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asphora · 4 years

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Marigolds | csc

wc: 5,569 | angst, hanahaki disease, seungcheol x reader, f!reader, non-idol!verse, cursing, character death, tw:sickness, tw:death

a/n: I’ve been in a slump and in a really bad place recently, but out of nowhere this came to me and somehow writing it made me feel better? idk. Also, I recommend listening to Yiruma’s Prelude in Gm. It’s such a beautiful piece. Anyway, thank you.

Love can often look like so many things that don’t seem like love.

The night the world stops spinning is the night you see her for the first time. You’d known of her existence long before you’d even had the misfortune of laying your eyes on her, from stories and various retellings enthusiastically recounted to you by your group of 13 male friends. Their words had made her something of a phantasmagoric collection of enchanting and enigmatic quirks and traits, something otherworldly; brave and spontaneous, fun but equally intelligent. But for all their praise, you figured their words were just that.

Nodding along as Seungcheol prattled on about her ardently, you silently listened, finding some semblance of solace knowing that there was no person without flaws. To you, she seemed more like a Monet than anything; something beautiful to behold, but only from a distance. The closer anyone got, surely the more the cracks would start to show and for all her magic and mystery, you figured soon enough the boys, particularly Seungcheol, would soon realize the truth: that there was no such thing as magic. Only real people, with their flaws and undone seams, haphazardly strewn together.

That night the music blared in your ears, despite coming from the next room where Soonyoung was drunkenly DJing. Around you were throngs of people, a mix of strangers and friends alike, bodies danced intoxicatedly moving to the beat reverberating through the walls of the frat-house.

When you see him, you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your lips. Your hand is already raised, ready to wave him down and wrap him in the embrace you two always shared. You don’t know it yet, but that night is different from all the others; the beginning of the end.

It only takes him few steps more for you to see that his hand, which is usually stuffed into his pockets, is prettily decorated by her dainty one; milky skin seemingly unmarred by the harsh yellow lighting in the crowded living room and her ring finger ornamented by a big bright rock you recalled seeing at Seungcheol’s apartment a week prior.

Immediately your hand falls to your side and you take a step back, disappearing effortlessly into the crowd as your watchful eyes are trained on the couple. She with her red silk dress that seemed to accentuate and hug her body in the most complimentary way, and him in his usual all black ensemble that definitely did not betray the senses, showcasing his toned body through the fabric. They looked more like they belonged on the front of some expensive travel or style catalogue.

You would have described the pair as one that stuck out like a sore thumb, but that wasn’t the case. As they waded through the waves of people—his arms wrapped gently around her, never faltering in their protective hold on her—they seemed to put everyone else to shame. It wasn’t that they didn’t belong at this party, it was that they made everyone else look like they shouldn't have been there.

As you watch them laughing and dancing, whispering, faces always close to each other’s, you realize that she is not the mirage you had made her out to be in your head. She’s everything they said she was, and even more, she bore his heart.

“Seungcheol!” the bellowing voices of 13 other boys pull you from your thoughts and suddenly, you go from a passive by-stander simply basking in the glow of the couple, to the forefront of all the excitement as Mingyu finds you in the crowd and pulls you by the arm to where Seungcheol and the others are standing.

Dark chocolate irises that you’ve known all your life and have practically memorized at this point meet your own and that’s the last color you register along with the sounds of cheering and shouting of joyous congratulations, before everything becomes a blur of motion as your legs will you through the halls of the frat house you practically lived at. After that all you see is orange—bright, fiery, blazing orange.

As you sink onto the floor of Jihoon’s bathroom, vision bleary from the pain, you press your cheek onto the tile taking whatever comfort you can from their soothing coolness.

‘Marigolds,’ you chuckle at the irony of just how fitting it is, the sound coming out more of a garbled cough than a laugh due to the burning in your throat, 'in the language of flowers, it meant despair, grief and jealousy.'

As you shift in and out of consciousness, the alcohol in your system working too well with the pain in your chest and throat, forcing you under, you reach your hand out, fingers trying to grasp at the orange blossoms. You hadn’t even made it to the toilet.

‘Sorry Woozi,’ you think in your last moments of consciousness, ‘promise I’ll clean it later. It just hurts too much right now.’

And that’s how the said male finds you.

Once the party is done, Jihoon retreats to his quarters only slightly tipsy since he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway like the rest of the guys. There you are, passed out in the middle of his bathroom floor, lying in what at first glance seemed to be clouds of fire.

If he hadn’t know exactly what he was looking at, he would’ve thought the sight to be beautiful, immaculate even; your limp form swimming in a sea of marigolds, hands outstretched and gripping some of the fresh blooms in your hands, dark hair splayed out across the flowers in stark contrast to the vibrant orange beneath, and your face though tearstained was adorned with loose petals sticking to your skin.

His bathroom had never smelled so nice, he thought despite knowing you’d vomited these flowers. Never in his life had he seen Marigolds as vibrant as these, so alive and in full bloom, as though spring had come in the middle of winter to take up residence in his bathroom; the sight would put Demeter to shame. But he knew the truth of it; this sight was anything but that of life. You were dying.

***

“You have to get the surgery, y/n.” Jihoon sighs the words onto the skin of your forearm where there are various tubes sticking out of you, seemingly the only things keeping you somewhat alive.

You can tell by the way he says it that he’s beyond exhausted, that these are words that he’s tired of saying, that this is a plea he and all the other 11 boys from your friend group are tired of begging you for. You don’t say anything, and your silence only makes him more irked.

“If you aren’t going to get the surgery, at least tell him the truth,” Jihoon attempts to reason with you, “he deserves to know the truth, or even just the chance to save his best friend. You can’t avoid him forever, and you sure as hell can’t just suddenly die and leave him wondering how the fuck that happened.”

Jihoon’s crass words make you laugh, a breathy quiet chagrin that slips from your lips sounding more like a cough than mirth. He’s so fed up with you that he doesn’t even bother to choose his words wisely, not like how he was when this all started a month ago.

“He hasn’t even tried to visit me.” At that he rolls his eyes.

“Because you won’t let him. You won’t even let us tell him that you’re in the hospital. As far as he knows your back home with your parents getting better, not here in Seoul, in a hospital, fucking dying.”

This time, it’s your turn to roll your eyes and admonish him, albeit weaker compared to his display. “I get it Woozi, I’m dying, I don’t have much longer to live. Tell me something the doctors haven’t, I get it—”

“No, you don’t!” His booming voice suddenly cuts you off. For the first time in your long friendship with him, he raises his voice at you.

“You don’t get it,” you watch him as he shakes his head, “you say you get it, that you know you’re dying, but you don’t. You’re acting like this is a small thing, that it’ll go away sooner or later, but it isn’t. It’s either you get the surgery or you’re dead, done, gone forever. There won’t even be anything left of you to love that oblivious, unworthy asshole you call your best friend.

“A real best friend would be more worried about you, would be here, breaking down doors and begging me and the rest of the guys to let him see you, he’d at the very least, demand to be able to visit you and not be running around having fun with his whatever-she-is while you’re dying.”

Tears fill Jihoon’s eyes as he paces, arms angrily flailing as he rants to and at you. That’s when Wonwoo, seemingly forgotten in the corner, ever the quiet spectator and your next closest friend after Jihoon and Seungcheol, steps in to place a calming hand on Jihoon’s heaving chest.

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo’s thick baritone pierces through the sound of Jihoon’s angry breaths, “that’s enough. Look at her, she’s crying.”

You hadn’t realized it until Wonwoo had pointed out, but your face was hot with moisture, and your patient’s gown was soaked down the front with the tears that had run off your face. Jihoon seeing this seems to snap out of his trance, his stance relaxing and his eyes growing soft.

“Sorry, y/n, I-I didn’t mean, I—”

“It’s okay Jihoonie,” you hadn’t used that nickname in a long time, not since Seungcheol had practically thrown a fit, banning you from calling any of the others by cute nicknames, “it’s okay, don’t be sorry, I get it.”

Giving him and Wonwoo the warmest smile you can muster in your weakened state, you open your arms out for them, their strong sturdy forms quick to bend to fill the tiny space of your arms, wrapping your frail form in their own warmth.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper the words onto the tops of their heads, petting the hair there, “I get it, I do. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m scared too.”

The admission of your own fear wracks a brand-new sob through your chest that you hadn’t known you were holding back, and immediately you’re crying a fresh batch of tears onto the fabric of their shirts.

“I don’t want to die,” you wail despite the scratching of your throat as you clutch the fabric of their shirts into clenched fists, “but I can’t, I don’t want to—I can’t do it. If I get the surgery, I’ll forget, and I can’t—

“I can’t live in a world where I don’t know Seungcheol, where I don’t know his smile or the sound of his voice and his laughter, where I don’t know that he’s a cry baby and that his favorite kind of movies are romcoms, even though he’ll never admit it to anyone but me.

“I’m scared too, but it’s not just dying,” you sob, “what kind of life would it be if I stopped knowing him? If I couldn't even remember the only love I’ve ever known?”

***

Weeks pass in a blur of burning orange speckled with blotches of vibrant red; hospital bins filled to the brim with orange marigolds drenched in bile and blood; nurses carrying and disposing more and more beautiful bright bouquets of marigolds each passing day.

“The marigolds are really pretty, at least.” Soonyoung absentmindedly remarks as he watches a nurse file out of the room, two trash bins in hand, brimming with freshly puked flowers.

Seungkwan who stands beside him gives the hin a look of complete outrage, nudging Soonyoung’s side a little too harshly with his elbow, making the blonde yelp in pain. Jihoon who’s sitting at your bedside only rolls his eyes at the insensitivity, while the rest of the boys stand around awkwardly and apologetically.

The tense sight of almost all your closest friends standing around as if they were at your funeral rather than just your hospital room only makes you laugh into the receptacle on your mouth, cursing the restraining contraption despite it being the only thing that’s managed to help you breathe throughout this whole ordeal.

Shifting up weakly, you move to sit up in your hospital bed to get a better look at the boys. Jihoon’s hands are quicker than your frail body though, as he tries to keep you lying down.

“C’mon, Hoonie, I’m dying, not losing my sense of humor,” you shrug his hands away and Mingyu’s takes their place to sit you up, “what Soonyoung said was funny.”

“I’m not offended, it’s funny. I mean, they are pretty, right? It would suck if I was dying and the flowers exploding out my gut were fucking ugly as shit. Could you imagine puking roses? Ugh, how generic,” you chuckle, upping the dramatics and giving Soonyoung a wink along with a mirthful grin which he sheepishly returns.

You glance at Seungkwan who’s trying to bite down his smile and you offer him your own wide one, “bet you never had a flower shop for a friend, huh?” And at that, the others who’d spent most of this time awkwardly standing around, the same way they did every week when they came to visit, finally let out their laughter.

You laugh along with them as much as your lungs will allow and you shake Jihoon’s shoulder, as if the gesture will shake the frown off of his face as you whine, “C’mon, please don’t be mad, Jihoon. I’m dying, you’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“She kinda has a point, Hyung.” Vernon, feeling more relaxed after your joke, takes a seat at the foot of your bed and shrugs at the older male.

“Dying friend trumps angry friend,” you shrug, smiling brightly at Vernon who just pets your leg affectionately. Despite his irritation, Jihoon watches the exchange and visibly softens, patting your head just as sweetly and giving you half a smile. “Whatever, you’re stupid.”

“By the way, where’s Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, changing the topic effectively, “isn’t he supposed to be here, too?”

“He said he’s running late,” Jihoon checks the clock, noting that the male is never usually this late, “he said he had to pick up something before—” as if on cue, the male in question rushes through the doors of your hospital room, panting and sweaty.

“What the heck, Woo? Did you run all the way here?” you laugh at his disheveled state, “don’t you have a car—” just as quickly as he makes it through the door, your words die on your tongue, finally seeing just what it was he had to pick up, rather who.

“Seungcheol.” The world seems to stop for a moment when your eyes meet his, and everyone in the room becomes as still as statues, the playful mood from earlier quickly dissolving into wordless tension.

It feels like eons before someone breaks the palpable stiffness in the room, but it’s Wonwoo’s voice that slices through it and breaks the trance you and Seungcheol are locked in, “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“What the actual fuck, Wonwoo!” This is the loudest your voice has ever managed to be since you arrived at the hospital and the strain burns your throat so much that you start coughing violently, gasping desperately for air as a fresh wave of nausea hits you and the rest of the boys can tell right away by the panicked look in your eyes.

Vernon, who’s closest to the new trash bin is quick to grab it, placing it in front of you on your lap, while Mingyu’s hands efficiently remove the breathing receptacle from your face. Jihoon reacts like it’s his second nature to pull your hair out of your face and hold it behind you, while Wonwoo moves to your side to gently stroke your back, cooing soft encouraging whispers into your ear as bright orange starts to assault your senses, blurring your vision and filling the room with sickly sweet scent of marigolds along with the sounds of your violent retching. Soonyoung and Seokmin are quick to leave the room, saying they’ll call a nurse for an extra bin while the rest sit to the side, not even an inkling of panic on their faces.

It all happens so fast, with such lighting precision and rehearsed accuracy that Seungcheol is sure that this isn’t the first time his closest friends have been through this. He realizes quickly that he’s the only one who hadn't known.

Once you're done unloading your flowery guts into the bin, Minghao is already ready with a moist towelette to wipe away any dribble along your lips. Your weak gaze manages to meet Seungcheol’s confused but visibly enraged ones, but you don’t speak. Not for lack of ability to, but because there was nothing left to say. The jig was up, he knew.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice is booming and you almost laugh at how often you’d heard those words in the span of time you’d been in the hospital, but his next words cease any coherent thought you might have, “who is he? Tell me, y/n, who the fuck is he, I’ll kill him.”

Confused, your eyes dart from the angry eyes of the subject of your affections, to the bespectacled ones of your other best friend who was still standing beside you, hands unwaveringly rubbing gentle, soothing circles onto your back.

“Woo?”

“I thought you should be the one to tell him.” He explains, eyes apologetic.

“I swear to god, y/n! Is this where you’ve been the past two months?” Seungcheol, ever the impulsive and quick to anger person he is, doesn’t even register the moment that passes between you and Wonwoo, “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell your best friend! We’ve been through everything together, and I would do anything for you but you were just going to go through all of this, all alone, without me?”

You only laugh at how he was exactly the same Seungcheol you’d always remembered. Two torturous months had passed and while the time had seemed to trudge on slowly for you, the time feeling like eternities without him, it had flown by for him and he had emerged from the other end practically unscathed; you were dying, and in a way, he was literally killing you with heartbreak but all he could think about was how you could have the audacity to leave him out of your own illness and death.

Classic Seungcheol. It might have seemed unbearably selfish of him, but this was also part of why you loved him so dearly. He was so innocent, so caught up in his own heart that he barely registered anyone else’s, but it also meant that once he treasured someone, he would do anything, sacrifice anything for them. His one-track mind and heart would never let him be or do anything less; if Seungcheol had to give you the world just so that you might live, he would die trying to get it.

It was exactly why you had wanted to leave him out of it. You knew that he was too kind, too self-sacrificing to the point of selfishness, too caught up in his own emotions that he would never understand your choice to not have the surgery—to die.

“Sorry, Cheolie,” you try to smile despite the sob that gets caught in your throat, “I just thought it would be better this way.”

At your words, he immediately unclenches and finally all the anger that wracks his body seems to dissipate from him until all that’s left in his irises is confusion and hurt. "You don’t have to do this. You can just have the surgery,” he coaxes, walking over to your bedside where he takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the skin there with his thumb before gently pressing it to his lips, closing his eyes as he does so.

“But I can’t, Cheolie, I can’t forget—” you almost slip up and say ‘you’, but you swallow it down and Seungcheol is quick to take the reigns of the conversation again.

“You can! You can forget that bastard! Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you, your love, or your death.” He pleads, tears pricking the edges of his eyes.

“You don’t know that Seungcheol,” the first time in a long time you’d used his first name, “he doesn’t deserve me, he deserves better, you just don’t know—”

“I don’t want to know! If he really loved you, he wouldn’t be letting you die here all alone—”

“But I’m not alone!” you try to argue, but Seungcheol isn’t having any of it, he’s too riled up again, too in his pain to let you explain anything to him.

“No, y/n! For fuck’s sake, listen to me! If he can’t love you when you’re fucking willing to die for him, then he’s not gonna love you even after you’re dead! And there’s no use dying just to remember someone who doesn’t love you!” he heaves, “isn’t it better to just be alive not remembering someone who could never love you?”

Everyone stood around you, eyes wide and tensely watching, awaiting your response with bated breath. His words hurt. More than anything, they felt like a death sentence, an indirect confirmation that Seungcheol could never and would never return your feelings. Fighting the marigolds bubbling in your chest threatening to spill out, you can only shake your head, smiling at him as tears finally spill from your eyes.

It takes everything in Jihoon not to punch the lights out of Seungcheol as everyone watches you cry, but Wonwoo’s firm grip on Jihoon’s arm is warning enough that you wouldn’t want them fighting with each other.

“It’s okay,” you finally manage the words, and everyone but Seungcheol knows that the words are more for everyone else in the room, “I know you don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to.

“You’re not meant to; it’s not for you to understand. This is mine.” Seungcheol meets your eyes and in them he sees a finality that he has never seen before, a certainty unmarred by fear or sadness. “So, I don’t care if you’re mad at me, or if you don’t agree. You don’t have to, you just have to be my friend and sit this one out, okay?”

Your eyes scan through the room, meeting the eyes of all your closest friends, asking for their silent agreement to both keep your secret but also to no longer question your decision. “Just be my friend and sit with me till—”

“Till the end.” Wonwoo finishes when you’re unable to, voice shaky from overuse and the emotions.

The night the world ends is the day your heart finally stops. For three days prior you’d been in a medically induced coma, the doctors explaining to Jihoon and all your friends that it would be too much, too painful to keep you awake while your body slowly failed; your lungs slowly filling with blood, fluid and marigolds, its roots constricting the far too weakened organ tighter and tighter until your system would eventually crash from the lack of oxygen. Ultimately suffering from a long and arduous suffocation.

When you go, it isn’t peaceful or serene like the books or the movies often say it is. Your body is a mess of convulsions and painful retching fits. Despite being sedated, you're gasping for air; your body seemingly clawing onto life and fighting to preserve itself despite your heart telling it to let go. As the last of your struggle and life dissipates from your body, you’re surrounded by the same friends who’d kept you company throughout this whole ordeal.

Till the end, even on the days you could no longer talk, or wake up to even see them, they had stayed. Some talked to you, sometimes telling you stories, reading you your favorite books, and even saying their goodbyes one by one. Even Seungcheol, who despite his bursts of anger and frequent tantrums that had him walking out, always returned to keep his promise and just sit with you.

That night, there were no marigolds like when Jihoon had first found you, it was not beautiful or immaculate. There was no portrait of you sprawled in a field of bright golden flowers. Instead, there were only bloodied, wilting petals scattered at your bedside and sticking to your skin and robes, the orange barely visible through the blood that stained them. Your frame was the smallest they’d ever seen it and you were completely pale, the only color on you was the blood that had caked and dried at your lips and wherever else it had splattered, along with the mess of withering petals.

When the flatline finally echoes through your tiny ICU room, with 13 cramped bodies, not including the doctors and nurses, no one says anything. Wonwoo is the first to crack, taking your limp hand in his, pressing the lifeless limb to his lips then falling to his knees and finally breaking down completely for the first time. Everyone else follows suit.

Your distant relatives had settled the arrangements for the funeral, deciding to have it in Seoul where you would be surrounded by all your friends and most beloved ones. They are kind and understanding, despite not having been close with you and they thank everyone who attends graciously. All your friends attend, Seungcheol even brings his girlfriend for moral support and she does just that. You would’ve been happy that he had her shoulder to cry on, Jihoon thinks as he watches them.

The night Seungcheol’s world stops is a week after your passing. Jihoon invites Seungcheol to go out with him and Wonwoo. When he meets the pair at the park, sitting on a bench, all three of them almost laugh at how much of a similar state they’re all in; eyes puffy with dark circles underneath to match, and faces swollen from sleepless nights spent crying.

“If y/n were here, she’d laugh at how bad we look,” Wonwoo laughs, the first to break the silence, “she’d never let us live it down.”

“I miss her.” Seungchol breathes out the words into a puff of cold exhalation. At the words, Jihoon feels his fists clench, a sudden rage washing over him, but Wonwoo is quick and takes it upon himself to perform the difficult task at hand instead of Jihoon.

“You should know, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo sadly meets the gaze of his friend, forcing the words and choking down the tears in his throat, “it was you.”

“Y/n didn’t want us to tell you, she was kind that way,” Jihoon runs a hand through his locks, fighting the tears, “but we’re not as kind.”

“We thought you deserved to know.” Wonwoo clarifies, not letting Jihoon’s anger cloud their actual purpose.

“She was in love with you, she always has been,” Jihoon sighs, recounting the conversation he had with you a few weeks prior to you being comatose.

“There’s still time, y/n. I know I said I would drop it, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to save his best friend, right?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay, Hoonie, I understand.” Till the very end, you were kind despite your pain.

“You know why marigolds?” your eyes look to Wonwoo sitting by Jihoon then trail off to the view outside your window. “When I first arrived in Seoul, he was my first friend. I met him in a field of marigolds. I’d fallen and scraped my knee. It was really bad actually, I had to get stitches after. I remember trying so hard not to cry, because I was a big girl and this was the big city and I just felt like there were no room for tears here, y’know?”

You laugh at the memory, “out of nowhere this big kid comes running at me asking if I’m okay. While I tried not to cry, telling him I was okay, he took one look at the gaping wound and all the blood on my skirt and he started crying so loudly.

He was so dramatic that it almost made me forget how much it hurt, and I could laugh even just a little at him. So overly emotional, that boy.” You shake your head. “Anyway, I ask him why he’s crying, and this obviously much older and taller boy bawls at me saying ‘it looks like it hurts, doesn’t it hurt? And you’re not crying so I’ll just cry for you’.”

“He cried so much that his parents eventually found him and me, and brought me to the hospital to get stitches. I’ve been with him ever since. We were so young back then. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember…”

Finally looking back at Jihoon who now sees the fresh tears in your eyes, “but I-I don’t want to forget, Jihoon. I don’t want to forget him or who he helped me become.”

“And I knew, you know?” chuckling mirthlessly, your eyes shift to Wonwoo’s sad eyes as they watch your sadder ones, “I knew he couldn’t feel that way about me, I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway. There were times I thought, maybe, maybe he’d finally see me...”

Turning back to Jihoon, you could only shrug, “but we all know how that turned out.”

“She always loved you, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo interjects, ending Jihoon’s retelling and watching as the older male’s eyes fill with tears.

“But why didn’t she—why couldn’t she just have told me? She could’ve just been honest.”

“We all know that wasn’t an option,” it’s Jihoon’s turn to interrupt this time, “you were engaged, and she wasn’t going to ever let herself get in the way of that.”

A silence passes between them at his words. It was true. No matter how Seungcheol looked at it and flipped it around in his head, you were far too selfless to do anything so cruel, and knowing you, the last thing you’d want was to make it any harder on him. You were no angel, but you were a good person, the best he knew, but he also knew you could be selfish to a certain extent. Instead of just going through with the surgery, you suffered painfully till the very end, and all to preserve memories of someone who he now knew didn’t even deserve to be remembered, all because he was too blind and too wrapped up in his own heart to see it, to see you.

“I love you; I’m waiting for you unbearably.” Wonwoo’s eyes are closed as he whispers the words into the emptiness of the starless night sky. The two males stare at him wordlessly as if waiting for an explanation and after taking his time, letting the moment pass, he does.

“It was a quote y/n really loved, from a book she recommended to me a while back.” He smiles fondly at the memory, “during her last days, sometimes she’d whisper it in her sleep.”

They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, wordlessly comforting each other by just being there. As they stayed there, basking in the stillness and calm that seemed to envelope the rest of the universe; your death felt like the world had ended, but here it was, continuing to spin through the vastness of the cold October night sky; blissfully ignorant of your passing. Even in that emptiness, there was comfort and somehow, they could almost feel you; just there, sitting with them till the end.

Seungcheol is the first to stand to leave, whispering a hoarse thank you to the two before turning to head to his car and driving off, home to his fiancé. Wonwoo and Jihoon don’t say anything more. It’s Jihoon who decides when it’s finally time to leave. He turns to Wonwoo, beckoning to the male with a nod.

“Let’s go, Woo.”

“Do you think it will hurt?” Jihoon doesn’t look at him as he drives, but quirks his brow, confused by his question.

“What, the surgery?”

It takes a moment before Wonwoo can respond. He’s perfectly calm, looking out the window at the streaks of passing light as he shakes his head, “no. Forgetting.”

The words take Jihoon by surprise, but he doesn’t show it, not wanting to worry him any further. Instead, he gives him a comforting smile, the first hint of sincere softness on his face since you had been admitted to the hospital, and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so. I think it only hurts when you know you’re forgetting. But once you’ve forgotten, then there has to be some relief in that, right? To be able to be a blank slate. A new start, she would have wanted that for you.”

Wonwoo only nods, closing his eyes as he takes in the younger’s words.

“Don’t worry, Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s hand is a comforting warmth on his shoulder, “even when you can’t remember her anymore, I’ll remember her for the both of us.”

Fin.

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darkdemeter · 3 months

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GUARD DOG

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Mafia! Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — First time doing the sex pollen trope so it may be a bit stiff? Looking at doing more werewolf exposed to sex pollen stuff because I think it’s an interesting concept!

WORD COUNT — 24.7k

READER DISCRETION — Mafia/mob orientated stuff — violence — death — slight alluded to relationship with Natasha — trauma, some ptsd — mention and implied SA and forced sexual encounters (none main cast) — graphic depictions of torture, "animal" cruelty, experimentation and family death — exposure to sex pollen (reader only) — mention of previous usage of drugs (forced) — reader is dehumanised, usage of negative titles/names — sexual themes — SMUT** 18+ MINORS DNI — monster-tongue fucking — "Mate" usage and status — will feature "male variant" and "female variant" smut separate segments — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — All that you are is a guard. An obedient soldier. You have killed, maimed and other atrocities, but before you lose yourself you will do all these things for her. With the death of Pietro, Wanda remains as the sole heir to the Maximoff empire. As her loyal guard, it is your duty to protect her at all costs, and you will do so until your last breath; come what may. You now engage in a manhunt for Brock Rumlow, to exact revenge for the Maximoff heiress. However, it's not that simple. He's disappeared to the winds without a trace and so, those of the American brotherhood come your aid. However, when they bring news of Brock's whereabouts, it will force you to encounter a part of your dark history that you've purposefully kept hidden from Wanda. Ironic that you will venture to a place that still holds you captive yet is the stepping stone of how you gained your "freedom".

ACT I: AMBER & BLOOD

It all happens so fast. After a torturous incline of sinister lingering just out of reach, Rumlow finally struck. Wanda could very well have died tonight if it weren’t for you, unfortunately, Pietro is lost in the crossfire.

A black SUV rolled over with a fried, sizzling engine, and crumpled metal, Wanda’s leg is pinned between the driver’s seat and her own, unable to prevent Pietro from being dragged out.

His yells of protest mix with the blood curdling sounds of flesh being pummelled and choking on his own blood. Wanda cries out in her suffering, her agony that cuts her deeply like a knife, turning without pause. She now realises she should have listened to you when you told them it was a set up.

She’d been adamant the Rumlow Family had want for peace, such as them, and that with some luck, they could forge a new schematic and plan to control the European territories together in their newfound alliance. Foreign powers were not often taken in by those of the European empires and families unless they proved to have wealth, power, influence and anything else that could bolster their own standing.

How wrong the Maximoff twins were, to think of such pleasantries like children with an over imaginative mind for wishful thinking. To believe honey-coated words. They were revealing their hand of cards to the dealer before it was the right time.

She and Pietro only glimpsed at the surface of this opportunity, they didn’t take care in looking into the depths, they blindly ignored your advice to consider what was being offered. They had no elders to hit pause and test them, to let them properly judge the situation accordingly.

The only means of guidance the twins were offered after the death of their parents did little in doing the right thing. Blubbering messes, hidden agendas, so-called family friends that failed so miserably in their job to counsel the Maximoff heirs. Trusted members that swore they would do all in their ability to protect the interest of the family, blood and business all.

It then fell into the palms of your clawed hands. Hands that were often healing bruised and splintered knuckles if not blood stained. It was up to you to rectify their mistakes. To provide the support of being a shadowy advisor, because of the scolding looks you were given whenever you tried to voice your own opinion at the sit downs.

The ideal scenario of meeting with the Rumlows also implied that you were nowhere in the picture when the negotiations went down. Yes, Wanda and Pietro both agreed that your presence would only push Rumlow to refuse the deal, along with their desired terms.

Did they truly think that he wouldn’t agree under the silent oath that he would later turn on them, your presence there or not? Rumlow was the dagger in the cloak.

That’s why you were not in the car with them when it happens. But you were tailing behind them, to ensure that they were safe. That was your job, your purpose to be with the family, to protect them. And thankfully, given your experience, you knew something was off from the very start.

The black, winding street lined by the green foliage of woodland is shrouded in darkness, Rumlow’s men are convinced that this was the perfect spot for their ambush to take place. Their cars formed a blockade in the direction the SUV was driving through, the white lights blaring through the thick shroud of night, a thin and constant blanket of fog muffled their black silhouettes. They appear more ghost-like than they really were. But they were very much real.

Wanda continues to scream for her brother, pleading with the suited men to let him go, but they don’t. Instead, they laugh and joke while Pietro is beaten into a broken, bloody mess. His face is cut and littered with dark welts that contort his features, a hideous display of the brutality that could have been avoided if they just listened.

She tries again and again to pull her leg from the tight wedge but cannot. When the car rolled, it sealed her fate, locking her in place to endure the cruelty of their consequences.

You hear her shout for you then. Her voice, shrill and raw with desperation, she wills you to be at her side; unexpecting that her words seemed to be a work of magic when the large, muscular frame of your other side leaps from the canopy of trees and bushes behind her.

Rumlow thinks he is the only beast that none can trifle with. His memory is lacking or perhaps he’s purposefully blocked out the incident.

The men who are your now sworn enemies are caught in the frenzy of their panic, alarmed by the swift form that tears Pietro’s attacker into shreds in seconds, his blood rains down like a storm, covering them and the dark road illuminated by the streams of light.

From Wanda’s trapped place, she cannot help the swell of admiration and hope in her green eyes, the men cower before you as you protectively stand over Pietro’s unconscious body. The threads of her vocal cords are tightly constricted under the influx of tears that mist her eyes, making them faintly shine, yet she prevails to utter your name in the midst of her shock. To see that you actually came for them.

Like a guardian angel. A guard dog.

The fiery orbs of your amber eyes haunt the darkness and even so far to reach Wanda’s soul. To behold the gaze of such anger, she cannot even pray that those targeted by such hatred find rest when their bodies have grown cold and lifeless.

It is one thing to test the fury of a man. It’s a completely different story when one tests the wrath of a werewolf. As far as the reputation of your collar goes, you don’t take kindly to your enemies, as expected, nor are you known to be merciful towards prisoners. If they intend harm on those that are under your protection, they will die.

