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pagesofsara · 8 days ago

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Lesson One: Temptation

Pairing: Professor Wanda Maximoff x Student Reader

Rating: M 18+

Summary: The last weekend before classes start again, a chance encounter ignites a craving neither of them can ignore. What begins as a reckless, secret hookup escalates into a tangled game of dominance and desire. Wanda knows what she wants, and you’re all too eager to give it to her.

Warnings: Smut, 18+ , teacher/student

A/N: This is a prequel to Lessons in Desire but can be a stand alone one shot too.

_____________________________________________________________

The car was parked in a quiet lot, windows fogged, engine off, but the tension between you was louder than anything outside. The night sky covering you both like a blanket of secrets.

In the back seat of Wanda’s car, your face nestled into her neck, desperately kissing and licking, careful not to leave a mark. Wanda grunted beneath you as she snapped her hips up in an unsteady rhythm, the strap pushing in and out of you.

She had her hands firmly gripping your hips while she pulled you fast and hard down against her, your wetness dripping down onto her thighs.

She had her head leaned back, eyes screwed shut and forehead scrunched in pleasure. “God, you’re so wet,” she growled, sliding her fingers down between your legs, pressing against you in perfect rhythm with her strap. “You like this, don’t you? Getting filled while I control every second?”

You whimpered, leaning back until you were resting against the back of the front seat. This new angle allowed Wanda to get deeper inside of you, your body on display for her.

“Yes—fuck, yes!” you moaned, hips rolling forward on your own, desperate for more friction.

You cried out, trying to keep up with the speed of her thrusts. Your thighs shook as you pressed down on her, sliding along the strap, feeling the obscene friction of her cock pushing inside you. Wetness dripped freely, coating both of you, smearing along the leather seat and her thighs.

“Oh fuck—oh god—,” you moaned, hips rolling desperately, grinding hard. The squelching, wet sounds filled the small space, echoing off the car windows, mingling with your ragged gasps and Wanda’s low groans.

“That’s it,” Wanda encouraged, her fingers sliding between your slick folds, pressing to your clit while you rode her. “Feel how good you are for me? So greedy, taking me like this.”

Your hands clutched her hair as you leaned forward, grinding harder, moaning through every thrust, every messy, dripping lap. She pressed herself against you, hips tilting, hands kneading your ass, keeping you moving just right, guiding you to the edge.

“Look at you—so wet, so slick, taking me like the little slut you are,” she murmured, teeth grazing your shoulder. “I’m going to cum so deep inside you”

Your eyes rolled back at her words. Wanda had learned about your breeding kink a few weeks ago and knew how to use it to her advantage.

“You like that, don’t you?” Wanda panted, her own orgasm building from the base of the strap rubbing against her with every thrust. “You like the idea of me filling you with my cum?”

You couldn’t hold back. Your walls clenched, trembling, heat and pleasure colliding as you moaned her name, hips jerking, dripping mess all over both of you. Wanda groaned, pulling you closer, fucking your cum back into you as she chased her own orgasm. She leaned up to kiss you roughly as she came, her pussy clenching around nothing.

Both of you groaned, breath ragged, bodies slick and sticky, heat radiating off every inch of skin.

You collapsed against her, exhaustion taking over your body. Panting, your forehead rested against her shoulder. She softly grinded her hips up against you, basking in the aftershocks of her own release. Her body finally gave out too as she stilled her hips, lips pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty temple.

“You’re mine,” she whispered between kisses, voice low and dangerous. “Every inch, every sound… all for me.”

____________________________________________________________

Four Months Ago

You weren’t even planning on going out tonight. The last weekend before classes started always carried this restless energy, students pouring back into town, crowding bars and coffee shops, trying to squeeze the last taste of freedom before the grind began again. Your friends had dragged you along with promises of “just a couple drinks,” but within an hour they’d already scattered, some to the dance floor, some disappearing with strangers.

Which left you at the bar, idly stirring your drink and debating whether it was worth finishing.

That’s when you noticed her.

She stood out immediately, not because she was loud or flashy, but because she didn’t seem to belong to the chaos around her. While everyone else was loud and buzzing, she leaned against the bar like she was in control of the whole room. Dark red wine in hand, lips painted to match, eyes sharp as they swept the crowd. Older than most people here, sure, but not in a way that felt out of place. If anything, she looked untouchable.

You caught yourself staring. And then you realized she’d caught you too.

Her gaze didn’t dart away like most people’s. Instead, she let it linger. Measured. Deliberate. Like she was weighing whether you were worth her time. The smallest curve touched her mouth when you didn’t look away.

Your pulse jumped. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you slipped off your stool and crossed the room.

Up close, she was even more distracting, faint perfume that smelled expensive, voice low when she finally spoke.

“Brave,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Most people just stare from across the room.”

You raised your own drink to your lips, trying for casual even as your stomach flipped. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

That earned you the first real smile, sly, amused, like you’d passed some sort of test.

“Do you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Then sit. Impress me.”

You slid onto the stool beside her, trying not to show how your heart was thudding. She didn’t move her glass right away, just let her fingers curl lazily around the stem, nails painted a deep, glossy shade that matched her lips. Everything about her looked composed.

“Wine at a place like this?” you teased, nodding toward the crowded, sticky bar and the half-empty row of beer bottles behind it. “Bold choice.”

Her mouth quirked. “I don’t drink to fit in.”

That reply shouldn’t have made your stomach tighten, but it did. She leaned slightly, her elbow brushing the edge of your armrest, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel her presence.

“So,” she drawled, eyes flicking over you in a way that made your skin heat, “what do you drink to do?”

The question was so loaded it caught you off guard. You swallowed, trying not to sound flustered. “Depends on the night. Relax… distract myself… meet someone new.”

Her brow arched, deliberate, playful. “And tonight?”

You smirked, finding some boldness under her stare. “I guess that depends on if you let me buy your next glass.”

Her laugh was low, amused, curling in your stomach like smoke. “Confident.” She tilted her glass toward you. “Fine. Surprise me.”

You flagged down the bartender, ordered without looking away from her. She held your gaze the entire time, like it was a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.

When the drinks arrived, she reached across you to grab hers, then let her hand linger just a little too long near your wrist. The brush of her skin was feather-light but deliberate.

“So, stranger,” she said, tone smooth, “what should I know about you before I decide if you’re worth my time?”

Her phrasing was playful, but her eyes told a different story, intense, sharp, as if she was already peeling you apart layer by layer.

You leaned in, emboldened by her attention and the flush in your cheeks. “Maybe you don’t need to know everything. Maybe you just need to… see for yourself.”

For a beat, she just studied you, silent, unreadable, and then the corner of her mouth curved. “Dangerous answer.”

And God, the way she said dangerous made your thighs press together under the bar.

The noise of the bar faded around you the longer you sat beside her. Her voice had this way of filling up all the space, like nothing else mattered but her next word, her next look.

Her hand drifted closer until her fingers brushed your thigh, just light enough that she could play it off as an accident, if she wanted to. You shifted, but you didn’t pull away.

“See for myself, hm?” she murmured, leaning in so her lips nearly grazed the shell of your ear. “You don’t seem like someone who plays it safe.”

You shivered, laughing under your breath. “Do I seem like someone who makes bad decisions?”

“Mm.” She let her nails graze your jeans, a deliberate scrape against your skin. “The best ones usually are.”

Your pulse thudded. She sat back a little, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just set your body on fire in the middle of a crowded bar. It was maddening, the calm way she moved, as if she knew you’d follow her anywhere.

You found yourself leaning closer again, caught between wanting to match her control and just begging her to take it. “So, are you always this forward with strangers?”

Her smile turned slow, lazy, wicked. “Only when I don’t want them to stay strangers.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs. You could feel her watching your reaction, measuring it, savoring it.

The music pulsed low in the background, the kind of bass that vibrated through your chest. Her hand lingered on your knee now, not hiding anymore, fingers flexing lightly as though she was testing how far she could push.

You swallowed hard, leaning toward her without even realizing it. “You’re trouble.”

She hummed, leaning in until her lips brushed your jaw. “Do you care?”

No. God, no. You didn’t care at all.

When she stood, sliding her empty glass across the bar, you thought for a moment she was leaving. Panic jolted in your chest, until she turned her head, that knowing look flashing across her face, and said in a tone that brooked no argument:

“Come with me.”

The alley was dark and narrow, tucked between two brick buildings, the low hum of the city muted back here. Wanda had you pinned against the wall, her lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your head spin. Her hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, fingers dragging over your skin like she wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You whimpered into her mouth when her teeth grazed your lower lip, and she smirked against you, drinking in the sound.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” she rasped, her voice low, already wrecked with want.

Your body arched into hers, chasing more contact, thighs squeezing together as heat pooled between them. She noticed, of course she did, and her smirk only deepened.

Her hand slid lower, cupping you through your jeans. You gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively, grinding against her palm like you had no control left. The rough press of denim against your aching core made you shiver.

“Already so needy,” she teased, her thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over you. “You like this, detka? Getting touched out here where anyone could see?”

Her words shot straight to your core, and you whined, nodding quickly, cheeks flushed.

She kissed you again, messier this time, tongue sliding against yours as her hand popped the button of your jeans and slipped inside. The anticipation made your knees weak, every second stretching unbearably until finally, her fingers slid beneath your panties, pressing against your slick folds.

You gasped against her mouth, the sound muffled as her fingers teased you, running up and down your slit before finding your clit. She circled it lazily at first, drawing soft, frustrated noises out of you as you bucked against her hand.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she groaned, biting at your jaw. “Dripping for me already.”

Her words had you trembling, heat spreading fast through your body. She slid one finger inside you without warning, the stretch making your mouth fall open. She worked it slow at first, then added a second, pumping them in and out, curling just right to make your thighs shake.

“Wanda—” you gasped, clutching her shoulders, nails digging in.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured, lips dragging down your neck, sucking a bruise just under your jaw. “Say my name like that again.”

Her pace quickened, fingers fucking into you harder, wetter, the lewd sounds echoing in the alley. She pressed her thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles as her fingers curled deep inside, and you nearly came undone right there.

But then she pulled back, her hand slipping free, and you let out a broken whine.

“Shh,” she hushed, her tone commanding. “I’m not finished with you.”

Before you could catch your breath, she dropped to her knees on the dirty pavement, spreading your thighs apart. You looked down, dazed, heat flooding your cheeks at the sight of her kneeling in front of you, eyes dark and hungry.

“You look fucking divine from here,” she muttered, and then her tongue was on you–hot, wet, devastating.

You slapped a hand against the wall to steady yourself as she dragged her tongue up your slit, swirling around your clit before sucking it into her mouth. The sudden intensity had your hips jerking forward, grinding against her face, and she moaned like she loved the way you used her.

Her tongue fucked into you, deep and sloppy, then flicked back up to your clit, switching between licking and sucking until your legs were shaking so hard you thought you might collapse.

“Wanda—please—” you cried out, voice breaking.

She hummed against you, the vibrations making you see stars. Two fingers slid back inside, thrusting in time with her mouth, hitting that spot that made your entire body jolt. She ate you like she was starving, groaning against your cunt, tongue and fingers working you mercilessly.

The coil in your stomach snapped fast and hard, orgasm slamming into you so suddenly you choked on a scream. Your thighs clamped around her head, body convulsing as she held you there, dragging it out, fucking you through every wave until you were gasping for air.

When she finally pulled back, her chin was glistening, lips shiny with your slick. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking up at you as you sagged weakly against the wall.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” she said, voice husky, smug.

You were still trembling, too wrung out to answer, and she stood, pressing one last bruising kiss to your mouth. You could taste yourself on her lips, and it only made you shiver harder.

Your legs were barely holding you up, trembling as Wanda’s hands slid to your hips to steady you. She smirked at the state she’d left you in, eyes flicking over your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the way you could barely catch your breath.

“Can’t even stand,” she teased, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Did I ruin you already?”

You managed a weak laugh, but your knees wobbled when you tried to move, and she chuckled low in her throat, sliding an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

The cool night air hit you, making you shiver as reality crept back in, the hum of traffic at the end of the street, voices spilling out from the bar door just around the corner. You’d just let her wreck you in a public alley where anyone could’ve walked by.

Your pulse hammered at the thought, but Wanda didn’t look the least bit guilty. She looked smug. Predatory. Sated, but not done with you.

She leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You have no idea how badly I want to keep you right here and make you scream for me again.”

A heat surged back through your body, but your breath caught when the bar door opened briefly, laughter spilling into the night before it shut again. The reminder had you tugging Wanda’s shirt, whispering, “We should go before someone—”

Wanda pressed a finger to your lips. “Relax. No one saw.” Then her grin turned sly. “And if they had, all they’d see is how gorgeous you look falling apart for me.”

Your cheeks flamed, the words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. She kissed you once more, slow this time, claiming and then finally stepped back, letting you pull your jeans back up with shaky hands.

But before you could even think about what to say, she tilted your chin back up toward her.

