugged. "Black Raven is a little dramatic. It's in her blood."

Chris said, "She also kills like... twenty guards in under a minute," his eyes wide. "I was like - did we just add a slasher villain to the team?"

"She's not a villain," Lizzie insisted, remarkably adamant. "She's complicated."

I gazed at her. She stared at me.

Jimmy blinked. "Oh, hello."

More laughs. Robert leaned into his microphone. "This has been going on through the press trip. I swear to God."

"Don't look at us like that!" Lizzie protested, her cheeks flushing just enough to be noticed.

"Okay, but," Jimmy said, pulling out a single shot from the tape of me kneeling by Wanda, cradling her protectively, blood streaming from my hands. "You can't blame us for shipping it."

Cue the crowd losing their heads.

Scarlett laughed. "They have unreal chemistry. Like, we all saw it."

"Yeah," Anthony nodded. "Even between takes, they were still looking at each other like—"

"Finish that sentence and I swear—" I warned, but I was laughing too hard to sound serious.

Jimmy grinned. "Okay, alright. We'll keep things cool for now. But truly, your performance was incredible. The emotional intensity, the silence, the uncertainty..."

He turned back to face the group. "Was anyone else on set just like... watching her and forgetting to act?"

Paul raised his hand. "I did. Twice. I got yelled at."

Sebastian nodded. "I tripped over my line."

I ducked my head and grinned. "Now you're all just being sweet."

"No," Lizzie responded quietly. "You were real. And it is unusual."

The room was silent for a little moment. Just enough for me to notice how near her knee was to mine again. And how warm her hand felt as it lightly touched mine as the talk progressed.

We laughed, mocked, and acted out our biggest blunders (Chris screwed up his shield flip and smacked a bulb. Classic). Jimmy showed a montage of us dancing behind the scenes—yes, there was an uncomfortable moment when Lizzie and I spun around in full costume as the stunt squad looked at us like puzzled pups.

But the moment that stuck?

When Jimmy pulled out a fan-edited clip of Black Raven and Wanda with the title: "Born To Burn – A Love Between Fire and Shadow".

And we both blushed like idiots.

I was still laughing at Paul's impersonation of Vision trying yoga when Jimmy leaned in again, this time with that sparkle in his eye that suggested he was ready to stir things up.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, interrupting the laughter. "I know I can't expect too much, but come on... We need to discuss what comes next."

I felt my smile freeze slightly.

"What about the new Avengers lineup? Perhaps a secret antihero will make more appearances?" He raised an eyebrow wildly and fixed his eyes on me. "Y/N, will we be seeing more of Black Raven in the future?"

The audience reacted with a chorus of excited gasps and cheers, with some admirers in the first row already screaming my character's name.

I opened my lips, not knowing what to say.

Scarlett, thankfully, jumped in first. "If she tells you anything, Feige will literally teleport here and kill us all."

Everyone laughed, but Jimmy was not finished.

"Oh, come on," he responded, smirking. "No teases?" "Not even a hint?"

I attempted to maintain a neutral look, but my stomach was already in knots. I hadn't even read the final script for the following step. Rumors were flowing, and the pressure was building, but was it true? I wasn't sure what I was permitted or wanted to say.

I glanced down immediately, attempting to seem casual, but my fingers curled a bit harder around the edge of the couch seat.

Then I felt it.

A soft, comforting hand gently touched my thigh, right above my knee.

Lizzie.

She said nothing and didn't even look at me. Her gaze was still fixed on Jimmy, and her smile was as calm and dazzling as ever. But her thumb glided gently back and forth on the material of my dress.

It was a tiny gesture. Soft. Subtle. But stable.

I inhaled gently through my nose, urging my shoulders to remain calm. My heart, which had begun to stutter in my chest, resumed its normal rhythm.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," I eventually said, giving Jimmy a faint smirk. "But I do think the universe of Black Raven still has some shadows left to explore."

Jimmy lifted both brows and glanced around at the others. "That... felt like a yes."

Robert clapped his hands once. "That was a studio-trained 'I can't answer this' voice if I've ever heard one."

"Ten out of ten," Chris said. "Very smooth."

Lizzie's hand squeezed my thigh, barely noticeable, but she never took her hand off me.

I took a quick glimpse at her.

She didn't look at me. But the sweetest smile tugged on the corner of her lips.

Time passed...

The premier light finally faded. The press junkets slowed. The constant travel, fittings, early call times, and all-day shootings were finally over—or at least put on hold. But even after I returned to my own small corner of the earth, a peaceful house in New Jersey, the Marvel craziness continued.

Naturally, I kept in touch with the cast. That part was simple.

Group discussions were filled with inside jokes and memes. Chris still sent way too many selfies of himself and Dodger. Scarlett dropped voice messages that never made sense, and Robert constantly sent me culinary recommendations no matter where I was in the world.

And then there was Lizzie.

We chatted. Often.

Sometimes it was simply voice messages at 2 a.m. We sometimes had extended FaceTime chats while she was cooking. Sometimes, there was silence, yet it didn't feel far. Just...quiet comfort. Her name was constantly visible at the top of my texts. My thoughts were continuously drawn back to her.

I wasn't quite sure what we were. But I knew we weren't simply friends—that didn't seem right anymore.

It had been pouring outdoors when this happened.

I was tucked up in my favorite oversized sweatshirt, covered in a throw blanket, and sipping chamomile tea while reading through a stack of forgotten mail and half-read magazines that were gathering on the kitchen counter.

Then one headline attracted my attention.

"Scarlet Spell? Black Raven & Wanda Maximoff Actress Spotted Hand-in-Hand After Intimate NYC Dinner"

My stomach dropped, then fluttered.

I focused on the glossy photo printed over the bottom half of the tabloid. It was grainy, somewhat dark, but clearly us. Lizzie and I were going along a quiet street at night after supper last week. I had entirely forgotten that photographers were standing near that restaurant. She was giggling, her head slightly tilted back, and my hand was in hers.

Not for the camera. Not for public relations.

Just... her fingers curled around mine as if they belonged there.

I sat back on the barstool and looked at the paper.

Part of me panicked. What about the other part? I kind of didn't care.

I grabbed for my phone, my fingers hesitating over Lizzie's number.

Before I could start typing, a fresh message appeared on the screen.

Lizzie🩶: You saw it? 🙈 ...We look cute tho, not gonna lie.

Later that night...

My phone buzzed again, this time with an incoming FaceTime call from Lizzie.

I barely hesitated before responding.

Her face dominated the screen, lighted only by the warmth from her bedside lamp. Hair slightly messy, large sweatshirt, no makeup - it's simply her. She still managed to look like a dream.

"Hey," she responded, her voice mild and somewhat raspy. "You okay?"

I grinned and tucked my knees up to my chest. "You mean after our small-town scandal broke the internet?"

Lizzie laughed. "Right, I forgot, hand-holding, the most forbidden act."

"I know," I teased. "Next thing you know,w we'll be... smiling at each other in public."

"Oh, the horror."

We both laughed, slipping into that comfortable rhythm, the easy warmth that only comes from being with someone you trust.

There was a nice pause, although it lasted a little longer than normal.

"You looked good in that photo," she ultimately replied, her gaze shifting away from the camera for a moment. "Not that this is news. You always do."

I blinked, my lips parted slightly. "You, too. You looked happy."