In the amber fires of your eyes that bare the gateway to the underworld, she sees that deeply driven will to protect. She finds comfort in that notion, that you are here right now, already one man torn to pieces, and several more to join him, she releases the breath in her chest like a floodgate as she utters, “kill them all.”

The large outline of your muzzle dips obediently and you turn your sights to the men sent to kill the heirs to the Maximoff Family. No mercy. There was to only be blood and carnage.

Your towering height only drives the stakes of primitive fear further into their hearts as your bloody jaws pry open, bellowing a baritone howl that freezes fauna and flora both, terrorising their once moment of harmony.

One of the men shouts orders to the others, his words die on the junction of his Adam's apple when you strike an arm forward. Your claws puncture first and followed by the digits of your pawed fingers, he chokes around the intrusion, and with an equally viscous tug you tear the cords from his throat.

Claps of gunfire echo with each flash, bullet after bullet try in vain to penetrate your hide, some find more prominent purchase while others ricochet off you and clank against the bloodstained road with false promises that that single bullet would be the one to bring you down.

For a family allied with the very facility that made you the ruthless killing machine - a family who have knowledge of their fingertips - they were greatly under prepared, sorely lacking the equipment needed to cause you any real damage.

One man gains a surge of bravery or stupidity and he runs at you, gun in hand firing until his magazine is emptied before he knew it, you see his very life flash before his eyes as you raise your opposite arm up and sweep downward. His scream is cut short when his head is shredded in half and blood gushes in oozing streams, he falls with a meaty thump to the ground.

Two men armed with shotguns empty their barrels, reload and fire again, the process repeats itself. It’s the middle one that awakens that predator drive in you when he turns and makes a run for it.

You run at the two men and dispatch of them, claws tearing through their suits and divulging the contents of their stomachs, their internal organs now unguarded by the crushed remnants of their bones, they topple free and onto the ground at their feet. Their legs are quick to give out as shock wracks their bodies, hands shakily attempting to pull their innards back in with little hope of succession.

The final man who now flees the scene wheezes, and quite loudly at that, firearm disarmed when your jaws clamp shut around his forearm and tear the limb from his shoulder with a squelch and a bone-breaking pop.

He clutches at the deformity of his missing arm and his hand is soaked with his blood, the wound leaves a trail to paint a streaky, black line that now shines under the uncovered moon; taking a leisurely peek through the veil of obsidian clouds.

You can tell that the shock is getting to him as much as he tries to carry on, he’s becoming weaker. He now stumbles like injured prey, exactly what he was to you in this moment, whimpering as he drops to the road with a helpless grunt.

He’s desperate from how he crawls from you. You slowly stalk behind him with some level of intrigue, head cocking to the side and your ears twitch against the blowing breeze, you snarl lowly when he turns to peer up at you.

“P-please!” he shouts weakly as you flip him into his back with minimal effort, “d-d–don’t! No–!”

You make him suffer for the trouble he and his fellow men put Wanda and Pietro through. You make the agony last, something that goes against the natural instinct to end a poor animal’s suffering; it was broken out of you in that facility.

You maul to hurt people. You kill to hurt people. All things natural and that bring you closer to that connection, that tie that binds you to the balance of nature, was ripped out of you to mould you into an obedient pet.

An animal that follows orders. The duality between wolf and human, both were equally broken in.

His screams of horror and agony tear through the night until he couldn’t anymore, his throat tired out from screaming to whatever god he held faith in, your teeth rip into his bowels and chest, flesh and bone minced into chunks of paste and blood. He now laid bare with the entirety of his midriff destroyed. The light in his eyes now faded.

The threat is now neutralised, you realise and swiftly you turn and trudge back to Wanda. When you reach her, she’s managed to just wiggle herself a little ways out of the open door frame, fragments of glass dig into her palms until they draw blood, mere droplets in comparison to what you drew from Rumlow’s men.

“Y/N,” she whimpers quietly in relief. Her face is scrunched tightly with a hiss as she attempts again to free herself, a strangled cry of frustration is what it takes for her tears to break free.

Your ears are pinned far back against your head at the sound. Brutally self-beating in her vulnerable state. You reach forward with a growl, you shove the leather seat forward and with the mechanical gears popping, Wanda’s leg is freed. You help in dragging Wanda out from the car, Your nose is wet and hot against her skin when you press it to her, inhaling her scent as you sniff her over for any potential injuries.

“I’m fine,” she assures you but the wrinkle of your muzzle tells her you don’t appreciate her diffusing the matter of your job. “Pietro!”

Wanda pushes herself to her feet with newfound strength. She hurries to her twin brother and rolls him onto his back, a gasp on her tongue, you hear her breath hitch in her lungs while she takes in the sight of him.

Her next move is hesitant but she has to know. She dips her head, turning it and presses it against his chest, her hand covering the deep cut right at her nose, the iron scent of blood fills her senses and her face winces.

The lively thump in his chest is silent.

“I knew this would happen. I told you, but you didn’t listen.”

Though with words so evident in their truth, Wanda finds them venomous and harsh to her ears, still in the grasp of shock, the loss of her brother is the final straw. Not only two years ago her parents were killed, and now another Maximoff finds themselves in the grave. She is the sole surviving heir to the Maximoff Family and their empire hinges upon her.

A burden, you feel, is crushing her from the inside as all eyes will now turn to her.

She sits on the edge of her lage bed with her legs pressed tightly together, hanging down over the side, hands folded in her lap in defeat. Her long hair shields her tears from you, when you glance up from your place at her vanity do you catch her reflection. A girl done in by the trauma. In the moonlight that pours through the window, her body is quivering in waves, mind and body at battle with overcoming the death of her brother.

You cannot help but wonder if maybe this is all your fault. Had her parents not been killed, had you been there to protect them, would she have been spared from it all?

She’s terrified. The grief that accompanies her loss doesn’t go unshared, you have your own reasons to mourn. Pietro, although a little too cocky at times, was a good brother and son who intended to change the playing field of your world. A young man who had a vision but ultimately was blinded by his ideas to see the world as it was, that there were those who saw different alternatives to get what they wanted.

And Rumlow was one of those people.

The heat of your body angrily laps at the streak of icy coldness of your blood when you hear behind you the shriek of a thousand tears, memories shattered into pieces, torn apart by the fragile thread between life and death and all the unfair tactics this life offers.

Wanda now screams into the palms of her hands, body caught in a violent spasm amidst the ocean of her pain. “H-he’ll come back any minute… he will, he’s just– just in a meeting–”

You walk slowly towards her and kneel down in front of her. “Wanda, look at me,” you growl and turn her chin up so her watery eyes meet yours.

“He’s gone. Rumlow isn’t going to play things out the way you both hoped he would. Think about it, he fucking almost ended this entire family tonight had I’d not been there.”

The delicate, plump shape of her lips part with a small and faint gasp, her eyes bore the slow realisation of what you were saying. Yet her eyes beg for you to take back what you said. To offer her an escape from it all, to just tell her what she wants to hear; not what she needs to.

It’s unfortunate news to her as you shake your head slightly. You cannot let her fall into the false dream that everything was alright. Like a bandaid, you have to rip it off. She had almost been killed. Had you not been there, after the men dealt with Pietro, they would have gotten her too. The thought of it causes an unwelcome shiver to run up her spine.

“Rumlow aims to snuff out the entire Maximoff Family in order to gain territory. And he’s not going to stop until he’s put you in the ground too.”

How could your words be so hard to hear but equally so right in their conviction? You were trusted by her parents, someone they considered part of the family despite your otherwise humble dismissal that you were just a guard to the family. They considered you equal to their standing.

And Wanda waved off your warnings as if you didn’t have a clue. Hell, she doesn’t even know half of what you had to endure at the facility. The horrors of your time growing up in that damn place are accounts you’re not overly excited to share with anyone.

“Wanda,” you say her name to draw her unfocused eyes, to bring her back to you, “you’re all I have to protect now. I swore that I would do everything in my ability, and I will. But promise me, you won’t do anything like that again.”

Your eyes hold her attention, firm and unwavering in the looming silence between you. She feels her heartbeat race a little quicker now as she becomes lost in the certainty of your protection, the caged beast beneath the surface, she nods. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sigh heavily as something finally eases the tension in your shoulders, you let them drop lower and bow your head, face inches from resting in her lap. Her fingers comb the length of your hair, soft and drenched from your quick shower to rinse off the blood that clung to your fur.

She lets her head dip as well and soak in the scent of your shampoo, a strong smell of pine, something naturistic, compared to the one she used. Not at all the scent she would peg you for with your rough exterior and stoic personality.

But that was all a front. Time and time again she’s seen a side to you that you keep away from others. A tenderness you reserve for her, even your claws tend to be drawn back whenever you’re just in her company. Much like they were now, she marvels at the sight of those sharpened tips that you use as a weapon, as they now reduce back into the nail beds.

Other than that, all she got to see was your dominating and intimidating stature, tough as iron front, letting all know that she was under your unwavering protection. That you guard her.

Your head rolls up and your noses brush against each other, breaths mingling together in the miniscule gap between your lips, an inch apart you would have considered inappropriate before. But that was when you were unsure and reserved, humbly turning down any sort of praise and keeping your feelings locked away in some dark corner of your heart.

Before you came to realise you were in love with her.

You try to calm the rapid increase of your heart rate as if somehow she is still in the clutches of immediate danger, that at any moment she will be taken from you. Her lips, so plump and full and kissable, ghost over yours in silent contemplation. She knows just as well as you that this teeters on a fine line, that this can jeopardise everything between the two of you.

And nobody could know. A werewolf guard and the heiress to one of the largest and well established criminal empires in the world, if anyone found out, it would cost you both everything.

What terrifies you is the thought that you could lose Wanda at any moment. The constant what if questions.

‘What if I were unable to prevent her demise? What if I fail her?’

“I just can’t lose you, Wanda.”

You shake your head at your own words, their meaning so plain and simple: a confession.

“I promised your parents that I would always protect you.”

It’s like she could see through the cover up. Yes, you did swear yourself to them that you would protect their children, their daughter, but you also used it as a line of defence. To save face from the awfully timed confession.

“They’re gone, Y/N. Swear it to me.”

Her hands cup the shape of your face, the pads of her thumbs soft, delicate against the contours of your features, the tiny and healed scars that littered your face alone, the rest of them were hidden beneath your clothes, how her simple touch calms you and makes you more alive than ever. Her touch is a revival. For once, you’re given the reprieve you long for. To feel trusted wholeheartedly. Loved.

Your hands run up the sides of her thighs until they pause right on the rise of her rear, your fingers grasp firmly and tug her that little bit closer, your forehead pressed to hers and that amber glow shines brightly in your eyes in the dimly lit room.

“I swear it.”

Your lips come together as two separate forces once held far apart for too long, now the pull draws you both inwards to the other, magnetic and electrical. Passionate and hungry. You waste no time in sharing one another’s taste as your tongues glide and entangle amidst the heat of your kiss.

Her fingers rake through your hair and tug on the roots, earning one guttural of an animalistic moan from you, the sound results in a wetness to pool between her thighs, and you can smell her alluring scent. Your hands knead her arse, your tight grip possessive as you have her in your grasp, after all this time.

You’ve done many horrible things in your long life. But Wanda drowns it all out. For a moment or more, you are free of the guilt, the shame, the fear of being capable of hurting her. You’d snap the next man’s neck or shoot a hundred bullets into a corpse without so much as a sweat. But you’d be damned if you laid a hand that intended harm on Wanda.

And that’s why you swear to her now, that your loyalty shall remain intact. Because you have killed for her. You will kill for her.

It came with the job but now it comes with the instinct, the desire to have her as your own.

Then again, that was the light of your soul, what little there was that isn’t eclipsed, the faction of your humanity and questionable morality, talking.

ACT II: ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE & WAR

ONE WEEK LATER

The party was hosted in honour of Pietro, a final toast and salute to the young male heir, a dear boy and treasure lost in the battles of struggling power. Many of the European mobsters respected the Maximoff Family, and would attend the party to pay their respects forward.

However, Pietro’s death did not only shake the foundations of the criminal underworld within Europe, but overseas as well it would seem. So when mobsters from the Americas attended the honorary party, to say you were more protective in regards to your duty to Wanda and the Maximoff Family doesn’t cut it.

Tony Stark and the band of his notorious brotherhood swagger in, Tony wearing a brighter shade suit than those of his company - who at least took greater care in setting their palettes to the familiar dark shades of mourning - the bright pink of Stark’s tie makes something seethe inside the pit of your stomach.

The disrespect of Pietro’s memory makes your blood rush and the wolf inside is itching to unleash itself right there and then. You can just tell he’s stirring up the party on purpose, no doubt to get the attention of Wanda, and your assumptions were correct when Natasha joined your side.

You took to seeing over the guests from the upper balcony that circles the lower level of the great hall. Your eyes narrow and zero in on the American group of gangsters the moment they walk in, not too long after their arrival does Stark lead them over to the bar, the server working double time to fulfil their order.

Natasha follows the target of your gaze and smirks. “You’re burning holes into them with your eyes.”

She sees the amber hue dissipate, but only slightly, the lowly embers ready to become a roaring fire once the right fuel is added, to be devoured by your anger. “They’re here for a foothold.”

You only hum, the sound is short and dismissive. “They’ll behave themselves and ask for nothing, if they know what’s good for them.”

“Stark has already sent an inquiry forward to have an audience with Wanda,” Natasha says and you finally look at her behind the hardened scowl, set hard into your face like stone. Your grip tightens on the glass nestled into your palm, the sound of a fragility splintering in your hold threatens the iced liquor of becoming a wasted mess on the floor.

You take in her appearance, red hair short and styled into wavy curls, makeup neutral for the most part, save for the shadowy appeal around her eyes and full lips painted in red to draw attention - even yours momentarily - to them.

She takes notice of your eyes wandering her body from head to toe and she playfully quirks a brow. “See something you like?”

As if to test your resolve, she arches her back ever so slightly, her already short, black cocktail dress rides only higher, leaving little to the imagination. The work of art is already standing there beside you. Once you would have leapt at the opportunity, but not anymore. That was the old you that would have instantly pulled Natasha to you and smacked her rear until they were red with your handprint, whispering in her ear all the ways you would deal with her teasing.

But the new you stands above that. You’re loyal to one woman and one woman only.

With an unamused shrug, you take a swig of your liquor. The taste rolls over your tongue with a rich, burning sensation.

“Not interested, Romanoff. I’m a changed wolf.”

She chuckles at that, head tilting to the side with a cheshire grin. “And here I was, getting all dolled up for you. What a waste.”

She juts her bottom lip out and you roll your eyes, gaze falling back onto the scheming mobsters below.

“Maybe not. You can always use your skills down there,” you nod your head in the direction of your eyes, “and convince them to back off.”

“You can’t always protect her from people like them. Sooner or later, she will have to engage in business deals, and you can’t keep her hidden in her ivory tower forever.”

“Not forever,” you correct sharply, “just until Rumlow is dealt with and she has recovered from Pietro’s death. The last thing I want is for her to be taken advantage of.”

What you’re asking of her is laughable to her by the way she quietly cackles beside you as if you told some hilarious joke. “Naw, Puppy, are you letting something show?”

You shake her head in response to her nonsense, you won’t be baited into feeding into what she alludes to.

“You know, I hate how it’s expected of us women, when our means of support is taken. Now that Pietro’s gone, she’ll be expected to marry some rich overlord or some don.”

That makes your blood run cold and skin turn searing hot. The idea of Wanda marrying someone like that isn’t what you want to be thinking about right now, no matter how true Natasha’s statement is, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your tongue runs over your top teeth, a fang manages to nick the moving muscle, drawing a few drops of tangy blood to join the tartness of truth.

You bite back your next comeback, the muscles in your cheek clenching tightly like coiled springs ready to snap under the pressure, she and Tony both are equal in their game to piss you off tonight. Nobody wants to see a werewolf snap, even those who think they do, they’re quick to see the error of their ways. But Natasha always found the thrill in that, in her little games, she was always doing something to rattle your chain.

“Just do that for me, yeah?”

“And what if I don’t?”

She teases you again, bending one leg forward until her thigh brushes the centre of your groin. Her eyes are half lidded in her mission to weaken you, to break you in, and in this case you’re not taking a single liking to the notion; that someone is still trying to achieve what another has already done, too far gone in your head that it’s a fried mess of pure disturbia.

Your other hand curls around her bicep and you drag her towards you and spin her, pushing her back against the pillar next to you. She stares up at you, eyes wide and hopeful in their longing to watch you crack, your lips curl into a sneer.

“You don’t want to find out.”

You push her away from you, taking great care not to be so rough, lest she falls back and stumbles in her black high heels, she scoffs with a wave of her hand. “Alright, alright, I was just fooling around. I’ll deal with them.”

With a gust of a snort through your nose, you nod and take your leave after draining down the rest of your drink and slamming the glass down on a nearby server’s platter as you strut off. You pay no mind that the force you restrained only prior with Natasha had transferred over and the glass shattered upon impact with the metal tray, glass clattering and ringing like a steady beat of a drum.

Your little show with Natasha proved to be quite the performance to the American mobsters who occupied the seats by the bar.

You didn’t want to doubt Natasha, but you held some mistrust in her task to do as you asked, the matter more personal than practical to the business side of things, but you wanted to seek out Wanda.

You couldn’t blame her for lingering back from the party for the time being and drown herself in the sorrows of isolation.

But particularly after Natasha brought up the case of marriage, you had to seek Wanda out. Your fear is irrational, fearing that somehow someone who played the part of some wealthy don or overlord was with her now, down on one knee and presenting her a ring as they asked the question.

“Will you marry me?”

You all but force the door open with a thrust of your arm, the hand on the doorknob wary of the strength you forced to choke it with. You’d been so deep in your messed up head, you actually thought you heard someone’s voice ask the dreaded question.

You catch your unhinged jaw in the act, about to scream your objection before Wanda has a chance to either accept or deny, but she looks up at you from her place behind the large, dark wooden desk, the sacramento green leather only brought about to highlight her form.

She gives you a look of expectancy and beckons you in with a gentle wave of her hand and inviting, sad smile. “Y/N, please come in. Is there something to report?”

You shake your head in response to her question as you walk into the office - her office - but you believe that it was also to shake the intrusive thoughts in your head away. With a sigh of relief, she lets you involve yourself in her space and become accustomed to whatever strikes your fancy.

You walk across the way towards the table on the opposite side of the room beneath the large window, curtains tied back to reveal the onslaught of rain and brewing storm clouds. Even the heavens were crying over the loss to the Maximoff Family it seems.

You hit yourself with the stronger alcohol, tip the decanter and pour the rusty brown liquid into a short whiskey glass. You all but slam the decanter down, this time you thankfully avoid smashing it into crystalised shards.

Wanda turns her head in your direction. “Everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” you huff as you stare out the window, brows knitted together and you take a sip of your beverage. The burnt taste is stronger than the drink you acquired at the bar, but it does little to quell your troubles and bring about that soothing buzz that warms your chest.

“I take it you received Stark’s inquiry?”

“I did. And I assume, by the way you’re aggressively scowling, that he’s here?” she answers from her place at the desk. You take another gulp from your glass, lips pulling back into a thin line. Your eyes become thin with a glare, the stare awfully predatory with warning.

“Yeah.”

She stands from her seat and wanders over to where you are, the long skirt of her dress tightly fits her silhouette, the ruffle slit along her thigh provides some relief for movement, you watch as she carefully approaches you.

Her naked hand reaches up and with a touch so delicate in its pure nature to soothe, you lean your cheek into her palm with a rumbling purr, the sound brings a smile to her lips as you’re lured by the touch you were deprived off for most, if not all, of your life.

How can a mere touch be capable of healing the disturbed fragments of your tormented mind for but a moment? But just like that, the illusion of your wishful thoughts is shattered. Your tone is sharp and cuts straight to the point.

“Wanda, I strongly advise against it.”

“I-I know, but listen–”

“No, you listen!”

Wanda gasps aloud when the shackles of your mind threaten to snap right there, the mentality of a previously caged animal losing itself to the mindless blur returning for the fraction of a few seconds, you pin Wanda in place against the table you stood by, glass rattling together violently from the force behind it, your arms cage her at both sides. The second time she becomes trapped without the capability to escape.

She has no choice and is forced to watch a darkness creep into the blazing hellfire of your glowing eyes. “Men like him are dangerous. They are the definition of what makes a man untrustworthy. If you choose to see him, then you may as well have Rumlow be walking through the front door as well.”

“I think I can handle a few men in suits, dog.”

‘Dog...’

That was a fine line being crossed. She’s never called you that before and the shrinking of her pupils leads you to believe she regrets letting the word slip out. You can’t begin to dig up the memories of those old bones, the unidentifiable names and titles that stripped you of who you were. Your teeth ache from the pressure that compresses them together like metal plates of a vice, the muscles beneath eyes darkened by exhaustion, they twitch in recognition of the heat of tears.

Quickly, you squeeze them shut to hide the shameful level of care she'd see. The embarrassment you carry for that more than professional fondness for the heiress. There are just some things that are unable to escape you. In some form, either by something you do or by someone else’s hand, it triggers the past to return and hits you with a punch to the gut, forcing the memories back into the forefront to torment you.

Through a battle of grit you push aside the conflict that makes your head swim and dizzy. “Will you think that way during or after he has you pinned like this, as he and his men have their fill of you?”

It’s the question that makes the penny drop. One that doesn’t need an answer, you don’t want an answer to.

“Because believe me when I say this, Wanda, that I have bore witness to too many women who said very similar things and ended up as the victims at the dealing table; not the victors. All the while, I was ordered to sit. Stay.”

The number of times that shock collar went off to prevent you from protecting those women have only blurred together. The victims became faceless and shielded by the black behind your eyelids. You wouldn’t watch. The one luxury within the sea of evil your prior masters afforded you.

The striking green of her narrowed gaze widens, the act she portrays to exude confidence and power - qualities expected highly of her more than ever now - they drop within an instant of your words that shatter all hope. Words that bring about the monstrous turn of reality, the world infested by such evil that it plagues all who come into contact with it. You as well, counted as both the victim and driving force that instigates it.

She sees the recollection of something dark and prominent dominate your eyes, watching the dying embers of amber come to life like fire. Your dark pupils once lingering in the shadows of your thoughts stare Wanda down, right into every inch of her young, and all in all, untouched soul; while also having never left her alone to begin with. She feels the notch of fear bounce in her lungs. Threads of rubber bands quivering, at any given point ready to snap.

You’ve never given her reason before to be scared of you. But now, you both anxiously bask in the uncertainty of that now.

These were stories you had no thrilling interest in sharing for the passing of time. Oftentimes you’d rather take a silver bullet to the heart and be done with it all. But then who would protect her from the monsters?

Monsters who only needed the skin on their bones and the horrendous intention behind their actions to do unspeakable things that violate, destroy and corrupt.

The dread brings death to the liveliness that Wanda can only bring, a unique source that shimmers in her brilliant eyes, a green hue you knew you were enraptured by the moment you met her. She can’t even bring herself to say anything, to question you and what those eyes have had to endure before the Maximoff Family took you in; sheltering you for what you thought would be just a little while. But no, they took you in. Gave you a place to belong.

Before the Maximoff Family, you had served numerous other crime lords and the like. As a loyal hound tethered to their leash, you obeyed every whim, every command, no matter how heinous it made you appear; a feral animal at the ready with the simple utterance of an order.

You knew how these people did their dealings, how they operate and scheme. You’ve seen men getting gunned down across the table, women taken advantage of, and prisoners with sacks over their heads begging for their lives before their slaughter; by your hand or by that of your boss.

Wanda would be tested and prodded by the elders of the criminal underworld. And if they can see it can be done, you know they won’t hesitate to make her one of those women who were bent over and taken on the very table meant to guard their interests and forge alliances.

You refuse to let that fate befall Wanda.

So you take it upon yourself to educate her a little on the matters of criminal diplomacy and negotiations. You push yourself against her until her front is flushed to yours, her breasts having no space but to brush on your chest with every deep breath she takes. Through her dark lashes that bat at you with dark innocence and longing, the colour of her eyes forces a groan to tumble over your bottom lip.

“Still think you’re capable, Kitten?”

Your core is a fire that warms every part of her being, she’s drowning out the sorrows with you as her addictive fix, all that she can think about is how you create that electric charge that shocks her nerves and causes that wetness to pool between her thighs once again. The reverberating and husky texture threaded that gives your wolf a voice makes her head swim.

How that voice would feel against her sensitive, swollen bud as you devoured her, carnally and without restraint. To truly succumb to your beautiful nature and have her the way you would want to. Your nose burrows into the arched curve of her jaw and neck, her perfume hits your senses first, smelling of lilac and vanilla but beneath it, her natural scent hides.

She takes longer than she would have personally liked to answer you, the blurred haze of her mind frazzles any attempt to utter a response.

“I-I… I just thought that maybe he can– he can help us find Rum–LOW!” You bare your teeth against her neck with a low growl. Her body flinches against the wall of your body.

“Quit with the stuttering, and let’s try that answer again.”

A hand grasps hold of her face, fingers firmly pressed into the skin of her cheeks and forcing her gaze upwards. You’re leaving her with little to no choice. You remove your hand when her head moves within its grasp in a nodding motion.

The arch of your brow rises slightly as you wait to hear what you know that must be made known. You want her to admit it. “No.”

“Better,” you drawl, teeth grazing the plains of her warm skin, you can very well taste her but you crave more. Your hands hold her by her hips and your fingers dig into her, sure enough to leave bruising behind.

“Shit, I need you…” She’s on you in a flash of a second, lips hungry in their mission to ravish you and invade all thoughts you had prior, filling your mind with only her. Wanda’s legs leap off the ground and circle your strong waist and your hands support the extra weight you carry, the slit of her dress parts to reveal the tantalising prize of her thigh, in which you curl your palm around greedily.

You shuffle back, allowing your heightened senses to guide you back until the back of your calves butt up into one of the accompanying, sacramento leather sofas, you drop yourself into the cushion with Wanda straddling your lap.

Your lips latch hold of one another, caught in the erotic dance that shuts out all imposing forces. You use a hand to handle her and roughly pull her closer, fingers becoming entangled in the roots of her red locks. Her front rhythmically rocks into you as your clothed bodies try desperately to reach one another’s skin.

Fuck, how her body fit so snugly into yours and so perfectly, it’s like she was made for you. That somehow, Mother Nature herself, ensured that Wanda Maximoff be the only woman to belong against your body, to make your lungs burn with great fervour and stir the strongest instinct to protect. The fitting piece of the puzzle you never realised you were missing until now. Like two marble statues carved, you’re infused together, the bond of carven contact intimate and soul binding.

The call of something distant and past, a faint memory once far lingering behind reaches through the veil and beckons you to entwine the separate threads of your souls as one.

Your tongue darts out and teases her top lip. She moans, soft and deep, she parts her lips for you and you slither the eager muscle in, running it over her own, she moans again until you swallow the noise. Her fingers are clawing, clenching the fabric of your suit jacket until her nails scratch at the threaded seams, head tilting to the side as her hair falls onto her exposed shoulder.

Her taste is divine, hypnotically venomous that leaves you craving more with every passing second. Her core that’s now buzzing in her aroused state, she whines at the friction of your pants digging in between her thighs. Just as you, she craves more.

She drinks down the vibrations of a husky purr crawling up your throat, she lets out a small noise that all but has both your hands on her arse in an instant, tugging her impossibly closer while she continues to grind away; core against fiery core.

Her left hand trails down the length of your larger body until it rests over your groin. Your head dips back against the sofa’s back when she palms you, rubbing you firmly through your trousers. The muscles in your torso strain and flex, pangs of arousal shoot to every nerve end in your body.

“But maybe they won’t dare touch me if they know who I belong to,” she breathes out when she has a chance to break away from your lips, before a high pitched gasp is ripped from her chest. You buck your hips up, harshly to rub her sensitive bud through her panties, the sensation drills her further into lustful madness.

“Wanda,” you warn between clenched teeth, “that’s quite a few important men I don’t really feel like cleaning up after.”

“Imagine our relief.”

Yours and Wanda’s head snap in the direction of the voice. American, a hint of the borough of Brooklyn, and his eyes a cold, harsh winter of blue. He stood there at the entrance of the office alongside those of their criminal brotherhood, tall and broad shouldered next to a man who matched his height and physique, his own hair short and blonde but eyes very much the same; a reflection of something icy in his blue orbs.

James “Bucky” Barnes and Steve Rogers. You recall their faces. Not only theirs, but the others too share the same form of recollection, that of a dark skinned man, hair shaved back and facial hair styled similar, clean and simple. He too is equally broad across the chest as Bucky and Steve, his dark eyes ever haunted with that looming glare meant only for you.

To Sam’s side is a lithe shaped personnel, long, raven hair grazing to his shoulders and slicked back behind his ears, pale skinned and pointed nose, and of course, that wide and toothy grin that spoke one language: trickery.

Amidst the wall the four men form, adorned in their dark, three piece suits, was Tony standing front and centre, his short brown hair slightly brushed in an unkempt manner unique to him. He was a hard man to miss in a crowd when you think about it, in his extravagant suits and auburn tinted glasses.

They stare at you and Wanda, caught in the compromising position you find yourselves in, their eyes smirking and accusatory.

A deep, hostile growl rattles loudly into the air, laced thickly with silent tension, and Tony raises a hand up. He leans his shoulder and Natasha walks past him, a smirk of her own plastered on her lips. Her eyes, green and dark like the woodland canopy, portray the power she now holds over you. Of course, she would do anything to ensure Wanda’s dignity remain intact, but yours; she could have some real fun with you.

Natasha always favoured the power struggle when you both treated the other as nothing but a reliever of stress. When the dynamic of your relationship with Wanda hadn’t been so intimate.

“Well, to think I was actually correct that you were letting something show back there,” she chuckles and you tug Wanda closer to you, lips contorted into a snarl, “I don’t think you’re enlisted in your paperwork as a certified breeder, or that you’ve been granted your freedoms pass, Wolf.”

“Y/N?” Wanda questions with a whisper, her brows pinched in her confusion. You cannot bear to look her directly in the eye, just catching her stare from your peripheral.

You growl again and the flicker of amber brightens around your obsidian pupils.

“Natasha–”

“But Stark wants a deal. I advise we hear him out, don’t you agree?”

The room gathers silence like dust as you gather your racing thoughts and reel them back in. However much you despised the clean up, now seems like the one and only chance you have to keep this as a tight lipped secret. You would deal with Natasha on your own afterwards.

But Wanda beat you to it as the skin beneath her palms quivered and grew flaming hot to the touch, she had to draw her hands away lest you burn and blister her skin.

“Okay, we’ll hear you out. But my guard stays.”

“I believe they’re more than that, but very well, they’ll stay.” Tony huffs a haughty chuckle, nodding as he kinks his fingers in sign to his men to follow his lead, to approach you both. Wanda slips out of your lap and smoothes out any crinkles in her dress, chin tilted down to avoid looking up at the mob boss as he stalks closer to her.

She feels vulnerable, far more than she would have liked, the surge of confidence she had prior to being caught - that naive hope - of getting the upper hand vanishes before her very fingertips. Despite the power of Europe to sustain her as the top Family, she’s revealed her hand yet again to the wrong sort, the dangerous sort.