“This isn’t over,” she promised, voice dark velvet.

With that, she slipped her hand into yours, tugging you back toward the streetlight glow as if she hadn’t just devoured you in the shadows.

____________________________________________

The week that followed blurred together in flashes of memory. The press of Wanda’s mouth, the scrape of her nails, the way she’d left you trembling in that alley like she owned you. You couldn’t shake it. No matter how many showers you took, how many times you tried to distract yourself, she clung to your mind like perfume on skin.

And it hadn’t just stopped there.

You’d been texting since that night— short, teasing messages at first, then longer ones. She’d asked when she could see you again, you’d both thrown around plans, but life kept getting in the way. Work, errands, the chaos of preparing for the semester. It was like the universe was dangling her in front of you but refusing to let you touch.

Still, every buzz of your phone sent your stomach flipping. The promise of her. The pull you couldn’t ignore.

Then classes started again. The campus swelled with bodies, students spilling into lecture halls with coffee cups and wrinkled syllabi, the lazy rhythm of summer traded for a frantic buzz of first-day energy. You’d barely slept, nerves tangled with excitement.

Your backpack was heavy with fresh notebooks as you slipped into the lecture hall, scanning for an empty seat among the crowd. You slid into one near the middle, pulling your laptop free, trying to focus on anything other than the way your thoughts still circled back to her.

The door shut. Conversations dimmed. The sound of heels clicked across the floor.

And then—

Your stomach dropped.

She stepped up to the podium with that same commanding presence, dark hair falling over her shoulders, lips curved in that smirk you knew too well.

Professor Maximoff.

Your pulse spiked. You froze in your seat, wide-eyed, as her gaze swept across the room like a spotlight. For a moment, you swore her eyes lingered on you, just long enough to send heat rushing down your spine, before she turned to the chalkboard, writing her name in neat strokes.

“Welcome to European History,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying through the hall, rich and steady. “I’m Professor Maximoff. And before we get started, there’s one thing you should know…”

You couldn’t hear the rest. Your ears rang. Your heart thrashed against your ribs as you stared at her, the world tilting around you.

The woman who’d had you against a brick wall less than a week ago.

The woman you’d been texting nonstop, making plans to meet again.

And now, she was your professor.

For the next hour, you fought the tight knot that had formed in your stomach, the cold sweats that had erupted over your body.

You couldn’t focus on what Wanda, Professor Maximoff, was saying, too busy trying to control your breathing.

You started to question if she even recognized you since she hadn’t looked at you a single time since she first walked in. You thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to switch classes and pretend none of this ever happened.

You hadn’t noticed her eyes fleeting over to you every time you looked down at your notebook.

The moment Wanda dismissed the class, you quickly shoved your belongings back into your back and snuck your way out in between bodies of students.

Your phone buzzed the second you stepped out of the lecture hall. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

Wanda: We need to talk. Come to my office after 4:30.

Your stomach flipped. Okay so maybe she did notice you. For a second, you considered ignoring it, pretending this wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t your professor, that you hadn’t let her wreck you less than a week ago. But you knew better. Wanda wasn’t the type to ask twice.

The hours crawled. You couldn’t focus on your other classes, your notes filled with scribbles you couldn’t read. Every time your phone lit up, you half-hoped it was her, half-feared it.

By the time the clock neared 4:30, your nerves were buzzing so hard you thought you might short-circuit.

Her office was tucked away in one of the older wings of the humanities building, dimly lit and quieter than the rest of campus. You stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the little brass plaque: Professor Maximoff.

You knocked softly.

“Come in.”

Her voice slid through the wood like silk.

You stepped inside. The space was warm, book-lined, filled with the faint scent of coffee and something floral. She was leaning back in her chair, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, pen tapping against an open notebook. When her eyes lifted to yours, that familiar weight settled over you.

“Shut the door.”

You obeyed before you even thought about it, the click of the latch sounding final.

Wanda set her pen down, folding her hands together as she studied you. “We have a problem,” she said smoothly.

You swallowed. “That depends on how you define ‘problem.’”

Her mouth curved. Not quite a smile. “You’re my student.”

“And?” Your voice was quieter than you meant.

“And that complicates things,” she replied. “Very much. I should tell you that nothing can happen between us. That this has to stop.”

The silence stretched, heavy with all the things she wasn’t saying.

“But you don’t believe that.” Your words came out before you could stop them.

Her eyes darkened, lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “You’re sharper than I give you credit for.”

The tension crackled between you, thick and unyielding. She stood, moving around the desk with unhurried grace, stopping just a breath away. Her hand lifted, brushing your jaw with her knuckles. “This is dangerous,” she murmured. “If anyone found out…”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Her gaze locked onto yours, searching, weighing. For a moment, you thought she might step back, call the whole thing off. Instead, she smiled, a dangerous, wicked smile, and pressed you back against the door.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then I won’t either.”

Her mouth crashed against yours, hungry, claiming. All the restraint she’d carried in class shattered in an instant, replaced by the same feral need you’d felt in the alley.

Her hands roamed down your sides, over your ass, gripping tight enough to make you gasp. She spun you, pushing your back up against the desk, scattering papers and pens like they didn’t matter.

“Clothes off,” she ordered, her voice low, roughened. “Now.”

Wanda’s mouth claimed yours again, harder this time, all teeth and tongue, like she’d been holding herself back all day and finally snapped. Her hands didn’t ask — they took. Tugging your shirt over your head, unbuttoning your jeans with quick, impatient fingers, shoving them down until you were stepping out clumsily.

“Good girl,” she murmured against your lips when you obeyed without hesitation, and the praise made your thighs clench. She smirked knowingly, one hand sliding down to cup between your legs. “Already wet for me, aren’t you? You sat through my whole lecture like this?”

“Wanda—” you gasped, but she cut you off with a sharp slap between your thighs, just enough sting to make you whimper.

“It’s Professor Maximoff while you’re in my office.”

Your knees nearly buckled. The way she said it, low, commanding, dripping with filth, shot straight through you. She turned you easily, pressing your stomach against the desk, the cool wood biting into your skin as she yanked your panties down in one swift motion.

“Look at you,” she purred, sliding two fingers through your slick folds, slow and deliberate. “So fucking needy.”

You squirmed, trying to grind back against her hand, but she held you firmly in place with her other palm splayed across your lower back. “Stay still.”

The order landed like a shockwave, and you froze, trembling, every nerve lit. Wanda’s fingers teased you, circling your clit, dipping just inside your entrance, retreating, never giving you enough.

“Please,” you finally begged, voice breaking.

“Please what?” she pressed, bending down so her lips brushed your ear. “Use your words, detka.”

“Please… fuck me.”

That earned you a dark chuckle, and then two fingers pushed deep inside you, knuckles burying hard and fast. You cried out, hands gripping the edge of the desk, papers crumpling in your fists.

“That’s it,” Wanda groaned, fucking you with quick, ruthless thrusts, curling her fingers until your legs shook. “Take what I give you. You like being fucked like this? Bent over my desk like a filthy little slut?”

“Yes—fuck—yes!” you cried, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.

Her free hand slid up, wrapping around your throat just tight enough to remind you who was in control. She pulled you upright against her body, still pounding her fingers into you. “You belong to me now,” she hissed into your ear. “Say it.”

“I—I belong to you!” you gasped, eyes rolling back.

“Good girl.”

Her thumb pressed to your clit, circling hard, and your orgasm ripped through you like a shockwave, body convulsing, a broken scream spilling from your lips. Wanda held you through it, fingers relentless, dragging it out until your legs gave out and you sagged against the desk.

She finally pulled her hand away, glistening with your release. She licked her fingers clean, eyes locked on you the whole time. “You taste even better than I remember,” she teased darkly.

And then she pushed you down flat against the desk again, lowering herself to her knees. You barely had time to breathe before her tongue was on you, devouring you like a starving woman, not giving you a single second of reprieve.

Your cry cracked into a whimper as Wanda’s tongue pushed deep inside you, hot and relentless. She gripped your ass hard, spreading you open for her, dragging her mouth up through your folds to circle your clit with slow, devastating precision.

“God, Wanda—” you gasped, back arching, nails clawing into the desk for purchase.

She slapped your thigh sharply, pulling a ragged yelp from you. “Professor, detka,” she corrected, voice muffled against your slick heat. “You don’t get to forget that.”

“P-Professor—fuck—” the word tasted dirty on your tongue, but it only made the coil in your stomach tighten harder.

“That’s better,” she purred, before sucking your clit into her mouth, rolling it between her lips with such greedy intent you nearly blacked out.

Her tongue worked you mercilessly, alternating between slow, deep thrusts inside your cunt and ruthless flicks against your swollen bud. Every time you bucked against her mouth, she held you still, nails digging crescents into your thighs.

You were trembling, incoherent, your voice breaking as you begged, “Please—oh my God—please don’t stop—”

Wanda groaned against you, the vibrations making your knees give out. She hooked an arm around your hips to keep you standing, never easing up, drinking you in like she could live on nothing but your taste.

Your orgasm slammed into you, brutal and overwhelming. You screamed, collapsing forward onto the desk, your body jerking violently as Wanda licked you through every wave, refusing to let up.

But she didn’t stop.

Even as you whimpered that you were too sensitive, she pushed two fingers back inside you, curling them until your walls clenched desperately around her. Her mouth latched back onto your clit, and you sobbed at the overstimulation, toes curling, body writhing helplessly.

“You can take it,” she murmured darkly against you, tongue flicking with ruthless precision. “One more for me, detka. Be my good girl and come again.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you. The pleasure built again too quickly, your moans climbing higher and higher until you broke, another orgasm tearing through you, leaving you screaming her name until your voice was raw.

This time, your legs truly gave out, and Wanda let you collapse, catching you before you hit the ground. She lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, your body limp and trembling.

Her lips were glistening when she looked up at you, eyes dark with smug hunger. She leaned in, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Such a mess for me,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from your face. “You’re mine now. Don’t ever forget it.”

You could only nod weakly, still gasping for air, your thighs sticky and trembling.

And Wanda just smiled like she had all the time in the world, because she knew she’d broken you in the best way possible.

Wanda helped you tug your pants back up, your body slack against her, too weak to move just yet.

With a final kiss to your lips, she gently gestured towards the door, “I’ll see you in class on Wednesday,” Wanda said, a smirk tugging at her lips.

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pagesofsara · 9 days ago

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Professors Obsessions

Prompt: G!P Professor Romanoff x Camgirl reader

Warning: Smut. Forbidden relationships, voyeurism, masturbation (r and N), Oral (N and R), fingering, degrading, praising, darcyphillia, protected sex which then turns into unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, multiple positions, cum swallowing, Natasha lowkey being obsessed. It's just pure filth.

Guys it's filthy. You've been warned.

Summary- Your professor is icy, brilliant, and untouchable. You're certain that she hates you, and she is certain that she hates you too until one day, she discovers your secret life on OnlyFans. What starts as curiosity spirals into obsession, anonymous tips, and a dangerous game of desire that neither of you can resist.

Your pov:

The first day you stepped into Professor Romanoff's class, you had a feeling that she hated you. Maybe hate is a strong word but she sure as hell didn't like you. To be fair, you did not like her either.

Lie.

You pretty much had a huge crush on your professor from that day onwards, I mean what wasn't there to like? The woman was absolutely breathtaking. Her green eyes were so captivating, her lips were always coated in that signature red lipstick she loved wearing, her tailored suits were designed to fit her body, red hair always styled to perfection, her cologne that managed to wrap around you whenever you were near her or sometimes, it even lingered in the air when she was gone. Her voice, fuck, her accented voice that always managed to send a thrill down your spine whenever she spoke. Natasha Romanoff was a hot woman, poised and so untouchable.

Many students whispered how she came from money and owned properties. Multiple. How she probably taught Russian Lit for the fun of it but probably had some Vila in Italy that she disappeared to during breaks. But as always, with admiration, comes disdain. And that is what you're sure the woman had for you. Whenever you were in her class, her gaze made you feel unworthy, like you didn't belong in her class. When you raised your hand in her class to answer a question, she'd simply skip past you for other students. Or when she did give you the opportunity to answer, she'd either roll her eyes or she would dissect your answer in front of your classmates which made you feel dumb. The woman practically picked on you daily, critiqued your work and made it seem like a waste of her time, and it fucking infuriated you.

You hated her. You wanted her. But still, you hated her.

But you hated what you were doing to survive more. You told yourself that it was just temporary, that it was helping you survive until you got a better job. Keeping up with college expenses like tuitions, textbooks, groceries, clothing and food was tough and let's just say that your part time job wasn't offering much, hell it wasn't even covering the expenses for your textbooks alone. So you did the next best thing. OnlyFans. Awesome right?

You've always been told by people that you had an amazing body in passing ( your exes, acquaintances, friends, hell even your best friends Darcy and Kate told you that but they were as high as a kite the day they said that). So why not use that to your advantage? You hid your face, of course you did! You might have been really desperate but you sure as hell weren't stupid. Whenever you had your live streams or whenever you recorded yourself, you carefully angled your camera so that it only showed your body. From your neck downwards. Besides your viewers didn't care for that, just what you did and that was enough. And you would like to think the mystery of wondering who it was, kept them all thrilled.