She shrugged casually. "I was. I mean-I am. With you. It's always fun."

"Fun?" I teased, raising an eyebrow. "That's what I am to you?"

Lizzie leaned closer to the TV, smiling. "Maybe a little more than fun."

The butterflies in my stomach grew into something heavier.

And then—

DING!

A group chat notification slid across the top of the screen. "RDJ 🧃🥸: Alright nerds, suit up. We've got a new project to talk about 👀🦸‍♂️ #avengersassembleagain"

I blinked and then laughed out. "Did he seriously just—"

Lizzie was already rolling her eyes and grinning. "Of course he did."

"I didn't even get time to emotionally recover from the last one."

"We never do," she said. "That's the Marvel way."

I gazed back at her via the screen. A glimmer of passion. Her eyes sparkled.

"So," I asked gently, "Do you think we'll work together again?"

She smiled more slowly this time. "I really hope so."

I leaned my cheek against my hand. "Yeah. Me, too."

INT. CONVENTION HALL – MARVEL PRESS CONFERENCE 

The stage was stylish. The backdrop said, "Marvel Studios: Phase 4 - Expanding the Universe." The rows of reporters, camera crews, and executives packed the room. The air was alive with curiosity.

I sat next to Lizzie, my posture excellent, and tried not to mess with the pen in my hand. Everyone had papers in front of them with secret Marvel material. Contracts. NDAs. Early outlines of the initiative, which we were here to publicly reveal.

I'd already read mine, attempting to keep my eyes from widening at the images I was in. And, more especially, who I was with throughout them.

Robert leaned down and said, "Have you read page 73 yet?" OH LORD, SEX SCENE...

I gave him a sideways glance. "Don't get me started."

He grinned and leaned back, as though he already knew everything.

Kevin Feige entered the stage. "The next film is something personal. We're sticking with a darker tone and more grounded emotion—but also something fans have been asking for."

The Russo Brothers then emerged, wearing their typical cool and cryptic expressions.

Anthony said that Y/N Hale and Wanda Maximoff would have a significant story in the next film.

The audience did not respond for a second.

And then, BOOM.

Gasps, whispers, and a few shouts. People began making notes and raising their hands. One reporter asked, "Romantic?"

Lizzie's gaze shifted toward me.

Joe nodded. "We can't say more."

My cheeks burned. I gulped water as if my life depended on it.

Chris Evans leaned forward and murmured, "You two are already trending. Check Twitter."

Scarlett gave me a slow smirk. "Better get used to the spotlight again, rookie."

I tried to hide my grin as I signed the last page of my contract. Black ink. Official.

Marvel had just made it canon.

And suddenly, we were the storyline.

INT. OUTDOOR MARVEL STUDIOS LOT – LUNCH TENT

The sun was warm overhead, creating a golden glow over the Marvel lot. A big picnic-style table was set up beneath an umbrella, and it was packed with known faces, including Chris Hemsworth with three protein bowls in front of him, Sebastian mocking Mackie, Tom Holland jumping in his seat, and RDJ at the head like some cheeky monarch.

I sat tucked between Scarlett and Lizzie, pecking at my salad and trying not to seem too excited.

Chris Evans sat down opposite us, sliding his tray as if he owned the table. "Okay, let us discuss Infinity War. No spoilers, but I read the script last night and"

"—You read the script?" Tom cut in quickly. "I've been given, like, three pages, and one of them was blacked out!"

Everyone came out laughing.

"Tom, you're literally the reason we have that many NDAs," Mackie said, pointing at him.

"I'm an innocent boy!" Tom gasped in his English accent.

"Sure you are," Sebastian murmured, his mouth full of fries.

Lizzie leaned over to me, lips close to my ear. "Have you read your scenes yet?"

"Not all," I said, clicking my nails on my water bottle. "But I saw one where I—uh—jump between two crumbling buildings and Wanda save me out mid-collapse?"

She grinned slowly.

"Maybe Marvel's trying to tell you something," Scarlett replied, without looking up from her dish.

Everyone turned.

"What?" She grinned and shrugged. "I see everything."

"Honestly, though," Hemsworth said, "the energy you two bring? Electric. I'm kind of jealous."

"Agreed," RDJ said. Seeing your connection on screen is like witnessing a solo film romance inserted into a superhero film. Very broody and intense."

Lizzie and I exchanged looks. I attempted to laugh it off, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"We're just... committed to the characters," I explained, attempting to maintain a cheerful tone.

"Right," Sebastian responded, exaggerating. "Very... method."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't you have a brooding scene to rehearse or something?"

Chris Evans smiled. "I ship it."

Tom blinked. "You mean in the movie?"

RDJ leaned back, his sunglasses glinting. "Sure, let's say that."

Lizzie's hand brushed mine under the table again, intentionally, softly. I looked down. She didn't move it. Neither did I.

"Okay, no spoilers," Feige called as he passed by with his own tray. "But can we all agree this cast is going to break hearts in Infinity War?"

"Oh, they're not ready," Scarlett said, gesturing between Lizzie and me with her fork. "Especially not for these two."

I hid my face in my cup. Lizzie just chuckled lowly beside me.

The sun was beginning to set behind the sound stages, coloring the sky in gold and pink. I was snuggled up on the little sofa in my trailer, script pages spread out on my lap, but I wasn't reading anymore.

Instead, I found myself looking at a specific scene, one in which my character and Wanda kiss and have sex.  We're supposed to shoot it today. This is my first time on a Marvel movie with wlw intimate scenes, and I am quite nervous. There is also a sex scene with Lizzie, so ahhh.... This was not the first time our characters had kissed. Not by far. But... it was the one that lingered in my chest the most.

It wasn't difficult to pretend I was dating Wanda Maximoff. If anything, it was too simple. Sometimes I told myself that this was the most natural character I'd ever performed. The gentle stares, the lingering touches, the calm times between explosions when she'd grab my hand—it no longer seemed like acting. It felt like breathing.

The only thing that was not real was the kisses. And yet, every time Lizzie's lips touched mine on camera, I fell a bit deeper.

The first few times had been playful. Nervous laughs, gentle chuckles when the director yelled cut. But recently, Lizzie had changed. There was a change. There is a dominance to the way she touches me now- less hesitant, more confident. Her fingertips on my jaw, her thumb caressing my face, the gentle way she guided me through the scene.

And I let her. Gladly.

God, I probably looked like an idiot, leaning into her every action as if gravity drew me there.

I remembered the last scene we'd shot: her v me against the wreckage, and our characters finally having a raw moment of confession. Her forehead was pushed against mine, her breathing unsteady, and for a minute... I wasn't sure whether Wanda or Lizzie was whispering, "I can't lose you."

There was a knock on my trailer door just as I'd finished tying my robe.  I was still mentally pacing, flipping through the revised script pages for today's shoot.

Not graphic, not that kind of sex scene, but still intimate. Slow, emotional, intense.

"Come in," I called, voice just a little higher than usual.

The door creaked open, and in stepped one of the Russo brothers, script rolled in hand, calm but serious. "Hey, just wanted to give you and Lizzie a quick rundown before we get on set."

I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral even though my heart was already speeding up.

"We want it slow. Intimate. Like it's not just passion, but release- relief. You've both been holding it in for so long. There should be touches that feel almost hesitant. But once it starts... we want the audience to feel how much your characters want this."