The sort that can now utilise you and her as a form of blackmail. The society of criminals as a whole finding out about this would bring a tidal wave of backlash towards Wanda, she would be hindered greatly, maybe even lose support and thus, the empire of the Maximoff Family would crumble into ruin.

And if Pierce found out, then there was nothing stopping him from dragging you back to that facility. Natasha is correct in regards to your paperwork. You’re no free dog. It darkens your heart to think that you never have been and most likely you never will be.

Seeing Tony stand in front of Wanda, testing the boundaries of her personal space, he intrudes and you immediately stand on your two feet and meet behind her, your firm front grazing against her back. Your hands ball into tight fists and the claws come back out, harshly they bite into your palms.

That bright light of amber never once threatens to go out like a singular flame of a candle. It’s a shadowed threat to them that the wolf is just beneath the surface, staring them point blank in the eye, you witness the faint, fiery glow reflecting in their own eyes.

Wanda is warmed by the heat of your body behind her, she almost finds herself leaning into you but refrains. She must remain strong in front of these men.

By the venom in your voice and the scarred recollection of something horrific past, she couldn’t underestimate these men, and especially not now. Not after what they’ve seen.

She gestures for them to make themselves comfortable. A tactic she picked up from her father whenever he conducted business, the non verbal form of communication to guide fellow associates and company to relax themselves.

Your eyes momentarily leave the tinted shades of Tony’s glasses, his eyes meeting yours after he sent a cheeky wink to Wanda, and your eyes narrow sharply when you spy Natasha coming around behind one of the sofas. With a baritone levelled hum, you catch Wanda’s gaze and you cock your head towards the desk, telling her to get behind it.

It was a matter of ensuring she wouldn’t be in such close proximity with the mobsters, that if they dare to try anything, they have several feet to cross before they can even reach her.

Wanda does as you indicate and with her head held high and shoulders dropped back, she struts to the large, red wood desk and takes a seat; once the men have taken theirs.

‘Good girl.’

A ghost of a smirk crosses your features. You’re proud that she managed to pick up on a thing or two, given the position you’re both now caught in, she’s going to regain some of that stolen power. She sits in the tall backed seat, the dark green brings her even brighter shade to shine and almost ominously. The wired wall lights fuel the room with a dark orange halo, but the storm outside grows bolder, thunder begins to roll in to fill the void of silence.

Each of the four men occupy the four sofas and Natasha lingers between Steve and Tony, she’s like a cat lounging happily, body poised against Tony’s sofa with darkened grace. And still she wears that prideful smirk. Your jaws clench hard, the familiar ache of your vice-like strength makes itself present and the muscles in your cheeks strain and flex.

You join Wanda’s side, a clawed hand rests on the back of the seat, but unlike Natasha’s relaxed pose you take to carrying a sense of duty and responsibility - chest puffed out and shoulders straight. You’ve seen these very men and more of their own brotherhood operate in sit downs before. Letting your guard down is not an option.

“So,” Wanda clears her throat and all eyes fall to her, “am I right to assume you want for a foothold in Europe?” You’re both amazed by how well she’s holding herself in front of Stark and his captains, but another part of you dreads how long she can keep it up for.

“That’s right.” Tony smiles wide with a nod of his head. “I understand that the loss of your brother has struck quite a nerve among the European Families. We wish to lend our support to you and aid you in finding Rumlow. As far as I’ve heard, he has mysteriously gone silent since the attack.”

“But at the price and percentage of the Maximoff’s empire and holdings,” you cut in sharply, tone bitter from the audacity Tony dared to flaunt. He was a blood and power hungry tyrant hidden in the guise of a peacock, strutting around with his colourfully crime-stained feathers - accomplishments that weren’t lacking admiration by many.

The men before you each glare at you in warning to keep yourself in check. They mean to challenge you, to restrain you and remind you of your shackled status, just like the others that scorned you for doing what was not in your job description.

But Wanda doesn’t allow these men across the seas to get away with such iron-glad judgement.

“Quite right, Y/N,” she praises, eyes bearing the form of daggers, “I cannot just simply agree to your support without knowing the finer details. Terms must be discussed, gentlemen, and I will not leave this meeting with no clean water in my basin.”

You feel the corner of your lips tug up at the flustered, annoyed sight of Tony and his men. Bucky and Steve glance to one another, the pure intent for murder springing to light as a bright flash of lightning blinks through the window. Loki looks to Tony, tight lipped and tongue to the cheek of his mouth in contemplation.

Are they figuring out that the foundation of their newly gained power is beginning to struggle? Fuck, you hope so.

“Then we’ll make our terms known,” said Sam with a danger-laced purr, “as a start, we want access to trade outposts and warehouses from Russia to Romania, as well as along the coast of Italy. On top of that, our asking price is fifty percent of the Maximoff holdings and shares, forty percent of earnings from the black market - twenty percent commission if the supplies are manufactured or supplied by us - and thirty-five percent earnt from legitimate business pools.”

You and Wanda spit in unison, “As a start?”

They really were coming straight in with the big guns. Tony usually was direct, but had a way to honey the words into better luring in the fish. Sam, however, was more abrupt and bold in his demands.

“I’m able to provide the necessary warehousing and trade routes for them in Russia,” Natasha affirms from her place, sharing a look with Tony. Was this part of some elaborate scheme?

As far as you could tell, Natasha was on board with keeping Europe completely clean of the American mobsters and criminal empires. What changed?

“No, that– that is too much…” Wanda’s stumbling over her words. She’s beginning to let those cracks show and you can see the telltale signs that the wolves are now closing in. Bucky smirks, dark, shoulder length hair casting a shadow over his bright blue eyes, nodding as he observes the ever faint breaking in Wanda’s resolve.

“I have holdings in the military that rivals Rumlow, and as far as I’ve investigated, you are fundamentally lacking within the weapons trade and already, you’re beginning to be cut off from your intel and extortion resources. Really, the only reliable bird you have to your ear is this stunning fox,” Loki says with a hand gestured to Natasha, who waves a hand at him.

“We have gained a surge of supply and demand for our weapons, thanks to me of course, and if you agree to our terms, I assure you that you’d want for nothing ever again.”

You cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes, a sliver of amber visible within them. As much as you would like to announce the man a thief, for being the likely one responsible for your out of pocket trades with weapons, you think better of it.

‘We’re not known to be saints at our roots. Our foundations are built on thievery, murder and extortion.’

Tony Stark is a brilliant minded man when it comes to manufacturing products and supplies, both for the public and the underworld. He had quite the gallery. But even then, he wanted for more. He wanted plots to further his expansion.

‘What if he asks…’

You swallow down the poisonous bile of wrath and disgust climbing your throat. No way in hell would you allow Tony to drop to one knee and live. If that is even his goal to ensure this alliance sticks.

More and more, Wanda slinks away in her seat, shying away from it all as the walls break further under the pressure of this attack.

Tony puffs his chest out, arrogant that their plan is working and weaving its way into the folds brilliantly, with Natasha there as a vouching card in their hand of cards. Steve and Sam both lean forward slightly and Loki grins again, pearly white teeth glistening and taunting in the ice blue haze of another lightning flash.

Thunder rumbles in, louder than before, providing a baritone and ominous tumble of beats. The tension grows thicker and Wanda sits back in her seat, mouth agape in her dissipating will to remain strong, fearing that she’s truly trapped herself and her hands fiddle together under the cover of the desk.

Something stirs within her core that pulls her green eyes to yours, slightly overstimulated and red with a glisten of tears, she’s telling you with her gaze alone that she needs your help.

She needs her guard to protect her.

With a furrow of your brow and hard pressed line of your lips, you assure her with a nod of your head. Wanda became painfully aware that she has to pass the reins over to you in this moment before it’s too late.

Natasha’s face instantly drops before the initial change. All she had to witness was that plea in Wanda’s eyes and that obedient nod of your head, she straightens in her place, almost submissively shrinking away.

The structure of your face begins to alter, morphing until the skin shreds around the protrusion of a long, canid snout and sharp fangs, Long, straight ears twitch from the brief moment of muffled noise, the fur on the nape of your neck mimics that of your hair and blends down the slope of your growing spine and outward stretching of your shoulders. You’ve grown several feet taller, if the men before you who now pin their backs to their designated seats had to guess it, they would have to summarise to at least eight and a half feet.

Your clothes become ragged scraps that fall to the floor, and what little still clings over the form of your body is shredded at the bends of the fabric.

Fur covers skin and a thick, bushy tail sweeps down to the wood panel floors, your body contorted to accuminate a thicker layer of skin and muscle, fur in a thinner density cascades down your front, most of the fluff of it covering from your shoulders and down the back of your arms and back.

A sight to behold, you’ve changed into a monster to strike terror into the hearts of the mob bosses. Powerful men who know your weakness, who are most probably armed with that very weakness. But are they favouring their odds to make the first move?

An angry bolt of lightning illuminates the scene for them, your hackle puffs up and with a fold of your ears, you snarl a viscous and predatory sound straight from the bowls of your gut, your very fur bristles from the vibrations throughout your body.

“Unacceptable. Try again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Maximoff,” Tony says between clenched teeth, head tilting further back when you bend forward enough that your back stoops low and your larger head is at level with Wanda’s.

The pink of your bared gums is slick with saliva, the long tendril of your tongue comes between your teeth, licking over the top of your lip and nose.

“Put the dog away, young lady,” Tony attempts to order only for Wanda to shake her head, refusing to obey his order. A raspy snarl bellows in the hollow of your throat.

“No, I think I’ll keep the wolf out.”

Tony visibly squirms in response to this denial.

Wanda tilts her head and sensing her eyes on you, the burning furnace of yours glances back at her and she smiles. She’s finding that resurgence of confidence in the comfortable luxury of your protection. With you, she wants for nothing.

“As they said. Let’s try this again,” Wanda says with her voice renewed with strength.

“Come on, you can’t seriously think you can–”

“I think she can.”

Steve holds a hand of compromise up to cease the bickering on both sides of the deal. His eyes move between Tony and then you and Wanda. “We didn’t come here to fight, Miss Maximoff. But we’ve had this plan on the back burner for years.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Wanda interjects with a click of her tongue. Steve isn’t impressed with the sokovian’s accented sarcasm. With a huff through his nose, he continues, “your father was unable to be convinced. We had hoped that you may be better where he was not. We’re offering you support here, a life line, all you need is to grab hold of it and say yes.”

Wanda’s brows pitch down and she gives the captain a chilling scowl that dare he admit haunts him, especially when such a beast at her side leans evermore forward, at the end of its tether and ready to attack. Never has he ever worried about you before during sit downs in the presence of your former bosses.

They had their ways to keep you in line, the only time you would shift would be to kill some prisoner who had no further use and thus, no purpose to remain alive when privy to such information, or to maul a fellow gangster that didn’t see eye to eye on the table’s terms.

Had they now turned into that very man?

Right now, Wanda held a dangerous animal in her grasp. With one command she can set you upon them and they would become the mauled victims in the meeting room.

“Forty percent within the Maximoff holdings, twenty in the black market with a ten-to-ten split on commission to our own donated supplies, the other five we place into a shares fund that we both equally have access to but must come under agreement to use it,” he pauses and when he sees you both nod, he knows it’s safe for him to carry on.

“For now, we want the trade outposts on the coastline of Italy and within Russia. We can sort out the finer details for warehouses elsewhere and the like at a later time. When Rumlow is kicked out of the fold, we refurbish you with his estates, a cut of his holdings and you can have access to those as warehouses and your own trade outposts. Some connect to fine routes that make for excellent business opportunities.”

Tony looks to have sucked on a lemon, lips pursed and dark brows pinched together. Bucky and Sam share much of the same expression, Loki although, appears mildly amused by these adjustments.

You suspect that they had come together and agreed that they would not be swayed into lowering what they originally asked for.

But all in all, you and Wanda find that to be your middle ground. She looks to you again as if to see if you approve. When she sees you nod to her, she knows she can continue.

“Very well, I accept those terms.” She then lets her eyes flicker up to Natasha. “I trust that you do retain some level of loyalty to the Maximoff Family, Romanoff. So I will let you deal with the matter of your offer in regards to warehouses for our new… allies. But I admit, I cannot exactly wave you through freely into settling in Europe until Rumlow is dealt with. Permanently.”

Natasha nods to this, obviously in agreement with it. To what exactly her own intentions are in allowing them to have access to her own warehouses is primarily not your concern; your only concern is Wanda. But you’d be lying if you weren’t a little curious about Natasha's motives.

There is a cold bitterness in Wanda’s final word. The grief still comes to her, the death still so fresh to her. And she plans to exact her vengeance against those who have taken almost everything from her.

Although defeated, the men become more at ease, and with a wave of her hand, Wanda dismisses your overprotective stance. She stands up from her seat, finger pads planted on the smooth surface of the desk.

Everyone of the four men eye Wanda, dark in their curiosity of her next move. “Now, about Rumlow…”

Tony clicks his tongue with a finger pointed upwards, memory finally catching up with him. He too stands up and for a moment you believe he intends to come at Wanda, your body jostles into action with a deep, rumble of a growl that fades into the next chorus of thunder. Wanda is quick to usher your calmness, hands delicate as she strokes the fur along your back and over the crown of your head.

Tony slightly stumbled back on his heel but ultimately made it to the table by the window. His sights were set on the liquor. He helps himself easily to the fine brand of whiskey and downs a gulpful. “He was in America but he covered his trail. We cannot say for sure where he is.”

“So how can we find him?” Wanda asks to hide her groan of defeated annoyance. Tony peers over his shoulder, but his focus does not land on Wanda as you suspected. No. They land directly on you.

The way his eyes bear into you like that, it unknowingly unsettles you. You shift your weight on the four pillars of your limbs and your ears flatten against your head as Tony takes another languid sip of his drink, hissing in delight at the taste.

“I know that he has a business partner that knows where he is. He’s In Madripoor. You may know him as Vision.”

Why, of all places, of the single partner to have knowledge of Rumlow’s whereabouts; why did it have to be Vision, Madripoor’s criminal overlord of the drug trade?

Each muscle in your face is touched by the sting of something best left forgotten, memories you wish you could just shake, a past that you wish every waking moment would leave you alone. You choke on a whimper, the sound weak and hitched tightly in your throat, it causes you to wince in phantom pain.

“It’s awake. Vitals are stable for now.”

A doctor whose identity remains hidden behind the white mask over their face, hovers in front of you, studying you behind the bars of your cage, they’re a voice drowned out by the overstimulated sense of your hearing. The background is filled with a high frequency ring, the people around you move in a blur, faces only recognisable and in focus in the line of your tunnel vision.

“Another dose.”

“Let me out!”

“Sir, if we give it anymore, it may have unforeseen side effects.”

“Another dose. As you wish, Sir.”

“Just give them the injection.”

“Let me out!”

That face you recognise haunts you, you scurry further away into your cage but no matter how far you retreat, the back of the cage pushes you forward until your face is against the bars and inches from his own. Alexander Pierce.

His eyes marvel at the sight of you. He admires the near end product of you. His finest pet in the facility, the role model for the others, and a grand and valuable asset. But he needs this experiment to work.

Another face comes into focus and you cannot fight the roar that shreds through your throat. He ushers Alexander away for a moment, their backs to you as they speak, their words going unheard as another figure moves to block them out of your sight.

“Preparing the asset for injection of the serum.”

“No!”

A doctor approaches you and within the clutches of a gloved hand, they raise a needle high into the sight of your peripheral. The liquid bubbles in the tube, the white lights above blind your vision and make the serum glow a reddish pink.

Your muzzle is restrained, but nothing physical holds it shut, by sheer force are you trapped in place inside that cage.

You're carted out and laid atop a metal table, the surface is cold against your back.

“Vitals are spiking, we need to tranquilise the asset now.”

“They can take it. I know they can.”

“Let me out!”

The sting of the needle penetrates the thick layer of your hide. Your fur bristles, your heart pounds heavily in your chest and your mouth feels dry and hot.

Your body violently convulses. Muscles become strained and skin constricts you, like leather straps holding you down, your very own skin holds you prisoner. In your chest a scream is locked deep inside. Your leg kicks out in a desperate flurry to move, the act is only half successful before a cramp reels your leg back into a trapped status.

“Y/N?...”

All you can do is pant, loud and thick in the overly bright lab, it feels so cramped being surrounded by these blurred ghosts.

“I don’t want this!”

“Mr Pierce, Sir, it may not take to the serum still. It’s body fights it.”

“They can take it. I know they can.”

“Second dose of the serum. Rumlow, please stand by in case of emergency execution.”

“I never wanted any of this!”

Your mind begins to cloud and mist over, your vision turns a shade of that reddish pink, you can hear the unsynced rhythm of all the collective heartbeats in one room. Your muscles spasm in timed units of two minutes, three minute gaps in between your muscles fall lax against the table.

Your natural body heat increases and you feel as though you’re burning away. But you’re not feeling the desired effects of the poison now flowing through your veins. You writhe and shake against the invisible restraints.

“Let me go home!”

You want to go home. Where is home? You have no idea what or where home is but all you have is a feeling. A deep-rooted feeling. Is it somewhere far away from here? It must be. It feels long gone.

Home can’t be the facility. Not in the iron bars, not the metallic and clanky shackles that bind you in place, that keep you there against your will. Home doesn’t restrain you. It comforts you.

“Where is home?”

Your own voice echoes but nobody reacts. It falls into the deafness of the void. They refuse to listen to the asset of their experiment.

“Where is home?”

Home cannot be the cold concrete of your cage, or the moth riddled lights that paint only the centre of your cage in a sickly yellow tint. Your home is elsewhere but forgotten. Never seen by you. Never embraced by you nor are you embraced by it.

“M-Mother!”

Shock rattles you, your vision flashes white before that reddened tint returns over your vision. You see your mother opposite of you, laid on a similar table but she’s turned on her back. Her ribcage is torn open and exposed.

“You’ll be alright, Y/N. Just think of me and you’ll be alright.”

Her body is knocked to the floor and instantly, the world around you is swallowed up by darkness. You smell the dried odour of blood and rotten meat. Only that shitty yellow light flickers to illuminate her body. From the darkness you see the foul creatures leap out and tear her apart. Their eyes are whitened with madness. Their minds are tortured into a spiral of neverending want for carnage. Lost to the touch of their humanity.

She cries out, howling and yelping as they shake her apart, her body remains still throughout the attack. She cries out to you. She’s begging you not to watch, urging you to never see it happen. Try as you might, you attempt to claw your way towards her, to defend her. You can’t. You’re unable to protect her from those monsters. No matter how far you crawl, the back half of your body dragging behind you like dead weight, you can never get any closer.

“Ready the injection.”

“Vitals are peaking, we cannot risk another dose so soon.”

“We’re losing vitals, we’re losing it!”

“Ready the injection.”

“Give them a moment. They’ll pull through.”

Your back, laced sweat, arches up from the bed, a groan is on the edge of your lips but cannot escape. You’re fighting. Fighting and struggling against it, it will not let you go. You struggle about, rocking your body from side to side, your muscles fall loose for a few seconds.

You try to cease this moment. But then you’re trapped again. Pulled back into the mixture of torment.

“Y/N, wake up. Y/N!””

Everything is dark red, the erratic pulse of your heart flushes pink in time with each coursing beat, the voices are drowning in the song.

Your mother is strewn about the cage, the corners blacked out, bleeding into the void beyond.

Your breath stills as the yellow light shuts off with a whirring moan.

You’re back in the lab. Alexander’s hand grips at the fur along your neck until he’s tugging it harsh enough to rip it out. “Don’t you dare give in, dog. Embrace it. I need this to work. I’m counting on you.”

You just want your mother back. But she can’t come back to you. She’s gone. She’s taken from you. Has been for a long time now.

You grew up in that cage alone.

Suddenly you’re knocked off that metal examination table. You see a woman in the blackness of the cage’s corner. She weeps into the crook of her elbows, hands bloody and clutching onto the iron bars. Her feet slip in the inky, crimson puddle at her feet whenever she tries to pull herself up to stand.

Her naked body is covered in blood and marks made by claws and teeth. It’s… confusing.

“G-get away– f-from me! M–monster!”

A shroud of dizziness cloaks your mind and you stumble slightly on your hind legs. Your vision goes from dark to bright, unable to make its decision and commitment. You see now that your clawed hands are covered in a warm and thickened substance, crimson and smells of iron.

“Another failed attempt.”

��Mr Pierce, the experiment has ended in another failure. It’s body cannot adapt to the serum as we hoped.”

Alexander Pierce glares at you from the window in the observatory room. His lips screwed into a thin line and his brows troubled by the news. His fists clench together until his knuckles turn white.

“What did you make me do to her!”

“Mark them down as unbreedable. Gas it.”

The vents hiss with an aggressive poison clouding the cage. You can’t see through the green haze, your lungs slowly giving out the more you breathe in the gut wrenching scent of the gas. The taste is awful on your tongue and soon enough, you taste bile along with it. Your body lurches forward and you fall.

The woman’s face had been hidden, unable to make out any distinct features, to put a face to an unknown name. She lays ahead of you some feet away, the gas having killed her far quicker than you.

Her hair that you swear was once a chocolate brown colour is now brighter. Her eyes lost that light of life but you can make out the green shade of them, and that unknown face and unknown name is now identifiable, you can hardly believe who you see before you - with you - dead in that cage.

“W–Wanda…”

You cough and sputter as the air in your lungs becomes far too polluted to continue breathing. A low, sombre howl fills the chamber and your vision goes dark.

“Y/N!”

Finally you find the willpower to scream and it utterly terrifies Wanda, chilling her to the core at the horrific shrill and raw intensity that ensures your vocal cords are shredded and sore. The much needed reprieve that brings tears to her eyes and a hand to clasp over her lips to keep herself from sobbing aloud, all because you’re in pain, you’re suffering, and she fears she’s unable to help you.

“Wanda! Wan… Wanda…” Your shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession, chest taking in the fresh air that thankfully isn’t polluted by the gas, only the four walls that are now imprinted with your screams.

She crawls the small distance between you both across the bed. When she finally reaches your side she brings your head to her chest as she ushers you to relax, the rest to that scarred mind filled to the brim with horrors you want to forget. You can’t forget.

However, the world is still a little fuzzy, at least it appears that way, as if the fogginess followed you out of that world and into this one. You wish to call it a nightmare, and it was for the most part, but the most ghastly and haunting nightmares always stem from the evil roots of the past.

“Wanda… oh, fuck, Wanda.” You sigh in your relief and you don’t hesitate to pull her to you, face burying into her chest, absorbing this one good thing that is her - just her - before the claws of that darkness tears you from her; and you fear for good.

You can always feel yourself slipping. You’ve run, only to continue slipping, and you still run, only to remain slipping away. No matter what, you know you’re falling into madness.

It’s just a matter of time. You’re a ticking time bomb at this point. And you’re left to wonder, how will you protect her then?

“Shh, shh… I’m here, Y/N. I’m here,” she whispers against your scalp, lips beating down a warm breeze that begins to recharge you and make the fuzziness go away.

Is this home? It’s uncertain but maybe it can be.

‘Maybe she is my home.’

“It’s okay, not real, Y/N. You’ll be alright.” Your arms pull tighter around her, the words of your mother echo in the misty haze of your memory, tears prick at the corner of your eyes. She whines softly that you’re squeezing her too hard. With an uttered apology into her breasts, you slightly ease your iron grip so she is able to breathe.

You don’t ever want her to experience being at a loss for air, to never suffer the suffocation she had to in your nightmare. All you want for her is her safety. There is nothing else.

But this is war and when love is thrown into the fray and spied as a weak point, there is no level of fairness to what comes next.

ACT III: MIXING POISON WITH PLEASURE

A FEW DAYS LATER

Streaks of light reflectively race across the sleek, black coat of the escort car as it passes over the long draw of the bridge. Steve and Bucky occupied the driver and passenger seats, the tinted shield muffles the snippets of their conversation. Perhaps old friends reminiscing on memories, talk of minor business advantages, all of which you can only suspect without much confirmation.

Tony and Sam sit across from you with their backs to the tinted panel, leaving you and Wanda to be the target of their sharp and penetrating observation, done so in silence.

Silence that is broken by Tony taunting you, his new hobby since being stuck on a jet together for a few hours prior to the drive. “Excited to be going back? A lot of familiar sights and faces to get reacquainted with.”

Something in your stomach flips and your palms grow clammy, eyes fluttering from side to side as you chase to calm the unease setting into your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the question upon you.

Your eyes freeze when Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a faint crinkle in her brows prods you inaudibly for clarification. An answer to the mystery of your place exactly in Madripoor.

A part of your past that you left ambiguous and for good reason. Wanda’s parents were the only ones who had knowledge of your origins, so to speak. How exactly you made your exit from the facility and right into the employment of some prideful overlord.

“Not particularly,” you answer quietly, the answer dry on your tongue. Ice clinking together when he orientated his wrist to churn the liquor, Tony chuckles over the rim of his glass, the nervousness in your tone a dead giveaway to the truth of your feelings. Repressed to save face.

“You’re rather well known among the populace,” Sam chimes with a cold drawl. His eyes are thinned into a glare. “For reasons… Well, I’m sure you know why. Can’t say the same for her.”

His head cocks in Wanda’s direction and you feel that worry simmer more in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N, what are they talking about?” Wanda finally asks, voice strained by the betrayal of her hurt, the seed planted in her mind that she is some sort of outsider to the information that passes between you and the two men seated before you.

“It’s nothing, Wanda.” Your answer is fired too quickly to simply mean nothing. No, she knows you’re hiding something sinister.

“You know,” Tony sighs to conceal a gurgle in his throat, “I’ve said to Steve once that I don’t trust people without a dark side. But you…”

He utilises one finger to point at you, accusation at his fingertip, the ice clinks harshly against his glass now. “You’re the exception. I don’t trust you because you have too much of a dark side.”

Your brows pull down hard and your lips curl into a tight frown. You feel the animal stir below the surface of your skin. Your muscles tense until the skin begins to strangle around them. Outside, the familiar buzz of criminal life and night lights give away your location.

“And why exactly do you think I have too much?”

Your nightmare from that night comes to you in flashes. Perhaps Tony is right in his given reason…

He taps a finger to his temple slowly. “Because, I’ve found that Alexander’s werewolves always tend to be fucked up in the head.”

This underlying fact is not exactly news to you. But hearing it from another person, it begins to dawn on you. The slipping away. Your eyes falter until they see nothing but the toes of your boots.

Never would you think that you’d be on route to Madripoor. Back to the established territory of all crime, the residential host of the black market. A place which incidentally led you on the path you lead now, despite still lacking your freedom, the Maximoff Family did allow you some sense of it.

But you still weren’t in complete control of your life. When children mature, they’re expected to go out into the world and make a piece of it their own. When you matured, you were put out into the field and ordered to complete that task. And then another after that, and so on. Never given the chance to make a little piece of the world yours.

The world - the criminal world - made you theirs.

And because Alexander did a fantastic job in rearing an obedient pet, you were an expensive investment. Surely enough to continue pouring funds into the project that supplied loyal hounds into service. Last you heard, more and more werewolves came into demand after your rise of succession.

And a good part of it began here. Now Madripoor remembers you just as much as you remember it.

Steve pulls off to the side of the street, engine purring lowly, Bucky pats his shoulder before he shuffles out of the car. Sam pulls a handgun from the hidden holster in his jacket, checks over the magazine and slots it back in. Tony pours himself another drink as you, Wanda and Sam also exit the car.

“I’ll see you guys when you get back to the hotel. Try to stay out of trouble, dog.”

You rasp over the curve of your shoulder, eyes burning with that dangerous amber. Tony snaps his fingers at you to garner your attention. “Hey, keep the eyes from doing that. You’ll be recognizable enough, don’t let that get you pulled into a messy fight.”

You grumble in response to his warning. Like he’s ever been in a messy fight, too busy firing the gun when his assailant's back is turned. Wanda stands right next to you, brushing against your arm. Draped over her body is a long, fox fur coat that reaches the ankle of her black heeled boots. Her chin tucks into the soft textured collar to keep something of her identity unrevealed.

If she is discovered so early before you locate the man you’re looking for, things could escalate into that messy fight Tony wants you to stay out of. With a wave of his hand, the car pulls out and speeds off down the strip, leaving the four of you on the sidewalk, left at the entrance way that leads down into the slums of Lowtown.

It’s like Madripoor was frozen in time, everything is how you remember it. The dark and neon black market scene, stalls and cube stores packed with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the cluster of smaller gangs. The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

The only thing that has changed only serves to prove Tony’s case; there are more werewolves about. Beasts loyally shackled to their masters, bought and enslaved to obey. In passing, you spot a rather poor sight. You’ve seen gangsters put their skill into the ring countless times and a way to earn reputation and some cash.

However, now they’ve taken it further and put werewolves into the pits. The crowd enveloping the ring cheer and shout, arms pumping in their enthusiasm for their bet to win. Meanwhile, two wolves are pitted against each other. A male and female, her body is more lean - and dare you admit it with a gulp - scrawny looking than the male’s. He’s been taken under someone with finer living circumstances than her, better resources and care.

Bucky, Sam and Wanda follow your stern inspection of the fight. You smell their mingling scents of unease at the sight.

“So this is what Tony meant,” you sneer. Bucky and Sam don’t answer you but you just know that if they did, they would confirm it.

The male has the female pinned, she yelps and in a flurry of panic, she snaps her jaws around the bulk of muscle on his shoulder, her teeth doing little to rip into the flesh hard enough to get him to back off.

He’s enjoying the torment of her struggle. The way he isn’t rushing to finish off the fight, idle in his stance above her as he holds her down.

It truly sickens you. Humans can be a foul lot, corrupt in their ways of seeking entertainment to cure their boredom and wealth to cure themselves of poverty. But it’s all you know.

Even then, a deep-seeded growl emanates from you and rumbles the tension laced air around your companions when you see the male become aroused by the squirming female.

“Come on,” Sam says rather quickly and wraps a hand around your bicep, dragging you away before you do something that will get them into trouble.

Wanda gawks at the monstrous sight, the female’s whines and howls echo in her ears, perverting her with images she never wanted to ever conjure up while Bucky steers her after you and Sam with equal haste to his partner.

You take no leisurely pleasure in walking through these parts and it doesn’t help that you get questioning glances from the large variety of locals. You too follow in Wanda’s lead in keeping your identity on the down low, you use the high collar of your jacket to keep your features unrecognisable to the crowd.

Sam and Bucky tail behind you both with a lax swagger to their step, eyes taking in the neon and polluted scenery around them. The slums are where the amateurs and those smaller gangs operate freely and without much prejudice. Above the poverty, Hightown shines with the more luxurious affordability, belonging to the bigger fish, the real criminal powers.

And Vision has that power within that grasp. Up there, rubbing elbows with the grand gentlemen and dolled up women, mingling and gaining alliances under his belt. So why venture into Lowtown?

Because once, these streets harboured a terrible incident, one that now leaves your face smeared on for show as wanted. Because just down the series of lanes and roundabouts of corners, there is a divide between the common criminals and Vision’s depot, because it also operated as a factory.

“So you’re not going to tell me anything about what was said back there?” Wanda asks. You tilt your head and you catch the sharp incline of her raised brow, her eyes piercing through the veil of your clouded, troubled thoughts.

“Not really something I want to go into detail about.” She huffs at your response. Ever the one to avoid the topic whenever the subject revolves around you.