Spoiler alert: It did. Because they always kept coming back.

Sure, your dignity may have gone down the hill the first time you posted a video, but once the money came in and the bills were off of your back, who the hell were you to complain? As far as they know, you were just some random chick with a killer body who had an OnlyFans page and you made sure that you were anonymous, secretive and everyone who knew you would never stumble upon your page. Or so you thought.

"We're thinking of going to James' party tonight, wanna come with y/n?" Kate asked you while you mindlessly tossed grapes into your mouth.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna stay home tonight." You mumbled while tossing another grape into your mouth. Darcy grumbled before pulling the box of grapes away from your reach,

"Oh come on!" Kat whined.

"What could you possibly be doing in your room that's so important, that you can't even hang out with us?" Wouldn't you like to know. You grabbed the box out of Darcy's hands and she sent you a glare.

"I'm busy with school work."

Darcy huffed while Kate rolled her eyes. They weren't believing a thing that came out of your mouth.

"Dude you've been busy with school work for months now." Kate mumbled and Darcy agreed.

"Well excuse me for caring about my education. You know some of us aren't trust fund babies, no offense." You shrugged your shoulders before placing the box aside.

"You know staying in your dorm room will never get you laid." Darcy's comment had you rolling your eyes. She tended to say stupid things sometimes. Most times.

"I need to finish Professor Romanoff's essay. You know she's on my ass like ninety percent of the time."

"You're imagining things. She's like that with everyone."

"That's absolutely not true Kate. Name one person she picks on, every single day besides me." Kate was quiet for a moment and you nodded your head.

"That's what I thought Bishop."

"Tell you what, I'll go out with you guys the next party that's thrown, I swear on my life."

"Well that's very convenient because there's another one on Friday. Guess you're tagging along with us." Darcy grinned and you sighed.

"Great. Can't wait."

You sat criss-cross on your twin bed with a robe covering your body, shuffling comfortably before trying to set your camera to the best angle. The fairy lights you hung across the wall months ago, now hung skew thanks to the current position you were in. But today, instead of just having the natural light accompanied by your fairy lights, you decided to make use of the LED strips that you rarely used.

You fumbled with the remote, trying to find the perfect color for your live stream that day. Red was too cliche in your opinion, blue wasn't working well for you today and green? Well who the fuck uses green? After fumbling with the DIY control switch, you settled on purple. It was cute, fitting and it made your body look Sinful, oddly enough.

You looked around your bed. It wasn't that tidy but it was still inviting. Next to you, laid an arrangement of toys you'd be using. It wasn't much, but at least you'd finish quicker compared to using just your fingers. You still had no idea which one you'd use, instead you'd let your viewers pick. You rarely went live these days. Instead, you'd opted to post videos on your site, with small teasers on Twitter so it would keep all of your viewers fed while you dealt with school, stress and cramming for tests.

After posting a tweet, that you'd be going live earlier today, many of your followers went insane in your comments. And you had a feeling you'd get more tips than usual for this specific stream, especially after not being that active, because tonight felt different.

Your laptop screen glowed with the familiar streaming dashboard. Notifications were already pinging as subscribers saw the announcement that you were live. A flood of usernames filled the chat within seconds, excitement spilling into words:

"Holy shit, she's back."

"Finally live again???"

"We missed you, angel."

You laughed softly, leaning back in your chair, robe slipping off your shoulders to reveal the black bralette and thong you'd picked out.

"Guess who's back, babies." you teased, voice low, sultry.

"Been a while, huh? I know, I know, I've been a bad girl, leaving you starving."

The comments exploded. Tips began rolling in just from your voice, from the tease of you running your hands down your stomach, stopping just shy of your panties.

You stretched your legs out on the bed, the hem of your robe falling away, leaving you almost fully exposed.

More tips were piling in, and you decided that the toys next to you were not worth it. So slowly, deliberately, you pulled a different toy from the nightstand drawer, a sleek wand vibrator that hummed when you flicked it on. You held it up to the camera, just chest-down, letting the faint buzz fill the silence. Perfect.

"Thought I'd make it up to you. " you murmured, dragging the toy over your inner thighs, not touching where they wanted yet.

"Think I should let you watch me fall apart tonight hm?" The chat begged.

You pressed the toy against your panties, a sharp hiss escaping your throat before you could stop it. The fabric instantly dampened as the vibrations sank deep, and you shifted your hips, grinding just enough to keep the ache building.

"Fuck!" The moan slipped out unplanned, breathy and sharp, and you let your head fall back even though they couldn't see your face.

"Fuck, I missed this... missed you."

Your free hand tugged the bralette down, exposing your breasts to the camera. You pinched your nipple between your fingers, rolling it as the wand hummed harder against your clit. Your body arched off the bed, desperate, and the comments blurred into a frenzy.

"She's so wet already."

"Shit, I can hear it."

"Harder, please, fuck harder."

And you gave it to them. You pushed the toy aside just long enough to slide your panties down, tossing them out of frame, before pressing the wand directly against your clit. The jolt of sensation was almost too much, you cried out, voice cracking, thighs trembling as you spread them wider for the camera.

The sound of your slick filled the room, obscene and perfect.

"Shit oh-fuck, it's so good... " you whimpered, grinding against the toy like you couldn't get enough. Your toes curled, back arching as your orgasm tore through you quicker than you expected. You didn't hold back, you let them hear every moan, every gasp, the shaky sob of relief as your body shook against the sheets.

Even when it ended, you didn't move the toy away. You held it there, overstimulating yourself, thighs twitching uncontrollably, pussy leaking while the chat went wild.

Your voice was wrecked when you finally spoke again, chest heaving.

"Fuck... I think I just made up for lost time, yeah?" Hearts, tips, and desperate comments flooded the screen.

"Think I should give you guys another one?" You joke with a weak, breathless laugh, while pulling the robe loosely back over yourself, the toy still buzzing faintly in your hand.

Your chest is still heaving, skin flushed with heat, when you reach over to end the stream. But the chat won't let you. Tips are still pouring in, desperate messages scrolling so fast you can barely read them.

"One more."

"Please round two."

"Don't stop yet."

You laugh again, breathlessly, brushing sweat-damp curls away from your neck. Your thighs are still trembling, clit throbbing from the intensity of the wand. You should stop. You should. But the sight of the tip counter climbing, the sound of their begging, it pushes something in you.

"Greedy fuckers," you murmur into the mic, voice low, wrecked from moaning. "Fine. But if I do another round... Don't you think it's fair I switch toys hmm?" More tips are coming in now and you let out a pleased hum.

You push the wand aside, legs still spread wide, slick glistening in the soft glow of your dorm's LED lights. From your drawer, you pull out something thicker, your clear dildo, curved just right, veins ridged along the length. You hold it up just enough for the camera to catch the shape, your face still cropped out.

The chat explodes again.

You tease yourself first, dragging the tip along your folds, coating it with your wetness. You moan at the contrast, cool silicone against your overheated skin, and circle it around your clit just to make them squirm.

"Hm... already so wet," you breathe, letting the dildo push just an inch inside before pulling it back out.

"You've got me dripping for you."

Your hand steadies on your thigh as you push deeper, the toy stretching you open slowly, deliciously. You sink it halfway, groaning into the mic as your walls clench around the girth. The viewers beg for more, the screen blurring with filth, and you give it to them, sliding it all the way in with a shaky cry.

"Fuck, fuck, oh my g-"

You start riding it, hips rolling up to meet every thrust, tits bouncing with the motion. The wet sound of your pussy taking the toy echoes in the quiet dorm, obscene and perfect. You can feel yourself building already, the overstimulation from earlier making your body hypersensitive.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, hold it above your stomach, recording a close-up of the toy disappearing inside you for your Twitter fans. The comments go wild, begging you to upload it later.

Your moans get louder, needier, until you're fucking yourself with abandon, the bed creaking beneath you. Your free hand finds your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles in sync with the thrusts.

Your orgasm slams into you hard, tearing a scream from your throat as your thighs clamp around the toy. Your whole body jerks, back arching, toes curling as you gush around the dildo, slick coating your thighs and sheets. You leave it inside you as you come down, panting into the mic, trembling so hard you can barely hold yourself up.

After a long pause, you let out a shaky laugh.

"Hope you're fucking satisfied now." The chat blows up again, hearts and tips exploding across the screen. You pull the toy out slowly, the sight of your cum dripping all over it enough to make them lose their minds for one last time.

"Don't say I never spoil you." you whispered, before clicking End Stream.

The camera light flicked off, leaving your dorm in silence once again. Your body was still thrumming, your sheets damp with sweat and release. You hadn't shown your face, not once, but it didn't matter. They'd be replaying this stream in their heads for weeks.

And you, blissfully unaware, had no idea who was going to stumble across your page next.

You were currently doodling in your note book before someone slammed their hands on your desk. You looked up to see your professor looking down at you. And she wasn't thrilled at all.

"Care to tell me what I just explained Ms Y/L/N?" She asked with a tilt of her head and you sat up.

"Uhm, I didn't hear you." Someone on your left snickered, she sent them a glare that had them ducking their head before turning back to face you.

"Of course you didn't, because you're too busy doodling in my class. If you think you're such an artist than you should've taken an art major." You swallow thickly, face warm from the humiliation.

"I apologize, it won't happen again." Natasha scoffs before walking off. From the corner of your eye, you find Kate giving you a sympathetic look while Darcy makes a cross-eyed face and you chuckle.

An hour later, the lecture that had been dragging finally ends and you begin to pack your books and laptop into your bag. You sling that bag onto your shoulder but your professors voice stops any further movements.

"Y/n. Stay behind." She mumbles from her table and you fight back an eye roll. Both of your friends send you sympathetic glances before leaving the lecture hall.

You wait for the last student to leave, before you walk down towards her table.

"Yes?" The redhead finally glances at you.

"What is this?" You raise a brow at the file in her hand.

"My essay."

"I'm aware of that. But what is this? The content in this? It's rubbish. Have you not been paying attention to me for the past few months y/n? Am I that boring that you fail to grasp simple knowledge."

"I did try me best with the-"

"Well that's not enough." She throws the file down onto the table with a force that has it sliding onto the floor.

"Rewrite that. And I expect it to be on my desk in a week."

"You cannot be serious."

"Do I look like I'm laughing y/n?"

"But I don't see you doing that to other students, this is-"

"You aren't other students. You can leave now." She motions for you to leave and you scoff before picking it your file off and storming out of her class. god you really hated that woman.

That same evening, Natasha sat on her expensive couch, a glass of scotch in her hand as she mindlessly scrolled through her phone. She was supposed to be grading papers. But after marking a few papers that gave her a migraine, she set the heap of papers aside before pouring herself a drink that would nurse said headache.

She wasn't really one to find herself on different Twitter posts, let alone different pages. But there was always a time for new things right? And some feeling had been dragging her towards a certain page. The woman sipped onto her drink, scrolling through pages, liking something funny or relatable until somehow she found herself on a page. She was about to scroll, she should've scrolled, but something about the handle drew her in.

The handle looked awfully familiar, so she clicked onto the profile and she narrowed her eyes to get a proper look. She grabbed her glasses that were placed next to her before putting them on. On her screen, was some girl. Faceless and anonymous. But she knew that body.

"No." She whispered to herself. It couldn't be. Natasha scrolled down the page, finding suggestive pictures of this girl half naked or arching her back. She found tweets and videos. Multiple. Her eyes dragged down the females body. It looked so familiar.

She shook her head, maybe she had been imagining things. That was until she landed on a thumbnail of some video, and she was correct. It was you. How could she tell? She saw the tattoo on your collarbone, the one that she once caught a glance off when your sweater had slipped down your shoulder, when she shouldn't have been staring at her student and thinking the thoughts she'd been thinking that moment.

The ring on your finger, she knew it was yours. You always played with that ring when you weren't paying attention in her class or when you were anxious. The small mole on your shoulder that she'd once seen, when you'd decided to wear a spaghetti strap shirt because the heat had been blazing that week.

That page, you didn't just resemble her student, you were her student. Her pulse quickened, a sensation unfamiliar and sharp. Her professorly composure, so meticulously maintained in lectures, wavered just a fraction as she leaned closer, inspecting the images and videos. The screen glowed. Notifications popped up. Comments from you, interaction from fans.

She swallowed hard. Her professional boundaries, her reputation, all of it screamed at her to stop. And yet... she couldn't. Somehow she'd found a teaser of the live stream that had been posted a few days ago. That same one where you'd fucked yourself senseless with two different toys before calling it a night.

She couldn't help it. Her airpods had been sitting carelessly next to her. She slipped them in and played the video. She watched the first clip, the one where you held the wand, pressing it onto your clit until you sobbed. Her cock twitched. And she fought the urge to handle it. To touch herself.