I nodded again, biting the inside of my cheek. "Got it. Oh, and," he added, "when you're moaning, don't hold back. Say her name. Multiple times, people will love it.

 He chuckled like it was nothing, but the casual direction sent a spark of heat up my spine. "Be raw with it."

Yeah. Sure. Totally fine. Definitely not freaking out.

I adjusted the collar of my shirt, which was soft and worn-looking. The costume designer had nailed the "undercover but still slightly dramatic" look. My character's hair was messily tied back, and there was no makeup save for the sort they used to make me appear like I had slept four hours in three days. Real method stuff.

Lizzie was already on set, barefoot, sitting on a pretend bed, and drinking from a paper coffee cup. She gave me that comfortable, lopsided smile. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I said, taking a long breath.

Joe came in next to us and lowered his voice.

"This is morning-after energy," he explained. "You have been on the run for months. You've got used to the silence and your relationship. You are not superheroes here. You're simply two people trying to hang onto something positive. Something honest. We want to feel that."

I nodded, and Lizzie's expression had already changed. Wanda was there. Tired, gentle, and a little guarded.

And when they called action

Everything slid into place.

"I think I saw someone watching us near the market," I remarked, carefully folding a dish towel and placing it on the counter. "He wasn't following me, but... I'm not sure if I'm paranoid or right."

Wanda, Lizzie, glanced up from the table where she was cutting fruit. Her fingers hesitated slightly. "You're probably correct. You usually are."

I turned to face her. "Doesn't make me feel better."

She let out a giggle and walked to me.

"It's been peaceful here," she remarked. "I forgot what peace even felt like."

Lizzie stood close to me, dressed as Wanda, with delicate makeup and a dark red cloak thrown around her shoulders, her hand gently stretching across the table to mine. "We're safe here," she added, with Wanda's soft, quiet, but authoritative tone. It caused chills down my arms.

I nodded and gazed into her eyes, waiting for my cue. But I wasn't acting anymore. When she gripped my hand.

"We don't have to go back," Lizzie said. "We might disappear here. Just you and I."

I swallowed hard. "You really think they'd let us go?" I demanded, leaning forward as the script instructed me. The intensity of Lizzie's gaze on me felt too genuine.

Her fingers brushed under my chin as she tilted my face up. "Let them try," she whispered, right before her lips pressed to mine.

Her hand slid up my jaw, into my hair. I leaned into her touch, kissed her back like I meant it, because maybe... I did.

We locked eyes.

She leaned down and cupped my jaw with delicate fingertips. Her thumb stroked my face, then lowered to my lips.

"You're safe now," she murmured to Wanda, her voice filled with emotion. "With me."

My breath caught. "I always was," I said, just barely audible.

Then, she kissed me again.

As we explored our mouths with our tongues, she slowly moved us to our bed...

Slow at the beginning. Lingering. Her lips slid against mine as if she understood every curve, every pause that made me melt. Her hands moved beneath the blanket, tracing my waist and bringing me closer. Her leg was looped around mine, possessively.

Then, with one hand, she performed her caressing movement, and I held up my hands as if they were magically tied down, because that is the effect they will add later.

"Wanda"

"OH, Wanda"

But as her lips moved to my neck, Lizzie kissed me differently. Less scripted. Hungrier. Her tongue touched my skin, and her fingers curled behind my neck.

And that is when it slid.

"Lizzie..."

I said it like a breath, a prayer.

The camera did not catch it. Nobody said anything. But I felt it. I knew it.

When the director screamed, "Cut!"I jumped upright and tucked the sheet over my chest.

"I'll, um, I'll be in my trailer," I murmured, blushing.

I didn't glance back at Lizzie. Couldn't. My heart was pounding, and my thoughts were spinning out of control. I grumbled since that was not Wanda.

That was Lizzie.

And I meant it.

I'm fucked.

I had been ghosting everyone for a weeks.

Text messages remained unopened. Conversations in groups were muted. Missed calls from Robert, Chris, Scarlett, Paul, and Lizzie.

I just couldn't.

When I moaned her name on set, it seemed like something inside me split wide open. I hadn't only crossed a professional line; I had revealed something far too true. Then I ran like a coward. Classic. And now? I couldn't even look at her, much less pretend we were "just friends" or "just coworkers."

So I remained away. From the cast. From rehearsals. From everything.

I didn't want to admit it, but the only thing that hurt was Lizzie's lack of communication.

Maybe she overheard it. Perhaps she didn't. Regardless, she remained mute.

That made things worse.

I was cuddled up on my couch, hoodie pulled over my head, watching horrible reality TV and eating cold leftovers when the doorbell rang.

I ignored it.

Then came the second ring.

Then they knocked.

Then there was some banging.

And, through the awful door—

"Y/N Salvatore, if you don't open this door in the next ten seconds, I'm calling Feige and telling him you died in a tragic avocado toast incident."

...Goddammit.

I grumbled and trudged to the door, opening it just slightly. Robert Downey, Jr. was standing there. Designer sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, coffee in one hand, and what appeared to be a Gucci purse in the other.

"Oh, thank God," he said, shoving past me. "I thought you had vanished. This area smells of sadness and fried chips. Not cute."

"Nice to see you, too," I mumbled, closing the door behind him.

He turned and pointed at me. "Sit. We're talking."

"I'm fine."

"Nope," he said. "You're in love, ignoring your lover, and attempting to self-sabotage before the greatest Marvel premiere of your life. Also, you haven't showered today."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did Lizzie send you?"

He snorted. "Lizzie has no idea I am here. She's too busy pretending she isn't devastated. Which, by the way, she is doing poorly at. The girl has been poking at foods as if they insulted her mother."

I glanced aside, my arms crossed across my chest.

Robert groaned and sat near me on the couch. "Look. I got it. It's messy. You are afraid. You believe you have ruined something."

"I did ruin it."

He shakes his head. "No. You felt something. She did, too. Salvatore, don't play stupid; you both acted as if you forgot there were cameras. Do you believe that type of chemistry is normal? We were all watching playback and wondering if this was still acting."

I didn't respond.

"You're not alone in this," he said quietly. "You are not a monster for having emotions. She definitely did, too. You're both simply being foolish. Which is why I am hosting dinner tonight. One of our last before the press tour madness begins. Everyone is invited. And yes, you will be there."

"I'm not going."

He stood dramatically. "That's wonderful, but I had already planned to drive you there myself. So either you get ready and arrive dressed like a Greek goddess, or I sling you over my shoulder and drag your theatrical vampire ass out in a robe."

I looked at him, blinking. "...Fine. But I'm wearing black."

"Duh. It is your color."

LATER — Y/N's BEDROOM

I stood in front of the mirror, curling the last strand of my hair. Something elegant but soft. My dress was black, yes, but tasteful. Backless. Flowing. Simple, but still dramatic. I applied a final coat of deep red lipstick.

My heart was racing.

Not because of the dinner. But because I knew I'd see her again. Lizzie.

And I had no idea how to act normally anymore.

But I could fake it. That was the job, right?

I grabbed my heels. Took a breath.

Robert was waiting downstairs, blasting ABBA on his phone like a true icon.

Time to face the chaos.

And maybe... her.

Robert's house is like a Vogue spread transformed into a mansion. There are lights everywhere, jazz playing from concealed speakers, candles flickering around the pool, and so many people.