It’s little wonder how she knows what she does about you. “So you have some sort of history with these men in particular, you have some estranged connection with Vision and with Madripoor, and to top it all off: Tony doesn’t trust you because of this supposed… dark side. What is it you’re hiding from me, Y/N?”

She’s getting assertive with each word as she walks in stride with you, eyes glaring up from the curtain of her hair, still keeping her chin as low as possible. Your lip curls up to reveal sharp, elongated canines.

You rasp coldly, “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

There is a challenge in those green eyes of hers, unrelenting to be brushed off. After the connection you both shared, the way your lips were in sync with one another and how your bodies melded together in the heat of that feral passion and need. She thought you could trust her, to be more open with her.

It seems she was wrong.

“Don’t take it to heart, Miss Maximoff,” Bucky drawls from behind and a growl resounds in your chest, “Y/N is what we tend to call a wounded dog. Licking the wounds of their injured pride because they can’t afford to let anyone in.”

“And on top of that, they end up all fried in the head,” adds Sam with a venomous tune. You can just sense the dance of his eyes, brows high and cheekbones drawn down in his taunting.

If they were trying to get a rise out of you, they were succeeding much to the unwelcomed behest of your annoyance, maybe filling in for Tony’s absence. But if they intended to heed Wanda with a warning of who you were before your employment as a guard for the Maximoff Family, then you fear that this is also a succession in the making.

Wanda stops in place and turns to face the two men behind her, willing herself to not shy away from them or the way they tower over her. “You speak of my guard as if they are purely a mad-driven, bloodthirsty animal who has no grasp of the human they are. Wolf beneath or not. Show some respect or else.”

Sam and Bucky also stop, causing you to commit halfway in turning to look at the scene. Sam sighs as his eyes divert from the Sokovian heiress. “Apologies, Miss Maximoff.”

But just like that, the act switches and he gestures with a hand, a dark smirk on his lips. “But look at this. I mean, criminals are wanted all the same. But in Madripoor? My, that is one persevering poster. One mean lookin’ animal.”

You snarl towards Sam and Bucky as they guide Wanda’s sights to the screen panel that displays a photo of you. Written beneath, it states the price rewarded for your capture and turn over to none other than Vision.

100,000 Madripoor dollars.

Her gloved hand lifts up, her plump lips - lips that you want nothing more than to savour and taste against yours again - agape in their shock to find a piece to the mysterious puzzle that is you and your shrouded past. A past you preserve in the shadows and where she believes you intend to keep it.

Away from her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of your own fucking mind. A twisted and corrupt mind. Is what these men say true? Are you some wounded hound licking at the gaping festering scars of your past mistakes and vulnerability?

Her fingers curl forward, mere inches away from the display of your face, fingertips just caressing the digital profile of your jawline when a hand snaps hold of her wrist. The grip is tight and a gasp is torn from her lungs, eyes watery in their gaze as they stare into yours; that amber hellfire prominent beneath the cooler tones of the neon lights and grey tinted smog.

Your jaw is clenched hard. She’s really struck a nerve now, unintentionally, but still, another attempt at crossing that line leaves you with a bitter taste of something resentful. Ashamed.

“Let’s go.” You leave no room for her to argue. With a hand on the small of where her back is, your hand momentarily feels the true soft, silkiness of her coat, you push her forward to continue walking. Then your eyes lift up to meet eye to eye with Tony’s men, the two of them basking in the way you hide Wanda from yourself.

Twin smirks stretching their lips, they both chuckle in cause of their muted plot. Now you’re beginning to think they’re trying to poison Wanda against you.

“What? We’re just trying to help the two of you bond, being some couple and all…” Bucky hums with a shrug, blue eyes darting between you and Wanda curiously.

“We’re not–” You bite the words that become overthrown when Sam’s hand slaps your arm.

“Besides, it’d make an interesting story for the kids.”

They walk now, passing on either side of you like the haunting walls of a tunnel that locks you into that place where your nightmare meets you halfway, blurring it all together.

‘Fuck, I hate this place!’

You take one look at the wanted poster, eyes shadowed heavily by the furrow in your brows. That’s when an idea springs to mind. Your crazy and fucked up mind… with a crazy and perhaps fucked up idea.

“Yo, you coming or what?” Sam hollers out to you and you visibly stumble back a couple of steps, shaking your head of whatever came over you there. A sense of sinking finds itself in your stomach again.

“Come on, the depot is up this way.”

You briskly walk past all three members of your company, blatantly you avoid looking in Wanda’s eye, simply pushing her forward again, as gently yet urgently as you can muster.

At the end of the street and another few corners and you were where you needed to be. Behind the tall chain link fencing, the yard is crawling with security as expected, watching over the compound’s goods waiting to be loaded into the trucks waiting in the docking bays. Thankfully, the guards pay no mind to you, as if you don’t exist to them. Ghosts within the smog.

“So this is it, huh?” Bucky sneers with a visage of judgement. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

“Because this is one of his ‘private’ storehouses that also happens to be the manufacturing powerhouse of his supplies,” you retort over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you need to explain this to me again. You want us to turn you in for the reward money?” Wanda cannot believe what her ears hear. This will now be the fourth time you’ve had to reiterate your proposed plan of getting in.

“There’s no way they’ll just let us in. And if we sneak in, Vision will most likely flee. We gotta lure him in.”

“By using you as bait,” Wanda clarifies and you nod. She’s shaking her head, now in sheer, utter disbelief.

“No no, this could actually work.” Sam taps a finger to his chin, the gears in his head turning the wheels of schemes. “But if we’re going to do this, we gotta rough you up a little bit. Make it look like we’ve dragged you into the joint.”

Your brows arch in a way that expresses your confusion. “What exactly are you–”

Given no more time to question him, Sam strikes his arm forward into a left hook, and shit, did he go all in for it. The adrenaline in your blood pumps but not before the initial sting of the surprise attack hits you first. Wanda makes a noise between a gasp and a horrified shriek, her hands cup over her nose and mouth to muffle the sound.

“The fuck!” you spit harshly, biting back on the urge to shift right there and then. Sam had distracted you with his left and now he swiftly drives his right fist into your gut, forcing your back to the brick wall of the building next to you.

“Sh-shit, okay… n-now I get it…” Sam only nods with a shit eating grin and you’re convinced he’s enjoying this, soaking it in and will most likely brag about it to Tony and the rest of them.

“Come on, Buck, let’s rough them up.” Bucky didn’t need anything else to motivate him to join in, he steps around Wanda and at Sam’s side, he also drives a hard hitting punch into your stomach that causes you to keen forward with a groan.

Your head hangs forward and Sam brings his right knee up and butts your nose, splitting it. You grimace with a pained wince to keep a temperamental roar at bay.

Yeah, they’re fucking enjoying this.

You’re not even close to recovering, swaying on your two feet as a hand nurses the space between the bottom of your ribcage and stomach, you lift your head only for Sam to land a knock to the corner of your brow, temple buzzing a little. That’s when Bucky comes in with an upward strike, your lip busted in the fray of his blow.

You can only growl and grunt, having to further suppress the wolf below the surface so it doesn’t come back with an attack of its own.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Wanda hisses at the three of you. After a few more hits to sell the act, Bucky pulls his handgun free of its holster, racks the slide and puts it to your bruised temple.

“Adding a little bit of realism to the play. If we walk in and they’re not a little bit bruised up, then they’ll know something’s up,” reasons Sam with a glance to Wanda who shrugs, that scowl of her disapproval showing in all its glory.

The cute way her nose scrunches a little. Fuck, you can’t help but grin yourself with a breezy, husky chuckle, eyes sly as they look Wanda up and down. It must be the rush of adrenaline and pain that’s gotten you a little riled up.

“We have to make it believable,” you drawl, voice hinted with a lacing of sarcasm, but Wanda cannot help the way it stirs her core; nickname and all. Those eyes you’re giving her are doing things that make her cheeks become dusted with a pink hue.

Wanda shakes her head and she crosses her arms, firm in her resolve that getting the shit beaten out of you is a little more than crazy, in fact, she thinks it’s completely psychotic. No less, you weren’t given a fair warning in the beginning and now here you are, it’s like you’re getting off on being brutally beaten.

For you, it gave you a weird sense of reprieve. It took you away from the usual routine of pain and replaced it with something new - fresh - and it made you feel alive.

Much like when you shared a few passionate sessions of expressive want with Wanda. That kindling of being alive after wandering around, licking your wounds, feeling dead in a way to the world.

“I-I don’t think that was called for,” Wanda utters once her bottom lip is safely hidden beneath the fur of her collar. She’s shielding herself, her embarrassment and you can’t help the way the wolf becomes intrigued, head tilting to the side with that shimmer of amber passing over your eyes.

“If it gets us closer to Vision, then it’s worth every punch. Now come on, you looker, let’s hand you over to ‘em,” Bucky grins with a dark chuckle.

Your hand moves up to cradle your jaw, the scent of blood wafts into your nose and coats your tongue, Wanda’s heels clap against the pavement as she walks up to you. Her hand brushes along your hand and replaces it. She’s observing your face, a soft and troubled frown does little to hide the true concern from her orbs, ever so delicately glazed with a watery coat.

“I hated that,” she drawls with a strong and lowered lilt of her Sokovian accent. You can only find it within yourself to flash her a smirk.

“I don’t think this is the right plan. What if they actually take you away? Y/N, I don’t have any clue as to what’s going on here, but it just sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Wanda, you just have to trust me.”

There’s hesitation in her eyes, you can see it, conflicting with her want to trust in you, but how exactly could she just go along with this plan? She never saw it at the time, but now she knows Vision is a dangerous man, and whatever history you have with him makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. Who knows what you’re all walking into.

Still, she bows her head in agreement and you both tail after Bucky and Sam who weren’t too far up the way. “Are we ready?” Sam asks while Bucky repositions his gun at level with your head.

“Ready,” you reply and Wanda mumbles her own answer. With a roll of your shoulders, breathe in and out, adjusting yourself before you enter the lion’s den and then you let Sam and Bucky direct you inside as Wanda tucks herself to Bucky’s other side, a little distant from him.

“Hey, what’re you doing here? This is private property, you need to leave.” One of the guards stationed at the front gate of the depot approaches, gun in hand as he stares your group down, a few of his fellow guards also take a wary stance in your arrival.

Bucky cocks his gun against your jaw, tilting it up to showcase to the guard.

“We saw your wanted pet. Now we’re here to collect.”

The guard’s firm and sceptical gaze moved between the three before they settle on you, squinting in a moment of faint remembrance, out of knowledge by seeing your poster or because he was maybe one of the guards who worked here and remembers you by face, he gruffly huffs with a cock of his head.

“Yeah, bring it in. Take the stairs down when you get in and head through, the guard there will let you pass.”

The sound of a buzzer sounds off and it shakes your brain like nails on a chalkboard. The chain link fence rattles to life and slides open, the guard above loom as dark shadows from the white blaring lights behind them.

With a small mock salute, Sam passes the guard, following closely at his side now is Wanda and Bucky nudges you forward. You have to hand it to them, they know how to get an in. You distinctly remember seeing them bring in numerous prisoners and deadbeats who refused to pay up.

The guard wrinkles his nose at you and with a gurgle in his throat, spits at your feet. You almost break character with a laugh, dark and sinister before you imagine tearing him open until he’s nothing but bite sized chunks for the local street dogs.

The guard unlocks the door with a keycard and pin, the metal door hisses as it swings open. Entering the building and ignoring the way your stomach knots up, the pungent smell of iron, fuel and a hint the residue of the facility’s drugs suffocates your lungs and blocks your nose from smelling anything else, anyone’s scent.

You take the immediate stairs to your right, the hallway ahead blocked off, reserved as the onsight dormitory for security. Down into the depths of the factory, you walk the narrow walkway in the otherwise spacious room, rooms to both your left and right sealed off into smaller cubical styled holdings, protected under padlock and doors fashioned from old cages.

Old cages big enough to house something like you.

Another door is opened by the occupying guard watching over the room. He shares the same scornful look the first guard at the gate did, however, you pick out his features and identify him as one of the unlucky men who was caught in the crossfire. The side of his head closest to you and his jaw is mangled and flesh wrinkled, all down his neck before his vest and shirt cuts off the rest of the damage inflicted.

Again, you almost break character, but not because some guard had the audacity to disrespect your boot. No, it’s because of the memories in the lab you now stand in. It took Bucky a hard shove when he noticed your hesitance to cross the threshold. His need to remind you of the loaded barrel pinned to your jaw forces you to brave the nightmare before you.

The adrenaline, that smugness you airily carried. All gone. Your lungs give way to a shaken inhale and your eyes take in your surroundings of the lab.

It’s been a while since last you saw of the place, and nothing much has changed. No less the man in charge. Seeing him now, it really is a packing punch to the gut, your insides violently churn with a sickening swell of bile. This is an encounter you’d wish would never come to pass but here you are now, all to find out where Rumlow is. You had to stiff upper lip and face the broken record you left behind you.

But seeing him only makes this harder. Dressed down into a white, button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he stands with his back to you, leaning his weight to one side.

“Yo, heard you were looking for a lost pet?” Sam hollers, garnering the man’s attention.

He turns to leer at you four, blue eyes cold and malicious, pupils shrunken in the way of a madman and hair haphazardly sweeps past his ear, shrouding half his face in shadow. Lines form on the outskirts of his cheeks with a deranged smirk.

“Ah. You found it,” he hisses in glee, “I must thank you sincerely for this delivery.”

You’re brought forward at the nudging of Bucky and now you stand under the scrutiny of Vision himself. A man-made monster by his own devices. His upper body contorts to lean forward slightly, head tilting heavily on its axle to gauge your expression, to probe at your mind, just as he had done so many other times.

Furthermore, it does little to boost your self-esteem when he whistles and snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Are you in there, dog?”

You swallow without response. With a snort of amusement, he’s satisfied by the compliance of your silence; your defeated resolve to fight back - though he does enjoy a good show from time to time. To see the rage burn in your eyes like a fearsome storm of fire. One that swears to devour him in the flames of your wrath once you broke free of your shackles. A storm that never came to pass until that fateful night, but a storm that didn’t sweep him away into ash.

He directs his attention to someone else and only then does your upper lip curl into a snarl, a feral sound of an animal under threat, or in this case, Wanda being under threat, Vision sneers at your attempt to intimidate him.

“Always one with a temper,” he sighs as if reminiscing on those memories, like they were days of happier times. Perhaps they were to him.

“Wanda, it’s good to see you again after all this time.” He pulls her hand up to grace her gloved knuckles with his lips, the eyes of a predator drinking in the sight of her discomfort.

“Vision.” Her tone of voice is cold. Strict and aimed sharply as a dagger to penetrate the fortitude of his unwanted advances. Vision was never one to take a hint. Much like Wanda’s lack of knowledge of you, you were left in the dark in regards to her relation to Vision.

Now you see it. They at some point in the past shared some form of intimate connection. One that she inevitably regrets with every fibre of her being that uses her body to shield herself. She all but rips her hand from his grip, her other hand subconsciously wipes at her knuckles. Vision quirks a dirty blonde brow up in the face of her denying act towards his given affections.

To ease the infectious growth of humiliation on his part, he shoves his shoulders back and cocks his head. “Come, you must be paid for a job well done.”

He directs two guards, two of your own kind, rendered obedient to his command, to lead you away from Wanda, Sam and Bucky. She’s mortified once your presence is eliminated from the group, leaving the three of them alone with Vision.

Bucky and Sam are quick to catch the wary glare you cast their way, a low threat to not abandon you there, to not let this play act go too far; the last thing you want to do is fall back into that pattern. To have Wanda be subjected to just a taste of what ordeals and trials you had to endure.

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother. He had a bright future ahead of him.” Vision’s condolences die on the tip[ of his tongue, turning into ash that rots away any ounce of sincerity for her loss. She cannot bring herself to respond verbally.

Wanda is moreso driven apart from you by Vision, his hand a little too close to lingering too low on her back, the sight of it forces a growl from between your clenched teeth, the two guards overseeing you snarl in your direction.

Obedient pets to him, twisted into a falsehood of loyalty. Wolves corrupted by the unfortunate dealings of their upbringing. Much like the ones in the fighting ring, like you, they don’t lead their own lives. They do as they’re told. They obey.

Following where the drug overlord ventures, he leads the three of them over to a far table in the corner, procuring a black suitcase. He hands it to Bucky.

“There we are, 100,000 Madripoor Dollars.”

Your eyes glance from the shackles to Sam and Bucky with narrowed eyes. Silently, through eye contact alone, you’re telling them to hurry the fuck up and spring into action, to get the situation under their control before things take a turn for the worst.

“Now, if you’ll be on your way, gentlemen–”

“We’d like to have the money recounted. Just in case, you know. Wouldn’t want the boss to feel cheaped out of our work,” Bucky snips suddenly before Vision could turn them away. He also notices the way Vision leers at Wanda like a salivating beast, no doubt he’d try to keep her with him as he practically booted them out the front gate.

This comes as a hindering surprise to the man, blue eyes glassed over with something void of any true human emotion.

With a nod of his head, he beckons over one of his assistants, and the summoned woman takes the case from Bucky to ensure the promised amount is all accounted for.

“What’s your whole deal with the mutt? Why pay such a hefty price for ‘em?” Sam questions, tilting his head in your direction. If they were here to divulge information about Rumlow, he wanted to make sure they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.

Vision turns to follow where the man was looking and a dark smirk crosses his lips. Your eyes glow with the animal’s boiling rage, a formidable sight to behold and marvel at. He’s missed having you as his lab pet.

At first, Vision is reluctant to share his thoughts, however, something that is unreadable to your observant gaze, his smirk turns into a wide grin that causes Wanda’s complexion to pale.

“The Asset is among the very first of its kind to achieve such accomplishments. Paving the way for its kind. An investment with so much poured into it,” answers Vision.

“Would you like to see what my work entails?” His own question, laced in deranged malice, is met by three unsure visages.

‘What the actual fuck are they doing?’

Without so much as a word, Vision is herding them off behind a large control panel, screens displaying all sorts of data and diagrams of humanoid and werewolf anatomy. “As I am sure, you know I was partnered with Alexander Pierce for his little project.”

“Was?” Sam sneers in confusion.

Vision nods slowly. “Yes. After… numerous trials ending in failure, Pierce cast me aside. Told me that my work wasn’t good enough, that for all my progress with the serum, the desired goal wasn’t meeting his expectations.” He pauses to calm the venom behind his words. His eyes glare at the screens before they rise to meet your harrowing stare.

“Prepare it for trial exposure to serum SX-P,” he commands his workers, lithe fingers jabbing expertly against the keyboard.

“So why exactly did Pierce get rid of you?” Bucky asks now and Vision takes a moment to cease his actions and turn to look at him.

“Alexander’s campaign was relatively new and industrial to begin with. At first, potential investors weren’t convinced that werewolves could be rendered ‘tame’ to serve as liable enforcers and guards. There was a lack of trust in his project—” Vision began before needing to pause, the sound of your irritated growls bouncing off the four walls of the expansive lab as you’re led by the guards.

They shove you down to sit on the horizontal, metallic surface that centre’s the room. But you’re not going to make it easy for them, play acting or not. You thrust an elbow back, colliding into one of the two guards who stumbles back with a pained howl, hand nursing their broken nose that weeps with blood, the other guard retaliates with the butt of his gun. Your head lurches to the side, further damage to your already busted lips runs down the side of your chin.

His partner comes around for round two, fist raised high to land a blow to your contorted snarl, but Vision reels him back in with a single command. “Enough! I need it in as good condition as I can get it.”

He glares at one of the nerve wracked doctors. “And put the muzzle on the damn thing!”

The guards pin you down against the table and restrain your wrists and ankles in the shackles bolted down into the table.

Wanda is beyond the conceivable thoughts, utterly repulsed by this dark crater she must know festers in the world. That this treatment is inflicted upon you - and perhaps countless others - she looks to Sam and Bucky. Both of them mirror each other’s stoic expressions and tightly clenched jaws.

“We have to do something,” she whispers just enough for Sam to make out.

“As I was saying.” Rattling his throat of any vocal hindrance, he combs his dishevelled hair back. “It was vital to raise an exemplar to the species, to garner investment support. Thus, the animal before us contributed to that. But when the investors learnt that we didn’t have enough stable minded werewolves, it was cause of another concern. Given my expertise, Alexander then came to me… and I tried. I really did. But each trial failed, each match was torn to shreds.”

Your eyes meet Wanda’s, the tearful glaze that wavers beneath the fluorescent lights, your troubled brows only deepen into a scowl when a doctor procures a muzzle. It’s not familiar like the leather and metal barred one Vision often used for you, this one was crafted for a nefarious purpose. The guards tug your head back to keep you from engaging the doctor, their hands work swiftly in snapping the contraption around your mouth and the base of your neck.

That is when you’ve had enough of this charade. This is when you decided here and now that Vision will pay for all those years of fucking around with you, tormenting you, provoking you without giving you the chance to rectify the errors of his arrogant ways.

The moment that muzzle went over your face is when the game field changed. Your muscles strain and flex, body violently convulsing in your struggle to break free, your claws growing longer and clawing divots into the metal beneath your palms.

Alarms and panic ensues. It all moves in a tight framework of blurriness. Rage has blinded you to this point.

Wanda’s screams echo over the fog of your hazed and crazed mind, layering over into a morphing choir, other voices are muffled. All you can recognise are the two forms of something similar to your own towering one, their ears pin back and their snouts curl up to bare their teeth.

In a matter of seconds you're tangled between the two wolves, clawing and maining at their flesh until blood paints the polished floors, a racket of gunfire disturbs your ears. The nape of one of the guards is in the clutches of your jaw, you twist harshly and snape the elongated bone of their spine.

The second pushes you hard, bearing down on you with clawing fists and gnashing fangs that tear into the flesh and muscle of your shoulder and upper arms.

More gunfire blinks and sprays into your vision, white spots in the heat of your vision. Your hind legs arch up and kick the second guard off of you, their body flying back into a heap of equipment that combusts into a show of sparks upon impact. Workers flee in all different directions, more guards from the outside flock into the lab in a blaze of bullets.

Some penetrate through your thick hide and others aren’t so fortunate. Your ears twitch in response to Wanda’s voice, she shrieks your name, your head whips around in the direction to see her behind cover, Sam at her side as he takes shots at the guards.

“Look out!”

Her warning comes a second too late. A bullet fires at your shoulder, clean and true; an entry and exit wound. Your eyes momentarily meet Vision’s, a handgun of pristine gold flickering in the distance he kept from you. But your moment to strike is thwarted by the familiar reddish pink now shrouds you in a thick cloud.

The scent burns your senses and stings your eyes until the word wavers before you, your muscles fried and you’re choking on the smell of each chemical and pheromone in the gas. You roar amidst your stampede, chaos of tossing anything in your path aside. There are screams, pleas for mercy and shouts to shoot to kill; despite the conflicting order of Vision to keep you alive.

By now, the blaring alarms set off the emergency lighting, the once white lights darkening into a shade of red. Wanda calls your name again and again. You can’t see her through the tinted colour of the gas, your tail sways wildly from side to side, skin growing far too hot for your liking, you yelp in discomfort. Your body slumps against something that clanks together as the world around you spins. You grunt and snort to blow the burning scent from your flaring nostrils to no avail. Another fired bullet and hiss, and then a forceful gust of the same gas sprays directly over your face. Your howl as the agonising sting it causes, irritating your skin and fur, your clawed hands swipe at your face.

Your lungs feel like they are weighted down like iron anchors with each intake of air. You hear Vision laugh from above and your head snaps upwards, seeing him reign high above in his victory, from his place on the looming platform.

“But I figured it out, dog. Like all things natural to a wolf, it needed to be exposed just the same.”

His blue eyes beam wide in their amazement. Their admiration. You rear back as a shattering cry of a roar bellows from deep within your chest. Saliva coats over your gums and teeth and sweat has already begun to seep into your fur.

Vision gives a gesture of a mock salute before he dashes away, Sam and Bucky far too late and miss any shot they could have landed, the overlord making his escape.

“We gotta get outta here!”

“Where are we gonna go, Sam? There’s this fucking gas everywhere and—” Bucky cannot exhale another word, set off into a coughing fit.

“We have to find Y/N!” Wanda shouts to the two men.

She’s gaining higher ground. Her heels clatter against the metal framework of the platform. “I’I think I see them,” she calls out, head darting left to right, arching to see the dark shape before it sinks away into the reddish mist.

She continues to search until she is no longer able to. A scream is torn from her lungs when the platform shakes and jolts her forward, hands grasping the railing before she’s thrown over.

You stalk towards her with each step you take threatening to break the now unsteady frame you both stand upon. The once familiar glow of amber now feels strange to her, like she doesn’t recognise you - shouldn’t recognise you - and yet she says your name all the same. It’s the only thing that’s the middle ground now.

She backs away slowly and you continue forward until you arch forward swiftly, hands snatching hold of her, she struggles in your grasp. “Let me go! Let me go, Y/N!”

You growl in warning to her, the sound rumbles like booming thunder, she can feel it even through the thick layer of her coat.

Your nose buries into the crook of her neck, ignoring the way she squirms about in her resistance.

“We’re coming, Wanda,” Sam’s voice coughs from below, his shoes hitting each step hard with Bucky not far behind, skipping one step to reach you both quicker.

“Get off her,” warns Bucky with an arm raised, gun aimed at the bevel between your hellish, animalistic eyes. Eyes that he sees no humanity within.

You raise your head high to snarl at the intruders. There is little to remember or recognise, all that you feel is the need to kill and something more, something that stirs within your core. Your hips move to grind against Wanda, angling them to soothe that growing ache between your thick, powerful legs.

Wanda whimpers and that’s the last straw either man can take. They open fire and give Wanda the opportune moment to break free of you, she pushes away from you; but not before one of your hands snatch hold of her collar. She falls forward but Sam catches her before she can fall face first against the creaking metal, dragging her further away from you.

Bucky continues to rain bullet after bullet. The constant bite of the attack eventually deters you and your form moves, crashing through the side window of the lab. Glass bursts in a flurry and all that can be heard by the trio is the baritone howl that fades into the night.

Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket and lifts it to his ear when the call is received. “Steve, tell Tony we’ve got a loose collar problem.”

“Well, that could’ve gone much smoother. Now we have a sexed up hound on the loose.” Tony presses the glass to his temple with a huff in his low of defeat. Only Steve could have an idea how many drinks he’s had that night and he’s beginning to look a little rough for wear.

Bucky and Sam were in no top shape either, the two of them nursing their own bruises and scrapes in the fight to escape. They’d done well in keeping Wanda out of harm’s way, but as for them, they paid the price for it.

The tired sag beneath his hazel orbs. It makes her wonder just how bad this spanner in the machine is, how it affects Tony so.

Without her coat, Wanda is left only with a sense of unease, the article of clothing lost to the clutches of you; a missing you. She continued to replay earlier events over and over, trying to pick out and decipher each little detail’s meaning.

Vision obviously had a goal to win back Alexander’s favour. The abandoned project could have been yet another scheme to bring in profit, as Vision clearly made his intentions known.

He was after profit in the breeding ring.

“So regale me with the synopsis again: Pierce had Vision create a sex pollen engineered specifically for werewolves to then use on Y/N, however, it failed in the past until now, where you believe Vision has succeeded. That’s what I’m hearing, right?” Tony paces the kitchen now, pupils shrunk and hand quivering in the restraint of his outburst.

“Basically down to a T, Boss,” confirms Sam with a tilt of his head. Tony runs a hand down his face as he sighs audibly.

He takes a moment to reabsorb this information, Bucky grunting as he shifts his weight, having taken to laying on the couch. He took a werewolf arm to the stomach that flung him across the lab. In his books, he was deserving of a little rest.

“So how do we find them?” Steve asks after another moment of periodic silence. That’s when Tony’s eyes slowly float over to Wanda, that flicker of realisation dawning in his eyes, he lifts a hand to point at her.

“Where’s your coat?”

Wanda is chilled by the way Tony draws attention to this question, its nature a mystery that begins to make her head churn and her stomach flutter; and she isn’t sure in what way exactly.

“U-uh…” Her eyes dance between Sam and Bucky, uncertain to give her answer, but when Sam nods his head to her, she breathes in deeply. “Y/N took it. They… snatched it off of me, th-they tried to grab me but I slipped out. That was right before they fled.”

“Oh, well then, that solves our little lost dog problem.” The mob boss breathes an air of sarcasm to fan the flames of his words. But it also pulls everyone’s eyes to him, confusion visible in each of their own gazes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wanda asks and Tony chuckles dryly in response, eyes zeroing in on Wanda’s.

“It means that we can stay put. They’ll find you.”

Wanda isn’t sure what to make of it. Wandering down the hall to her separate apartment, Tony’s words play over the backdrop of your acts of slaughter, your actions of violence and aggression and primal desire. When you snatched a hold of her coat in the lab, she could sense it, that need to have her beneath you, to ravish her wholly without consequence or regard for anything or anyone’s order.

Having her within your grasp was an exotic experience. She felt the power you possess in its entirety without needing to experience every single level of it. She could just tell it was there.

‘They’ll find you.’ Tony’s words repeat themselves for the millionth time.

All she can think about is you. Where you are, if you’re alright, and how you’re coping with that pollen running in your veins. Tears coat her eyes in a blurred, wavering curtain. What if you got yourself killed?

No. She cannot think like that. She won’t think like that. But can she help it?

Still trapped in her mind with the troublesome thoughts and endless unanswered questions.

It begs one of the questions for her, how Tony can be so sure that you will find her, and how her coat had any relevance to his statement. His warning.

Soon enough, one cruel thought only breeds another. Vision’s disturbing fascination with his drug trade, with the sex pollen. It just makes sense - all of it - in the city of dark and neon. A criminal’s haven.

Something in the jumble of her scattered thoughts told her you didn’t consider Madripoor as a haven. What she saw in your eyes back in the lab; a raw and bone chilling expression of fear, she has only left to suspect that you see Madripoor as a prison.

Her chin wobbles slightly at the thought of you going through years of that hell and torture, to be trapped without anyone there to help you. To save you.

The city isn’t even an impressive sight to her. It’s poisonous, built on ruin and lies, betrayal and dirty money. What’s worse is that she’s lost you, some part of you, because of this fucking city. This cesspool of despair, destruction and corruption. Werewolves of a varying amount now dwell in those other towering buildings - hell, perhaps even in the same hotel as her - and below in the streets of Hightown. In the slums of Lowtown. And you’re somewhere amongst it all.

All because of those who used and abused you. For profit.

All Wanda can think at that moment is to just see you. To be near you. All she wants is for this to be over and to go home with you.

Everything she could ever want, she sees in you. She just wants you.

But Madripoor has taken you from her. Swallowed you up in the festering dark and neon glow. A wolf lost in the haze, with nothing but that desire to want. And maybe, if Tony is at all correct in his fearfully made assumption, you’re a lost wolf with a desirable appetite for her.

It almost feels like some dark, wet fantasy of hers. To believe that the only reason you have her coat now is to track her down. Because you want her. Her skin is plagued by a sudden chill that makes her spine tingle.

She takes a moment to bring stillness to her negative and lust spiralling thoughts to dry the unspilled tears as she finally arrives at the door of the apartment. Withdrawing her key, she unlocks the door and enters.