The sounds of your moans filled her ears. Fuck, you sounded so addicting. She watched the way you clenched the sheets beneath you, how your clit throbbed when you pulled the wand away, how your moans bounced off of the walls, hips chasing the vibrations from your toy.

Somehow, Natasha found her hand inside her sweatpants, palming her semi hard cock. She should have left, should have blocked and returned to grading her papers. But she didn't, she couldn't. Not when your thighs were twitching, and not when she saw your pussy leaking. She wondered how you'd feel. How your walls would feel wrapped around her cock as she drove into you with speed.

And then the video stopped. She groaned in frustration. But there was another video posted the same day just below the video she had been watching. She clicked play and saw you holding the clear dildo. Her jaw was slack as she watched you trail that toy in between your soaking folds. She watched the head of the toy enter you. But the sound you let out, the gasp that fell from your lips sent a thrill down to her spine.

Your pussy practically swallowed the toy as you began to push it in and out. She watched as your fingers tugged your nipples, how your tits bounced as you rode the toy like your life depended on it. She wondered what faces you'd be making while you pounded the toy into your cunt. And then, fuck, and then you picked your phone up, moving it closer to your pussy so she could get a better view and she was so grateful for that. She watched the slick dripping from your cunt onto your sheets, you moaned loudly and then the video stopped.

Natasha groaned again, but then her hand hovered over the link that was on your page. She shouldn't. It was against her morals. If anyone found out, her career could be over. But then, the sight of your hips grinding against the toy, came into view and all her morals left her brain. She pressed onto the link, and by the end of the night, she'd made an account and now you had a brand new anonymous subscriber.

And Natasha? Well she had just experienced one of the best orgasms that she had in months all thanks to you.

The weekend went by very quickly. Now you found yourself walking into your Russian Lit class. Natasha was writing something on the board when you walked in with Kate and Darcy. You took your usual seat at the back, waiting for the rest of the students to pile in before the class started. Natasha turned around, gaze sweeping across the class before she found you. You expected her usual cold stare, and it was there but something was different.

She stared at you longer than usual. Her gaze was similar to that of a predator watching it's prey. You looked down, face heating up from the intensity of that look. The rest of the class went by just like that, with your professor watching you. Everytime you looked up, she was already staring at you. And she didn't look away. No, but you caught the corners of her mouth twitching into a smirk.

You looked down again. Weird. Class ended and you packed your belongings before walking down to her table.

"Here's my essay Ms Romanoff. I hope it's good enough." She glanced at the file before looking up at you.

"Hm. Let's hope so." Natasha looked at you once again, that same dark look from before and you cleared your throat before leaving. You felt hot. Hot and bothered and your thighs were probably covered with slick. Man, you needed to get a hold of yourself.

Bouncing in between bodies inside some packed club on a Friday is not what you expected to be doing. After your hectic week, your best friends dragged you out to a club, claiming that you needed to get out more. You being you, hesitated, fought a little too until Kate threatened to throw your favorite crisp white hoodie into mud. You may believe that the raven haired girl was "all bark no bite" but you o fed witnessed her throw Darcy's favorite pair of Steve Madden heels into the garbage can outside the dorm rooms because Darcy did not want to do the dishes in freshman year.

You bumped into some couple who only scoffed at you before they went back to kissing. Darcy and Kate dragged you towards the bar area, where they both plopped down onto chairs before ordering shots.

"Come on really? Shots?"

"Yes, we need some liquor in our bodies!" Kate yelled excitedly while her hands waved in the air.

The bartender slid your drinks over before moving to attend to the people next to you. Your friends downed their shots, before ordering more. You watched them drink like they had never drank before, and you knew that evening, that you would have to take care of them afterwards.

Minutes after, the two were on the dance floor, having the time of their lives, screaming on top of the music while you sat by the bar, laughing at them.

"Not much of a dancer I see." That's the least expected voice you expect to hear that moment. You turn your head sideways to find your professor staring at you. Your mouth parts before you stammer out a response before she could give one of her witty comments about you being to slow to grasp a sentence.

"Yeah I'm not."

"Oh? Hm, interesting." She sips her drink, what you assume is to be a glass of bourbon, before she looks at you again. She smirks.

"When I look at you, I imagine you being a...performer. Like you belong in front of a camera." There's a second meaning to her words, but you're too unfocused to grasp it. You chuckle nervously, feeling intimidated under her scrutinizing eyes.

"Don't really like attention."

"Oh?" She mumbles, as if she's genuinely shocked.

"Hm, not really my cup of tea being here." Natasha turns to face you fully now.

"Hm. What is your cup of tea then?"

"Being home alone. Time to myself. I like that."

"I bet you do."

"Excuse me?" You turn to face her but Natasha's already placing a hundred dollar bill next to her empty glass.

"Nice seeing you y/n. I hope you do get you're alone time."Again, the way she says it, is like she's implying something that you can't quite name.

"This covers mine and hers." She motions at the bartender who nods his head. Natasha glances at you for a final time. She looks at you from head to toe. From your perfect curls hanging down your neck, to your plump lips, your cleavage and down to your legs. She smirks then turns around and leaves. Weird.

You'd been on edge all day. In class, you couldn't shake the way Professor Romanoff's eyes kept finding you. Normally she was dismissive, cold, like she had no patience for you. But today? Every time you looked up, you found her gaze lingering, her mouth twitching like she was holding something back. She didn't say anything to you, didn't even mention anything about what happened at the club, but something was really off. You chalked it up to paranoia, pushed it away, buried yourself in notes. You're probably just over thinking about it.

But later, when the dorm was quiet that night, you decided to go live. It had been a while, and the pressure building in your chest the need for release, for validation, for that flood of comments and money, was gnawing at you.

You set up carefully, as you always did. Face cropped out. Just showing your neck and the seductive movement of your body. Tonight, you wanted to play with two toys, a slim pink vibrator for your clit and a thicker black dildo you could ride until your legs gave out.

The chat blew up the second you started, your regulars popping in with thirsty greetings.

"Missed you, baby."

"Finally! Been starving for you."

"Ride that toy for us."

But then something different happened. A new subscriber joined l, anonymous, no username attached. Just a blank icon. But their presence was impossible to miss because the first thing they did was tip you $500 in one drop.

Your lips parted around a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"Ohhh, someone's feeling generous tonight." You leaned into the mic, voice low, teasing.

"What do you want me to do with that, huh?" Almost instantly, the chat moved, and a single comment appeared from the anonymous account:

"Spread wider."

A chill slid down your spine, but it wasn't fear, it was adrenaline, hot and dizzying. You shifted on your bed, tugging your shorts off slowly, deliberately. The little pink toy buzzed to life in your hand.

You pressed it against your clit, thighs trembling as you obeyed, spreading yourself more for the camera.

"Just like this?" you whispered, letting a moan catch in your throat when the vibrations hit a little too perfectly.

Another obscene tip rolled in. Another comment:

"Slower. Let me see how you drip."

The command made heat curl in your belly. Normally, you played with the chat, teased back and forth, but this felt... different. Like someone was reaching through the screen, controlling you. You followed anyway, dragging the toy in lazy circles over your clit until your slick coated the tip.

"Fuck, you're bossy," you breathed out, legs twitching. The black toy sat waiting beside you, thicker, heavier, something you usually saved for the finale. But the anonymous subscriber dropped $1000 this time, and the message that came with it made your stomach flip:

"Ride it. Don't stop until I tell you."

The request was impossible, ridiculous, but your body was already reacting before you could think, already moving. You grabbed the dildo, braced it against the mattress, and sank down slowly, stretching around it with a breathless whimper. Your chat went insane, hearts and filthy comments flying by. But your eyes locked on the blank icon, on the one person shaping this entire performance. You bounced on the toy, pace building despite your earlier plan to keep things slow.

"Shit, shit... " you moaned, head falling back, the pink vibrator still pressed to your clit. The double stimulation had you unraveling, thighs shaking. You couldn't stop even if you wanted to.

Another tip. Another line of text:

"Good girl. Faster."

You obeyed without thinking, grinding down harder, chasing the orgasm clawing its way up your spine. The sound of your slick hitting the dildo filled the room, obscene and wet, and you let your voice break free.

"Fuck, I'm so close, please!"

Another $500. Another command.

"Go on, ride it like you mean it, make a mess for me."

Your chest tightened. That was different. That wasn't just horny chatter, it it was possession. But the orgasm was already crashing into you, leaving you gasping, clenching hard around the toy as your whole body shook.

"Is this good enough f'you?" you cried out, the words spilling before you could even stop yourself.

The chat exploded with chaos, but none of it mattered. Only that blank icon. Only the way you gave yourself over to someone you didn't even know.

When the stream ended, you collapsed back on your bed, chest heaving, skin damp. Your notifications pinged, another private message from the anonymous account.

"Next time wear that black skirt to class."

Your blood ran hot, cold, everything in between. Because suddenly, you had the gut-wrenching suspicion that whoever this was? They knew exactly who you were.

Saturday mornings in your dorm are usually lazy, just rolling out of bed late, scrolling through your socials, maybe catching up on assignments if you felt like it. But this Saturday, when you open your door to grab the breakfast order you'd been waiting on, there's something else sitting on the floor.

A box. No label beyond your name and room number. You freeze for a second, confusion twisting your stomach. You didn't order anything. No one knows your address except the university and obviously your best friends. Heart hammering, you carry the package inside, setting it on your desk before peeling the tape away.

Inside is a velvet-black box. Sleek, expensive-looking. You open it, and your breath catches. Inside you find a toy. Bigger than any you own. Thick, intimidating, with a glossy silicone surface and a charging cable tucked neatly beside it. Brand new. Top tier. The kind of thing that costs way more than your broke college-student ass would ever splurge on.

There's no note. No explanation. Nothing. But you don't need one. Not when, ten minutes later, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Anonymous Subscriber tipped $500. Message included.

Your stomach flips as you open the private message.

Use the gift on your next stream. I want to see how well you can take it. All of it.

You nearly drop your phone. Your pulse races. How... how the fuck do they know your address? Who the hell would send something like this? You chew your lip, staring at the toy still sitting in its velvet box like some obscene invitation. There's a thrill coursing through you, heavy and dangerous. You should be alarmed, maybe even scared, but you're not. Not exactly. You're... flushed. Turned on by the thought of someone going out of their way to push you like this.

That night, when you finally hit "go live," you keep the camera angled just right so your face stays hidden as per usual. Your voice is soft, almost shy, when you greet the flood of viewers who've been begging for your return.

But your eyes keep flicking to the tip tracker. To the username that isn't a username, just a blank placeholder, but one that carries weight now. One that sent you a toy big enough to make your thighs clench just thinking about it.

You start slow with your usual toy, teasing, letting yourself warm up as the chat scrolls wild with comments and tips. But then, after a long pause, you hold up the new one. Just the sight of it makes the viewers lose their collective shit, throwing money at the screen like rain. And, of course, the anonymous account tops them all. Another $1,000 lands with a private message attached:

All of it. Deep. Don't hold back.

Your breath hitches. Heat spreads through you as you lube it up and position it between your thighs.

"Fuck," you whisper, too caught up to filter yourself.

"You want me ruined, huh?" The chat explodes. Your hand trembles as you press the head of the toy against your entrance, slowly stretching yourself around it. You moan into your hand, muffling the sound as the camera catches every shudder, every desperate roll of your hips.

Halfway in, you're already whimpering, toes curling against your sheets. The toy feels impossibly thick, almost cruel. But the money keeps rolling in, your anonymous watcher dropping obscene tips every time you take more of it inside you. By the time it's buried deep, your body is trembling and your eyes are wet. You ride it slow at first, then faster, chasing the pressure until your climax rips through you so hard you forget you're even streaming. When you finally collapse, chest heaving, the toy still inside you, the chat is going feral. And then, one last message appears.

Good girl. You'll do this again for me.

You stare at the screen, your body still shaking, heart pounding so hard it hurts. Whoever they are, they're watching. They know where you live. And they're not going anywhere.

As per usual, you sat in the back of Professor Romanoff's class. But now you were certain that something was truly off with the older woman. She wasn't cruel towards you anymore, but the way she looked at you during her classes was far from your typical professor/student relationship.

Class drags on for long, but you can't seem to give a damn because you're too busy dodging your professors predatory gaze. You feel the intensity of her gaze spread through your body like a wildfire. Why can't she stop looking at you? At one point, when the rest of the students are busy working on a class assignment she had just handed out, the woman begins walking through the rows.

You feel her, smell her. She's just everywhere. When she finally nears your table, she stops right behind you before glancing down at your sheet. You thighs involuntarily clench together, your fingers grip the table and your heart beats faster.

"Good work." Is all she says before she moves to someone else. You release a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

After class, your friends wait for you, but Natasha stops any further movements.

"Y/n stay behind." Your stomach drops. What could you have done now? Your friends raise their brows and you gesture for them to leave. The last student closes the door and now it's just you and her.