I squinted at the sight, my heels tapping on the marble as I followed Robert through the front door. "Wait," I said, lifting an eyebrow. "Didn't you say this was a dinner?"

He smirked as he stared at me over his spectacles. "I mentioned there will be food. You imagined it meant 'calm' and 'intimate.' That is on you."

"Robert, there are at least forty people here."

"Not a single boring one. "You are welcome."

Before I could strangle him with my hold, he vanished into the crowd, greeting everyone like a Hollywood Zeus descending from Olympus.

I groaned and looked around the room. There is no indication of Lizzie.

Okay. Take a deep breath. Keep it cool.

I approached the bar, anxious for something cold and boozy. That's where I noticed Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan leaning heavily against it, as if they were in some whiskey ad.

"Ayyy, look who rose from the dead!" Anthony grinned and pulled me in for a hug.

"You do look like a vampire queen tonight," Sebastian said, lifting his glass. "I really adore it. Brooding looks fantastic on you."

"Thanks," I mumbled, smiling. "That's what two weeks of existential dread and bad reality TV will do to you."

We clinked glasses. Whiskey scorched my throat.

They spoke, asked how I was, and teased me like elder brothers, which made me chuckle. Until Anthony's smile became hazardous.

"Alright. Dare time."

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "This isn't high school."

"Oh, shut up, you love this." Anthony turned to face me. "Y/N, I challenge you to dance with Bucky Barnes over here. But, really, dance. None of that nice swaying. I want hip action. Maintain eye contact. Full commitment."

Sebjust chuckled and reached for my hand. "Are you up for it?"

I arched my brow. "You wish."

But I had already placed my drink down.

The music changed, darker, slower, hotter. Low boom sends through the floor.

And yes, I agreed.

I strolled with Sebastian across Robert's marble living room, as if we were in a noir club scene. Smooth, sultry, and a touch playful. His hand rested softly on my waist as I turned, our feet perfectly coordinated. Everyone around us cheered.

It was enjoyable. Light. Silly.

And suddenly, I felt it.

That sting.

It felt like flames on the back of my neck.

I turned.

Lizzie.

Standing near the bar.

Watching me.

Her jaw tensed, and the wine glass froze in midair. Her eyes focused on me.

Shit.

I quickly stepped back from Sebastian, laughed it off, and grabbed my drink, only to be stopped.

A hand was tightly wrapped around my wrist.

Fingers are warm.

"Lizzie—"

"Outside. Now."

Her voice sounded low. Controlled. Too calm.

She almost dragged me past the crowd and into a quiet corridor beside the kitchen, far enough away from the music to hear only the pounding of my own heartbeat.

And then, boom, I was pinned.

Back against a wall.

Her hands are on either side of my waist.

I'm breathing quickly.

Eyes are black.

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" she growled, moving closer.

I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I wasn't sure what to say.

She drew a trembling breath and moved back half an inch, leaving just enough space to make the tension break like a rubber band. Her voice lowered, harsh with pain. "You avoided me for weeks, Y/N."

I swallowed, remorse setting in.

"And now?" She sneered and clenched her fists. "Now you're out there... dancing with Sebastian like it's a fucking date? Really?" Her voice broke just enough to devastate me. "So what am I, nothing to you now?"

"Lizzie, no-"

"No? Then look me in the eyes and say that."

I tried. God, I tried.

But the moment our eyes met, my heart skipped, my throat tightened, and everything inside me screamed her name.

She laughed sadly, tears threatening but not dropping. "You can't, can you?"

I didn't respond.

"I was there for you," she muttered. "Through all of it. When you shut down, left the stage early, or stopped responding to texts. I waited. I worried. And still, I believed myself you only needed time."

Her fingers stroked my arm, sensitive yet trembling. "But then I walk in tonight and you're smiling like nothing happened. With him. And I can't." She broke off, coming closer.

"I can't look at you with him," she whispered. "Every time I see you with someone else, my body just"  Her breath caught. "Every part of me wants to take you away, Y/N. Take you out of this room, put you against a wall, and remind you who you belong to."

She was shaking, but not because she was weak.

Pain. Passion. Love entangled in an unbreakable knot.

"Don't you get it?" She breathed and looked at me as if I were the only thing keeping her alive. "I love you."

That shattered me.

"Liz-" I gasped out.

"I want you completely," she snapped. "I do not want a half-hearted version of you. I do not desire stray looks or hushed practice. I want the version who would whisper lines into my shoulder at midnight. The one who softened as I kissed her neck after a take. I want you.  All of you."

And then, suddenly, her lips were inches from me.

Breathless. Burning.

"I can't pretend this is just acting anymore. And I won't."

I gazed at her, every muscle in my body begging to let go. To give in. To tell her I felt the same way, that she wasn't alone in this insane situation. The fear of losing her kept me up every night.

"Say something," she begged.

My chest lifted and sank as if I'd just finished a marathon. Her words were still reaching in my mind: I want you totally. My lips split, but it seemed like my heart had risen up my throat,

I didn't have to think anymore. I didn't need to second-guess or pretend that she hadn't already blasted through every wall I'd ever created.

"Then kiss me."

Her breath caught.

That is all it took.

Lizzie jumped forward in an instant, her lips crashing against mine, angry and hungry. One hand was knotted in my hair, and the other gripped my waist as if she wanted to ground herself before losing control. I slid toward her, holding to her jacket as my lips parted without hesitation.

There was nothing planned or practiced about it. It was not a scene; it was real. Every brush of her tongue, every moan against my mouth, was messy, urgent, and true. We'd waited too long for this. And suddenly everything was spilling out.

She pushed me back against the wall, her body pressed against mine, her thigh slipping between mine with a possessive ease that made my breath catch and my knees weak.

Her mouth left mine, only to trail down my jaw and down my throat, biting softly before returning to my lips as if she couldn't stay away. Her hands were everywhere—sliding beneath my dress, holding my hips, and squeezing as if she didn't care who saw.

And perhaps she didn't. Perhaps I didn't either.

But then 

We heard laughter on the opposite side of the hallway. Someone is calling for Chris.

Lizzie remained still.

We were both panting, foreheads mashed together, and hearts pounding like thunder.

"I swear to God," she said, eyes still closed, "if someone ruins this again, I'll kill them."

I laughed out loud, my head tilted back against the wall. "We can't do this here."

She sighed and leaned in for one more kiss, slow this time, deep and devastating. Her hand caressed my cheek as she pulled away, her gaze softening.

"Come with me," she said, her voice lower now.  "Let me take you home."

I didn't even hesitate.

When we went out of that hallway, it was like walking into a spotlight. The party's talk stopped for a short moment before resuming.

"Ohhh, look who finally came up for air!" Anthony shouted, raising his cup with a smile.

Sebastian simply let out a long whistle. "It took you long enough. I thought you two were going to fuck each other there."

Chris smiled and nudged Scarlett. "Called it. I said by the end of the night, someone would be pinned to a wall."

Scarlett just rolled her eyes and raised her glass. "Finally."

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. Lizzie and I were still holding hands, fingers interlaced, lips swollen, lipstick slightly blurred, and out of breath. The proof was written all over us.

I squeezed her hand, holding back a laugh as Tom raised his brow and murmured to Zendaya, "Do we cheer? Clap? Light fireworks?"