The room is dark, left to remain cold in the vacancy. Or so Wanda thought. Closing the door behind her and pressing her back to it, it takes her a moment to regain her strength and composure before she pushes herself off it; only for her back to all but smack hard against the door again. Her mouth fell agape and eyes widening.

Even in the unlit space of the common area, the neon haze of the opposing buildings floods in through the wide panel windows. But none of them compare to the sharp amber of your eyes hiding amidst the darkness. The lethal regalness of the true born predator that uses this element to their advantage. The common area is a mess, furniture torn to shreds, miscellaneous decorations littering the floor and the walls, canvases to long and jagged claw marks; a lot of them. You’ve practically left no space left safe in the chaos of your outburst.

And your large form is at the centre of it all.

“Y/N,” she breathes out, breaking the silence between you both. Your eyes flitter up to meet hers from your previous interest point, the accumulated bundle at your large, pawed feet. Blankets, sheets, pillows and anything else in your wolfish mind you deem comfortable to lay on the floor.

Wanda’s eyes move over you. Were you… building a nest?

Your amber eyes burn into her soul, the pit of radiant hellfire focuses on her with primitive hunger. The sight of her against that door makes your core become plagued by shockwaves of agony that disperse downwards, turning pain into an empty void of pleasure that moves downwards, to the aroused mound at the juncture between your powerful, muscular thighs. You could do some very damaging things to her up against that door.

And there she sees it, her coat clenched tightly in the grasp of your right hand. So Tony had been correct in the end. You used her coat to track her down from wherever you’d escaped to, only to then follow her scent here.

The heavy pound of your weight on your pawed feet moves closer to her, the article of fox fur discarded to the pile - or what she presumes to be a nest - and she’s soon cornered.

Muscles ripple beneath fur, the colour of it always a delicate sight Wanda found herself often cherishing. Soft to the touch, well groomed beyond the scars that litter your body, hideous marks that remind you of what you are. But to the hidden scope of Wanda’s own thoughts, you were the closest thing to sculpted perfection; the rough edges providing a ruggedness that many often depicted as ruthless and merciless.

But she knows that you use those sharp edges to protect her. To protect yourself.

“Remember me, Y/N. Y-you know who I am, l-look at me–”

Your muzzle wrinkles and you snarl, pink gums lined with long, sharp teeth bare at her in a display of what she perceives as hostility. She’s only begun to slide along the wall and away from the door before one of your larger arms thrusts forward. She yelps in surprise and flinches back, your other arm follows suit of the first, trapping Wanda between you and the wall behind.

Your maw extends down as a raspy snarl echoes in the back of your throat, the foundations of a monster with not an ounce of humanity left in the soul, her eyes are now coated with a hot layer of tears. “You know me, Y/N, I know you do! Look at me, remember me.”

She can’t even bear the thought to fathom the fates of the other victims. With Vision��s lack of details, it ended up being both a blessing and a curse. Now all she thinks about now is becoming another one of those victims. And how the aftermath would only break you.

“I remember, Mate.”

Wanda would celebrate in her relief, had it not been for that single word. Mate. Goosebumps form over exposed skin, her breath hitches in her throat and she cannot refrain from the needy moan surpassing her lips when you push your overly large body to hers, bending down low to grind the dangerously aroused location against her.

“I fucking need you. I need you so badly.”

“I–I…” The words escape her, leaving her to the dizzying of her own growing desire. To be beneath you, to have you ravish her beyond reprieve.

“One way or another, I’ll have you in that nest, Mate.”

The lilt of your baritone growl reverberates in the chamber of your ribcage, husky and primal laced. Dominating. Wanda’s mind swims with the endless possibilities, that black sea of fantasies rising up in crashing tidal waves. Her head arches back into the door and leaves her neck bared for you, the long, pink tendril of your tongue laps at the dew of her skin, deliciously sweet and intoxicating, it brings out a pleasurable rumble from you. One that she feels vibrates her alit core.

“Do you know how long I’ve been repressed, Lamb? All that torture and for what? Only to suffer without release. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Oh, there’s something in the way you blatantly threaten her with a fucking good time. A chill runs up the column of her spine and she mewls, you roughly begin to grind your body into her in your dire need. Suffice to say, you aren’t kidding her when you warned her that you’d have her one way or another.

“I want to help you now,” she whispers softly. Her hands roll through the texture of your fur, nails scratching at you like a kitten, your shoulders jolt with a rumbling chuckle. You purr lowly, breath hot against her neck, “You know how.”

The razor points of your canines rake over the sensitive spot, right where her mark belongs, and exposed to the point that you could do it; and she would have no chance of fighting it.

She pants now, whining when the bulge of your mound rubs over her aching pussy, already her lips are sweetened by her juices.

“I want this. I want you… Mate.”

Her scent is alluring to the point that you think it’s a drug of its own, a dose of it enough to get your blood pumping and your heart pounding, her words only serve to break the last restraints you barely have a hold of.

The action is swift and drags a gasp from Wanda’s lungs, your right arm scoops her up, resting her ass along your forearm as you hoist her up, in tandem your left hand claws down, slicing her short dress down the middle; leaving her milky skin exposed in her lingerie.

Your left hand moves her thigh over the curve of your shoulder and with this guidance, she does the same for her other leg, her drooling pussy just below eye level now. Her scent wafts into your senses and you growl, tongue running over the daggered incisors lining your maw.

“You smell good, Lamb.”

The drawl of your wolfish tone makes Wanda’s eyes roll back, her hips bucking at the pleasuring sensation of your hot, wet tongue licking a long strip upwards, from the edge of her folds to her pulsing clit. All her hands can do is clutch hold of the long, silky locks of fur that are reminiscent of your hair.

“Sh–shit!” she squeaks with jostled breath, “D-do that again?”

You obey her request with a haughty snort, snout wrinkled into a prideful smirk. The fabric of sheer and opaque of her panties being a perfect blend to pleasure and torture. She’ll want more soon enough, you’re sure of it. Your tongue laps upwards again and she groans quietly with a struggling pant. Her mouth hangs open, and shit, if that isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen then you can happily take a silver bullet to the brain.

Her body quivers with each stroke of your tongue, wide enough to cover her entire cunt each time, and a little rough to offer that desirable friction she craves, and of course warm to sooth the chill that envelops the rest of her skin. “A–ah! Hah!”

“Feels good, doesn't it, Mate?”

Wanda is pleasure-struck, unable to form a single tangible response by word. All she can do is nod her head frantically, streaks of her brownish hair fall over her visage contorted with delight, a moan bouncing in her throat. “M–mmhm…”

A dark chuckle escapes you and that smirk turns into a wolfish grin. “That’s not all this tongue can do.”

Her brows lift in curiosity and her plump lips fall apart with another moan, her anticipation is short lived by you putting her out of her misery or before she can question you. Your teeth slip between the band of her panties and her skin, revelling in the way her body shivers against you, with a quick snap the fabric is torn apart and gives the perfect view of her dripping cunt.

Your maw is buried between her legs in an instant, tongue greedy devouring the slickness on her folds, the taste as sweet as honey on your tastebuds, your ears pin back when her fingers ring further towards the roots of your fur.

“F-fuck, fucking hell, oh shit!” she gasps loudly, “Y/N!”

A hot fan of breath hits her sensitive bud as you part your powerful jaws wide open, you press the thinner tip of your tongue to her entrance, teasing her slickened folds until she’s mewling for you, fingers clenching your fur harder.

“Please… please,” she begs, doing her best to angle her weeping core for your leisure whilst keeping her thighs balanced on the broadness of your shoulders.

“Show me what else it can do.”

With a pleased huff with her begging, you angle your tongue and push forward. With each impending inch that sinks further between her southern lips, she whines softly - dare you say it - she’s howling tenderly in her reverie of euphoria.

With each surpassing inch she realises that your tongue alone is as thick as a well endowed man. And it only seems to keep going and her hips wriggle, lips trembling until her teeth sink into her bottom lip to keep her screams at bay lest the entirety of Madripoor hears what its finest werewolf does to defile her.

You grunt when you’ve filled her with all that you can with the pink and hot, muscular organ. Breaths heavy and heated, each wave hits Wanda’s clit and brings a delightful spring to coil in her abdomen and her pussy to clench around you.

Her back arches slightly in sync with the first thrust, the wet muscle powerful enough to make her gently bounce upwards, a breathless wisp of air is pressed from her lungs forcefully.

“Oooh, oh yes, j-just like that.”

You repeat the motion again and her legs squeeze closer around your large head. Her nails dig into the nape of your neck. Your arm that doesn’t support the weight of her lower body comes up and your clawed hand supports the back of her own neck, her head lazily drops back, eyes rolling into the back of her skull as her lips close shut.

Her hips roll into the next thrust, meeting your wet muscle halfway, and the way she moans makes you groan.

So your pace quickens and becomes rougher, her body bounces with each forceful stroke, continuing to roll her hips in tandem, following the set rhythm with a chorus of wistful moans and teetering howls of her own.

You’re enraptured by the sight of her. The heiress at your beck and call now, drawing closer to her starlit climax. She feels it, deep inside, like rubber bands coming together and twisting in wait for the inevitable snap.

She chants your name, a one word mantra that drives you to the precipice of lustful insanity.

Her tight walls only tighten with each push and pull of your long tongue, dragging against the current that seeks to pull you in forever with no chance to grant escape. More of her aroused juices get you drunk in your haze and your greed becomes damn near insatiable as you drink every drop you’re granted. The few stray drops of her sweetness only roll down the flexing front of your torso.

“I-I’m close.” She breathes deeply through her nose, eyes squeezed shut as her fingers claw the absolute shit out of your silky fur. All these things mixed together in a delicious combination makes you growl, and that sound shoots through your cunt-fucking tongue, and brings her walls to clamp around it hard. Her body is wrecked by the crash of her orgasm, coating your tongue with a mouth watering amount of her release, you groan at the taste.

Your tongue works at slowing down, stoking the fire to cool down, her breasts push and strain against the thin fabric of her lingerie, nipples stiff beneath the sheer’s opacity. With a husky grunt you pull the slick drenched muscle with a moistened pop, Wanda’s body reacts with a flinching motion.

Fuck, how you enjoy having her like this. Before now, you’ve held back, refused to carry on any further out of fear that it would be too much for her. Now seeing her, drunk on your mere tongue and her quietly pleading more of you, you think she can handle it.

When Wanda manages to recover enough of herself that her eyes open to look at you. She isn’t sure if she should be aroused or terrified by the expression on your canid visage. Your lips lift over the line of your gums, stretching to a smirk.

You drop the courtesy support you offered her, the only thing keeping her suspended at your eye level is the large form of your single hand, circling around the slender build of her waist. Her body is still recovering from her orgasm, lazily but trying, she supports in holding herself from falling back.

In this moment, she’s at the mercy of an eight and a half foot animal doped up on sex pollen. She’s at the mercy of you.

“Now, let me show you how a werewolf really fucks.”

COMING SOON...

— MALE VARIANT — FEMALE VARIANT — ACT IV

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

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darkdemeter · 3 months

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AUGURIES OF LOVE & DYNASTY

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Another little smut trial for you guys and the pup/family dynamic, most of all I'm testing out my strengths and weaknesses and what my limitations are; and if they can maybe be improved on. GN smut is rather tricky for me to really get into the groove of if I'm being honest. That doesn't mean I'll stop writing for GN entirely but I may have to find a work around. Not only that but I fucking LOVE writing the angst, hardened wolf most of all with Wanda. Fuckin' love the angst and shit... so soft stuff like this is kinda a small bone in the mix but my main go to is the more hurt and angst genre, that and the tension, the build up for me is just *chef kiss*. But little a/n rant over. Enjoy!

WORD COUNT — 2.9k

READER DISCRETION — fluff content — wolf family and pups — pregnant Wanda — SLIGHT SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI* — clawed fingering — sliver of breeding or pregnancy kink? — remote location — minor and implied torture and stuff (left to reader's interpretation) — mention of scars — profanity — use of Y/N — named pups — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — Another morning rises over the snowy peaks. Your home in the wilds is peaceful and undisturbed. This winter, your first litter of pups are eager to begin to live as the young wolves of your dynasty. Meanwhile, Wanda happily carries your second litter.

Your very heart beats in time with the earth, each heavy footfall of the paw echoes beneath. Your blood runs alongside the rushing current of rivers. The chill of snow sinking under your weight feels familiar in contrast to unclean pavement.

Sunlight bleeds over yonder just beyond the snowy mountain peaks. The amber glow of its rays paint an overlay over the blue and black tinted landscape littered with white. Branches above shiver in the breath of winter and birds chirp amongst each other, calling out in the early morning. You stalk the hidden and unmarked path now all knowing of where it leads you. When another breeze sweeps across the river beds below, its chill runs along the fur of your back with a hollow greeting.

Still, you continue to walk at your own leisure, enjoying the pleasantries of the wilds offered to you. Sanctuary is a place where one feels safe, away from the harms of the world beyond. Everywhere you have been there have been many great dangers. It was high time to return home to that sanctuary and your loved ones with you.

Your fur is dotted with a feathered dusting of white flakes, the shift in your weight occasionally shakes your coat to a near-cleansed appearance. Your long tail sways in motion to your movement, every so often lifting when a pair of small, sharp teeth graze it in hopes to play.

The pitter patter follow behind you with adoring loyalty and familiarity, your station the highest ranking, one earnt of respect and reverence since day one.

But still, there remains the habit of play. To take in the world around them, piece by piece; gathered in their clutches of their curious, short muzzles.

In your journey to scout out the territory you take a minute to admire the scenery, a specular luxury granted to you for your unwavering protection to the land. You stand atop the lifted rise of dark stone layered and moulded together by the force of nature. A perfect spot to use as a vantage point.

Your cluster of pups, the first litter of many to come, whine and yelp together in their time of playing, small paws scraping across the hardened surface. Keena and Leo engage one another in a mock fight. Their teeth pulling and tugging each other by the scruff and ears, Leo barks in retaliation when Keena becomes a little too rough.

With a snort, Keena wanders closer to you whilst Leo is entertained by his other siblings. Curious as Keena was to find whatever it was that grasped hold of your attention, there is still much to see, to smell and explore. She devises a plan and bows her body in preparation, tail wagging from side to side when your lips curl up in warning. A rumble bellows from the cavity of your large chest, steam clouds across your dark nose.

Keena’s plans are disrupted and with a tucked tail, she submits and sits between the pillars of your front limbs. Not too long are the remainder of your pups under your protective stature but with a summoning huff, you beckon them to follow after you.

They’re still new to the changes of their wolf bodies, uneven on their paws as they keep their best of balance, tricky as it might be. You sure don’t make it look easy but the grace of your form inspires them to not give in. They’re determined to share this side of their bloodline with you.

To be as steady as you, as dangerously graceful and practised as you.

The sun shines higher now and the world has grown a tad bit warmer, if only a little. That doesn’t mean your pups still endure the cold without sacrifice, shivering with a series of pitiful whines of complaint. But they have the heat of your body to thank for warming them during the trek back home, their small bodies lined down your back, nuzzling further into the thicket of your winter coat with content sighs.

They fared better this time around before the tiredness in their bodies wore them down.

You near the wooden refuge you call den and with a newfound surge of eagerness, your pups leap from the towering height of your back and race for the front door. Keena is the first to change back and pound her small fists on the door with utter demand that the door be opened, yet unable to reach the doorknob herself.

When you reach the pile up of your offspring waiting impatiently at the door, having now shifted back into the second skin not covered in fur, you reach forward and push the door open for them. Relieved to be out of the cold they charge into the house and down the stretch of hallway.

“Mama! Mama!” They bark and yell, the beckoned person answering their cries exits the kitchen. Her green eyes meet them with a light akin to a lighthouse, bright and burning in the lone distant night to call them home.

Her wide smile stretched open to reveal the row of pearly white teeth assures them that their mother’s love sparks ever true, no matter the time nor place, that their eagerness for her attention remains just the same as any other.

“My pups,” she greets softly. She bends down to meet them, arms warm and inviting to her embrace. Leo snuggles tightly against her chest when Keena tugs at the nape of his neck. “Careful! Our siblings are in her tummy.”

Truer words had never been spoken by one of your young ones. The second litter of your dynasty resides safe and snug in the large bulb of Wanda’s womb, nursing them until their eventual birth into the pack.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” Their mother asks them, focusing one each of their round, devoted eyes that marvel her loving gaze. She made each of them feel equally special. They nod and hum, undoubtedly smiling from ear to ear as she entertains them.

You linger back in the hallway to simply take in the picturesque of it all as your pups recount their adventure with you this morning. The smile of your wife is oh so sweet, a sculpted visage of unmatched beauty to beat against your brutality.

Often you do as you’re doing now. Sit back and observe your family. The intimate nature of mother and pups is always a favoured sight of yours, how tender she caters to them and how they bask in the wonderment of their mother; the woman who gave them life and brought them into the world through darkness and pain.

She endured the months of labour for them. Forever, a mark of her true strength and courage and pure love.

All you simply do is admire and love her in return, despite it being incapable of comparison. She carried the first litter without complaint or regret and she’s a soldier for the second litter. Unfazed by the barrage of kicks and movement within the womb, pups fighting for room amidst their growth.

Truly a marvel. A woman who you happily call wife and mate. Your arms fold over your chest, the corners of your lips tilted up as you continue to observe from afar. That’s when Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours and that hunger within the glaze of green ignites your own. You growl deeply under your next exhaled breath.

‘The moment I get you alone…’

Wanda smirks at you with a cheeky glint you know well, but her attention is stolen by your pups once again. She rises to her feet, hands held to her large bump, she beckons the pups to sit at the dining table. You don’t miss the flash of scarlet warning you that your presence is mandatory.

With a submissive shrug to her silent order you follow behind. But you pause just as you pass one of the frames, reflection faint in the glass. Your eyes scan the faces of those you left back in the city for your remote life with Wanda in the wilds of your sanctuary. They were not forgotten nor were they truly left behind in the past forever. You plan to visit them sometime and vice versa, but plans become muddled and complicated in the matter of saving the world.

A feat that took its hefty toll on you. Never one to consider yourself the type to retire, it was for the best. There, the wolf was caged to fight, moving from one fight to the next it seemed or to be confined in a cell; seen as an animal unworthy of complete trust.

The ring of skin around your neck is still marred in its process to heal. For how much longer is undetermined but the pain tied to it left you no choice but to resign yourself to the wilds of home.

And Wanda would come with you.

Now here you are, sitting around the table together as Wanda fixes you both your morning coffees while your children devour their plates in record time, their mother scolding them to chew their breakfast. Keena’s face had already been stained with the sticky substance of syrup from her pancakes, Leo and Tymon opting to race each other while eating their cereal and the youngest of their litter, Peeta munches on a piece of buttered toast.

You never really had an appetite in the winter morning - if you didn’t count Wanda that is - you often kept to a simple coffee to be your wake up call. Wanda’s lips meet your hairline for a quick, affectionate peck, hand sliding your mug onto the table. But you have other plans. With a husky growl you pull her into your lap.

“Y/N!” she yelps in surprise. Her laugh fills the room as a joyful prophecy. Your pups cannot contain their own comings of laughter as well at the loving sight of their parents sharing in one another’s orbit for a short moment.

Wanda swats at you with a hand but you remain adamant she stays in your lap. “I have dishes to wash up,” she argues only for you to shake your head, nose nestling her mark. “We can do that together afterwards. Let me hold you a while.”

How can she resist your wolfish charms? You purr in your victory when Wanda gives in, knowing just how much she loves it deep down; to be held in your protective arms and your exploring hands wandering over the curve of her bump.

You feel the pups kick and push against the wall of her womb to greet your hands. Their desire to touch grows stronger by the day, it was due to happen any day now.

Wanda sighs softly and you join her in watching your pups eat together, talking amongst themselves for their planned activities for the day. Wanda’s hands fall over the top of yours and her fingers dance over the cool surface of your wedding band.

The overly large size of her winter sweater leaves the skin of her shoulder exposed for your lips to ghost across it, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine.

“You’re getting me excited,” she whispers to you and your smirk, fangs speaking over the bottom of your lip. “Good. Just how I want you, Honey.”

Wanda pushes her body against yours in the midst of her battling desire, the action screaming desperation. And you weren’t one to refuse your wife - your mate - her pleasure. After all, she was carrying your pups. Your successors.

Your dynasty.

“Tell me what you want, mate,” you say against her lips. The kiss is heated and messy, tongues mingling together in the hot throw of combined passion. She whines softly and the sound causes your hips to jerk forward.

“I want you…” you devour her words with a hungering growl. “I want you to touch me, please…”

There it was. She misses your touch. Exactly what you wanted to hear. Parting your lips from the kiss you chuckle, the sound dark and dangerous in your infatuation with the woman under you.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers brush up her exposed thigh, her little maternal dress doing things to your wolf brain that made it go haywire with unbridled, primal desire. With a groan you push aside the damp fabric of her panties and use your thumb to circle her clit.

The quiver in her legs a telltale sign of her weakness for your touch, leaving her to turn into putty and you’d only just begun. “Is this what you wanted, mate? You wanted my fingers to be buried in you?” You taunt.

“Please.” She continues to beg. You tilt you head, obvious in your torture to hear her beg for more, for what she craved.

“Please what?”

“I want your fingers inside me, oh fuck, please!”

Shit, her sounds are music to your ears. You use two fingers to smear the slick of her arousal along her awaiting entrance, her hips grinding with enthusiastic vigour.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby. So needy for me.”

She mewls in response to your fingers teasing her cunt. She wants to feel your fingers stuffing her full, ploughing her tight tunnel until you’re all three knuckle deep fucking her. She wants to cum around your clawed fingers, to feel that dangerous and sharp coil that leads her right over the edge of bliss.

The pools of her euphoria by your ministrations await her.

“Let me feel your claws.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” you drawl lowly, “I love it when you ask for the claws.”

You waste no more time. You push two fingers past her folds, her walls wet and welcoming and hot; tightly wrapped around your clawed digits. She moans sharply and her head leans back into the pillow. You thrust your fingers at a steady pace. You ensure that you reach the very end of your knuckles to reach as far as you’re able, your claws gently scrape her spongy walls, dragging moans from deep within her core.

Wanda moans again when your fingers brush that sensitive, deep spot, her hips buck up to meet the next thrust of your hand in hopes of reaching it again. You chuckle again at the pure, chaotic need in her eyes that plead for you.

“You want to cum around my fingers, mate?”

“Y-yes!” she can feel it in her core, the rubberband ready to snap with her climactic high. “Please, Y/N, please let me cum.”

“Go on, Sweetheart. Cum for me.” Her mouth falls apart just as she does around your thrusting digits, her teeth sink into the plush bottom of her lip to conceal the volume of her pleasured cries. Her fingers ring the sheets in an iron grip until she’s threatening to tear them apart.

You whisper soft praises against the skin of her cheek with a smirk. Nobody knew the gorgeous visage of her face when she came, only you and that was a sight you’d treasure to the end of time. Nobody else would bear witness to the way her body silently begs for you, how she grinds and thrusts her hips in response to your electric touch.

She breathes in deeply through her nose while you slow your fingers down, dragging her high out that little bit longer until you bring a complete stop. Fuck, how her swollen form looked utterly beautiful in the sunlit curtain of day, eyes clouded in their post-sex state, you slide a hand over the curve of her belly.

“You look so beautiful like this,” you sigh with a wistful look, “so full of my pups.” Wanda can see the excitement grow in your eyes, that glow of amber unable to be hidden when your desire becomes well known.

“Your pups,” she says in agreement. You hear the lust in her tone, the want for more evident.

“Oh, little witch.” Wanda could’ve sworn she could cum again just from hearing your husky, lust-laced voice use the nickname. You lean over her until she is pinned between you and the bed; the two greatest comforts she could ever know.

She smiles shyly up at you. “So fucking beautiful, so round with my pups. Our second litter.” She moans softly and her hands run through the mused length of your hair as you ravish her neck with love bites. The sensation tickles but once your teeth graze over her mark, her legs quiver together before they lock around your hips, already pulling you down to where you both connect so perfectly.

“Fuck, I need you.”

“And I’ll give it to you.”

Before you can begin to tug down the waistband of your pants does Wanda stop you. Your amber hues glow brightly in interest to her sudden need to halt the sensual operation. You hum to her softly to urge her to continue.

“I… I thought maybe we could try something a little different,” she says, biting her lip harder this time. Okay, now you’re fucking curious. “What is it?”

She takes a moment and you see the hesitance in her eyes. She’s reconsidering saying anything but you lift her unsure eyes to meet yours. You offer a kind smile, one that she knows she can trust without fear, that you are on her side; always.

“Whatever it is, I’m game.”

That’s all the remaining push she needs from you to ask.

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#marvel #female reader #gn reader #male reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #werewolf reader #wanda x werewolf! reader smut #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fluff #werewolf #marvel mcu #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue

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darkdemeter · 3 months

Text

WOLF AT YOUR DOOR Pt. 2

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #2 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — So this took a fucking while because I was very sick and then by the time I could write I had lost the ideas I had and the inspiration to write it. Anyway this is considered as part 2 to Wolf At Your Door but can be read as standalone I suppose. Also there is no smut for this one because I just couldn't see it being in this part. I've got 2 other Wanda oneshots coming up that will have smut, one of which may be quite long... like Habits II if I can.

WORD COUNT — 2.9k

READER DISCRETION — fluff — slightly possessive reader — Wanda and reader being a grump x sunshine couple — profanity — mention of protective reader — all about them pups really — small mention of Wanda's backstory — there's SITCOMS HERE — reader acknowledges the cheese of romcoms — marking — confessions and feels — I think that's it?

PREVIOUS COLUMN(S) — WOLF AT YOUR DOOR

SUMMARY — Never did you ever imagine that pups would become your future. No less, to Wanda Maximoff. Despite your odds and differences to begin with, perhaps you're willing to give this thing a shot.

“No.”

It’s as simple as that as you push the trolley forward. Wanda pouts and as an act of defiance, she throws the colourful, tiny suit into the metal basket on wheels. You aren’t quick enough to repress the almost disgusted sigh.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks behind a scowl as you both continue your voyage down the aisle. “Yellow hurts me. Deeply.”

Was that a lie? Maybe. But did you instantly regret your answer when you see the flicker of disappointment in Wanda’s eyes? There’s no doubt about it. She reaches back into the trolley for the tiny suit, amongst the array of others you both had already picked out, most likely to place it back on the rack when you stop her.

“Leave it.” She looks shocked when you prevent her from fishing it out of the selection. You only roll your eyes, the faintest of smirks on your lips. “I’ll just have to be blindfolded when I hold them.”

Wanda smiles a toothy smile - that perfect smile - in regards to your humour. You’d never been one at the party to crack jokes but sure as hell would win a joke match against Rhodey. Him and his fucking tank story.

But Wanda is entertained deeply by the mental picture of you with a literal blindfold over your eyes as you cradle little wolf jr. A picture perfect snapshot already archived in the album in her mind.

Already midway through the second trimester. Time is flying by so quickly. You both still hadn’t sorted out the crib yet and by that, you hadn’t. But all the cribs you and Wanda saw were made for one baby; two at best if you were really set on them sharing.

But human cribs never accounted for four pups and you weren’t very impressed by the idea of building four separate cribs. Uh uh, that made your wolf brain go crazy. Your pups separated from each other? How would they bond with each other?

That was how you and Wanda got on the topic of a ‘den’ and nesting. Surprisingly she was on board with the idea from the start when you first told her your concerns about the pups being kept away from each other, that their bonding time would be hindered greatly if you both went about it the human way.

She’d agreed wholeheartedly. Not a huge case it took to convince her.

Wanda and yourself roll into the next aisle and the first few racks were rows upon rows of socks and shoes meant to be fitted to tiny feet.

Wanda laughs at the expression on your face and you give her a puzzling furrow, head tilting to the side like a confused dog.

“What?”

“You,” she giggles, “didn’t expect our little rendezvous night to take so well, did you?” You merely shrug with a small noise, quick to cover it up you clear your throat loudly.

“You brought it out of me. You should have known never to do that to a werewolf.”

Wanda smirks with a slight nod of her head. She’s double sure she doesn’t regret a single thing. There’s nothing she would trade for this feeling of her hand running over the large bump of her stomach that ferociously kicks with your pups. Four, healthy pups.

There were still remnants of the aftershock back at the compound. The reveal that you and Wanda had slept together was talk of the compound for weeks before Wanda grew sick and with that, the test coming back positive. When you were able, Banner executed some further tests and you almost fainted right there on the spot when he congratulated on the four additions.

And not to mention the overstimulation on your part. Not only was Wanda a walking ball of ever changing hormones but you were in overdrive as well. Anytime someone made Wanda upset in the slightest you were on them in a matter of seconds. Fury had to call an emergency meeting in regards to keeping yourself in line throughout Wanda’s pregnancy. Not that it helped, you only grew to become fiercely protective over Wanda and your unborn pups.

But for Wanda it was all she could want. Not to lie to yourself - your counsellor advised that lying to yourself is a bad habit - but you were happy as well. This was a secret dream come true. Wanda’s interest is piqued when she spots a set of black footed pyjamas with crescent moons on the pads of the feet and little pawprints scattered across the body.

“Y/N, look!” she gapes as she holds the suit up for you to look at. Out of some maternal habit, she holds it against her bump and in that moment, it all hits you like a freight train.

You were going to become a parent. A wolf parent. You wouldn’t be so alone anymore now with Wanda carrying your lineage within her womb. And she’s excited for it. Has been since the very beginning. To have such an opportunity before you now, you realise just how alone you were before. How fine you’d been being so alone before.

But if you had a chance to go back in time, to stop yourself from entering Wanda’s dormitory that night, you realise now that you wouldn’t.

Your lips part but no words come to mind. You’re drawn at a blank. All you can do is marvel at the inevitable coming of your pups. “I think we should get them, the pups will look so cute.” She grabs three more and places them in the trolley.

‘Fucking hell…’

Wanda looks up from the haul and tilts her head curiously at the look you give her. Eyes wide, unblinking and just simply admiring her. Right there in that aisle of baby supplies. Not exactly one of those times in movies where the misunderstood, hardened love interest finally sees the sunshine protagonist in the highlight of their epiphany and has a complete one-eighty on their entire reality; but fuck, it was close enough.

Seeing Wanda swollen large with your pups. It’s something that cannot - will not - be robbed from you. “You okay?” she asks softly and you nod slowly.

“Yeah. Really good, actually.”

Ugh, those sitcoms and romcoms she’s made you watch are starting to rub off on you. You sound so fucking cheesy. She smiles wider this time and using a hand to flip some loose hair behind her shoulder, she beckons you to follow her.

Maybe yellow isn’t such a bad colour. You can make it work.

Dinner time is rolling around and you check the time, just ten minutes past six. Wanda happily prepares dinner for both of you and your invited guests, her eyes occasionally lifting to watch the sitcom she’s adamant on watching.

At first, you didn’t get the fascination with a cast of characters just doing mundane things in one space only to have the laugh track and fade effect transition into the next location.

However, Wanda was quite open with you about her life before Hydra took her and her brother. That she adored sitcoms from a young age, and one of the last memories she has is sitting down next to Peitro in front of the TV to watch an episode of the Dick Van Dyke show, her parents cuddled together on the couch.