"Yes Professor?"

"I've noticed that you've been quite... distracted in my class, tired almost. Is something going on at home?"

"No." Since when did Natasha give a shit about you.

"Huh." She twirls her pen with one hand, her gaze still locked on you. You clear your throat, ready to turn around and leave leave when she says this:

"Tell me, did you enjoy the gift that I sent you?" Your body goes rigid.

"Sorry?" You're hoping that this was some sick joke she was playing on you.

"Don't play dumb with me y/n, it's not a good look on you. But I will say that red lingerie you wore definitely is."

She couldn't be talking about that. Its impossible.

"I think you have the wrong person."

"Really? So you weren't fucking yourself dumb with the toy I sent you on Saturday?"

"W-what... H-how?" You're stammering, you're panicking but also for some odd reason, you're now ridiculously turned on. Your professor had been the anonymous subscriber?! The one who tipped you so much money like your body belonged to her, the one who sent you that expensive toy, the one what had been commanding you to fuck yourself until you fell apart, until you made a mess on your sheets. The one who had been watching you. She had been watching you.

"You know I was about to ask you for a private video, but then I thought how much better it would be to see you falling apart up close, to hear you moan, to feel you." Her smirk deepens and you're still shocked.

"Do you ever think about me when you're fingers are buried deep in that pussy?" Your jaw slacks at her comment. You want to make a run for it, to leave this woman alone but your feet have failed on you, you're practically stuck.

"You've got the wrong person?"

"Really? I think I know the sound of my own student's voice. And ,well now I know the sound of her moans." She stalks towards you, you step back until your back hits the door.

"But don't worry, I won't tell your little secret. Why waste such a pretty thing like you." She whispers in your ear, your pulse hammers as you feel her fingers drag up and down your hip.

She finally takes a step back and you breath.

"You can leave now." She murmurs, lips twitched into a sly smirk. After that, you bolt out of her class. What the actual fuck just happened?

After the classroom blow-up, you flee. You didn’t wait to hear her excuses or promises, because the only thing louder than her voice in your head was the throb between your legs you refuse to acknowledge.

For the next two days you avoid the redhead. No streams. No lingering in class. No daring to check if the anonymous subscriber is still watching, even though you already knew the answer to that.

But then Saturday comes. And on Saturday, there’s a package at your door. Unmarked. Clean. Innocent-looking until you rip it open and find what’s inside: a toy bigger than the last, sleek and expensive, along with a cropped black top folded neatly beneath it. A slip of paper rests on top.

“Wear this. Use it. Let me see how much you can take for me.”

Your stomach flips. Because now it’s undeniable. Now it’s not just watching or hinting, it’s Natasha commanding you in the same way she does when lecturing, only filthier, hungrier.

You tell yourself you won’t. You tell yourself you’ll throw it away. That she doesn't deserve the satisfaction of having control over you. And you still hated her.

But that night, when you set up your camera, the top clings to your skin and the new toy hums in your hand. And you can’t help it. You give her exactly what she asked for. Viewers go insane, they beg for more filth but you don't listen to them, you can't because the only person who's voice matters is silent. Extremely silent but she tips $2500 and you know you've got her where you want.

When the stream ends, you find a private message waiting for you.

I always knew you'd be an obedient girl.

Something about that makes your thighs clench, but there was no way you'd just let her have control over you.

A week goes by and you've been completely ignoring the redhead and it seemed to anger her. But you didn't care. You stopped going live, your last post on your site was about a month ago apart from those lives and you were rarely active on Twitter because you didn't want to give the redhead the satisfaction. To let her think you were fucking yourself for her.

And now, when somebody knocks on your door impatiently, you furrow your brows before walking over and opening it. You find the redhead standing there with a dangerous look on her face. She doesn't even wait for you to say anything whore she walks inside.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You shut the door with your foot before turning around to get a proper look at her.

"Someone could've seen you. Why are you even here, you don't get to just walk into my space just because you've seen-"

"Seen you what? I dare you, finish that sentence." You swallow before taking a step back and crossing your arms.

"I thought so."

"You need to leave." It comes out shakier than you thought. Natasha tilts her head with that dangerous smirk.

She takes a step forward and you take another back. This goes on until she's cornered you against your door. One of her hands is placed on your waist while the other pins your wrists above your head.

"You're so pretty when you're obedient, you know that? But your little act of defiance is such a fucking turn on." You're breath stutters, your knees are quarter to giving up on you but that mouth of yours never knows when to shut up.

"What, you gonna fuck me like I belong to you now?" You scoff.

"You're all bark and no bite." Her free hand grabs your jaw roughly, tilting your face up toward hers.

“I don’t just say shit I can't do." Her fingers squish your lips together.

"That mouth of yours would be better wrapped around my cock." You swallow and she sees the defiance leaving your body, bit by bit.

And finally, finally, she kisses you. It's a messy kiss. Teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. Her hands wrap around your waist while yours pull at her hair. Somehow, Natasha has your legs wrapped around your waist before you're flat on your bed.

"Do you know how long I had to sit in class and pretend all I wasn't thinking about was fucking you senseless?" Clothes are peeled off of your body before they're thrown onto the floor of your dorm room.

You lay half naked in front of the woman, just in your underwear, and the redhead swears she's never seen a better sight. Rough calloused hands grope your tits, moans tumble out of your lips before she moves down to kiss them. Skilled hands unclip your bra before it joins the pile of clothes on the floor. She seperates from your lips to get a closer look. Her eyes darken, her tongue comes out to lick her lips, her fingers twitch on the sides like she's holding on to the last bit of restraint she has. But then, her tongue literally slides from your neck to in between your tits. You moan softly and she moans too because you taste so amazing. And she hasn't even tasted the source yet?! But then it hits you.

You're about to fuck your Professor. Hello, you're about to fuck your hot professor who you supposedly hate.

"We shouldn't be doing this." You moan breathlessly.

"That ship sailed the moment you stuffed your pussy with the toy I bought for you." She mumbles as her teeth nip at your neck. Her lips trail down and then she's in between your thighs.

"Would you look at this mess." Natasha's thumb circles your covered clit that's practically begging for attention, begging to be freed from your panties.

She lifts your legs up, wraps them around her shoulders. You look down at her, those fucking green eyes are already looking up at you with that signature smirk like she's waiting for you to say it.

"Go on, say it."

"No."

"I know you want to detka, come on, beg."

"If you're not gonna fuck me, I'll do it myself like I have been for the last few months."

"Oh yeah?" She moves away from your thighs and you almost whine because you kiss her warmth.

Natasha grabs the chair that you used for studying before placing it across from you and taking a seat.

"Do it." You clench your jaw, you're horny, you're wet and she's making you fuck yourself in front of her. You don't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing you beg for her, so you sit up, glance at her for a final time before opening your nightstand and rummaging through it.

Either way, Natasha is benefiting from this. She was either going to get to hear you beg to fuck her or she gets to see you fuck yourself, live. Her gaze is completely locked onto yours as she watches you grab something. You pull out the wand before switching it on.

The room feels hotter and smaller with Natasha inside. And you swear you can hear everything, the sound of your toy buzzing, the sound of her breath hitching, the sound of your own shaky breath.

Natasha watches you bring the toy to your covered clit. You gasp at the feeling, you want to close your eyes but you want to see her. You want to watch her unravel for you.

"Do you enjoy watching me Professor?" You ask breathlessly and Natasha's cock twitches. Again. She doesn't answer, she just clenches her jaw.

"You're filthy, you know that?" She mumbles and you smirk.

"You're the one watching me with a hard on." She doesn't say anything after that. Instead she focuses on the way your thighs begin to shake from the intensity of the vibrator.

You're surprised that it didn't even take you that long to work yourself up. Normally it would take you a little longer before your stomach would be tightening. Guess the redhead just had that effect on you. Before you can go too far, you remove the toy from your soaking cunt. Slowly, you slip out of the ruined thong before it's thrown onto the floor. Now she's got you bare in front of her. Natasha sucks in a breath. It's better, way better than seeing you on her screen.

And she also has the opportunity to watch your face contort in pleasure. You place the wand onto your clit again and this time you hiss. Your moans grow louder while your pussy practically drools. And the redhead might be too. Your back arches off the bed as you feel your orgasm nearing. Buttons are pressed to increase the speed and soon enough, you're cumming so hard, your pussy leaks onto your sheets.

At that point, Natasha has had enough. She stands up swiftly, removing the toy from your pussy which makes you whine.

"Hey I wasn't oh-" Your protest is cut short when Natasha wraps your legs around her head and her tongue swipes across your wet pussy. She moans at the taste, she moans like she's the one getting off. You throw your head back in pleasure. Her tongue is everywhere. You feel her everywhere. She eats you out like a woman starved, like she's thristy and you're the only think that can quench her thirst.

"You taste like heaven, I could practically drown in this pussy." Your stomach flutters at her words.

Her hand presses your stomach down, she stops all of your movements. Your orgasm approaches so fast, you don't even feel it coming until it hits like a tidal wave. You moan out loud, hand covering your mouth to stifle it.

"Fuck Nat oh my fuck!" She still continues eating you, licking you, flicking her tongue, sucking your clit, thrusting it into your hole. At one point, you try to move away but her strong arms only bring you closer to her mouth.

"Stop running from me and take it." Is what she says before going back to devouring your now puffy pussy.

"It's too much." you whine and she laughs.

"Poor baby."

Then she slides two digits into your mouth.

"Make them wet." She watches your suck her fingers and she knows you're teasing her. But she'll have your mouth wrapped around her cock soon enough. Natasha spits onto your pussy and you feel yourself get even wetter. How the fuck was that even possible? She then slides those two coated fingers into your hole. You moan louder this time. So loud, you're sure you're going to hear complaints tomorrow but neither of you care. She thrusts her fingers inside you like she knows your body. She scissors them, curls them in a come hither motion until your velvety walls flutter around her. The sounds is fucking obscene, the sight? Mesmerizing.

"Would you fucking look at that." Your cum coats her fingers, your sobs fill her ears but she's not stopping, instead it's pushing her further. It's like music to her ears. You're drooling, your pussy is drooling and she may as well be because your pussy just tastes so fucking sweet. You sob again from the overstimulation.

"Want me to stop?" you shake your head and she smirks.

"Thought so. What a fucking slut." you cum again. You think that's all?

No.

She makes you sit on her face. She makes you work and chase the pleasure, to cum again. You ride her tongue like your life depends on it. Until your body is shaking, your habds gripping the headboard for some form of stability.

" Fuckfuckfuck!" You cum in her mouth and at least that time she stops. Your body goes limp next to hers. Your legs feel wobbly, your body is on cloud nine and you're just breathless because the professor you "hate" just gave you the most mind blowing orgasms of your life.

Natasha is still catching her breath, lying back against your pillows, lips swollen and chin glistening. You’re still trembling from what she just did to you, but something in you stirs. Something hungry.

You crawl between her legs, licking your lips with a smirk. She arches a brow.

“What are you doing, detka?”

“Returning the favor.” you whisper, fingers tugging her slacks down enough to free her cock. She’s already half-hard, flushed, heavy against her stomach. Your mouth waters instantly. Her smirk deepens.

“You sure you can handle me?” You shoot her a look.

“The question is... can you handle me?” Natasha opens her mouth to fire back as per usual, but the second you wrap your lips around the tip, her words die. A groan tears from her throat, low and sharp.

“Fuck-” You suck her slowly at first, teasing, letting your spit drip down her shaft as you pump her with one hand. Then, without warning, you take her deep. All the way. Nose pressed against her pelvis, throat squeezing around her cock.

Natasha chokes on her own moan, her head falling back against the pillow.

“Bozhe moi, fuck, y/n-” You hum around her, gagging just enough to make spit flood your mouth. When you pull back, strings of saliva connect your lips to her cock, messy and obscene.

“You like that, huh?” you purr, licking up the side of her shaft before sucking the tip again.

“Never had someone suck you like this?” She glares down at you, trying to play it cool, but her flushed cheeks and blown pupils give her away.

“Cocky little brat.” she mutters through gritted teeth.

“You think you can make me beg?”

"I've already got you moaning in Russian and I haven't even done a thing." She scoffs.

You smirk, then shove her cock back down your throat until you gag, drool spilling over your chin. You bob your head fast, messy, sloppy, both hands twisting her base while you suck like you’re trying to drain her soul. Natasha’s composure cracks. She fists the sheets so hard her knuckles go white. Her thighs tremble, hips bucking up into your mouth.

“Holy fuck... y/n, slow down or I’m-” She cuts herself off with a strangled moan, eyes rolling back. You pull off with a wet pop, wiping spit from your chin with the back of your hand, grinning up at her.

“What’s wrong, Nat? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

Her glare is weak now, her chest heaving. “You’re fucking... unreal.” You chuckle and go back down, this time keeping steady, swallowing her over and over, your throat clenching tight. Your spit is everywhere, on your lips, your chin, dripping onto your chest, soaking her cock until it’s shining. Her hand flies to your hair, tugging hard.