"Fireworks," Zendaya responded without skipping a beat. "Obviously."

Lizzie simply rolled her eyes at each of them. "Children," she mumbled under her breath, turning to me with a little smile. "Let's get out of here before they start placing bets."

And with that, we slipped out.

Initially, the car was quiet. The city lights reflected a lovely golden tint through the windows, flickering over Lizzie's face as she drove. One hand on the steering wheel and the other on my thigh.

Her thumb brushed gentle circles at first, innocent and even oblivious. But things did not stay that way.

Her hand began to move higher, slowly and carefully.

"You know," she continued casually, not looking at me, "you have the worst poker face."

I swallowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She smirked. "Every time I touched you back there, your breathing changed."

I scoffed, my cheeks flushed. "It did not."

Her fingers climbed a bit higher. "Did so."

"Maybe you were just breathing harder, Olsen."

"Oh, baby." Her voice dipped, seductive and sexy. "I understand how you breathe when I touch you. I've been studying it for several months."

I turned to the window, trying not to burn, but she leaned in at a red light, whispering in my ear, "And when you moaned my name before... even if no one heard it, I did."

Her fingertips were no longer simply teasing my thigh. They explored slowly, confidently, and possessively. Moving up with purpose.

I shifted slightly in my seat, pretending I wasn't losing my mind, but my breath betrayed mesharp and sharp.

Lizzie's smirk deepened, her gaze fixated on the road as if she wasn't driving me insane. "I love how quiet you get when I touch you like this," she said.

Her fingertips dipped just beneath the bottom edge of my dress, brushing across the naked skin on my inner thigh. Higher. Slower. She wasn't hurrying anything. It was as if she wanted to memorize every inch, torturing me with excitement.

"You didn't want to talk to me for weeks," she said quietly and quietly, "but now look at you. "Falling apart in the front seat."

"Lizzie..." I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for just a moment.

She hummed. "You gonna beg me to stop?"

I shook my head, jaw gritted. "No."

She gave a quiet, satisfied laugh. Her hand reached just high enough to make me gasp, and then she drew away entirely.

"What the hell?" I looked at her, breathless, but she had already pulled into her driveway.

She slowly parked the car and then turned to face me. Her lips twisted into that arrogant, drop-dead gorgeous smile, which she knew had wrecked me.

"Get inside," she urged, her tone suddenly stern and forceful. "We're not done."

My heart pounded. "You, are you serious?"

She released her seatbelt with a gentle click. "You have been taunting me for months. Dancing with Sebastian, avoiding me, moaning my name when no one should hear..." Her glance swept over me. "You don't get to walk away again."

I swallowed hard, my knees wobbly, as I hopped out of the car and followed her to the door.

Lizzie turned around, jealousy in her eyes, as the door closed behind us. Before I could blink, she was raising me with ease, as if she had been waiting all night, and my legs reflexively wrapped around her waist.

"Bedroom," I whispered against her neck, my voice shaking.

She grinned. "Obviously."

Her lips claimed mine again, deep and eager, as she went down the hall as if nothing else mattered but putting me on her bed. I felt the heat coming from her skin, and mine felt similar—burning and throbbing.

As soon as we reached the door, she lowered me into the soft sheets—but didn't pull away. Her body hung over mine, her hands slipping under the sleeves of my dress, and her tongue trailing down the side of my neck. She picked a location just below my jaw and bit—not hard, but enough to make me gasp and leave a growing bruise that she had carefully planned.

"That's mine," she said, her voice low and full of yearning.

Her hands grew impatient, pushing the dress over my head, leaving me in nothing but lace. She sat back to view me, her chest rising and falling, mouth parted, and eyes wide.

"You're so beautiful, baby." She leaned back down and kissed my collarbone. "You've got no idea what you do to me."

I arched into her, moaning quietly as her hand moved between my thighs, her fingertips ghosting across the damp cloth. "Lizzie..."

"I know," she whispered. "I know, sweetheart."

She stripped me naked with slow, deliberate strokes, caressing every inch of exposed skin as if I were precious. Her lips traced a route down my ribs, stomach, and hips, leaving hickeys as evidence of possession.

She took her time, putting her fingers inside me just as her lips touched my breast, nibbling and teasing till I trembled beneath her. Her name escaped my lips in a breathy gasp again and over, and she enjoyed it. Her other hand held my wrist down softly but strongly.

"I want everyone to see what's mine," she muttered against my skin before leaving another mark right over my heart. "I want them to know."

I was lost in her, every touch, every breath, every piece of her weight on mine. She did not simply touch me; she held me. It seemed as if she was connecting me to the world. Even with all that dominance, there was a lot of love behind it.

When I came, it was with her name on my tongue, her hands grounding me, her lips murmuring praise I couldn't even process.

She didn't stop there.

Afterwards, she kissed me softly, her hands stroking my face, her voice gentler than ever. "You okay, baby?"

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. "You ruined me."

She grinned. "I plan to do it again. And again."

Lizzie was still catching her breath as I rolled on top of her, straddling her hips with a playful grin.

She looked up at me, confused. "Oh, you're not done?"

I bent down and kissed her softly, tongue brushing against hers, one hand creeping into her hair and the other trailing down her warm chest.

"Not even close," I said softly against her lips. "My turn."

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Then take it, baby."

I kissed down her throat.

  Her skin tasted like salt and passion, like all the fire she'd poured into me, and now I was ready to return it all. My tongue reached the top of her breast, and I sucked softly before biting down just enough to make her hiss.

"Fuck, Y/N," she muttered, leaning into me. "You're getting cocky."

"You made me this way," I said, brushing my lips over her skin, lowering myself until I was kneeling between her legs.

She stared down at me, hair tangled around her pillow, lips puffy, cheeks flushed, and her eyes?

God, she looked destroyed, yet she was still so powerful. Even in surrender, she remained untouchable.

I pulled her thighs over my shoulders, kissed the inside of her knee, then the dip of her leg, and grinned as she snapped beneath me.

"You gonna be good for me?" I asked quietly.

"I'll be whatever you want," she said, her voice broken.

Lizzie's hand quickly reached the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair, as I kissed a stripe across her pussy

"Shit, Y/N. Yes. Exactly like that, baby."

I continued on, slowly at first, teasing her with the tip of my tongue, and watched her tear. Her hips rotated in quest of more, and I gave it to her flicking, sucking, and devouring her as if I were hungry. "Baby, you're really good at this," she sighed. "Fuck, you were made for me."

Her thighs gripped around my head as I murmured against her, sending vibrations through her core, causing her to cry out. She was panting now, rubbing against my mouth, and I didn't stop, not even when her moans became louder, she tugged my hair, or her back arched.

"You want to make me come, pretty girl?" she growled.

I gazed up at her, lips wet, and nodded. "Beg for it."

Lizzie's eyes brightened up. "Oh, fuck. Are you really going to make me?"

I smirked. "Yeah."

She let out a breathless laugh. "You don't realize how hot you are like this. Please, Baby. Please make me come."

That was all I needed.

I put two fingers into her, curving them perfectly while my tongue worked on her clit and the cry that exploded from her chest was filthy. Her body bucked, her feet pressed into my back, and she let out a low groan that rang throughout the room.

"Y/N. I'm, fuck, I'm coming!"

She cracked, yelling my name and writhing under me, her thighs tightening around my head like a vice. I didn't stop until she was exhausted, jerking, and gasping for air.