It was a raw scene to bear witness to. Her eyes flooded with tears. The only thing you could do in that moment was pull her to you in a tight embrace. The rest is history. One of your personal favourites was Bewitched, but you refuse to admit that to anyone.

“How’s the project coming along?” Wanda asks as she stirs the contents in the pot around, giving it a little taste test. “It’s good,” you answer with a focused grunt, expertly working one of the last screws into place.

“You’re following the instructions, right?” You don’t need to look at her to know her attention is elsewhere, she’s not even looking over at you. You roll your eyes, gaze momentarily glaring down at the booklet.

You grumble to yourself under your breath. “Don’t need the instructions, werewolves don’t need fucking instructions.”

Wanda can’t suppress the grin on her lips at your huffing and wolfish grumbling. The pups were in for a treat with you, she can tell already.

“Do human babies actually like these… knick knacks?” you ask rather unsurely. You stand the changing station up and brush your hand along the mobile. The colourful, plastic bits clink and sway.

“Yeah!” she answers with enthusiasm. You only raise your brows more with worry. You weren’t set on having those little things dangle in front of your pups, just begging to be grabbed and chewed to bits. But that was a worried conversation for another time, a knock on the door alerts you both of your arrived company.

You call out for them to enter as you busy yourself with putting aside the table. Natasha all but swaggers on inside, a box in her hands as her eyes glance between you and Wanda.

“Good evening, how did the shopping go?”

Wanda giggles at your reaction before she uses her stirring spoon to point at the haul you both had garnered today on your big voyage to the great danger beyond: the public. Sam, Steve and Clint walk in after Natasha, each wearing a smile of their own.

“You ready to have a crack at parenthood, Wolf?” Clint jokes and you shrug. “As ready as I could ever be.”

Wanda begins serving up dinner when her eyes squint, accusation on the tip of her tongue. “We’re missing one,” she drawls and Steve chuckles lightly under the scrutiny of the witch’s gaze.

“Bucky had to cancel last minute, small mission briefing.” Steve’s explanation is supposedly good enough for your little witch to accept but you see the judgement in her eyes. You chuckled, the wolf in your eyes spelling mischief as you look at Wanda from across the way.

“So lucky. If only I had a mission briefing too.”

Wanda flicks her fingers at you, the tips of her fingers glowing with her scarlet magic when a knife flies your way. You catch it with a surprised guffaw. “Sweetheart, I thought we would save the knife play for later.”

Wanda looks at you with a narrowed gaze but her smirk speaks volumes to you. She’s silently challenging you and all you do is raise your brows, your tongue in your cheek.

Sam is clearing his third plate of the masterpiece dish he insists is of five star quality. You hum teasingly under your breath, “I dunno, I think she tried to poison mine.”

The others share in the banter with small laughs and their own opinions of their dish, all of which praise Wanda’s skills around the kitchen.

But what was all your teasing but a mere altered projection of your deep, underlying affection for Wanda? As you talk and catch up with your friends at the dinner table, your hand seeks out Wanda’s under the table. When you find hers, your fingers intertwined together. A simple and small action but for you, it held more affection than many things that could overly express one’s love.

You weren’t the type to show up at the door with a giant bundle of roses and balloons, with music blasting the greatest love song hits of the century. You always prefer to keep it small. Private. Intimate.

So after another hour or so, your friends call their leave. “And remember, Tony’s hosting that huge baby shower for you guys next week,” Natasha reminds over her shoulder. A shudder attacks your spine and you inwardly growl. Tony would of course play out the entire thing as an act of being the ‘fun and cool uncle’ but really, it was another dig for getting the car done up good on your mission.

“He knows I hate his parties,” you mumble to her once you’re both alone. She’s in the kitchen finishing up the washing when you walk up behind her. It’d been a big day for you both. It feels good for it to just be the two of you know.

Your arms circle around her waist and pull her in close, her back flush against your front you take the opportunity to bury your nose into her neck. She giggles loudly, cringing as she tries to wriggle away from you.

“What’s wrong?” you coo with a playful nip to the shell of her ear. “I’m ticklish there!” she squeals but you continue to feign knowledge.

“Oh? Are you now?”

“Yes!”

You laugh, cool, rich and deep. A husky drawl while you continue to nuzzle into her neck, inhaling her calming scent. Your hands balance on the rise of her swollen stomach, the kicks strong and prominent against the light pressure of your hands.

“They know it’s you,” she cannot help but say with a smile. Something about your pups being able to recognise your touch makes her heart flutter and it makes something in you inflate. Pride.

Your pups knew you by touch already. You just knew they were excited by the mere presence of your hands - of you - being so near. You smile. “Because they know I’ll protect them. Protect you.”

“You know… you never did mark me.”

You freeze for a moment, hesitant on how to answer her. What could you say to that? But Wanda turns around to face you and draws you into a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips capture yours and her tongue teases the line of your mouth.

“I don’t care what reservations you have about this relationship, or that you plan on sleeping with other people. But please, I just want to feel some semblance of love, that I belong to you.”

You frown at this and immediately, your hands find the edges of her jaw to lift your tearful eyes to yours. “Wanda,” you sigh in disbelief, “take a look inside. What do you see?”

She gives you a look of scepticism and you huff deeply through your nose, a wolf behaviour to further urge her to comply. She does so, closing her eyes and taking a moment to read your thoughts. This is the first time you’ve given her permission to take a look inside your mind.

“You see anyone else?” She shakes her head in response. “That’s because there is nobody else. There’s only you.”

You sink to your knees so you’re at eye level with the baby bump. Wanda watches you, eyes wide and jaw slack. Whatever antics you were getting up to, she’s at a loss. When has she ever seen you become a mushy mess for anything? When Wanda looked at you, she never put affection as part of your resume. You and the factor of affection or anything to do with a loving relationship were just two opposite ends of the spectrum.

She didn’t believe you were ever capable of such adoration and devotion. “There’s never been anyone else. It’s always just been me. That’s how it used to be before… this.” Your nose pushes against her bump and you feel the pups kick again.

You grin this time before your eyes lift up to see Wanda, her button lip jutted out in a pout. Her bright eyes coated with hot tears.

“Little witch, I’m not… I’m still very new to all this. But I’m telling you now that I want to have a go.” You pause and swallow thickly. “I don’t want it to just be me anymore. I want it to be us.”

“Then make it an us. That’s all I want.”

You hear the plea in her whisper and you rise up to your full height, staring down at her. Your hands cradle her face in your hold, you simply take the moment to admire in her eyes what you once mistook for lust; that you now see as love.

“It’ll hurt for a second,” you inform her as you slowly tilt her head so her neck is bared for you. “But I promise it’ll be for just a second.”

She nods and you take that as your go ahead. This is where the lone road ends for you. No more being alone.

She closes her eyes with the growing anticipation and you bare your prolonged fangs, inching them closer to the sensitive skin of her neck, hovering over the spot you’d nuzzled just prior. Right where she was ticklish.

With a final, deep breath you close the distance and plunge your canines and her body locks up, a yelp on her lips you tug her in closer to you. Your body is a silent assurance that she’s alright. That she and your pups will be alright.

She feels it in her core, a whirlwind that sweeps her like a heavy storm. Like wind blowing in her face and drawing the air from her lungs. Right beneath the surface of her skin tingles and becomes ignited with that binding fire. When you pull away with a breathless exhale, your dazed eyes glowing, it takes you a moment of swaying to become stable again.

“Fuck,” you both groan softly, noses brushing together as your lips dance over one another, their connection ghostly but the radiance of your new connection a fiery and passionate spark to the touch.

Wanda smiles and her flushed cheeks indicate her flustered embarrassment. You chuckle deeply and lift her chin up with your fingers so she meets your hungry, wolfish gaze.

“You’re mine now.” Her hand finds purchase on her stomach, and yours falls over the top of hers. “And they are our pups.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#female reader #gn reader #male reader #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #werewolf reader #marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #werewolf #pups #pregnant wanda #marking #wanda maximoff x you

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darkdemeter · 2 months

Text

ONE AND THE SAME, LONELY AND AFRAID

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

—- not my gifs, found on pinterest, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

I dunno what to really say about this piece, brain just switched into angsty, (kinda fluffy?) writing mode and I went with it.

Therapy — angst — hurt comfort? — (introverted) reader — insecurity warning — semi-established mutual pining/interest — strong language — socially awkward bean reader — basically reader has a lot of reservations about things that involve other people, more of a self isolated type — self sabotage — we got a mutual-semi happy ending — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You've always opted to be alone. Recent visits to Dr Raynor, however, work to bring down those walls you hold up. Little are you aware that someone you're talking to is very much the same as you. Lonely and afraid.

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7.6K(words)

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl

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“Have you been keeping up with the exercises I gave you?”

Already she knows the answer. Not even three seconds can you maintain eye contact, eyes feeling glassy each time you near the braving point. It’s futile. People can hear what you’re saying right? Why the need to have your eyes glued to them?

Your shoulders shove up weakly and Dr Raynor rhythmically paces the pen’s butt against her notebook.

“That’s a no,” she sighs, “I gave you those exercises to help you. Eye contact, let’s start with that again: what do you find so intimidating about it?”

The air is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your gaze is still glued to a random place on the wall behind her. That is the closest you can give her today.

Her lips push together and her eyes thin in that way you assumed all of these doctors do, a tactic to unnerve you into squeezing out the details. To weed out the problems. You don’t like it. Your fingers are crushed in the grip of your other hand sitting in your lap idly.

Again, you shrug. “Just that. Intimidating. It’s… a lot.”

“There’s more to it for you. And I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that, it terrifies you when someone looks at you. Focuses their attention on you.”

“Maybe it’s something like that…” You tilt your head slightly. “Maybe it’s not.”

I don’t like being here. I just wanna go. I still have fifteen minutes.

“Your family is worried about you. You have a tendency to be self isolating. Reserved. They’re concerned that you’ve been alone.” She’s spitting words at you. Family concerns have always been the bane of your lonely ways. Their constant insistence to put yourself out there, to go out on at least one date.

Try to talk you into meeting people they know, saying that they will be good for you. All because they’ve grown far too comfortable with being with someone, that they can’t stand to be alone themselves. And then, they have to project that onto you.

“It’s a choice.”

“What can you tell me about your intimate life? Partners, significant others.”

The jutting of your pouty lip is any indication that a cheeky remark is right on the edge of your tongue. She stops you right before you can say a word.

“Stuff toys and pets do not count.”

“But they’re companions. You wanna know about my companion life, right?”

“Just answer the question.”

It takes another five minutes. Pure and slow in time, each waver of the ticking hands beats another seconds off the appointment. But it’s not fast enough for your liking. Tongue tracing the curves of your gums and teeth, you contemplate.

Dr. Raynor says your name to draw your attention back - escaped into the cosmos - now forced right back into the couch in her office.

“Seeing someone? Talking to anyone?”

“Sure.”

“Anything else?” She raises a gesturing hand, a silent command for you to speak further. To give her further information. Personal information that’s yours. Safe in your head. There’s no point giving that out to others.

“Just talking to him is all.”

“So neither of you have met in person before?”

Lips rolling inward, thinning, you shake your head. “No.”

Your name is drawn from her lips as a low sigh. She scrawls something down in her notebook, albeit a little aggressively.

“Money is being wasted each and every time you come in here, sit on this couch and say nothing. Resolve nothing. Time is being wasted, time you could be spending out there, actually bonding with someone who you may call a friend or a significant other.”

“I never wanted to be here in the first place.”

Her eyes roll up to meet yours, the split second you manage to meet her eyes, you see the scrutiny. The disdaining judgement and patience that wanes thin for every drop of time in the remaining minutes left.

“That wasn’t even two proper seconds,” she notes, “and yet, you come to your sessions each time.”

“Because if I don’t, then that same concerned family chews my ear off about it.”

Another two minutes pass by. You count the ticking hands slowly. Far too slow. When will this fucking nightmare end? Dr. Raynor continues to pounce her pen on the pad’s paper, the sound a distant, drumming beat.

“From what I’ve gathered, your siblings all have partners of their own, some of them beginning to grow their families. Am I correct?”

You nod as your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. “Right in the ballpark.”

“And you are so comfortable with being alone because it’s all you know. You’re afraid of letting someone in. You rather keep your guard up than ever risk giving someone a chance to love and accept you. I have another patient just like that. Shut off from the world and distrusting.”

It’s like she read your mind. You almost applaud her for her scooby doo investigation. “Wow, way to keep the confidentiality, Doctor,” you breeze through a forced, tight smile, eyes still cast to somewhere else in the room. “It’s better to keep people at arms length. Easier to detach from.”

“And is that what you’re doing with this guy? Keeping him at arm’s length?”

“Sure. I guess.”

Three minutes remaining. You breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s almost over.

Then it lingers on your mind… “Tell me because I’m curious, but why are people obsessed with the idea that being alone is such a bad thing?”

It’s closing in on one minute. A single minute she has to deliver you an answer. Of course, usually she disregards questions like this. But today, she indulges. Maybe, just maybe, this is your way of breaking through to her. To finally and truly give her something to work with.

“I will tell you what I told another patient of mine. Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.”

The chiming of the appointment’s bell signifies its end. You’re eager to stand up from the couch but Dr. Raynor holds a hand up. “Before you go running off back to your lonely hell, I want you to perform at least one exercise.”

At first, you mean to brush her off, your eyes refuse to meet the piercing stare you know is burrowing into your soul, seeking you out in the darkness of your reservations. “Alright. Sure…”

“If you’re interested in this guy, I want you to make the first move and ask to meet up with him. Begin to lower your walls.”

You’ve done it. Just as she asked of you. In hindsight, you should have just ignored her. In honesty, it’s been a while since your heart has bruised your ribs with such intensity in its anxious rage. What if he said no? Neither of you had ever really flirted heavily or indicated that you were head over heels, eager to see each other.

As if you both just knew, you were each settled comfortably in this mutual exchange of words. No video, no voice messages or calls. Just words. Conversations about work, some random things happening during the week and other topics people chat about.

You were meant to feel brave in that moment. To feel invigorated as you take that daring leap of faith outside the comfort of your own space. A safety net you had taken great care to curate, to save yourself from ever falling to the ground with no will to get back up.

In your mind, you’ve seen your siblings go through enough failed relationships that it in some strange way, you’ve experienced it on some outside level. You’ve gained the knowledge that if you let someone - a stranger - in then they will find a way to hurt you one way or another.

But what about that lucky person? That destined soulmate everyone raves on about. Could you really stand going through failure after failure, after seeing the damage it caused your loved ones?

Why risk it? I’m just putting a target on my heart that says “hurt me, please!”.

However, with the following silence after, you believe you had your answer. He wasn’t interested in you. He just wants to remain mutuals. You understand that, you accept it wholeheartedly. It saves you from getting hurt, from him getting hurt and that’s all that matters.

Having your heart broken because you allowed love to blind you to rational thought isn’t something you’re wanting to bring to one of your appointments.

Around ten minutes later he responded. His answer leaves you in a state on the bathroom floor, on your arse, back pressed against the sink cabinets and your chest heaving for any amount of oxygen. The world’s closing in around you, it’s turning against you. Eyes watering until your waterline is drowning and blurry, your hands rake through your hair and grasp at the roots.

The olive branch you extended is received by him whilst your mind spirals into the pools of doubt and sabotage. He’s accepted your bold invitation.

How can I go on a date? I can’t keep eye contact, I don’t know how to act or what to say!

What do we talk about in person? How much is too much?

Maybe it was a mistake. Would it be rude if you pretended it was a joke? You think it over once, then twice. It plays on repeat what you plan to say to get out of this ordeal you’ve now thrown yourself into. You get another notification that lights up your phone screen.

Be nice to finally meet you 7 tomorrow night sound good? ┗

Sure! 7 sounds good heh ┗

there’s a place not far from where I live I like to go to.. unless there’s somewhere else you wanna go ┗

Ugh, why does that sound so… so… desperate? I should probably call it off right now before this gets out of hand.

I’ll see you there Doll just name it ┗

Your heart flutters at the nickname. It makes you feel childish and you cringe that you find yourself swooning over it, but every time he uses it, there’s something that makes you feel special. Like you’re the only one he calls that. After you text him the address, you pass the phone away, leaving it to sit on the sink’s edge. Hands cupping your face, the tears still seeping along the rim of your eyes with a fighting intent to be free. For so long you have kept them bottled up.

And now to be faced with this. You don’t feel ready to be doing this. Your fingers had been hovering over the keys, mind already texting that you had made a silly joke just to see how he’d react. But Dr. Raynor’s words from earlier that day crept into the forefront of your mind, stopping you in your tracks.

‘Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.’

“You haven’t been having nightmares lately. That’s good,” Dr. Raynor says, notebook sitting in absence on her folded leg, pen loose between her fingers. So far, she hasn’t had to write much. A few notes, a sentence or two. Overall, she sees a little more progress. Even if it’s just a little.

“And the girl you’re talking with. Have you two been communicating much lately? Do you think that, maybe, she could be a benefiting factor?”

“We’ve been talking,” Bucky answers with a nod, voice rumbly. “I don’t know.”

“Your nightmares stem from the decades of trauma that still need to be thinned out of your system. And there are outlets that can help with the healing process. Nurturing relationships is one of them.”

As if he hasn’t heard that line before. Being told to nurture his relationships.

“Tell me more about her. What’s been going on between you both?” For a moment, Bucky remains quiet. His teeth roll his bottom lip, biting down before his lips part. Gaze once settled elsewhere, his eyes find hers with firm contact.

The type of contact she wishes she can see from you.

“She’s asked to meet up. I’m seeing her tonight.”

“I understand you two have been talking for a while. Around three months now, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And… How does that make you feel? You finally have a chance to meet someone face to face and take this relationship to the next stage.”

The question had come right out of the blue for Bucky. After a day out in the field with Sam, all he wanted to do was shower, have a beer and see if you had messaged him. And the conversation had carried out like normal with asking about each other’s day, followed by some playful banter. And then, Bucky was faced with the one topic that had been on his mind for the past few weeks, plaguing him with the idea of possibly meeting each other after all this time, to put a face to a name.

But to think that this could bridge into something further. Something far more intimate. Bucky’s shoulders push up with a heavy sigh.

“I dunno, Doc. I’ve been thinking about meeting her. But being by myself for so long now, it’s normal for me.”

Dr. Raynor squares her shoulders, eyes staring point blank like the barrel of a gun at her patient. “A hurdler doesn’t avoid the obstacles. You have to take that leap, James, and explore these new possibilities before they slip through your fingers. From what you’ve told me, she sounds similar to you.”

“And if things don’t go as I hope? If she pulls away?”

“Then pull her closer. And give her the chance to pull you closer. Start to trust in someone outside of those walls.”

You pace back and forth along the wide strip sidewalk, the night’s air chills you through your clothing. But at this point that could just be the nerves. Why did you have to be bold, why did you have to actually listen to Dr. Raynor? Arriving just a little before the agreed time, you took the time to rehearse things over. Maybe squeeze in a little practice before you make a complete idiotic display of yourself.

By now, you guess it’s just past 7. How the hell are you supposed to know who he is if you’ve never seen one another before? Man, now that you think about it, you really didn’t think this through.

Last time I do any of these fucking exercises…

Quickly stealing a glance down at your phone to get a read on the time, you see you’ve received no message yet.

Maybe he… changed his mind last minute?

Well that really makes you look like an idiot. Shit, you really could slap yourself into tomorrow for getting baited into your own doings. You barely register the thrumming heart of a motorcycle’s engine roaring down the street beside you, purring lowly to a stop.

You shrug to yourself suddenly, the leaping of your heart coaxing your anxiety to grow further, as doubt shrouds over. Your feet shuffle to carry you back in the direction of your favourite ice cream joint. Might as well pick up a little frosty snack on the way back home.

“Okay, I’m stupid. He’s not— oop–!” Someone is the poor victim of your distracted escape, their body is large and broad, arms circling around you to catch you from tripping onto the hard concrete.

“Oh, shit! Sorry!” you groan, eyes quick to seek out a face only to glimpse away as soon as you note the intensity of bright blue; gaze focused solely on you as if you were the only thing that existed.

“All good,” he says. His voice only brings to shake you, slightly husky and the oh so perfect pitch. You do your best to straighten yourself and from his hold, out of habit, you’d grown used to not being touched unless you were the one to initiate it. A skill - or rather lack thereof - you’re not very proud of. Not that members of your family made it any easier whenever they pointed it out.

Distant. Closed off. Stiff.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I was… just uh, was meeting up with a guy.”

“Hmph, me too,” he breezes with a deep exhale. You try to ignore the way your peripheral picks up on his body’s outline moving. “She wanted to meet here.”

“Huh, good spot. One of my small hang out spots.” Your balled fists only curl tighter into the pockets of your jacket as another chilling wind attacks your body. Maybe you should settle on a hot beverage instead of some ice cream.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Really nice.”

You both stand idle by one another, the air beginning to lace heavily with the tension of your interaction, both awkward in your butting spaces. Bucky spares a more studying glance at you. A sleeveless, cropped turtleneck with a leather, hooded jacket layering over, you opted to keep the palette simple with your dark, skinny jeans and heeled boots.

You looked dressed up to be on some casual date. Whoever it was you were waiting on was a lucky guy, Bucky thought. In no disrespect to the girl he was messaging, but he figured he would have shot his shot with you had it not been for this mystery girl.

“You hang around here a lot?” he questions to come off as casual and laid back as possible.

“Oh, sure. Yeah… I like it here.”

Bucky finds himself smiling at your response. Strange, he figures, how you seem familiar. Still, he catches on that he hasn’t gotten a proper look at your face. It’s like you're purposefully avoiding looking at him. Did you know him? The aided curse of his sensitive hearing allows him to hear the rapid racing of your heartbeat, like a poor hamster terrified out of its mind.

You can feel him staring at you with the occasional glimpse down at his phone, held in his gloved hand.

“Goodluckwithyourdate. Bye.” You say it far too quickly, it takes Bucky a moment to decipher what you’ve said. His head snaps back and forth in a double take, catching you already walking down the sidewalk, huddled in close to shield yourself. How he knows that feeling internally.

Now you’ve gained his full attention. For Bucky, there was some missing piece to all this. He’s quick to type. Just a little experiment…

Here, Doll, just waiting on you ┗

His jaw tightens, teeth clenching in his observation. You stop when your phone buzzes to life in your pocket. Retrieving it, you read the message. Bucky only has to wait for about a minute before he sees the message.

Ha, I was here first. Where are you?? ┗

You tell me Doll… ┗

you don’t happen to be wearing knitted gloves, right? ┗

Your brows furrow for a moment. How could he know, you haven’t even–

Slowly, you lift your eyes from the blaring screen of your text messages. He now knew it and to think he’s the guy you were waiting on. If anything, this is some fortunate, golden strike.

As your gaze moves to fall over your half turned shoulder that faces back towards him, he manages to catch half of your visage and the radiant haven of your eyes, what little you allow to show.

“I take it you’re Y/N.” He smiles a toothy smile. With any luck, his attempt to charm will work.

“And you’re Bucky?”

He nods in response and you let yourself wander forwards, phone tucked away and your arms folded together.

“I–I, uh… wow, this is embarrassing ,” you all but mutter to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

“How so?”

“I suck at meeting people,” you utter a little louder. Your shoulders shrug with the motion of your confession. You only dread the look in those blue eyes that you can’t bring yourself to glance up into. What if you see something that gives away his intentions? What if you give away what’s going on in your own mind to him, for him to see all the fear right there like an open book to be read. Knowledge to be obtained and used against you.

“Maybe if you looked at people once and a while,” he chuckles.

Oh… he likes someone who can maintain eye contact.

“Yeah, what a shame. Oh well, nice meeting you.”

The abruptness cuts him. Wounds him like a dark chill that runs his spine. His shoulders straighten then and the bevel between his brows grows in depth, the puzzlement of his confusion evident on his face that you don’t take the time to read. Not when he can easily catch contact with your now glossy eyes.

Again, you’re making off in a hurry.

Pull her closer, it’s the only thought that crosses his mind.

“Wait, wait up!” he calls out quickly, voice sharp that he sees your entire body flinch at the command, but you carry on. He doesn’t want to scare you away. His gloved hand cups over your elbow.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says with a sigh, “I’m bad at meeting people at times too.”

“Really?” You don’t mean to sound distrusting, if he interpreted it that way, each to their own at the end of the day.

“Yeah, that whole… dating scene is crazy these days.”

You cannot find yourself more inclined to agree with that. Seeing how much the world has changed around you, and you’re only in your twenties. Plenty of more room to change. Thinking about the future is what you consider an anxiety inducing pass time, one you try not to get carried away with.

“Tell me ��bout it,’ you huff. You flex your ankle, the heel scuffing softly against the pavement, hopefully grinding some form of inspiration to make you less awkward. Though you fear the damage has been done.

He chuckles. “Glad we’re agreeable in person. C’mon, mind giving me a tour of your little hang out?”

“Sure,” you agree with a small smile, brushing aside a stray wisp of hair, “I know a little place up this way.”

“I like your gloves,” Bucky says, clicking his tongue, when spared a moment he glances off to the side in his miserable cringe, what the hell was that move?

But he didn’t expect for your chin to be raised a little higher and a much warmer smile to grace your lips. Wow, he still couldn’t get over it. A cute, beautiful girl like yourself happening to be the one he’s been communicating with all this time.

“Thanks.” You suppress a giggle, the sound small in your throat. “Look. Glove twins.”

Seeing you raise your gloved hand up, he saves you from any further embarrassment and meets yours almost immediately, palms straight and pressed together in a mockery to a high five.

“Well, look at that.” His lips tug into an amused grin.

For a second you meet his gaze, but as quick as anything, the connection is lost. As you drop your hand back to your side, you feel warmth creep into your cheeks. How your lack of eye contact can be a burden at times. All you want to do is look at this guy, get a read of him without the need to sneak fleeting glances whenever you could.

All you can settle on now is that he’s down right cute. Handsome.

No way this guy is single. How some chick could just give him a false number. My number.

You wander further down the street together, side by side, occasionally arms brushing against one another before you stop and jab a thumb at the small bar. “Here it is. Heh, quaint place. I, uh… like coming here. Obviously.”

While he’s distracted with his observation, you take a few seconds to actually look at him.

Casually dressed, so much like yourself. Chiselled features, intense yet stunning eyes you believe you’ve ever seen, and broad. Damn well towering high above you. Next to him, you feel like a gummy bear. Why that comparison, you have no idea, but you find it fitting.

Thus so far he doesn’t put himself as intentionally dangerous or harmful, not towards you anyway. You’d bet all that’s in your wallet he’d cause some serious damage if he wanted to.

“Nice little joint.” You hum softly and nod in agreement, eyes sinking low to instead scan the fabric of his jacket instead of his reaction when you know his gaze is on you.

You bob your head in the direction of the door, indicating him to follow you inside. But Bucky, if anything, was raised in the century of etiquette and manners. Especially in the company of a woman. Your smaller, gloved hand reaches for the door until his own comes forward, pulling the door open for you.

“After you, Doll.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Again, that warm crimson settles in your cheeks, causing the rest of your body to heat up, soon enough you won’t need the gloves and jacket to keep you warm.

You lead him over to a window booth, sliding in over the overworn cushions and he takes the one opposite you. Not too soon after does the regular waitress greet you with a pearly smile, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.

“Y/N!” she gasps widely, “So good to see you. What can I get you and your man tonight?” She flashes a wink down towards you both. Out of sheer interest, Bucky’s eyes drift to land on you, the corner of his lips turned up slightly into a smirk.

“Wh– he, oh no, he’s not– we’re not… just the regular, thanks.”

Tongue tied. You fucking hate situations that plant you on the spot, on your arse. Like an ungraceful landing after jumping the wagon. Fuck, you’re making yourself look even more weird in front of him. Why this sudden need to act like a normal human being around him is present, you find it confusing. But from trial and error, you’ve always somehow managed to mark yourself as a strange one.

It was better to keep things short between interactions. But with Bucky, something has come over you that makes you want to trust him. Be open with him. But you know you can’t. People can hide their true nature for lengths at a time that they deem necessary. You’re not about to give this guy a loaded gun to turn on you.

With a nod, the waitress nods and writes down in her notepad, she looks to Bucky expectantly.

“I’ll have what she’s having and can we get two beers with the order.”

“Can do. That will be with you both shortly.” With an affirmative nod, the waitress heads off to deliver the new order.

“If you just want to dip any time during… this, then I understand.” For the second time tonight, Bucky’s face contorts with deeply rooted confusion. His smile is the product of his being unsure whether you’re serious or joking. “Why would I do that?”

Your shoulders move up sharply with a shrug.

Because you don’t want to be around me.

“I’m not leaving you by yourself. You asked to meet up and I’m here.”

Touching words that you wish to believe in them wholeheartedly. Surely though, he’s only saying that out of courtesy.

“I tend to stay out pretty late towards the weekend.”

Now it’s his turn to shrug. “So do I.”

Once the food and beers arrived, you found it easier to distract yourself, able to roll the bottle between your hands, feeding off of your meal bit by bit throughout conversation.

“Like I said before, don’t feel obligated to stay out late. Don’t want to keep your girl waiting.” A small tactic, albeit you disbelieve that it’s very discreet, it’s an obvious tell that you want to know if he’s single or not. You’re no expert in the dating pool but that just has to be right up there in some top ten listed prompts.

“Not leaving you. I don’t have a girl waiting on me, don’t worry, Doll.” You almost choke on your next bite, drowning it down your throat with a gulp of beer. You almost meet his eyes, opting to focus just below them. There is absolutely no way in hell this guy is single.

Bucky figures he’d shoot his shot, now that the identity of mystery girl and you were one and the same.

“Hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind I’m stealing you for the night.”

Why did he word it like that?!

“Ha. Boyfriend,” you sigh, mouth pinching towards the side. Briefly, you notice the furrow in his brows.

Dammit, why is he so fucking cute?

“No boyfriend,” he drawls lowly over the rim of his bottle.

You shake your head. “Nope.”

He can tell by the way you roll the singular word, emphasising the p with a sharp popping sound. Bitterness.

“Why?” He watches you intently as he takes a drink of his beer, meanwhile, you're turning your bottle left and right, like trying to crack the code to some safe.

Didn’t want to risk getting hurt.

“Just…” You pause with a heavy sigh, heat covers your eyes that you now direct to stare down at the table. “Never made the effort, if I’m honest.”

“You like being alone.”

“Prefer it, actually. Easier that way.”

Of that, Bucky completely understands. After everything he’s been through, being alone has just made things simple. Lonely but simpler. He notices the many couples and maybe it would be nice to have someone there. But how can he find normalcy after everything he’s done? Is he deserving of it?

He wants peace. Dr. Raynor believes that’s bullshit but she can’t understand that he wants peace for himself. To feel comfortable. Accepted. Perhaps loved, if any deity or supernatural entity from above condones it.

But then, why are you so comfortable in your loneliness? He wonders about it.

“My doctor keeps telling me to try and engage with people. Open up. That sort of shit.”

“Mine too.”

Another funny coincidence you both find in each other. During your time talking over text, you both managed to find out you attended doctor appointments. Therapy and not by your own choice either. By some other force that dictated you needed help.

“People are so afraid of being alone these days. World’s dangerous, sure, but so are the people you thought you could trust. But people are desperate, I guess. They’ll risk it.”