“Fuck y/n, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” You moan around her cock, eyes watering, mascara smudging, making the scene even filthier. When you come up for air again, you stroke her slick shaft and grin.

“Messy girl,” Natasha panted, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck, look at you. You love this, don’t you? Love choking on me like it’s the only thing you know how to do.” She's trying so hard to remain in control, but every time your lips leave her cock, that control breaks.

“Not so tough now, huh? Can’t even talk straight.” Natasha’s mouth opens but only a broken groan comes out. She’s shaking, her head falling back, sweat beading on her forehead. You can tell no one’s ever gotten to her like this, and you’re drunk on it.

“Say it.” you tease, licking her tip lazily.

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had.” Her eyes snap open, blazing, but she’s too far gone to deny it. Her voice is hoarse, wrecked:

“You’re-the fucking best-goddamn it, y/n”

And you smile, wicked and satisfied, before swallowing her down again until she’s cursing in Russian, clawing at the sheets, completely undone. Every gag made her groan, and when you pulled back, strings of spit clung between your lips and her skin.

You pulled back again, just long enough to smirk, spit glistening down your chin. “What’s wrong, Nat? You usually have so much to say.” Her glare was feral, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Shut up and don’t you fucking stop.” That was your victory. You went back in with determination, tongue swirling, hollowing your cheeks, sucking until her thighs were trembling under your hands. She tried to hold back, you could feel it in the way her abs tensed, but you didn’t let up. You wanted to wreck her.

And then, she broke. A guttural curse in Russian tore from her throat as she spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, filling you until your cheeks puffed. Natasha’s eyes rolled back, her hand fisting your hair so tight it hurt, her whole body shaking as you swallowed around her. You looked up at her with glassy eyes, letting her see the way you gulped every drop down. When you pulled back, you stuck your tongue out, showing her it was gone.

Natasha stared at you, still panting, still speechless. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in stunned silence.

“Speechless?” you teased, wiping spit from your chin with the back of your hand. She stares at you for a long minute before pulling you up for a kiss.

"Well I was right. Your mouth is better when it's around me." You roll your eyes playfully and she brings you in for another kiss.

Your hips slowly start moving after that. Your pussy grinds on her dick which makes both of you moan. Somehow it's enough to make her rock hard again and you drenched.

The redhead pounds into your pussy for the umpteenth time. You're placed onto your stomach, back arched while her hands grip your hips so hard, it may just leave a bruise the next day. You're moaning and sobbing into your pillow, your hands grabbing anything and everything for support. At one point, your hand had been placed on her stomach in attempt to get her to slow done, but she was having none of that.

"Don't be so fucking greedy. You can take toys but you can't take the real thing? Look at that. You're gonna take my cock like a good girl." She mocked before her hand slapped your ass.

You moaned in response and she simply brought both hands to your back to pull you flush against her. The sound of your ragged breaths and skin slapping bounces off the walls. It's so fucking filthy and obscene but again, you really couldn't care. She kisses you again, tongue dancing with yours but you can't even recuperate because she's fucking you so good. Your voice is hoarse as you beg her for more.

"Want more detka?" You nod your head and she pushes your head back down into the pillow and all you can do is sit there all pretty and fucked out while taking her dick. Her slender fingers move down to rub your clit in fast circles which has your moaning and sobbing.

"So pretty. Watching your pussy take my dick is so much better than those toys, don't you think so? Yeah, maybe I'll just have to record you riding me instead. You'd like that wouldn't you? Yeah baby? Of course you would." You mumble something incoherent into the pillow. At one point, your hand guided her to your hair, so she could pull it.

"You're such a perfect slut huh, all you needed was a good rough fucking to go dumb and obedient." She continues to rut into your pussy, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars. Dammit, the woman was really obsessed with your pussy.

This went on for a long while. Different positions. At one point you were riding her for your dear life, she had you in reverse cow girl too and now she had you in missionary so she could watch your face contort in pleasure.

The room was still heavy with the heat of your bodies, skin slick and tangled in the sheets as Natasha drove into you at a steady pace, her jaw clenched, eyes locked on the way your body welcomed her so easily. The condom was doing its job, but you could feel every drag of her cock straining against it, and the frustration in her sharp breaths told you she felt it too.

Then it happened. One rough stroke, her hips jerking too far back, and her cock slipped out with a wet slap, the condom gleaming, sagging with your slick. Natasha cursed under her breath and reached down to line herself up again.

“Wait.”Your voice cut sharp through the air, stopping her mid-motion. Green eyes flicked up to yours, wild, almost panicked.

“Baby, what...” She actually whined.

You bit your lip, staring up at her with wide eyes, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

“Take it off. I don’t want it.” The words knocked the air out of her. Natasha’s hand froze mid-motion, her chest rising and falling fast.

“Y/n…” her voice cracked with warning, but also with something raw, something breaking loose inside her.

“Do you even know what you’re asking me?”

“I do,” you whispered, reaching up to cup her face, your thumb stroking her jaw.

“I want to feel you. Just you. Nothing between us. I want to feel you finish inside me.” Hher lips parted, her breath shaky against yours. She looked torn, fighting it, her hand trembling as she held the base of her cock.

“Baby, if I take this off… I won’t be able to stop. You know that, right?” Your answer was immediate, desperate.

“Then don’t stop.”

Something snapped in her. She hissed out a curse, yanked the condom off with a rough tug, and lined herself up again, this time bare, the blunt head of her cock hot and slick against your folds. The first push back inside you made both of you gasp. You could feel everything, every vein, every twitch, every pulse, stretching you open raw.

“Fuck, oh my fuck,” Natasha groaned, her face contorting as her forehead pressed to yours again.

“You feel like heaven. So warm, so fucking tight. How am I supposed to go back after this?” You moaned, wrapping your arms tight around her neck, pulling her down until her lips brushed yours.

“Don’t. Don’t ever go back.” Natasha’s hips moved with urgency now, her thrusts deeper, wetter, needier, the sounds obscene as your bodies met over and over. Every drag of her cock inside you made your stomach flutter, made your toes curl, made you cling to her like you’d drown if you let go.

“God, look at you,” she rasped, her lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, desperate kisses pressed anywhere she could reach.

“Letting your professor fuck you raw, telling me to cum inside you, fuck, you’re going to ruin me, y/n.”

“Good,” you whispered, legs hooking tight around her waist, anchoring her deep inside you.

“Ruin me too.”

That was it. Natasha’s rhythm broke, her hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, until she buried herself to the hilt and cried out, her cock twitching violently as she spilled hot inside you. She groaned your name against your lips, her whole body trembling with the force of it.

You felt it, the rush of warmth flooding deep, her cum filling you in thick spurts. The intimacy of it made your chest ache, your stomach flutter, butterflies turning into fire.

Natasha stayed buried deep, panting, clutching you like she couldn’t let go. Beads of sweat dripped down both of your foreheads as you came down. You exhaled before speaking again.

"Told you you'd love it bare." She only whimpered, too spaced out and speechless to talk. And when she pulled out? It was the best sight she could ever see, the perfect creampie. It was so perfect, she just had to fuck it back into you with slow strokes with her fingers. You whimpered, hips thrashing before she pulled her fingers out and licked them clean.

She kissed you again, you moaned, wrapping your hands around her neck before sighing into her mouth.

"What have I gotten myself into." She sighed, moving a strand of baby hair away from your face.

_________________________________________

Shit, I think I need to be quarantined after writing this. Although, I think I should turn this into a series? What do you guys think?

Anyways, tell me what you guys think and I'm taking requests now. Thanks for reading loves

Ann~

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pagesofsara · 10 days ago

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My girlfriend and I got our marriage license today 🥹🥹🥹

#wlw #lgbt #lesbian

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pagesofsara · 12 days ago

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Lessons in Desire

Pairing: Professor Wanda Maximoff x Student Reader

Rating: M 18+

Summary: Wanda Maximoff isn’t just sharp in the classroom, she’s confident, commanding, and dangerously tempting. Between stolen moments in her office, teasing encounters, and secret nights that push the boundaries of control, you quickly learn that focusing on your studies might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Warnings: Smut, 18+ , teacher/student

_______________________________________________________

The classroom always felt colder when Wanda was teaching.

Not because of the air conditioning, but because of the way her voice cut through the room, soft but commanding, her accent wrapping around every word. The other students scribbled notes furiously, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way her blouse clung to her frame, the way her lips curved into the faintest smirk when her eyes inevitably landed on you.

Nobody else noticed, but you did. Because you knew what those looks meant. Because when the lecture ended, and you lingered after everyone else filed out, Wanda would let the mask drop.

You stacked your notebook slowly, waiting for the last straggler to leave. Wanda cleared her throat at the front of the room.

“Office hours still suit you?” she asked, her tone perfectly professional.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, fighting the twitch of a smile.

When the door finally closed behind you, Wanda didn’t waste a second.

Her stride was quick, heels clicking against the tile as she crossed the space. She brushed past you, fingers grazing your wrist in the smallest, most dangerous touch, and quickly locked the door to the lecture room.

Inside, the moment the door shut and the lock clicked, her entire demeanor shifted.

The professor was gone and in front of you was the object of your desires for the past few months. Wanda leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms, her smirk growing.

“You stared at me all through the lecture,” she said, her voice low, velvet smooth.

“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased, dropping your bag by the chair.

Her brow arched, and before you could react she had you caged against the wall. Her hand slipped under your chin, tilting your face up to hers.

“Imagined?” she murmured. “Detka, you’re lucky nobody else noticed the way you bite your lip when I speak.”

Your breath caught. She pressed closer, her thigh brushing against yours, her perfume dizzying in the confined space.

“You know how hard it is for me not to touch you when you look at me like that?” she whispered, her lips ghosting your ear.

Her lips finally claimed yours, soft but demanding, tasting faintly of coffee.

You melted against her, hands sliding into her hair, tugging until she growled against your mouth. The sound sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You have no idea,” she whispered between kisses, her accent curling around each word, “how badly I wanted to bend you over that desk in front of everyone today.”

Your cheeks flushed, breath shaky. “You wouldn’t.”

Her smirk deepened. “Wouldn’t I?”

In a quick motion, Wanda spun you until your back hit the desk. Her fingers tugged at your shirt, parting the buttons just enough to expose skin she immediately claimed with her mouth, biting softly, then soothing with her tongue.

“Wanda…” your voice was barely a whisper, already desperate.

“It’s Professor Maximoff.” Her words were firm while her fingers dug against your hips.

You let out a moan as your hips jerked forward against her.

She shushed you, lips brushing your ear. “Someone could hear. Do you want them to?”

You shook your head quickly, but she chuckled low in her throat. “Then be quiet for me, Malysh.”

Her hands reached down to grip the back of your thighs, lifting you up to sit on the desk. You quickly wrapped your legs around her waist, trapping her against you.

Her hand slipped under your waistband, moving your panties to the side so her fingertips could graze your heat, the lightest tease that had your knees buckling.

“You think I don’t notice how you look at me in class?” she murmured, dragging her lips across your jaw. “Biting your lip, shifting in your seat. You want me to lose control, don’t you?”

Her touch pressed harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch. The pressure was just enough to push you to the edge of begging.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“Better,” she said, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. “Begging suits you.”

Her fingers slid between your folds, finding the source of your wetness. She slipped in two fingers gently, curling inside to rub soft circles against your walls. You arched against her, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. But when a choked moan escaped, Wanda’s hand clamped firmly over your mouth.

“Shh,” she hushed against your neck, her tone equal parts warning and delight. “You don’t want anyone opening that door, do you?”

The risk only made it hotter, the scrape of her nails against your skin, the rough desk beneath you, her body pressing you down as her hand worked faster. The sounds of juices being pushed in and out of you had your head spinning. You gripped onto her forearm, trying to steady yourself as your toes curled from where they were locked around Wanda.

Her arm flexed as she pumped her fingers in you, her mouth sucking spots on your neck. You arched your back as you felt yourself clenching around you, your own fingers coming down to rub your bundle of nerves while she continued to fuck her fingers into you.

Your vision began to go white as pleasure built, crashing through you until your legs trembled and your muffled cries broke against her palm.

She held you as your body quivered against her, your legs weak but trying to keep her tight against your body, hips slowly thrusting against her hand to seek the remaining aftershocks of pleasure. Wanda kept her fingers still inside you, not wanting to overwhelm you but not wanting to leave your wet heat just yet. Her other hand left its grip on your hips to let her fingers brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead. Her voice softened, but her smirk remained.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “But you’re mine.”

__________________________

The next morning, sitting in Wanda’s lecture felt like torture.

She was every bit the composed professor, dark blouse tucked neatly into her skirt, glasses perched on her nose, voice even and measured as she dissected the day’s material. Nobody else noticed anything unusual. Nobody else saw the slight smirk when her gaze flickered over to you.