When I eventually crept back up her body, she looked beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaved, her hair tangled, and her red lips parted in the softest, sweetest grin.

She threw her arms around me and drew me into her.

I kissed her shoulder, then her neck. "You're mine."

"And you're mine," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Every bit of you."

The first thing I noticed when I awoke was the silence.

The type of sweet, dreamy silence that only comes in the early morning. No cars, no texts, and no buzzing notifications. Just the warm weight of covers on my skin and the faint perfume of Lizzie on my pillow.

She was still sleeping next to me, her face buried in the blankets and one arm casually thrown across where I used to be. Her breathing was regular and quiet. Peaceful.

God, she was stunning like that.

I dropped a short kiss on her temple and slid out of bed as silently as possible, sliding one of her big t-shirts over my naked body. It covered my body, the sleeves almost reaching my elbows and touching the tops of my thighs like a dress. I grinned to myself, wondering why it felt so intimate to wear her clothing. I felt surrounded by her warmth even when she was sleeping.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I decided to be a nice girlfriend and prepare her breakfast. A small "thank you for last night" gesture. (And possibly: "I'm head over heels for you and can't stop thinking about how you kissed me like I was your whole world." )

When I added the eggs, the pan hissed, and I began looking around for coffee. It was busy but comfortable, me in her shirt, music playing gently from my phone on the counter, and dawn light streaming through the curtains.

Then I felt it: the familiar warmth.

Lizzie's chin settled on my shoulder as her arms wrapped around my waist from behind. She seemed warm and tired, her voice heavy and husky as she spoke.

"Mmm... Are you trying to kill me?"

I giggled and leaned back into her hug. "What?"

"You. In my shirt. Making breakfast. Looking like that." She nuzzled her cheek on my neck. "It is criminal. I should arrest you."

I grinned, putting down the spatula, and covered her hands with mine. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"I do."

She hummed and gave me a delicate kiss just below my ear. "It smells nice. Are you attempting to tempt me into round two?"

I smirked as I glanced over my shoulder. "Would it work?"

Lizzie's eyes glittered, and sleep clung to her eyelids. "Baby, you are the reward."

We remained there for a bit, her arms wrapped around mine, our bodies swaying gently in time with the music. There is no haste, no world outside. It's just us.

"You know," she murmured softly, "this...this is everything."

I turned into her arms and wrapped mine around her neck. "What is?"

"This. Waking up with you. Seeing you in my kitchen. Wearing my clothes"

"Come back to bed," she whispered.

"But I'm cooking."

She nipped at my bottom lip. "Breakfast can wait."

And just like that, the eggs were forgotten...

[ninus9607]

❝𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬❞

𝟣𝟣. 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒/𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑒𝓉𝒸…

Pairing(s): Marvel Characters x Female! reader

Word count: 3.6k

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES DEATH AND BLOOD

tags: l content: fluff, jealousy, blood, death, Comfort Fic, Mission Gone Wrong, Kidnapped Reader, Injured Reader, Possessive Love, Emotional Support

AN: HEYY GUYSSS, I hope u like it! SORRY FOR EVERY MISTAKE HAHAH, ALSO my requests are stillll opennn so feel free to ring me up!

xx

Steve Rogers / Captain America

You were wrapping up a busy morning at the flower store when it happened. The bell above the front door rang, indicating another customer, but this time, a bunch of guys jumped in. They were harsh and definitely not here to buy flowers. They did not say anything, but grabbed you and demanded to know where Captain America was. You attempted to struggle back, but their hold was too powerful. One of them held a pistol to your side, which silenced you quickly. You were afraid.

They pulled you out of the store and threw you in the back of a vehicle. Your thoughts and heart were racing.

They wanted Steve, and they knew exactly how to find him. As the van raced away, you realized you wouldn't be able to get out of this alone.

Hours passed, and Steve had no idea. He was in the middle of a meeting with the Avengers when his phone rang with an unfamiliar number. His stomach fell just when he replied, when he heard your voice shaking on the other end of the line.

"Steve... they took me."

Steve was a man of action, therefore, there was no time to spend. He dropped everything and instantly began planning to get you back. The drive to the destination was a haze. Steve's hands gripped the wheel tightly, his thoughts racing through every possibility. He was aware of the risks. He knew that the guys who were capturing you would not hesitate to hurt you. However, there was no turning back. He was not going to lose you like that.

He eventually arrived in an abandoned warehouse, as the kidnappers had described. It was disturbingly silent. Steve crept inside, his senses on full alert. He went fast and quietly, taking down every guard in his way. His concentration was focused on one thing: bringing you to safety.

When he finally found you, you were trapped in a small room with your wrists tied and your face pale from stress and a lack of food. You looked up, shocked to see him, but the relief rushed over you and caused your chest to constrict. Steve raced up to you without saying anything, his hands quickly reaching for your shackles. He mumbled your name and looked you over quickly.

"It's okay, I'm here," he murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. "You're safe now."

You nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything, tears welling in your eyes. He drew you into his arms, clutching you hard as if proving to himself that you were indeed present, alive, and in his arms.

Headcanons:

Steve's Protective Nature: After the kidnapping, Steve becomes extremely protective of you. He's constantly checking in on you to make sure you're well and nothing else happens. If you are out of his sight for too long, he becomes nervous.

Steve's physical affection has grown more intense, particularly in public places. He does not mind showing affection, but it is obvious that he is still dealing with the fear of losing you. When you're together, he'll make a point of holding your hand or wrapping his arm around you, especially if others are there.

His Guilt - Steve feels terribly bad about the incident. He hates himself for not defending you sooner, which often leads to times of silent meditation in which he simply stares out into space, thinking. He may even apologize repeatedly, regardless of your assurances that it was not his fault.

The First Time He Lets Himself Sleep- Steve struggles to sleep after settling in for the first time. He is terrified of losing you, and he is often up at night, keeping an eye on you. He eventually comes to trust that you are secure. The first time he falls asleep in your arms, he gets his first complete night of sleep in days.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Tony Stark/ Iron Man

You used to joke with Tony that dating a millionaire Avenger was a combination of luxury and near-death incidents. You never believed you'd be proven correct.

It started as a routine day at the Stark-Malibu mansion. The sun was beautiful over the water, the AI was playing your favorite music while you prepared breakfast, and Tony had just stepped in wearing nothing but sweatpants and his smug little smirk.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he replied, stooping down to kiss your forehead before pouring his coffee.

You expected another quiet day. You were wrong.

It happened quickly.

The windows smashed first. A missile, followed by another, struck the cliffside property with terrible power. You shouted as glass rained down around you, and you ran behind the bar just in time. The house is shaking. The alarms boomed.

"JARVIS, suit!" Tony shouted, and in an instant, bits of his Iron Man armor rushed towards him from across the room, clamping onto his upper body.

He looked at you while explosions shook the floor of your house. "Stay down. No matter what, don't leave this area."

"Tony!"

But he was already gone, flying into the sky to stop anybody who tried to harm his house. You shook, your heart pounded, and your ears rang. The mansion crumbled around you. Smoke engulfed the air. You couldn't breathe.

You crawled into Tony's hidden panic room, murmuring prayers under your breath that he would be well.

Not until the door was wrenched open and Tony appeared in the entrance, covered in soot and grime, eyes wild until they landed on you.