Bucky cannot help the way the corner of his eyes curl slightly, lips stretching into a pursed smile to contain his amusement as much as possible.

“What?” you ask, head tilting slightly, your eyes having now settled on the booth’s texture right over his shoulder.

He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You often on the defensive when it comes to people?”

“Have to be. Don’t know their intentions. Could be anything.”

“And what about me?”

You shrug again, gaze torn between meeting his and keeping it far, far away. “Like you said before, if I looked at people once and a while. But I can’t. So I’ll never know, I guess.”

He frowns slightly at this. If your body language is telling him anything right now is that his question pushed you into a corner. You felt trapped when confronted by his curiosity. You didn’t answer him, not exactly, but if your response did anything it’s that you tend to avoid answering when you get pushed.

You don’t seem to be the overly aggressive type up front. But if backed into that corner, that is when you may very well lash out. A defensive tactic. A once victim tactic.

Both of you are pulled from the thicket of your scattered thoughts and silence when the waitress returns with the check. You begin to shuffle around in your pocket, obtaining your half of the meal when Bucky stops you.

“My treat,” he says and hands his money to the blonde worker.

“N-no, that’s okay. I’m fine with paying my side.”

He tuts you with a shake of his head, eyes penetrating your very soul for the moment you meet it.

Don’t look at me like that please… heart’s going too fast. Just let me pay for my food.

“I was born and raised in a time that I pay for the date. Let me cover it.”

Not that you have much choice to argue. He’d already handed off the money and the waitress took away your finished plates and beers.

Your bottom lip curls outwards into a pout. You feel bad that he felt like he had to do that. For him to pay out more than what was required.

In that regard, he leans back slightly, chin held higher a little more. He believes he’s won this round. But if anything, you’re adamant to pay him back.

“Here.” You slide the bill towards him, ignoring the way his eyes narrow slightly to your challenge. “Just accept it, please? I’ll feel better knowing I didn’t waste your money.”

Reluctantly, he nods and accepts the money and you mumble a soft thanks.

Time flew by as you both wandered together, giving him a general tour of the area. Small bouts of banter passed between you both, and general topics of discussion like work and time passers were made to fill the void of silence. Even still, you kept everything at surface level, never really exploring any deeper thoughts, much like him. But those very rare glimpses were only brief glimpses into one another’s life.

At least you both could report to your respective doctors that you tried, still in the dark that Dr. Raynor was the host of your separate appointments.

Coming through the way you came you reach your initial meeting spot, the sidewalk more open with people now on their way back home at the later hour.

“No, Sam just talks too much,” Bucky grumbles in his chuckle, an amused grin forming on your lips. He could just make out the rows of teeth.

“Sounds like a fun guy.”

“Definitely.” You hear the grumbling breathlessness in his tone. When he glimpses to his side he finds your eyes, quick to steal whatever he can get of those capturing colours that are far too swift to avert.

Fuck. Can’t even make it to five seconds. I’m getting nowhere with this eye contact exercise.

Following him, he leads you over to his bike and your eyes narrow curiously. So it was him that owned the motorcycle you heard earlier that evening.

“I guess this is where we part ways for the night.” You bounce your head in the direction of your place. “Was good finally meeting you, Bucky.”

That didn’t sit well with him. A lot can happen on the walk back to your place and he didn’t feel completely ready to let you go for the night. Eyes tearing between you and his bike with quick thinking, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. He hoists a leg over his bike, straddling the seat and rolling his arm to beckon you closer.

“Why don’t we go for a quick ride? Then I’ll drop you home.”

“Nah, besides I’ve never… I-I’m good. I like the walk home.”

Bucky is quickly picking up a sort of pattern. Still, he can’t shake the need to just hang around you a little longer, nor the guilt he’d have for just leaving you. Chivalry at its finest, he shakes his head sternly, dismounting the bike, you see the way his body moves fluently with the action.

Fucking stop doing that!

Your mind is dancing two different dances. Rational thought and that bubbly, giddiness that often leads swooning victims into blinded trouble.

“Alright, we’ll walk together then.”

“Wait– you can’t just leave your–”

He begins to lead you off in the direction you’d motioned to before. “I’ll come back for it.”

“Bucky.” He sees the defiant pout and crossing of your arms. Indeed, a cute sight to behold.

He smirks, and shit, you couldn’t meet anything above the bridge of his nose then, but did you admire what you could.

“It’s your call. We can either walk or take the bike.”

He’s played a few rounds of this game already with you. Numerous times you’ve had to choose between one option or the other, a few of those being a tad embarrassing, but his assurance provided some semblance of comfort.

But what felt like a game before now feels like more than that now. Before it was fun, easy and not serious. This, however, was not a round you can simply forfeit from. It’s either option one or two.

Your chest expands with a large inhale. Blinking, you contemplate and weigh the options. “We’ll take the bike.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make a rider out of you, Doll.” It didn’t help the flush that scorches and freezes your body simultaneously when he adds a wink to his witty flirtations.

You try to not let it get to you. Not to let goosebumps riddle your skin and send your nerves endings aflame. But he’s making it hard. He leads you back towards the bike and he grabs the helmet.

“Here, you can use this.”

You focus on the protective helm and though you mean to protest, worried about what he’d do about himself, he’s already tucking your head in.

You make a small noise as he wriggles it in place and through the visor, you can finally meet his eyes.

With the blacked out visor to shield your eyes, you finally and truly admire the - unfortunately muted - hue of blue that entrances you, intense as the hottest levelled flame. He’s smiling down at you.

“How’s it fit?”

“Good!” you call, giving him a thumbs up. He nods with that assurance and directs you to mount the bike behind him. But you’re going shy on him and he cocks his head slightly, brows knitted in their concern.

Even when you preferred to be the one to initiate contact, that didn’t mean you were used to or fond of it. What if you held him too tightly, or what if you touched him somewhere he wasn’t comfortable with.

Mounting the bike behind him, you at first put about an inch or two of space between you both. “Get on closer.”

You fail to hide the mousey squeak when his hands pull at your thighs, tugging them forward until they rest against him, your hands find purchase on the broad space of his shoulders.

He does it cautiously, he seeks out your wrists when they slide down the scape of his back, and you - warily - let him pull them around his torso. He exhales slowly, giving himself a second to comprehend having your hold around him. Why does he feel this way? Now that he has you like this, he can’t bear to think about losing it.

“Hold on tight now,” he instructs and with a heavy bob of your head, thanks to the helmet, he lets the engine purr to life and he feels your arms grow a little tighter.

Rolling the bike back a little, he lets a car pass by before he speeds off down the way, the bike’s roar pulses through your entire body until for sure you’ve gone numb and you only hold onto Bucky tighter.

The surge of adrenaline fills you until you’re on high, blood boiling hot in your veins as he flies through the traffic. For taking things usually at your own pace, it felt good to have a little speed kick in.

Taking a sudden turn to the left would have made you question your decision to take the bike - should have scared you - but it didn’t. Not with Bucky. For what feels like ages now, you feel that you can trust him.

“How you doing back there?” he asks, straining his voice to yell over the bike’s power. You doubt very much he’d be able to hear you, not when you only just managed to hear him, you opt to nod your head vigorously. He feels it against the muscles of his back and his lips tug upwards.

Accelerating slightly more, he feels your body grow giddy, jostling a little as you laugh behind him while he weaves through traffic. It really shows that you’ve never been on a bike before now. And since that’s the case, he’s determined to make it an unforgettable experience.

With any wishful thinking, you’ll want to go for another ride with him.

Bucky puts the now overwhelmed engine to rest for a little while, all thanks to his plan to impress you. “Here we are.” He lets his eyes rake over the few story building, a little settlement of apartments, currently parked round back that shows a short paved walkway to your backdoor. Going through the front door was usually hectic with your neighbours, good people honestly, but after a tiring day it could get a bit much.

This way, you could be left alone.

“This is me,” your voice says through the helmet. You dismount before him and unlike Bucky, your movements aren’t as well versed. But for him, that just adds to your charm.

You let him stand close to you as he retrieves his helmet, being gentle to pry it off.

Once that visor is gone, so too does your resolve to look into his eyes, the connection lost with the helmet’s absence.

“Thanks for driving me home. I… had a good time.”

“You’re welcome.” Bucky’s lips thin into a smile. This was it then, the end of your little outing together. He doesn’t want to come off strong but how can he be so sure that you’ll be so bold again? How long would he have to wait?

That’s why he’s pulling you closer again. It may be scary but at this point, he’s willing to risk it, if it means to have another meeting with you. To see you again.

“Well, goodnight Bucky. I’ll talk to you—” You’d only begun to turn towards the narrow walkway when you’re stopped. Pulled back until you’re practically flushed against Bucky’s front. He’s pressing something into the palm of your hand. Thin, like paper. Peering down, you see the bill you’d given him.

However, you don’t have any other choice when his other hand tilts your chin up.

Oh no.

“Give me five seconds,” he breathes out, voice hopeful. Your chin trembles, only just able to look at him through your lashes, but even then your focus dives downward, but his fingers remain to keep your head from bowing.

“I-I can’t…”

“You can. Take your time.”

Why he’s doing this, you have no clue, and why he’s willing to be patient; it’s just downright confusing. Who in their right mind would have time for this? At times, you barely have enough time to deal with your own shit.

To save himself from waiting for a literal eternity, you rip the bandaid, and you meet his eyes. No visor, no secretive glimpses here and there stolen. You stare straight up, right into those blues that can very well drown you.

Your lungs tighten and struggle to maintain a steady pattern, you feel the welling of tears glass over your eyes with each second you count. Slowly.

One… two…

His eyes remain gentle with you. Tender and kind. You’re not seeing anything… bad, like he wants to hurt you. he could be hiding it really well. But for yourself, you’re sure he can see every single rational and irrational fear, every painful memory in your teary eyes. Your vision begins to cloud, like the fight to stay above the crashing waves.

Three… four…

Buck’s hand lowers slowly but you don’t register it. You can’t. It’s something that occurs in the background, unattuned to it. You see in those wonderfully coloured hues that he's just as haunted as you are or even more.

He’s lonely as you are. Afraid as you are. Shadows of his own past, you can see them. Made him into the person he is in front of you. And you can’t blame him, no matter what it is that haunts him.

You see a once victim in him just as much as you see in the mirror every morning.

“Same time next Friday?” he asks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. His chest expands as he holds his breath.

“Sure.” You share a smile between you two, cheeks glowing warm and bright red.

“I’ll pick you up.”

Him leaving the proximity of your personal space leaves you gasping for air, blinking the tears in your eyes rapidly, you watch him retreat to his bike. Until next Friday, you’d wait to see him then.

“Talk soon, Doll,” he calls out with a wave once he’s atop his vehicle. Looking at it now, you can still feel the vibrations in your legs.

“Mhm. Until then.”

You take your leave then, entering your apartment and shutting the door behind you in tandem with him riding off into the night. Planting your back against the door to ground you does little to affect, still you’re floating.

This new feeling welling inside your chest, a flutter in your stomach… It scares you. Is this feeling why people are afraid to be alone? You don’t know what to think.

All you do know is that you gave him ten seconds.

#treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue #bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #angst #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you

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darkdemeter · 3 months

Text

WORST FUR WEATHER

IMAGINE... REUINITING WITH WANDA AT THE APARTMENT AFTER BEING EXPOSED TO A SEX POLLEN

Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Werewolf Reader

— READ BELOW THE CUT AT YOUR OWN RISK

The rain pelts harder now, your fur drenched, slick with the droplets that now run rivets down the curvature of your muscles. Your tail swishes from side to side in your hungering curiosity, the power in your haunches holds you atop the balcony’s railing.

Your head is bowed and turned to your side before it raises up, nose twitching in resistance to the rain drops trying to hinder the alluring scent in the air, coming from inside the apartment. Her body is sudden to flinch, the muscles and nerves twitching in a response to fight or flight, when your hand lowers and your head rises; turning your gaze inward to the apartment.

Wanda stares with her mouth agape, the way your amber eyes beam hotly against the glass, reflective orbs dancing over the wide window panel as you tilt your head slightly.

Her eyes travel downwards, following the flowing river that leaves you soaking wet. A flutter takes over her stomach then. The way your eyes search through the glass pane, she wonders if you’re able to see her completely or if you only take notice of your own reflection. To test her theory, she moves slowly, her body moves around one of the couches.

Your head ever so slightly moves along with her. You can see her.

Your eyes analyse her through the barrier between you both. The dark stockings that hug her thighs tight to the point that the exposed skin at the top of her thighs is only visible by an inch before the rest is hidden beneath her scarlet dress. In your wolf mind, you’re left to the primal beauty of your unsatiated fantasies.

With a husk-drawn growl, your muzzle wrinkles to bare your elongated teeth, the heat of your body only increases as she nears closer to the glass.

One powerful leg stoops down off the ledge, muscles flexing as the pads of your pawed feet scuffing against the balcony’s floor. Wanda’s eyes watch with an infectious intent and delight, her chest rises and forces her breasts to push up with a deep breath.

Seeing her lungs deflate, you can read her sigh of relief.

“I thought… I thought I’d lost you,” she says behind the glass, pressing a hand up, reaching out for you. Your other leg moves down and you stalk forward, the rain that ran down your form follows you in a wet trail.

“But you’re here…,” she gasps, “you’re alive.”

An obscurity paints itself on the glassy surface when your hot breath hits it, misting over the outline of her hand.

She notices how your fiery eyes rake up and down her form and she’s reminded of what toxic chemical attacks your system. The mound juncture between your powerful, muscular thighs also proves just how far along since it’s invaded your body.

But strangely enough, you appear… calm. It brings a cause of curiosity, your calmness, and Wanda tilts her head to the left slightly and leaves the curve of her neck exposed.

That’s when she sees that composure leave you at the drop of a hat. The formation of your browline scrunches and your muzzle wrinkles into a snarl, you snap your jaws with a growl at the glass, your claws hatch aggressive lines into the window’s surface. She’s taken aback and stumbles, backing away from the window a few steps.

When she looks again, between your legs at the pitifully aroused location, her breath becomes light and short lived in her lungs, a slickness pools between her thighs, threatening to drool and seep out from her panties. Wanda’s often fantasised about you fucking her raw and hard until she cannot take it any longer many times - in your human form - but now, all she can conjure in her mind is the desirable idea of having you take her like this.

And the way your eyes linger on her form in hunger does little to ease her own for you.

She hears the muffled tone of your guttural purr, "Let me in, Little Lamb..."

— — — —

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — @alexawynters @alyciaddict

#werewolf reader #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue #gn reader #female reader #male reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #marvel #sex pollen #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #werewolf #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #mcu #imagine #wanda

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darkdemeter · 3 months

Text

WOLF AT YOUR DOOR: CAN'T LOSE YOU SO SOON

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #3 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Babbies okay, I was tearing up when writing this piece, I just have this weird love for writing shit like this. I hope you enjoy it, maybe get yourselves some tissues, and let the story come... full circle.

WORD COUNT — 2.5k

READER DISCRETION — A lot of angst — hurt and hurt/comfort — bit of a backstory filler mostly — pregnant Wanda gets very emotional — depictions of trauma, grief, loss and structure destruction — usage of mates and mention of the bond's ability I think that's it?

PREVIOUS COLUMNS WOLF AT YOUR DOOR WOLF AT YOUR DOOR Pt. 2

SUMMARY — You've always been a fighter. It's familiar to you, you know how to handle it. Because you had nothing to lose. Until recently. With Wanda due any moment now, it's put your fighting on the edge. So when a mission goes horribly wrong, it's decided what must be done next...

She knew it would be dangerous. But that never once stopped you from facing the threat head on. Stupidly brave, and insanely headstrong. Yearning for the fight, for the chance to do the thing you always believed you were only good at.

She had pulled you aside after the briefing for the emergency meeting, hand anxiously running over her swollen belly and eyes tearfully full.

“Don’t.” Her one worded plea is only met with a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be back soon enough.”

So stupidly brave. Ignorant and brave. Rugged in your feverish itch to join the fight. Fury amongst everyone else knew she is due any day now. And still, they send you away into the arms of danger, as if you have nothing to lose.

As if she has nothing to lose.

She watches as you turn your back to her - on her - and storm down the corridor, joining your assigned comrades to prepare for combat. She sees you join them on the quinjet and take off at lightning speed, towards the reported chaos. A threat that devastates New York, with many civilians, innocent in their parts to play, are in need of you.

But Wanda needs you too.

She paces around the briefing room, the projector casting the events at this current time. Her hands cup her swell, the looming pressure of anxiety claws at her insides, troubling her and her pups that have become riled in the womb.

She does her best to soothe them to no avail. They’re able to feel the way her body is constricted in her worry.

Worry that becomes sheer terror in the blank of an eye. The damage reminds her of Sokovia. Destruction leaves many in a state of grief and uncertainty. Her heart goes out to them, truly it does. But the tears she sheds aren’t for them.

They're for you.

You’d become separated from your team in the midst of the chaos. The fight in which gets your blood pumping hard and a vent for the pent up rage. Cameras catch it all, your shifted form pelted from the rooftop of an eighty story building like nothing, your body flies far until your back collides into the neighbouring tower.

However, your opponent doesn’t leave you to fall to your demise below. Not that you’d give yourself that chance, your body falling a few stories before your claws find purchase on a lucky ridge that catches you.

Your opponent launches forward and with a cloud of dust and debris, you’re sent falling through the wall and downwards, the building collapsing in around you.

Fury stands beside Wanda, hands pressed firm behind his back and shoulders stiff. Natasha reaches Wanda who cries out, she cries your name, prayers and pleas to not lose you so soon.

Pain blooms in her body and she fears the stress has induced her labour. The catastrophe not only claiming you but also the life of her pups.

The building still crumbles in, thick and towering clouds darken out the sun.

“We’re on our way, Y/N. Hold tight. Y/N? Y/N, do you copy?” The dispatched team’s frequency seems to echo throughout the briefing room. Natasha holds Wanda tightly in her arms, cradling her sobbing body that shivers with peach painful wave consuming her body, mind and mated soul.

“Please! Please, someone, help them!” she screams until her voice is shredded and strained by grief. “Don’t leave me, Y/N! Please! Don’t leave us!”

Your teammates work hard to sift through the wreckage. People are screaming, their voices cutting through the feed. Tony, Thor and Peter begin to pull chunks of debris aside, shoving, pushing deeper into the fallen building.

Steve comes into view next to aid in the recovery; the daunting realisation that it may very well be for your body.

Wanda’s eyes cloud with her tears, she wipes them clear only for more to blur her vision. She can’t see the feed. She doesn’t want to. But she needs to. She knew something would go awry. She felt it. Something in the bond told her to warn you, to keep you out of danger’s way, but your headstrong attitude wouldn’t allow you.

Did you think yourself invincible? She always found you had such a complex. That you can shake whatever it is off without a hitch. All she can do is pray that they retrieve you. She cannot bear the thought of—

“We need immediate medical attention. Y/N is down, and bad. We… shit, hold on, Kid. Hang in there. Fury, send an emergency medic!” Tony’s voice is sharpened by panic.

After another moment, Steve, Peter and Tony drag you out from the clouds of dust, your body brings a shrill cry from Wanda’s throat. She can taste the blood on her tongue.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all Fury says. All he could say. Scarlet red glares at his turned back, shrouding over the cool green of Wanda’s hues. Natasha’s own eyes mist over with tears. Her hand presses onto Wanda’s, the panicked kicking doesn’t cease for a moment.

Banner and Helen work in record time. The moment you were carted back to the compound, medical attention was on you. Natasha, Bucky and Loki had to hold her back, her body moving to run to you.

Nobody answered her questions which only fuel her more with dreaded doubt of your survival.

You can’t leave her so soon. You just can’t… you were mates, you and her. She needs you.

Your body is torn between human and wolf as the cells of your body try to recuperate from the inflicted trauma and heal your wounds.

With gloved hands, Banner plucks the remnants of your shock collar off, a low whine escapes you. The smell of burnt flesh stings their noses.

“This is…”

It’s been a few hours now before anyone could see you. All huddled together outside the room, Banner and Helen finally come out. Immediately they’re pounced on with questions regarding your health.

Banner, however much he wanted to address their concerns, his eyes turn to Wanda. She was the priority right now.

“Are they dead?” The ring of her Sokovian tongue is prominent in her question that quivers unevenly.

Banner’s head bows down, bottom teeth pulling over his top lip, he pushes the door open.

“No. They’ve asked to see you. There were a few… complications during the procedure. Helen and I believe it may be for the best to prepare for the worst.”

Wanda would not hear anymore of it. She pushes past Banner, ignoring the tearful eyes that follow her in pity. She shuts the door behind herself, leaving you both to the near silence devices of your intertwining presences. The faint beep of the machine monitoring sounds slow with each high pitched mark of your heartbeat.

Wanda approaches your side, your body now complacent in its human skin. A vast majority of your body is patched up with bandages and bruised skin, your face mostly stitched and also bruised.

What concerns her amongst all these things is the thick layer of gauze wrapped around your neck.

Your eyes pry open to catch a glimpse of your visitor, your expectations confirmed when your fingers curl Wanda’s hand into your hold.

“Mate,” you sigh softly. It’s a dead giveaway that your breath is at a near loss with how little your chest rises.

“How could you?” she seethes, streaks of tears lining her cheeks, “you fucking— you almost left us behind!”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Be safe. Be loyal!” She pauses in the middle of her coiling anger. She uses her sleeve to wipe her stuffy nose and eyes. “Be with us. Stop… please, stop fighting like this. You’re not alone anymore. You have something to lose now.”

Her words take their sweet time to sink in. The fight is all you know. From a young age, you were trained to kill, to fight. To put away so many years of battle isn’t easy. Years of field trauma tend to stay well over their welcome. It becomes a dark piece in the puzzle of your soul, your identity. But she is right. You never had anything to lose before her. You could go running into a blaze of silver gunfire and not give a single thought to the outcome that was your survival.

There once was a time that nothing had you bound to keep living. But now you do. You have a family. Your family.

“I agree.” Wanda’s eyes find yours, a short gasp in her next breath. Your hand curls tighter. “I’m scared, Y/N…”

Your brows screw into a confused pinch. “Why?”

“Because Banner says that I have to expect the worst. That because of complications— y-you may…”

“Oh, Banner is full of shit. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you - any of you - alone.” Your hand flattens over her bump that instantly comes to life upon your touch. Wanda offers a smile, saddened by the thought that this may very well be the last time your hand graces her pregnant belly. The last time you may have on this earth with her and your pups. The lives you both created together from a night of pent up attraction. Of once denied love.

She sidles up beside you and her arms carefully move to hold you. Perhaps for the final time. “You were so sure before the mission. I’m sorry, my love, but you can’t be so sure now either.”

You growl lowly under your breath, pulling her tight against you, disregarding the rapid climb of the monitor, the ache of your wounds and the traumatic burning ring around your neck. None of that means shit to you.

All that matters to you is Wanda and your pups. Your family.

“Yes I can.”

The day is lifeless without sunlight. Only grey clouds form the sky with a sprinkling of rain. Her eyes are drowned by tears, she’s been crying for days now, the decision clear and made. The pup curled to her breast, adorned in a bright yellow suit, coos in protest when her tiny nose is dotted by light droplets of rain.

Wanda breathes through her nose, uttering a quiet apology as she then wipes her pup’s nose.

Her eyes stare down towards the grassy plot at her feet. The stone tablet is brand new, the gilded, reflective plate etched with the honourable title and name of one who was lost. Those of the team, the Avengers, gathered together in a dark palette of mourning.

Natasha is held tightly to Steve’s chest as she weeps. Each to their own shed their tears, their condolences for her. Wanda has grown tired of the tears.

“Y…” She cannot even bring herself to say the name. To bring any sense of comfort. To say a few words of gratitude for the buried.

In her weakening resolve, she feels a hand on the small of her back. Your hand. Her eyes move from the headstone to your eyes, also brimmed red with tears.

You were stupidly strong. Not a single tear would ever leave a watery streak down the contours of your visage. Until today.

You turn to those who you work alongside with. Your own arms cradling the other three pups.

“Yelena Belova was an integral member of the Avengers team. She was never afraid of anything. Many times, she’s thrown herself in the fray for our sake. In fact, I believe some of us wouldn’t be here today, if not for her…”

Your eyes fall to the faces of your pups, their eyes slowly blinking up at you. You sigh heavily with the burden of your sincere words, hardened by the loss, hardened by the resolve that Natasha lost someone dear to her.

Yelena had saved you countless times. Watched your back when you couldn’t watch it yourself. You doubt yourself among the living had she’d never done so. She’s the reason you’re still alive. The reason you have a family.

“We will honour Yelena’s legacy and memory. She will always be a part of this team. A part of us. Forever.”

The final pup whines, kicking her little legs about as you lower her into the makeshift nest. You’d been kept busy, using what materials you could to create a crib big enough for your four pups, then padding it beyond the realm of comfort. She snuggles into her siblings, each of them looping their legs or arms around one another.

You huff quietly, nose nuzzling each of them in a bid of good night, their soft coos assuring you they are safe and well in their slumber. “We can’t stay here anymore. I cannot bear the thought of burying you too soon.”

“I know, Mate,” you agree, tone heavy in your post-grief. You walk to her and sit alongside the edge of the bed. After the funeral and tending to the pups, Wanda showered quickly and dressed down into one of your large shirts, even being clean, it smelt of you.

A comfort she thought would be the only thing she’d have left of you.

“You mean far too much to me. The thought of losing you, I just— I can’t—”

“I know.”

You pull yourself towards her now and pull her into your front. Still her eyes are glassy. Truly, you’ve pushed her beyond her breaking point and it saddens you deeply that you allowed your bravery and hotheadedness to blind you to the bond.

You felt it too. The remnants of Mother Nature yourself, a connection you’d long forgotten, tugged at you with staggering might. A warning that you were in great danger. You had blatantly ignored it.

You threatened the tie of the bond with your stupidity. And now you have to pay the price for it. That’s why you decided together what was best for your family.

“It’s a place called Sanctuary. An… old reserve. Deep in a valley far away from all this. We can settle there, build there. Together.”

Her hand is delicate against the line of your jaw, her plump lips meet yours in a soft kiss. You purr softly and cradle the nape of her neck, deepening the kiss.

When you finally pull away from her lips, you grace her with a tender smile, eyes filled with love. Pure adoration and love. A sight she never thought she’d see grace your haunted gaze.

“And… this can be our first step.”

Your hand fumbles around for a moment until you finally succeed in retrieving whatever it was you’re searching for. Wanda’s eyes shift down as gold slides over the slender bend of her finger. Her mouth falls agape and she turns her eyes back to you.

“Marry me?”

Your fingers run over the scarring. The ring of skin around your neck is still marred in its process to heal. For how much longer is undetermined but the pain tied to it left you no choice but to resign yourself to the wilds of home.

Your reflection in the picture frame casts a glaring glimpse of the fight you’ve now retired from. You’ve far too much to lose now. Loneliness once allowed you to be so reckless. But not anymore.

In that picture frame is the reflection of someone who did the right thing for their family. Someone who resigned from the fight they once danced so well before it claimed their life. Before it robbed you and Wanda of being an ‘us’.

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

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darkdemeter · 2 months

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WOLF AND CONSORT: THE WEIGHT OF BARGAINS UNPAID

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Mafia! Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Short, I know, but I did get a little carried away with the darker aspect...

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Overall 18+ content, minors DNI! — post-kidnapping — Threats of death, endangerment and some abusive violence towards a minor (teenager) — general depictions of mafia violence — dark! reader — adult language — use of pet/nicknames ("Sweets") — cough obsessive/yandere type reader — I think that's it?

— NEXT COLUMN

SUMMARY — This isn't your first rodeo handling a rat caught in the trap. On the outskirts of New York, away from prying eyes, you've set into motion a plan to show Tony Stark that you are not to be trifled with. However, like an angel, Wanda comes to the rescue of your little captive. As per your fashion, in exchange for his freedom, she is expected to repay the debt of your kind deed. After all, the weight of bargains unpaid can be very hefty the longer they take to pay up...

Thump. Thump. Thump.

There are layers to the darkness he finds himself trapped in. The first masks eyes laden with tears that streak the hollowed paths of his face. The second surrounds him at all sides, in all directions, its atmosphere impairs his capabilities to remain calm, bandana pulled tight between his teeth and his limbs bound by the restraint of squeezing threads of plastic.

For time unknown is spent in the two layers of darkness, nose running with no hope to see the light of day again, forever bound to live out the remainder of his existence in the void that thrums deep and low, occasionally swerving left or right and dragging his weight to crash against one of the four walls of his black box cell.

As for the third layer of darkness, he’d rather spend this era of purgatory in the trunk, if it meant he never had to encounter the third again.

Tires slow to roll over the crunching of gravel, each second reminding him of the sound of bones being snapped and dismantled. The car’s movement halts but the car’s engine continues to rumble deeply, oiled and purring like a cat, he hears the slamming of doors.

“Mmf?”

Feet paw the gravel in near tandem of each other, moving in pairs of five in total. Clatter of metal emits from the darkness in front of his face and with a croak of the lock mechanism, the mouth of the trunk lifts upwards.

His once vocal, muffled pleas fall dead and bandaged by the damp cloth between his teeth. Eyes flooding with tears that mark his vision in a blur, spots of clear force him to meet his captors. Their eyes bear down upon him a weight that leaves his lungs burning in desperate hunger for air.

But it's the shadowy contours concealing most of your visage, eyes aglow and gaze eerily heated like burning coals.

“Peter, was it?” you drawl in question behind a wall of teeth. The falsehood of your smile brings a wave of nausea to swell in the pit of his stomach, as bile churns the remnants of his last meal, and the ringing in his ears throbs louder.

One of the men raises his arm and the barrel of a handgun forcefully kisses the rubbery flesh of Peter’s cheek, tear, blood and sweat stained. His body follows the natural course of instinct in his given position, muscles flinching harshly.

“Should we do it right here, Boss?” The voice of the gunman is roughly chalky through the tunnel of his throat.

“Not in the fucking trunk,” you hiss sharply, hand shoving the gun away. Peter momentarily catches a glimpse of the curved points of your claws, unsheathed and ready to rip and render anything fragile. If there was one thing he remembers in these final moments, it’s the few lessons his mentor warned him of.

One of which is that with you: everything is fragile. And frankly, you couldn’t give a single shit about being gentle.

“No. I have something else planned.” Your hand grapples the fabric of his shirt, bundling it together tightly and you rip him from the trunk, his body floundering because of the zipties digging into his skin, burning him red with irritated marks.

His body is thrown to the ground, back colliding into the metal rigging of the bridge’s rail. He wheezes and coughs as the air is pressed viciously from his lungs, mouth covering hindering his progress to recover his lost breath.

His eyes squint under the buzzing light overhanging the bridge section, dodgy in the way it flickers momentarily, brown hair tousled messily from his rough treatment in the time spent in your custody.

“Put some weight on him,” you order as you procure a small case from the inside of your coat.

Two of your men retrieve something from the trunk, chuckling amongst themselves, Peter’s eyes fixate on the coarse threading of rope looped into a noose on both ends. The other heaves a grunt as he hoists a large mass of concrete into his arms. Peter’s heart pounds harder and faster until his rib cage is bruised on the inside, relentless in its state of panic, the two men fix his legs together with one knotted loop, the other then tied around the hulking brick.