But you felt it, that look, that reminder. Your body still ached from what she’d done to you on that very desk she shuffled papers on, your skin buzzing just thinking about her hand clamped over your mouth, the weight of her against you.

You shifted in your seat, trying to focus on your notes. The words blurred.

“Are you with us, Ms. Y/L/N?” Wanda’s voice cut through the room, calm but sharp. Heads turned toward you.

“Yes, Professor,” you managed, cheeks burning.

Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, before she moved on. The lecture continued as if nothing had happened.

When class ended, you lingered as the others filed out, taking extra time to gather your papers into your bag. Wanda didn’t look up from her desk as she shuffled papers, but when the door shut, she finally raised her eyes.

“You’re distracted,” she said smoothly. “Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

You swallowed hard. “Hard to behave when you—”

Wanda’s chair scraped back. In seconds she was in front of you, her hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face up. “When I what?” she murmured, voice low enough only you could hear.

Your answer got lost in the way she kissed you, hot, fast, stealing every ounce of air. Her hands slid to your hips, guiding you back against the wall.

“Anyone could walk in,” you whispered, breathless.

Her smirk was wicked. “Then we’d better be quick, hm?”

Her knee pressed between your thighs, pinning you, grinding just enough to make your head spin. You clutched at her shoulders, your breath hitching as she set a rhythm against you, deliberate, teasing, relentless.

“Stay quiet,” she warned, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll ruin us if you don’t.”

The friction built fast, her hands firm on your hips, pushing and pulling your pussy against her bare thigh. Every shift of her body pressed you harder against her, panties soaked through and leaving a trail of your arousal on her leg. You thrusted against her until the pleasure grew sharp, demanding.

You bit down on your lip, muffling the sounds threatening to escape. Wanda’s satisfied hum vibrated against your throat as she pressed kisses along your skin.

“Good girl,” she praised softly. “Almost there, aren’t you?”

Your nod was frantic, your grip on her tightening as she pushed you higher and higher. And when release finally tore through you, your gasp was smothered by Wanda’s mouth on yours, swallowing every sound, kissing you until the world blurred.

When your legs gave out, she held you firmly, smoothing her hand down your spine as if nothing had happened.

“Now,” she whispered, fixing the collar of your shirt like a professor might adjust a student before sending them on their way, “go write me a paper on self-control.”

_____________________

The past week had been nothing but midterm prep — endless notes, caffeine-fueled nights, your brain too foggy to think about anything else. You had spent more nights in the library than in your own bed.

Before you knew it, it was time for Professor Maximoff’s class again, your last class for the day. You did your best to focus on the lesson she was teaching this week, knowing you would be tested on this material as well but the lack of sleep made it difficult.

Wanda caught your heavy eyes more than once, concern briefly flickered in her eyes before she blinked it away, continuing on with her teachings. She made sure not to call on you.

After class, you quickly gathered your stuff, intent on heading back to the library for another sleepless night with your study group.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Wanda spoke the words just as you were placing your bag strap over your shoulder. Her eyes didn’t look up from the papers on her desk. “I need to speak with you.”

The rest of the class filed out of the room, none of them paying any attention to you as you shuffled back towards the professor. Your eyes longingly looked towards the door, knowing every free minute counted if you were going to pass these exams.

As you walked up to Wanda, her eyes never even glanced up at you.

“My place tonight,” she said simply, her voice leaving no room for argument.

__________________________

You stepped out of the uber later that night, looking up at the luxury apartment building. You and Wanda hadn't dared extend your relationship, if that’s what you could call it, to this level. You had nervously typed in the address that was sent to you from her unsaved number and now here you were.

The door to the apartment clicked shut behind you, and Wanda let out a low hum, glancing you over with sharp, assessing eyes.

“You look like hell,” she said, lifting herself from her spot on the couch, stepping closer to you, hands brushing over your shoulders. “How many hours have you been sitting in that library, buried in books?”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Too many. I… I don’t even remember the last time I slept properly.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, part teasing, part… concern? “Detka, you can’t run yourself into the ground like that. Midterms aren’t worth collapsing over.”

She pressed closer, fingertips grazing the back of your neck, tugging lightly at the collar of your shirt, and the familiar heat pooled low in your stomach. Even with her words of caution, the way she looked at you made your pulse spike.

“You need a break,” she murmured, tilting her head, eyes scanning your tired expression. “And I think I can help with that.”

Before you could answer, she leaned in, kissing you, slow at first, just testing, just enough to make you catch your breath. Her hand slipped to your waist, tugging you flush against her body. Every move was deliberate, teasing, keeping you on edge.

Her voice was low, urgent, brushing against your ear. “You’ve been thinking too much about exams… let me take care of the rest for a while.”

She guided you onto the couch, straddling your hips, hand moving with a mix of dominance and careful attention, enough to make you gasp, enough to make you melt, but always teasing, always testing boundaries.

Her kisses trailed down your neck, along your collarbone, and back up again, punctuated by whispers of approval. Every touch made it clear she wanted you, desperately, but also that she was savoring this control, teasing you without giving in completely.

Wanda pulled back to slide down your body until she was on her knees in front of you. Your breath hitched as she tugged you to the end of the couch, hands coming up to slide your pants down, helping you tug them off. Your panties followed next.

Her hand slid up your stomach, underneath your shirt. Nails scratching against your skin. You whined and lifted your hips, a silent plea.

Then she lowered herself, slow and deliberate, letting her tongue trace over you, from the thin line of skin just above where your thighs met, up to your sensitive core. She tasted you gently at first, just teasing, letting you squirm and gasp. Every flick, every press of her tongue made your hips jerk involuntarily.

You reached down to thread your fingers through her hair, careful of pushing this new dynamic too far. You hadn’t been in control like this before. If you even were in control. Your head fell back against the couch as your hips built up a steady rhythm.

You couldn’t stop the groan that left you when her tongue traveled further down to push into you. Wanda moaned against you as she pushed her tongue deeper inside, flicking up to taste the inside of you. The new feeling overwhelmed you, filling you full of wet heat.

Wanda pulled back to breath, your eyes catching sight of the wetness on her chin. Wanda didn’t notice, too captivated by your leaking pussy. She took a fast breath and leaned back down to suck on your clit. Her fingers slipped inside you, perfectly in sync with her tongue, and the combination sent you spiraling. Green eyes snapped up to meet yours, watching every reaction, every shiver, every quiet moan you tried to suppress.

“Look at you,” she murmured between kisses and licks, lips brushing against your clit. “So needy… so desperate for me. Only I get to do this to you, Detka.”

She alternated her rhythm, slow and teasing, then sharp and insistent, bringing you to the edge again and again. Her fingers curled just right, her tongue hitting exactly where it needed to, making your entire body quake.

Wanda felt you begin to clench tighter around her fingers and your stomach muscles tensed. She smiled against your pussy, quickening the pace of her tongue. When your release hit, it was drawn out, messy, and chaotic, and Wanda’s hands held you firmly, grounding you, murmuring a low, satisfied hum.

“Better pay attention to your notes after this, detka,” she said, smirking as she pressed a lingering kiss to your heat. “Don’t think you can distract me with those puppy eyes every time you’re exhausted.”

She pulled herself off of her knees, grabbing your hand to tug you off the couch. You stumbled behind her, legs still shaking and hearing still fuzzy. “Where are we going?” You mumbled, the exhaustion from your orgasm and the sleepless nights catching up to you quickly.

“You’re sleeping here tonight.” Wanda stated, pulling you behind her down the hallway.

You opened your mouth to protest and as if she could sense it, her head snapped over to look at you. “Don’t argue with me. You think I haven’t noticed how tired you are? You can’t push yourself this much.”

You stumbled into the room, letting the door click shut behind you. Wanda guided you to the bed with firm, insistent hands, tugging gently until you were sitting on the edge. “Here,” she said, tugging the remainder of your clothing off. “You’re not moving anywhere else tonight.”

Too exhausted to care about how this was the most exposed you had been in front of her, she pulled one of her oversized shirts over your head and pushed you back onto the bed.

Your body sunk into the soft mattress as Wanda slipped into more comfortable clothes as well. You let your eyes close, exhaustion finally taking over, and Wanda slipped into bed beside you, her presence warm and steady. The only sound was your soft breathing and the occasional shuffle as she adjusted to make sure you were comfortable, leaving unspoken comfort in every gesture. It felt like lines had been crossed by coming here in the first place, let alone staying the night. You would think about what this meant later.

Finally, your body surrendered completely, letting sleep drag you under, and Wanda remained there, alert, calm, and in control, until you were fully at rest.

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pagesofsara · 15 days ago

Text

Eternity

Summary: Seeing Vision again after sixty-seven years leaves Wanda shaken. The weight of his waiting presses on her, and guilt mixes with the love she feels for Y/N. Needing clarity, she decides to spend time alone with Vision, revisiting memories of their brief youth together. As the past unfolds, Wanda grapples with what her heart truly wants, while Y/N quietly gives her the space to figure it out—knowing that every choice matters in the endless stretch of eternity.

A/N: Next chapter is going to focus more on Vision and Wanda so buckle up, buttercups.

Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

Vision’s POV

For Vision, time had never been linear in this place. Eternity didn’t march forward, it lingered, stretched out in endless sameness, a waiting room without clocks. He had spent what felt like decades, perhaps centuries, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching others move on, choose their eternities, and disappear into whatever came next.

He never moved. He couldn’t.

Every choice felt meaningless without her. Wanda. The first warmth he had ever known, the only person who had looked at him like he wasn’t just another young man fumbling through life but someone who mattered. He had lost her far too soon, and the years without her had become a kind of purgatory.

He endured because of her. For her. If he simply waited long enough, he told himself, she would come.

And now, finally, she had.

Vision had imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but none of them prepared him for the truth: Wanda was different. She carried herself with the weight of an entire life he had missed, and she wasn’t alone. At her side stood another woman, the one who had shared Wanda’s days and nights, her secrets and dreams.

Vision’s heart, if he still had one, ached with joy and jealousy all at once. Wanda was here. His Wanda. But she wasn’t just his anymore.

And in that cruel balance, Vision realized something he had never considered while waiting all those decades: eternity could still break his heart.

_____________________

Y/N POV

The room was quiet, almost too quiet. The confinement of your private quarters felt more suffocating than comforting. The muffled hum of souls moving beyond the walls seemed distant, swallowed up by the silence that had fallen between you and Wanda after Vision had gone.

You sat with her on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing. Wanda hadn’t said much since. Her hands twisted in her lap, fidgeting like she used to when she was young and nervous, but now it was heavier, weighted with sixty years of life lived without him.

Finally, she whispered, “I don’t even know how to feel.”

You glanced at her, keeping your voice soft. “You don’t have to know yet.”

Her lips parted, but the words came jagged. “It’s just… I grieved him. I put him to rest in my heart. And then I built an entire life with you. And now, now he’s here, and it feels like I should be happy, but instead I just feel… guilty.”

You reached for her hand, untangling her restless fingers with your own. “Guilty for what?”

“For moving on,” Wanda admitted, eyes glossy. “For letting him wait all that time while I was laughing with you, falling asleep next to you, growing old with you. He only ever had me, and I—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I had everything. I had you.”

The words pierced deeper than she realized. You swallowed against the knot in your throat, smoothing your thumb over her knuckles to hide the tremor in your hand.

“You don’t need to apologize for loving me,” you whispered. “You gave me your whole life, Wanda. That’s not nothing.”

Her eyes lifted to yours at last, green with storms. “But what if it isn’t enough? What if I hurt him again by choosing you here?”

The fear you had been biting back finally slipped through, barely audible. “And what if you hurt me by not?”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything you’d ever felt, even heavier than death itself. You tried to hold her gaze, but the vulnerability in her expression nearly broke you in half.

You forced yourself to soften, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. I just… needed to tell you that I’m scared too. Scared of losing you. Even now.”

Wanda leaned into you then, curling into your side, her head resting against your shoulder like it had countless times before. “You won’t lose me,” she murmured. But the way her voice wavered made you wonder if she was trying to convince you or herself.

Time had passed. You weren’t sure if it was minutes or hours. You had stretched out on the bed beside her, your arm draped protectively across her waist, the same way you had done in life so many nights before. But tonight…tonight was different.

Your breathing was calm, your chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm, but Wanda could tell by the tension in your hand resting on her hip that you weren’t as deeply asleep as you pretended. She closed her eyes, guilt twisting in her stomach.

You shifted slightly, your voice soft in the dark. “You’re still awake.”

A small hum slipped from her throat. “My mind won’t stop.”

“You don’t have to force it. Just rest.” You kissed her temple, warm and steady, like always. “I’ll be here.”

The truth of it hit Wanda hard, you always were here. You always have been. Through grief, through joy, through all the years she thought she’d never survive, you had been there. But still, her chest ached with the ghost of someone she’d thought long gone, and she hated herself for not being able to quiet it.

When at last your breathing evened out, Wanda lay still for a long moment, watching you in the dim glow that seeped under the door. Then, carefully, she slipped free from your arms. She paused at the edge of the bed, her hand hovering above your sleeping form.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though you couldn’t hear.