"You're okay," he whispered, falling to his knees in front of you. "You're okay."

Headcanons:

After the attack, Tony activates Hyper-Protective Mode, providing complete protection. He replaces your phone with Stark-level technology, provides you with AI security, and insists on putting defensive procedures anywhere you go, even your favorite bookshop. 

Tony sleeps with one eye open and struggles to sleep properly for weeks afterwards. When he does, it's just wrapped around you, with fingers continually touching some part of your body—as if he needs constant confirmation that you're real and alive.

Shower Moments: Tony often avoids talking about his feelings, but the post-traumatic stress brings them to the surface. You'll be standing under the water as he carefully washes your hair, murmuring how sorry he is and how he'll never allow you to be in that type of danger again.

Guilt and Fear: Tony has deep guilt and dread. He had always feared that his opponents would target those he cared about, and now it has come true. He gets nightmares about it. He even considers shoving you away for your own safety, but the moment you see that expression in his eyes, you shut it off immediately.

"Do not even think about it, Stark. We are a team. You and I."

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Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier 

It was supposed to be a regular infiltration mission. Inside and outside. Minimal contact. You and Bucky had done this a hundred times: two shadows moving as one. Professional, crisp, and focused.

But it didn't matter when the information was incorrect. While the enemy was waiting.

You didn't even hear the gunshot. Just feeling the sting in your side and the way your legs collapsed beneath you. You landed hard, your breath seizing in your throat as your fingers brushed against the cut, wet with blood.

"Y/N!"

Bucky was at your side in seconds, diving to his knees, eyes wild, one hand cradling your face and the other clamping down on your wound.

You attempted to speak, but your voice broke, and sorrow shot through your body.

"Hey, hey. Don't talk. You're okay. You're going to be fine," Bucky whispered, his voice low and angry, as if he was forcing it to happen.

The following few minutes were blurred. Gunfire. Screams. And Bucky transformed into something unrecognizable, as if his Winter Soldier instincts had snapped into place and the only thing that mattered now was to defend you.

He snatched you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, clutching you to his chest as he tore across the property. You could hear his pulse racing, feel his breath on your hair, and the way he repeated your name like a prayer.

"I've got you, doll. You are secure now. Please hold on. Do not close your eyes, okay?"

You awoke hours later in an Avengers. Medical facility, you're side stitched and bandaged, painful as hell, but alive. Bucky sat near your bed, slumped over, clutching your hand as if it were the only thing holding him together in the world.

He appeared to have remained still.

"You scared the shit out of me," he said, his voice scratchy. "Don't ever do that again."

You smiled weakly but sincerely. "I didn't plan on getting shot, Buck."

He did not reciprocate the smile. Instead, he leaned in, placed his forehead to yours, and breathed you in.

"You are everything to me." I can't lose you."

Headcanons:

Human Body Armor: Bucky refuses to let you lead the front line after that incident. Even during missions, he puts himself in front of you, metal arm ready, eyes continually searching. Even if you object, he will protect you.

Overprotective but Soft: He is both overprotective and soft, keeping a close eye on you without overwhelming you. Always be sure you eat, relax, and heal. He acts like a guard dog, yet he wraps you in his sweatshirt and kisses you on the forehead before tucking you into bed.

Haunted by "what ifs": He has witnessed too much loss. Losing you would break him. Following the mission, he silently spirals—he rarely sleeps, checks on you every hour, and even sits outside the medbay at night to listen to your breathing.

Will Kill For You: No one talks about what Bucky did after you were shot. But everyone knows. There were no survivors left in that building. And he made sure your blood was the last one spilled.

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Loki Odinson/God of Mischief

In Asgard, victory was usually followed by a celebration. The palace sparkled with glittering flags and tables brimming with food and drink. The air was filled with music, laughing, and the heavy smell of battle-won pride.

You were not immediately involved in the celebration. As a maid, you had to move silently, clean fast, and remain out of the soldiers' path. However, the aftermath of conflict has delivered something else: prisoners, war-beasts in human form, bound and growling, hauled into the dungeons underneath.

Nobody expected them to escape.

You were merely in the wrong corridor at the wrong moment, on your way back to the servants' quarters, when you heard a sudden, violent crash behind you. You turned just in time to see one of the larger prisoners lunging out of the shadows, bloodied, wild-eyed, and enraged.

You hardly had time to scream before he grabbed your wrist and pushed you back into the wall.

"Pretty little thing," he scoffed.

Your heart smashed. You struggled and were frightened, but he was stronger. Too powerful.

And then he showed up.

Emerald glints. A burst of rage.

The opponent was leering at you one second, and the next he was gasping on his own breath, magically held in place. Loki showed up out of the shadows, his eyes glowing green and his power crackling in the air like electricity.

"I would think very carefully about your next breath," he said, his voice low and nasty.

The prisoner never got the opportunity to speak. Loki's blade slashed his throat in an instant—quiet, quick, and brutal.

He quickly turned to face you, his eyes still gleaming from the last pulse of power. "Did he touch you?" he said, his voice shaking with wrath rather than fear.

You shook your head, too stunned to speak.

His hand lifted, paused, and finally rested lightly on your cheek. "You are secure now. I am here."

Headcanons:

Feral, Silent Protector: Loki does not make a huge statement about what happened. But from that day forward, you're never alone. As you walk the corridors, you observe how the shadows alter. Guards nod at you with odd reverence. You always get the feeling that someone is watching you, but not in a horrible manner.

Possessive to the Core: Loki is possessive and subtly claims you. There's no spectacular statement; he simply starts showing up more. Giving little grins. Standing by your side. Looking at everyone who speaks to you for too long, as if he's measuring them for a coffin.

Gives You Power: You discover that you have suddenly been granted new rights. Fancier chambers. Lighter duties. A lovely necklace adorned with protective runes - "a gift," he adds casually, yet the enchantment enters your skin like his promise.

Little Acts of Care: He's subtle, but not shy. He appears with warm tea when you're tired. Offers books you never told him you liked. One day, there's a knife under your pillow - enchanted, beautiful. "Just in case," he murmurs.

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Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow

Training sessions with Steve were usually tough, but you enjoyed the challenge. He was patient, motivating and pushed you just the right amount. Until today.

It went on quickly.

You were sparring hand-to-hand, deflecting his punches and dancing just out of range. But one step too late- one miscalculation, and his foot collided with your knee more forcefully than expected. You dropped with a sudden yell, pain shooting up your leg as you grasped the joint.

Steve knelt immediately, an apology washing across his face. "Shit Y/N, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

But before you could respond, she was there.

Natasha burst into the training room like a red flash, her gaze fixed on you before switching to Steve with ice-cold precision. "What the hell happened?"

"She took a hit, wasn't meant to land like that," Steve said, raising his hands.

Natasha did not even glance at him. She crouched behind you, pushing your hair away from your face, her gaze sweeping across your entire body.

"You're done for today," she said quietly, slipping her arms beneath you before you could argue.

"Nat,  I can walk! "

"No, Milaya. You don't get to debate. You got injured. You are mine. I am taking care of you."

You looked up at her, shocked, as she effortlessly grabbed you into her arms and took you to the medbay, ignoring everyone else in the gym, including a very embarrassed Steve.

"I'm not mad," she said softly into your hair. "But I am going to kill him just a little bit later."

Headcanons:

Ultra-Protective Mode ON: She's already protective on a normal day, but the second you get hurt? She's locked in. No more training unless she's there. She even makes you wear knee pads when walking around the Tower as a joke, but deep down, she's serious.

Scary Calm with others: She does not shout. She does not throw punches. But her quiet is deadly. Steve maintains she didn't say anything after the incident, but he remains scared of her glare.

Shadows you for days: She stares. Always around the corner. Constantly keeping an eye on everything. Do you go to the kitchen? She's already prepared your tea. Do you wince when walking? She's already by your side, her arm around you.

Loves babying you: She won't say it, but she enjoys caring of you. She brings you to bed, rubs your knee, carefully bandages it, and kisses your forehead as if it were sacred.

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Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch

It was supposed to be a straightforward observation mission. Inside and outside. No major clashes or shocks. However, those are always the messiest.

You were teamed with two fresh recruits (Wanda was not on the team this time), and somewhere along the road, a concealed Hydra sniper fired a shot. The bullet touched your side, drawing blood but not killing. Nonetheless, it was scary. You were able to patch things up and complete the assignment. Barely.

However, as soon as you returned to Avengers base, everything changed.

She did not speak when she saw you. Her hands trembled. Wanda ran across the corridor and held you in a tight, magic-warmed hug before you had time to catch your breath.

You could feel her body trembling against your own.

"You didn't call me," she muttered. "You got hurt. And I was not there."

"I didn't want to worry you..."

"I felt it, Y/N."

Her voice was soft. Almost childish. But there was something darker lurking beneath the surface of her gaze. The red mist wrapped around her fingers, like if it had its own awareness.

"I felt something snap in the air," she said softly. "And then I looked at my phone and saw your name in the mission report and—" She cut off, breathing shakily. "You're not allowed to do that. You don't get to be brave alone."

Before you could respond, her hands caressed your face. Gently. Carefully.

"I almost tore apart that compound just to find you."

Headcanons:

Telepathy Check-ins: She starts using her powers more often, telepathically checking in on you without asking. You'll be brushing your teeth and hear, "Are you okay?"inside your head. She tries not to intrude. Tries....

Cries When You Flinch: If you wince or shift in pain, even a little? She looks like the world is ending. She apologizes a thousand times even if she didn't cause it.

You catch her reading spells: One night, you find her in the living room, surrounded by books on blood magic and protective sigils. She's talking to herself, her eyes burning.

"You're not allowed to get hurt again," she adds quietly. "I won't let it happen."

Sleeps Curled Around You: She won't sleep till you're in her arms. She's afraid of dreams. Yours and hers. So she stays up longer, simply watching you breathe.

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Agatha Harkness

It started quickly.

One moment, you were wandering along the edge of the forests outside town, the moonlight soaking your skin and the chilly night air keen with magic. You felt a rush of fury before you saw her. Not yours. Hers.

Agatha had met paths with a witch decades before, angry, bitter, and now brave enough to seek revenge. You didn't have time to respond before the air cut apart. Hundreds of sharpened wood spikes flew your way.

One of them hit.

Right below your collarbone. Close. Too close.

You did not scream, but you stumbled back, your chest searing with sorrow. You reached up, your fingers dripping with your own blood. Even for a vampire, a cut this near to the heart may have been deadly.

Then Agatha came.

The air crackled with blue lightning, a wild force. Something inside her cracked when she saw you.

"You," she hissed, charging towards the other witch like a hurricane on two legs. "You DARE touch my WIFE"

The other witch did not have a chance.

It was not a duel. It was a massacre.

You didn't know how long it lasted, how many times Agatha attacked her with spells you couldn't even remember, but when it was over, all that remained was smoke, shattered dirt, and Agatha standing in the dark, her chest rising and falling like she'd been hunting prey.

Her eyes were gleaming as she turned to face you. Her hands shook. Her fingers were stained with blood when she reached out for you.

"You're all right," she whispered. But she did not seem convinced. "You're alright."

You were still standing. Barely. "You should see the other witch," you attempted to joke.

Agatha did not laugh.

Her lips touched your temple. Then, your jaw. Then the area around your wound. Her voice lowered to a whisper, almost reverent.

"She was half an inch away from taking you from me."

Headcanons:

Possessive doesn't begin to cover it: She doesn't let you out of her sight for days. Follows you around the house. Watches you sleep, even though she knows you heal fast.

She cannot stop caressing you: Her hands are continually resting on your neck, wrists, and back, as if she needs to remind herself that you are there. That you did not die.

Love confession through rage: "You don't get it," she hisses one night as you try to calm her down. "You are the only thing I have ever loved without falling apart. If she had stolen that from me, I would have destroyed the world."

"I should've killed her centuries ago." She blames herself. She won't say it out, but she thinks about it every time she sees the wound. She feels that allowing the witch to live was her only mistake, and you paid the price. 

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Rio Vidal/ Death

You were not even meant to be on the battlefield.

You'd simply come and bring herbs and assist healers in patching up the injured. That is all. However, conflict is unconcerned with your work, especially among chaotic people who would rather see the world burn.

A cursed soldier, blood-soaked and barely alive, struck out the instant you approached him. When his sword sliced across your ribs, you didn't scream; your breath just fled.

And for a little second, you saw her.

She stepped out of the smoke. Silent. Unmoving. Eyes like storms. Death.

But rather than taking you, she kneeled alongside you.

"I told you," Rio muttered, her voice barely contained. "This world doesn't deserve you."

You attempted to grin. "Hey... look who showed up."

Blood dripped from your lips.

Rio did not laugh. She lifted your body with unbelievable gentleness, as if you were made of light and glass, and vanished with you into the fog.

The last thing you recalled was her voice in your ear:

"Don't die on me. If you do, I will personally drag you back. Even if I have to remove your soul from heaven."

Headcanons:

Furious with whoever hurt you, Rio doesn't kill him right away. She hunts him.  And when she's done, there's no one left to bury.

Takes you somewhere only the dead know: A world of peace. You are the only living being there. She keeps you covered in warm shadows, utterly safe and entirely hers.

You're never allowed to walk alone again:  She appears whenever you attempt to travel alone. Even in the garden. Even into the kitchen. "Don't argue, mi amor," she adds quietly. "You're not ready."

Territorial behavior turned possessive: After your injury, she doesn't let anyone else near you. No medics. No friends. Only her. She bathes you. Feeds you. Heals you with her own energy.

[ninus9607]

✨ Welcome to my Wanda Maximoff Masterlist ✨

Whether you're here for soft romance, dark obsession, or a little (a lot) of smut, you're in the right place.

🔮🔞Fem! Reader focused | Obsession themes | NSFW included

✨ Soft & Romantic

💋/🖤 Dark & Obsessive

🔥 NSFW / Smut

🩶 Hurt / Comfort

💔 Angst

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ✨🖤🔥18+

📖 Summary: Wanda finds comfort in a quiet coffee shop—and in you after losing everything. Sweet glances turn into obsession, daily visits into something darker. And when love becomes possession, there’s no telling how far she’ll go to keep you.

𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:

Lights, Camera, Action! ✨🩶🔥18+ Billy's and Tommy's wishes ✨🔥18+ To love a witch pt1 ✨🩶🖤, to love a witch pt2✨💋🩶

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬:

nothing yet...