Pulling her cloak around her shoulders, Wanda slipped into the hall. You turned to look at the door, silently willing her to stay, enveloped in darkness as Wanda pulled the door shut behind her.

She told herself it was only a walk, just to clear her head, just to quiet the storm before she came back to you. But her feet carried her deeper into the great halls, until the quiet was broken by a voice she knew too well.

______________________

Wanda’s POV

“Wanda?”

Her heart stuttered at the sound of his voice. She turned, and there he was, Vision, standing in the soft glow of lanterns lining an archway. He looked almost exactly as he had all those decades ago. His posture still regal, his eyes still tender when they fell on her. It was disarming, like stepping back in time.

She swallowed. “Vision. I… I didn’t mean to run into you.”

He smiled gently, though there was a heaviness in his expression, as though every second of waiting for her still lived behind his eyes. “Then perhaps fate wished it.”

She glanced past him, realizing the corridor opened into a vast chamber. The ceiling stretched endlessly upward, shelves spiraling high and curving in impossible arcs, lined with glowing tomes. Each book shimmered faintly, alive with the weight of memory.

“What is this place?” she asked, breath catching at the sheer scope of it.

“The Library of Memories,” Vision explained softly. “Here, every soul may revisit the lives they lived, the moments they cherished, or regret. It is both a gift… and a trial.”

Her pulse quickened. “And you… have you…?”

“I come here often,” he admitted, his gaze flickering briefly to the shelves before returning to her. “It is how I remembered you. How I endured.”

Wanda gazed at Vision, hesitating, “I never dreamt you this clearly.”

His lips twitched as he took a step closer, “You’re exactly how I dreamt you.”

Her throat tightened. “Vision, you waited… all this time?”

“Sixty-seven years to be exact,” he said simply, as if it were nothing. “But time holds little meaning here. I only knew that someday, somehow, you would walk these halls too.”

The guilt pressed in on her, thick and suffocating. Sixty-seven years, while she had grown, lived, loved, found a home with you. And he had been here, frozen, keeping his devotion alive on the embers of old memories.

“I don’t deserve that,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, the familiar gentleness in his eyes cutting through her. “It was never about deserving. You were my reason. You always have been.”

Before she could answer, he stepped toward the shelves and laid a hand against one of the glowing tomes. The book trembled, then opened, its light spilling outward until it wrapped around them both.

Wanda gasped. She was no longer standing in the library. She was in a sunlit field, green and endless, the air smelling faintly of wildflowers. She knew this place, it was where she and Vision had once stolen afternoons together as young lovers, when their hearts had been untamed and the future seemed theirs to shape.

Her younger self stood laughing a few paces away, Vision’s arms around her as he spun her in a circle, both of them dizzy with joy. Wanda’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. She remembered this day, this moment, the feel of his hand clasping hers like it was the only anchor he’d ever need.

The older Vision beside her now watched too, his eyes soft, reverent. “You were my beginning,” he said quietly.

Wanda’s breath shuddered. “And I was your end.”

He turned to her, frowning faintly. “Do not speak so. My story does not end here, not if you are with me.”

But his words fell heavy. She couldn’t stop the guilt curling deeper inside her. Because as beautiful as this was, as stirring as it felt to see it again, all she could think of was you, your hand holding hers through nights of grief, your laugh echoing in the kitchen as you cooked together, your steady presence when the world crumbled.

Her first love stood before her, offering her the past. But her longer love was sleeping in a quiet chamber, waiting for her to come back.

Wanda pulled her gaze from the glowing memory and shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.

Vision’s voice was tender but steady. “Then let me carry it with you. At least for tonight.”

And though she let him lead her deeper into the memory, her heart ached with a truth she could not yet speak.

__________________________

Wanda crept quietly down the familiar corridors, her heart still hammering from what she had just experienced. The Library of Memories lingered in her mind, the flashes of youth, the laughter, the stolen kisses she and Vision had shared so many decades ago. They had been young, careless, and utterly consumed by each other. And yet, standing in that endless expanse of memory, Wanda had felt the sharp contrast of her life with you, full, lived, and unshakably real.

By the time she reached the room she shared with you, the golden light of the eternal halls had softened, spilling gently through the doorway. She paused for a moment, glancing at the closed bedroom door. Her chest twisted with a mixture of relief and anxiety.

Stepping inside, she found you asleep, curled slightly on the bed, your breathing slow and steady. The sight of you, so real, so alive, so entirely hers, made her stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t expected. She hesitated, watching the rise and fall of your chest, trying to steady the emotions that threatened to spill over.

Careful not to wake you too abruptly, Wanda slipped closer, her bare feet barely making a sound on the floor. She reached the edge of the bed and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, her touch feather-light.

“Y/N…” she whispered softly, unsure if you would hear her or if the sound would even stir you.

Your eyes fluttered open, the familiar sight of Wanda immediately bringing a smile to your lips. “Wanda?” you murmured, still half in sleep. “You’re back…”

She sank to the edge of the bed, taking your hand in hers. “I… I needed to see him. Alone,” she admitted quietly, the words trembling on her tongue. “I needed to understand some things. To see why I feel so… torn.”

You sat up slowly, still holding her hand, the shadows of worry on your face softening as you regarded her. “And?” you asked gently, careful not to push. “Was it what you expected?”

Wanda shook her head, a small, exhausted sigh escaping her lips. “It was… complicated. Seeing Vision again, seeing him in those memories, it reminded me of everything we once were. And everything I can never give him now. And yet… It also reminded me of what we’ve built. With you. How real it has all been.”

You tightened your hold on her hand, feeling the weight in her words but refusing to let it unbalance you. “You’ve lived a full life with me,” you said softly. “What we have is real. And that doesn’t disappear, no matter what memories someone else shows you.”

Her eyes glistened as she leaned against your shoulder, resting her forehead lightly there. “I don’t want to hurt him… or you. I feel so guilty for even thinking about it. For letting myself remember him.”

“You’re allowed to feel that,” you whispered, brushing your thumb across her knuckles. “It’s natural. But feeling it doesn’t mean you have to act on it. You’ve chosen your life. You’ve chosen me. That choice hasn’t changed.”

Wanda closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just… seeing him again, knowing he waited for sixty-seven years… I can’t stop thinking about it. And yet, I know my heart is here, with you.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Then let’s take it slow. You don’t have to decide anything right this moment. Just… breathe. Let yourself feel, let yourself process. I’ll be right here.”

Her hands gripped yours tighter. “I’ll try,” she murmured. “But what if I… what if I can’t figure it out?”

You tilted your head, meeting her gaze. “Then we give you time. I think… maybe it’s best if you spend a little while separately with both of us. No pressure, no expectations, just space to understand your heart clearly.”

Her eyes widened, torn. “Even if it means being apart from you?”

“Yes,” you said softly, steady and unwavering. “Wanda…you gave me sixty-seven years of your life. You know how our story plays out. But…you never got to see how your story with Vision would end.” You hid the waiver in your voice. “You deserve to see that ending as well before you decide.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, letting herself sink into your embrace, taking a moment to absorb the fairness of your words. “I… I think I can do that,” she whispered, a knot forming in her stomach.

You pressed your forehead against hers. “Take your time, Wanda. We have eternity.”

For a long moment, you held her there, both of you savoring the quiet before the storm of choices ahead. Wanda allowed herself to exhale, letting your steady presence absorb some of the weight she carried. Then, with a shaky breath, she finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I’ll miss you…” Wanda whispered, her words sending a sharp pain through your chest as you felt their double meaning.

“I’ll always be here.” You whispered back, a small smile gracing your lips as you meant the heavy words.

Your grip on Wanda tightened, the weight of knowing that tomorrow you would have to let her go, held you down. Your hands slid up her neck to cup her face as you gently captured her lower lip between yours.

You hadn’t had time to think of being physical with all of the commotion of today. The physical reaction your body had to Wanda had never faded in all of the years you spent together, even when your bodies were unable to execute your desires.

The reminder of your younger, stronger bodies was clear when Wanda grabbed onto your waist tightly and pulled you down onto the bed.

The night passed in a haze of lips, tongues, and hands. You weren’t sure if your grip was because of how much you missed being able to be this physical with each other or if you were subconsciously trying to leave a reminder of who Wanda had spent her years with.

The morning sunlight streamed through the window, stirring you from your slumber. You reached across the sheets to find Wanda. She’s still here. You thought to yourself, relief flooding your body as your fingers came in contact with her hand.

You peeked one eye open, seeing Wanda already staring at you.

“I don’t want to leave you…” Wanda mumbled, her hand tracing gentle patterns on the back of your hand.

You gave her a gentle smile, flipping your hand over to intertwine your fingers with hers. “It won’t be long,” You promised, not sure if you believed the words yourself.

Wanda stared at you for what felt like minutes, her gaze intense, searching, as if she were trying to memorize your face. That thought scared you more than you could admit.

With a deep sigh, Wanda sat up, holding the sheet around her chest. “I should go, I suppose…”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your limbs felt heavy as you got up and pulled a shirt over your head.

Wanda, already having dressed herself in clothes that seemed to magically be in the drawer already, walked around the bed to stand in front of you.

“I–,” You opened your mouth to speak but Wanda surged forward, pressing her lips to yours in a desperate kiss, cutting off whatever you were about to say.

Your arms wrapped tightly around each other, lips moving in a perfect rhythm as they had moved together for so many years.

“I love you.” Wanda whispered as you finally broke apart, the need for air seemingly a lot less in this place. Her forehead pressed against yours and her grip stayed tight around you. “Please don’t forget that.”

You held onto her just as tightly, “I won’t.” You promised, leaning forward to capture another kiss. “I love you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you finally pulled back, breaking away from the embrace. “You should go,” You pushed the words out. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll come back.” You hope.

Wanda nodded, wiping a tear that had fallen down her face. She walked to the door, her lead feet heavy, willing her to stay.

With one last look at you, she slipped through the door, pulling it shut with a click.

You stayed rooted in your spot, staring at the door for a few moments too long before running your hands over your face, wondering if you just said goodbye to your eternity.

________________________________________

Wanda’s POV

Wanda moved slowly through the golden halls, her thoughts heavy and tangled. Every step echoed in the vast space, a reminder of the weight she carried. Sixty-seven years. Sixty-seven years of waiting, of imagining a life that could have been. The knowledge of his patience pressed on her chest, making her heart ache, even as her mind leaned toward you.

She found him where she had first seen him in the Library of Memories. Vision stood still, his posture calm, his blue eyes catching the faint light of the hall. When he noticed her approaching, a quiet warmth lit his expression, a mixture of hope and gentle curiosity.

“Vision,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

He turned fully toward her, the familiar intensity in his gaze softening as he studied her. “Wanda,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’ve come.”

She hesitated, hands twisting together at her sides. “I… I don’t know what I’m feeling,” she admitted. “Seeing you again… it brought back so much. Memories, emotions… and yet I can’t ignore the life I’ve lived with Y/N. I need… I need clarity.”

Vision’s gaze didn’t waver. He listened, patient and quiet, as she continued. “I want to see more. More memories, of us, of everything we were, everything we dreamed of. I need to understand why my heart feels torn, and what it truly wants.”

His expression softened, a small, understanding smile brushing his lips. “You want to see the past, to understand the present,” he said. “I can show you what you need to see, Wanda. I’ve waited for this chance, not to force a choice, but to allow you to find your own truth.”

Her chest tightened. “And… I want to spend some time with you alone,” she admitted, the words heavy with guilt. “I need to be honest with myself, without distraction, without pressure. And then, when I’m ready, I’ll spend time with Y/N, alone with her, to truly understand where my heart lies.”

Vision stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I see,” he said softly. “That is wise, Wanda. You’ve carried so much for so long, let the heart speak freely. I will show you the memories, the moments we shared, and you may explore them fully. And when you’re ready, you will know your choice.”

She exhaled shakily, the relief mixing with guilt. “I don’t want to hurt you….or Y/N. But I need to do this honestly. For both of you… and for myself.”

“You will not hurt me by seeking clarity,” Vision said gently. “I have waited for you, and I will wait for the truth. Take the time you need. Let the memories guide you. Let your heart guide you.”

A tearful laugh emerged from Wanda’s throat, “You know, you always used to talk like a robot.”

Vision chuckled, his eyes twinkling at the memories. “Yes, you did always say that...”

Wanda smiled, feeling the tension in her chest ease slightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For understanding. For waiting… and for giving me the chance to see clearly.”

He gave her a faint, sad smile, the weight of decades hidden behind calm composure. “I have always loved you, Wanda. I will wait until you return, not out of obligation, but out of respect for your choice. Let your heart be certain.”

With a final nod, she stepped back, giving him space. The golden hall seemed quieter, almost expectant, as if eternity itself held its breath. Wanda turned, preparing herself to dive into the memories, to explore the past, and to search for the clarity she so desperately needed.

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