“Plmmf! Dmmf dmm mmph!” Old teary rivers on the verge of drying are renewed, fresh and warm. “Plmmf– plmmf dmmph!”

The men back away from him as you move forward, steps slow with preciseness in mind, you stoop down to his level. His head falters until his chin meets his chest, shoulders bouncing with his pitiful sobs.

“Don’t waste your breath, kid,” you tsk with the butt of your cigarette pressed between your lips. You pause to bring your lighter up, flame dancing mere inches away from his face, a faint overlay painting the canvas of your face. Even with that blaring light above, your features remain ominously impenetrable from his point of view.

Perhaps it’s because that’s how he sees you. As pure darkness. Evil incarnate.

With the end of your cigarette lit, your chest expands widely, shoulders engulfing Peter in shadow that threatens to swallow him whole, his pupils shrunken beyond comprehension of their existence. The scent of his terror brings about an amusing invigoration to the wolf’s side, the selfish need to hunt all things prey. All things weak.

The smokeline traverses upwards in a spiral as you next exhale, each pattern of the wisps unique. You pull the butt from your lips in silence as you offer a puff to the young man before you, to which he equally answers in his own quivering quietness with a shake of his head. The action reminds you more of an animal twitching.

Your shoulders roll back and the ridge of your browline rises up with a roll of your eyes. Another cloud of smoke is absorbed into the chasm of your chest, and this time, you huff the smoke into his face, his nose wrinkles as he coughs at the rancid smell of ashy, burnt tobacco. To add atop of the passive attack, your thumb taps the stick and the specks of ash cascade over his lashes that bat away the searing sting from his already reddened eyes.

“Y’know, I don’t like it when I catch rats scuttling around where they don’t belong. It’s not nice to eavesdrop on conversations you have no part in. No less, record it.” Beneath the octave of your tone is a breeze of airiness, a facade of hurt and your brows pitch up. When Peter gives no response, the facade vanishes, lifted to reveal the cold malice of your very existence.

“Did Tony send you to find out what we’ve been up to since the treaty?” Your hand lashes out and Peter’s voice, straining against the cloth, reaches out into the hollow of night with a raw, throat shredding scream. Your clawed fingers pinch the thinly layered bubbles of his cheeks, grip armed with the ability to threaten him that his jaw is a moment away from being unhinged with a single snap.

“Do I look like someone you can fuck with?”

“M–mf…” The structure of his face shudders with a ‘no’ response. “Then why were you snooping around in that warehouse, kid?”

The crease of your nose twists into a sneer when Peter does little to entertain your question with any sort of answer, you sigh as you move to stand up again, grip still locked around his face, he squirms as he’s hoisted up by the extension of your strength.

His tearful eyes grow in size, the whites reflecting the blinking light above, he hollers out a string of smothered screams.

“You’ll serve as a warning to him. Let him know that Clan business isn’t to be toyed with by the likes of him.”

Peter begins to writhe around in his fight to break free to no avail, body floundering, his back presses over the railing. He trusts that the weight tied around his ankles won’t keep him grounded even if you let him go, the power to thrust him over the ledge as easy for you as taking a breath, he watches behind another blur of tears - perhaps the last before his vision is overwhelmed by water - you take in a long drag of your cigarette, eyes stern and callous within its shadowed veil.

He’s hanging on the verge of a slow and agonising demise, to be tortured as he must fight for air he will never have again, in a battle futile to win he tries to take solace that there may be a white light at the end of death’s tunnel. A fleeting hope of a promise that with his suffering, there will be peace.

Rolling over the gravel, a second car pulls off to the road’s side some distance away, beams of the saving light finally bathe over what Peter could not see before. Horrors of your visage, tales a many circulating its distinctively haunting mark on the soul, once concealed in the darkness forged into your very nature, now paints the deeply etched sculpt of your furrowed brows. Below are the thinned form of your eyes that holster within them intentions dangerously untamed, and the recoiled muscle of your lips bearing sharpened points, untainted by violence and bloodshed for now, jaw set hard.

Your head bends off towards the side with a raspy growl tumbling through your clenched teeth. There's movement in the dark, wandering about as blackened shadows as they come upfront to meet with you. Your men take to preparing themselves, hands idle over their guns, they each whine and growl in a rumbling chorus backdrop.

“Let him go, Y/N,” says the accented allure of her sokovian tongue.

“Ah, well if it isn’t the poster child herself.” Mouth turning into a grin with a husky chuckle bouncing in your throat, eyes roaming the scale of her body up and down, you play into the extra mile and feign loosening your grip on the boy for a split second. You take sickening delight in the display of her body flinching.

Interest peaked, you purr lowly, “Why should I?”

“He’s just a boy. Please, he’s harmless to you.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth at this. How sweet she is, to come to the boy’s rescue, to save him from the clutches of a fate beneath the waters. Sweet and naive. You once again make your threat known, subtly pushing him that bit further over the edge. He makes to pull his body forward but you disable any attempt for him to secure even a shred of his safety. If those around you desire to push the bounds of your mercy, then you shall oblige in demonstrating the repercussions of such low thinking intelligence and blind haughtiness.

“Harmless,” you scoff, “A boy who knows too much about something he—”

“Please…,” she gasps. Oh, how that one word resounds in the night air clouded by rapids of fog. Muscle constricts around bone trembling in that same rushful, perverted delight. Never has such a sound - a singular word - been spoken so rawly and compassionately that it riled you deeply to the core, nor has any prior experience with company ever given you the dark stirring revelation you find before yourself.

Your eyes roll back to find hers, tongue tracing the sharp curves of your teeth.

Your men are silent, compliant to remain loyal and obedient despite the granted mercy you bestow upon the boy. Of course, they’d come to understand - or rather respect - your… fascination with the very woman who bargains nothing in exchange for the very clemency over Peter’s life. Your eyes pursue their focus on the darling woman whose green eyes bear to yours with such bewitching compassion. With claws hatching through rope and skin cutting plastic, Peter’s bruised features contort into a whirlwind mixture of relief and pain as he’s released from his bindings.

“Looks like you won’t be holding your breath, kid,” you huff. His knees wobble and his weight stumbles like a newborn pup, unsteady in his advance towards Wanda. She leans in close to his ear, plump lips moving before Peter continues on, moving towards the sanctuary of his saviour’s vehicle, another’s silhouette guides him safely into the back seat.

When she makes to swerve on her heel does she catch your fatal drawl with tongue beating the back of your teeth in a vocal, scolding fashion, finger wagging side to side.

“I’ve a reputation to protect, Sweets. I want compensation for your little stunt.”

For the second time, she gasps, “Excuse me?”

“I’m not a charity of mercy, Miss Maximoff.” Your head lays back slightly as you kink a finger at her in a gesture to bring to the table her payment. “So, what will you offer in return for the kid’s safety? Otherwise, with a snap of my fingers I’ll have my boys here drag him out… and I’ll hold the little fucker underwater until he drowns.”

“You… monster.” Her eyes break from yours, torn down is her resolve to stand before you and remain unshaken. Given this, the wolf’s nature takes hold and you stalk towards her, each step precise with predatory attentiveness. It’s not until you stand inches from her that she recognises that she’s let the wolf creep upon her. That she has succumbed to being your prey.

You continue, voice laced softly with a coo, “Then you know not to cross me, Sweets. So I ask again, what’s your offer?”

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

#the dark demeter writing catalogue #treehouse taglist #werewolf reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #male reader #gn reader #female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #mafia wanda maximoff #mafia au #mafia #mob au #wanda maximoff x werewolf reader #angst

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darkdemeter · 3 months

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THE CONVICT WOLF: A COURTESY CALL AWAY

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Yaaaay, first chapter for Convict is here. Yee!

WORD COUNT — 3.3k

READER DISCRETION — This series as a whole contains sensitive material that some readers may find triggering ; Profanity — depictions of blood, murder and violence — some angst — criminal reader — Hydra's return — mystery — I think that's it?

— NEXT COLUMN

SUMMARY — They say that the past catches up with you at one point or the next. You've always been as careful as your notorious reputation allows. It's not enough when your anonymous client seems to know you a little more for your own liking. And Wanda leaves a new message for their missing teammate.

And people still get in your way. And they get hurt. If that is the way things are to be, you won’t so much as blink the next time your actions cause catastrophe. New York, as you predicted, is awake in full swing and beset by panic.

Those who managed to escape the train cart unscathed by injury ran for safety. Your bounty had skill given their history with Hydra but that was it. They were of no match to bring you down. Didn’t mean they went lightly on you, quite the opposite in fact. But you can walk off bruises and torn flesh. They can’t walk off being dead.

Civilians scream to the high heavens in their frenzy of fear, a coop of sitting hens incapable of flying away from danger. All they can do is scream and run in terror. The chorus of sirens flood the streets and traffic becomes a multitude of blocked channels with no direct or clear way through.

With guns holstered it leaves you as a mere blur in the crowd, police unable to pin you down. At least, not yet. You never remain the unsuspected figure in the background for long, it’s just a matter of time and how far you can make it before the law makes a beeline for you. But right now, you have to get the hell out of dodge and fast. How they managed to track you down, you don’t know, all you know is that once you get that paycheck you’re out of here.

And that record hits a new score of just nine minutes and forty-three seconds when the first man hiding behind a badge orders you to stop in your tracks. When the threat of his fire aims at your back you return fire. Only you don’t afford him the luxury of a threat. Your quick draw is too fast for him to fully grasp the bullet wound now embedded in his chest, his partner catches his crashing weight before it drops to the pavement.

Innocent bystanders shriek in their response to the shock of such horrors. An officer of the law that protects them downed without so much as a sweat off your brow. And as much as you would love to entertain the silly men and women in their uniforms and act as if their bullets affect you on some greater level, you have other places to be and a reward to cash in on.

Like a phantom you’re gone in an instant once you get off the main street and cut through a few of the neighbouring alleyways. Police communicate the loss of suspect and begin to pull aside civilians to ask them about what occurred down in the subway.

Wanda makes it to the top of the subway stairs, green eyes scanning the panicked faces and whatever damage that followed the attack topside. Was this Hydra’s doing? Surely it had to be. Known for their devastation on the public without remorse, this could only be that. An attack by Hydra, gunning right for the Avengers and the innocents they swore to protect.

“Wanda,” a voice calls across the way and Natasha is quick to join her side. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. I only just got up here. I wasn’t able to board the train in time.” The two women search the sight before them. They cannot find what - or who - they're looking for. This bodes ill for the Avengers. Once again they feel trapped in the dark without a clue of light to illuminate them on the path.

They’re blind to the face of their enemy.

“What do we do, Nat?”

The woman next to her only sighs and shakes her head. Uncertain herself. She makes eye contact with America’s blue eyed hero who currently questions the police to no avail. He shakes his head at her. “I don’t know. All I do know is that someone cried wolf.”

The wounds didn’t carry infection which is a plus for you. Treating infected wounds proved to be a great bitch. Fuck that ex-Hydra experiment or wolf soldier, whatever they called themselves back in their service to the secret rogue division. You apply a large dose of alcohol to the wound across your toned stomach, skin and cloth bleached with the auburn coloured liquid.

“Son of a bitch…”

The TV catches your attention. It’s volume set to low to keep from interfering with your pounding headache. But the news crew - one amongst many reporting tonight - were talking about today’s incident.

The remote is swept up from its place on the coffee table and you raise the volume by a few increments. The woman’s voice on TV now a tad bit louder for you to really listen to her report.

“That’s right, Vivian, behind me the police continue their search for their prime suspect that they believe to be involved in the subway attack that took place in the Second Avenue Line, here in the borough of Manhattan.”

You huff with a roll of your eyes, focus back to applying pressure to the wound and cleaning it with the sting of alcohol. As if the news actually knew the story. They had outsider knowledge. A miniscule understanding - no, you wouldn’t even call it understanding. The humans knew nothing of the danger they were potentially in with an ex-Hydra specimen on the loose. Fuck the sob story and the going-straight path your bounty was going for, they were likely responsible of crimes just as horrendous as you.

You did New York a favour once again.

“Witnesses describe a shootout aboard the train at approximately 10:30 AM that progressed into a brawl between the two assailants. Although terrified, civilians who were there recount they saw what they can only describe to be ‘werewolves’. Police have yet to uncover the second person involved but key descriptions describe the first suspect, who was also witnessed shooting and killing a police officer, yet they are also to be apprehended. Both image and video footage has been posted all over social media but investigators scrape the evidence and this is what they found.”

You lift your eyes to watch this so-called evidence that New Yorkers managed to capture. So much for running for their lives, the views apparently are more important. And there it was, one of the credited sources of footage capturing two hulking masses of fur duking it out in the streets. The fight is of no small degree, of that you can be well assured. People got hurt in the process. Rammed into the side of a car, you suddenly grapple hold of your target and swing them at full force across the street and they crash into a street light that bursts with electricity.

And still they paint you as the criminal at the end of the day. It’s easier to point the finger and move on. You didn’t have enough time to really care about the tainted reputation you carry. It’s all you’ve ever known. No point in trying to go straight for you. The straightest you’ve ever gone is to get away from Hydra when they fell apart. But Hydra always had a way of getting their hands back on what was theirs, one way or another. However, you understood that you are a constant risk to the public. A danger. In your right opinion, all werewolves were.

You gather the length of bandages in your hands and prepare to wrap your wound when they address you on TV.

“It’s speculated that this is the work of the Convict Wolf. After five years of no known presence, they have resurfaced with this attack. Truly a ghost that resumes its haunting.”

Ah, there it is. The recognition. The staple of your criminal career. A name to the face.

“The community is in an uproar over this revelation. Chief, what can you say to address these allegations related to this criminal?” The reporter holds her microphone to the mouth of the police chief. He stands tall, a bushy moustache and a stone-cold glare in his dark, worn eyes.

“This convict has been nothing but trouble for the past few decades,” he begins, clearly he’s under some obligation to choose his words carefully. The entire world isn’t exactly ready to commit to the idea that werewolves were among the flock of sheep.

“And they have proven to be tricky to catch but mark my words, New York, they will be brought to justice. The Convict Wolf will not escape us forever and once they have been convicted of their crimes in the court of law, they will be punished like the dog they are.”

‘Aw, that’s inspiring.’

The law truly believes they can catch and hold you long enough to deal out your long overdue punishment. The witch hunt for your hide continues on even to this day in the modern times of New York. Some things never change.

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟖 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

These hunts were never going to change. That much you knew by now. If only you were sorry for what you were about to do. But there was no mercy in this world for the bounty. You tried to be nice about it but the bastard wasn’t making it easy. You’ve run out of patience. Getting tossed from one corner of the warehouse to the other like some ragdoll.

That isn’t going to fly with you. You stumble onto your two feet after being tossed some fourteen feet, give or take, and from the rafters above. Dust from the unswept, greyed out and rock solid tiles is kicked up into clouds, wafting higher up in a disturbed state.

The roof above is worse for wear, half of the tiling broken and missing only to leave a bare frame of wood. The light of the moon gives you a spotlight to work with despite your ability to see perfectly in the dark.

He’s perched high above, weight causing the beam he’s on to creak and groan with the threat to cave beneath him. He merely stares down at you as if you were something to be pitied. You don’t like that. You don’t like people looking at you with such an emotion. It twisted your gut in awful ways.

“Come on then!” you bark in your challenge, the metallic tinge of blood coating your tongue. You spit the heavy taste to the side. He meets your challenge and that was his last mistake. You shake your coat off just before the transformation has a change to rip the precious artefact of clothing you own. Your now longer and clawed limbs grab hold of his pouncing form before he has a chance to pin you down. Your long digits snap his jaws shut and you hoist yourself up to your hind legs, spinning him until his back faces you. It’s sort of poetic in a way.

For an appearance so savage and animalistic, you also retain a certain level of humanity in this form that it’s unnerving. Terrifying. Uncanny.

Your arms slide along his until you’ve got him at the join of his built elbows and one of your hind paws kicks him forward. He goes chest first into the protruding rod half broken on the rusted machine that once powered the now abandoned factory. It still serves some purpose after its intended use now scraped.

When his chest is penetrated is when you twist his limbs, pulling them as far back as you can. The crack of bone and tendons twisting, tearing under the mass of pressure you apply so easily.

He howls in pain until all of New York can hear him. A flutter of bird wings being chased off by the agonised howl echoes throughout the warehouse. Your head extends forward and your teeth sink into the nape of his neck and you cleanly snap the column in half just as you tear his arms from his torso and you give another shove into his back with your hind paw.

He goes still and his body weight slumps forward with a final sigh. You let his body drop against the rusty pole. The air is finally silent and you have a moment to yourself. No hunt, no law, no bullshit. Soon his body would change back, it was most common for the body to do so but there was the odd case where the identity of the body remained as just an animal.

That’s what your species was a whole. Animals.

“The noise came from here, Chief.”

“Halt right there– What in God’s name…”

The chief of police and his subordinates march into the warehouse, gas lit lanterns swinging haphazardly with their rushed movements to see to the noise complaint. All they saw in front of them were two animals. One dead and one alive. Alive and dangerous.

The large shape of your canid head slowly turns to the officers, eyes a powerful red to combat the light of their lanterns. They don’t give a single thought to the potential identity of a human beneath the reflective surface of your savage eyes and bared snarl.

They just see a mindless and bloodthirsty beast. “Shoot it! Kill it!”

You take no guilt for your conscience. They provoked you. There is no mercy for their actions. You weren’t sorry for doing what you did.

Leaping at them and tearing through the men of the law, of the badge, that stood no chance against the haze of your brutality. Their blood smeared and painted the dirt and sides of the warehouse in large splatters. Limbs were torn from sockets and flesh and bone alike was minced between your bloody jaws.

Monsters aren’t meant to feel anything for their quarry. That’s what the human race is to you. It’s how you perceive their weak, mortal bodies and primitive, closed off minds; as your prey. And only your prey.

Your phone buzzes with an unknown caller ID and you’re dragged out from the ravine of memory lane. You’ve an inkling of who it might be calling you. You pick up and put the phone to your ear. “It’s done. Now about my money…”

“Of course. It’s been transferred right now…” The distorted voice of the caller drawls ominously and you cannot help the sliver of suspicion that crosses your mind. The fee you asked for up front was still mysteriously ‘locked’ until the remainder of the money was funnelled into your encrypted account. You can see the loading bar of the transfer happen in real time on your opened laptop screen. Fifteen percent. Twenty percent.

“A hundred-fifty thousand, as promised.”

You scoff with eyes wide at the declared amount your client says was the agreed amount. “I thought I made myself clear it was two hundred-thousand.”

“We had to cut a few costs. Our revival of the project you serve isn’t cheap and we need that hush money.”

You scowl in response to this, brows furrowing hard until the deep bevel between them forms.

How could you be so blind for even a second? It was so obvious.

This was Hydra’s courtesy call to you.

“If you believe to have seen this criminal, police urge you to call them right away, and to be warned that the convict is still at large and most definitely armed. Civilians are also warned to not travel alone or without means to protect themselves.”

Tony switches the display off and casts down the remote in his hands before using them to comb his hair back. His eyes are troubled by the revelation that a new criminal, a new source of trouble, is in their midst. He’s read the files - they all have - but for some reason you have always been able to give everyone the slip.

“What in the actual hell went on out there?” Tony finally asks his team but none give an answer. Not right away. With a shrug of defeat he wanders over to the kitchen to fix himself a dose of something strong to combat his growing frustrations.

“We’re not sure, Tony,” Steve finally answers with a sideways glance, “the attack was so sudden and Wanda wasn’t able to track down the Hydra assassin.”

“I should have gone with her.” It’s Bucky who sighs and hangs his head back in his own defeat. “If I had been with Wanda, we could have stopped this. Hydra assassins can move around undetected, be unassuming until it’s too late to do anything.”

“It’s not your fault, Buck,” Steve says to assure his friend but Tony doesn’t let up. His lecture hall has only begun for his fellow Avengers. “So we have a Hydra resurgence group on our hands and now we have to worry about the Convict Wolf. When does this madness end, guys?”

“Tony,” Steve warns firmly, blue eyes landing on Wanda who sits quietly on the end of the couch. She’s been staring off into oblivion for the entirety of their sit down meeting. She’s unfocused in the world around her and trapped in the land of her own thoughts.

Steve calls to her once, then twice, but she remains unshaken from her mind. The sketch shown on the news was uncanny but it was the eyes that continue to spear so deeply into her mind, those eyes that burnt with rage. With hate. She could still feel the bothering heat of you against her skin and the growl of your tone perverted her ears and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She saw you board the train. The exact same train.

And now they are gone. Vanished into thin air. Wanda feels as though the world shuts down around her. Like her organs are slowly giving in with each breath coming in and out slower than the last. She presses a hand to her ear out of habit, to speak into the coms long since discarded when the mission was called in.

Wanda’s eyes scrunch closed and her chin wobbles slightly. Ever so slowly and painfully, that air grows tighter in her lungs until it can barely escape. She’s losing to this and it’s only been several hours. Where could they have gone?

She hopes to just hear their voice crackle over the coms that aren’t present in her ear any longer. Fuck, she hangs to hope like a life line. She just needs that confirmation that they’re ok. But she can’t hear their voice on the other end. There is no earpiece to bridge the gap of communication.

Natasha is the first to approach Wanda in order to assure her. “Wanda. Breathe for me, ok?” Natasha begins to lead Wanda into the exercise of breathing but it helps little. Wanda abruptly stands to her feet. “I have to go.”

Her form flees to the privacy of her room and Natasha decides it better to leave Wanda to grieve. She sighs heavily when her own eyes become coated in that warm sheen that blurs her vision. “We have to look for them. They’re out there and if we don’t find them, it will kill her.”

As the Avengers discuss their next course of action before Fury’s next - and importantly stated - briefing, Wanda takes hold of her phone. The lock screen is a sharp reminder that buries the knife only deeper into her heart. She’s growing desperate at this point, not even 24 hours later and she needs that voice of clarity. She clicks on the name at the top of her contact list.

It goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t get to your call. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” Beep!

“Hey… listen, uhm, I know you’re probably just hiding out somewhere and… I-I’m sorry if I sound worried I just– I can’t help but think you’re in danger. So please, when you hear this, c-call me back. Okay? Bye…”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#gn reader #male reader #female reader #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #werewolf reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #marvel #wanda maximoff x werewolf reader series #angst #werewolf #wanda maximoff

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darkdemeter · 2 months

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WOLF AND CONSORT |PAGE

— READER DISCRETION —

This series contains content that is only suitable for 18+ readers, minors DNI. As expected with every mafia/mob au, there will be heavy adult themes such as graphic depictions of drugs, violence, death, sexual content (both consented and brief/and or mentioned none-consensual) and other potentially triggering subjects.

The Wolf And Consort series also depicts a dark! Reader that may cause some readers distress or find triggering aspects with his actions and dialogue.

Please take care in reading the reader discretion listed above every column before proceeding. Doing so without browsing any potential triggers will be placed upon the reader's own sense and responsibility for not reading the explicit warnings beforehand.

VOLUMN I

SUMMARY — Tale as old as a long fucking time ago, it's always been Man vs Wolf. The feud between Families and Clans makes it impossible to attain lasting peace. Both sides once locked in a stalemate now glimpse at the future - a grand opportunity to cease absolute control over New York. As leader of one of the most powerful Clans, and one of few chosen to ascend the Alpha's throne, your peers advise you to take a mate to secure your position as a candidate for the election. As a prosperous exotic performer, Wanda will come to learn something about herself that throws her right into the wolves den. It's you to propose one thing to keep order amongst the Clans and keep Wanda safe: Marriage. As your consort, she must learn to dance with the ravenous wolves that look to turn on her - as expected - but with you beside her, dare they risk it? The scales can only tip in sinister allusions to the possibility of betrayal. Rules change in war. Alliances are forged and broken on a whim. If you're elected as the new Alpha, which will you favour: tradition or the bond? Man or Wolf?

COLUMNS

#1 — THE WEIGHT OF BARGAINS UNPAID

#2 — (C.S)

#wolf and consort series #wanda maximoff x werewolf reader #mafia au #mob au #masterlist #wanda x werewolf reader series #the dark demeter writing catalogue #wanda maximoff fic

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darkdemeter · 4 months

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HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE’S WILL

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Finished it nice and quickly, I was a bit unsure about this piece and was probably gonna scrap it before I posted the teaser. I was surprised to see how many people liked the teaser alone, and the taglist life chose me! Didn’t think that would happen so soon sooo that’s pretty cool, so if you wanna join that then let me know! I’m looking at potentially doing some more werewolf reader soon, with a piece (or multiple pieces, idk yet) called ‘The Convict Wolf’. Again I’m not the best at fluff so there is quite a bit of angst in there too as well as some humour. I think this turned more into a slight! Wanda x reader than an actual Wanda x reader. So… sorry bout that. Usage of Y/N as well.

WORD COUNT — 3.4k

— NEXT COLUMN

READER DISCRETION — angst (reader has insecurities/self esteem issues) — Tony being a bit of a dick — some minor language — some weird fluffy humour? — mentions of a “passed relative” in said humour — minor name calling and usage (“mutt and stray/pup”) — and I think that’s it?

Mother Nature decrees that her law is absolute. Her will is to be respected, and all are intended to follow in her great design.

You do not change it. You embrace it.

And this applies to you as well, thanks to your common ancestor, that you shared the habit that left you tracking the red ball Tony kept bouncing against the polished floors like it’s the only thing in existence that mattered to you. And maybe because it did.

How could this happen? No high risk missions or deadly villains to stop from achieving world domination. No, today was one of those special days where you and your fellow Avengers could relax. And with the full moon so close, what better combination?

What you wouldn’t give to suddenly be on a quinjet flying into enemy territory. Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.

For everyone’s sake, you tried to keep to yourself for the past week but you’d exhausted your options. Walks in the park weren’t cutting it - not to mention the other dogs started it first - and you’d already destroyed five punching bags in the gym just prior. The treadmill be damned, you weren’t burning any energy on that.

Your last resort was to sit in the common area with your favoured beverage, a cool rag and some TV to calm the intense wave of anxiety. However, by her divine intervention, your beloved crew had come to flock in.

Mother Nature knew you were a pack animal at heart, as both human and wolf. It was how she made you.

The ensuing anxiety of being in a crowded space enough to put you near over the edge. It’s not like your heart rate only picked up a few hundred beats more when Wanda walked in.

When a few of the new arrivals waved and greeted you, you shared a hesitant yet trying smile and equally reluctant nod in return.

The battlefield was the only place you felt comfortable around your new comrades. But without missions or villains you were still getting accustomed to life at the compound; adjusting to life around people.

You were still considered fresh. A new recruit to the team. As Tony liked to call you… a pup.

Fuck, how you’d bite back your snarls from that term.

Fury assigned you to the Avengers some months ago. And though you had no intention of staying long, the missions kept coming in and a lot more required your specific skill set.

You remember as though it was yesterday that Tony said, “Alright Fury, we’ll adopt the stray pup. Just don’t go ripping up the furniture now.”

Suffice to say, you broke your own record at doing just that in under 3 hours.

“I think they’ll settle in just fine,” Fury had chuckled with a clap to the billionaire’s shoulder.

You shake your head at the memory. Still, if felt wrong to feel certain things for one of your teammates already. It wasn’t like you felt you really had a chance with her anyway.

The thought made your eyes falter from the now still ball for a moment, clutched in Tony’s hand as if it were your heart.

‘Who am I kidding?’ You chuffed silently to yourself, ‘She wouldn’t take a chance on me, I’m a damn mutt!’

Your self esteem issues had to wait though.

Thump.

‘Ball.’

Your entire head at this point tracked the ball’s movement, but your mind was still distracted by Wanda. The idea of her wanting to play ball with you, to spend those moments of intimacy with you. Tony’s words zeroed in from a muffled backdrop to the forefront of your mind.

“And that is why red indeed travels at a superior speed to any other. Ergo, why my suit is red, brilliant, eye catching and can beat anyone.”

You could hear the collective groans and disguised snarks beneath coughs without the noise being present. It was in everyone’s eyes and their scents.

Your eyes froze on Wanda, her striking eyes bore into yours with no hesitation. No fear.

‘How long has she been doing that?’

She offered one of her smiles that made your heart swell and stop at the same time, that made your searing skin cool and rise with goosebumps.

‘She’s so beautiful when she smiles like that.’

If she had one of those smiles then… you knew that grin that spread across her lips and showed a thin line of her teeth.

Your eyes gave away the betraying thought that you knew. Her smile turned grin riddled with mischief spoke volumes.

‘She read my damn mind!’

“I don’t think that is actually possible, Tony,” Sharon said with a click of her tongue and a disbelieving squint to her eyes.

“Oh no, it is,” Tony replied with a nod, “I’ll show you how the colour of this ball determines the speed in which it returns to my hand.”

He held up the ball in his hand, a proud display of its immaculate accomplishment, just a throw away.

Shit.

You bite down on your lip hard to suppress the whine coiled deep in your throat. A deep heat settled all along your neck and your ears.

Wanda still stared at you even in your peripheral.

Tony flicked his hand forward and the ball flew forward, bouncing once against the floor and bound into the wall with a determined thump before Tony caught it again, mouth agape to huff in his triumphant display in tandem with a curt yelp.

A good throw. Bad timing.

Everyone’s eyes had diverted to you. Their attention captured by the sound you made. Even Bucky, the stoic and reserved man who hardly acknowledged anyone with anything other than a grunt, appeared surprised if not the slightest bit intrigued by this new discovery.

You didn’t dare risk a second glimpse at Wanda, the flush in your neck seeped higher up into your face. Not that the shock and interest on everyone else’s faces were easier to process.

But you couldn’t face Wanda’s eyes now.

She had read the racing thoughts you couldn’t keep in line. Who knows how much she read about how alluring you think her scent is, how you whine and whimper whenever you hear her softly cry when in the privacy of her room because you wish to be there with her, her hand running through your fur to comfort herself; to let her know you’re there for her. How much it hurts you that she would never see you as nothing more than the mutt of the team. A beast that maims and runs rampart whenever you lose yourself to anger.

A lovesick pup.

You feared that the hot sting of tears was sure to follow any moment now.

Your fingers tightened against your legs, nails not longer the tamed length you maintained them as. In their stead were claws.

“Something wrong, pup?” Tony teased and you didn’t refrain from the rasped snarl that rose in your chest. Your teeth - and fangs - bared.

Fuck. Why did Mother Nature have to make you the way you are?

“Tony,” Sam warned, eyes cast between the two of you.

“What?” Tony only shrugged as if he wasn’t intentionally pissing you off and embarrassing you at the same time. “I just wanna make sure our new recruit here is alright, I mean, they have been temperamental over the past week. Chewing on expensive furniture and specially crafted improvements to my suit—“

The ball flew from Tony’s hand just as he was about to make a show of the ball again, the unmistakable red, misty tendrils swiftly brought it to Wanda’s hand.

Everyone was silent as they glanced between the red ball in Wanda’s hand and you. Their combining scents overwhelmed you to a new height. The fear that pinned you in place made the skin along your arms radiate with heat, either from the desire to run with your tail between your legs or to get defensive; to ‘wolf out’ as the others had called it. It didn’t help when Thor made an attempt to say something but otherwise thought better not to say what was on his mind.

Wanda eyed the object that held your attention. And you in turn couldn’t help but study her. Something in the way her eyes twinkled with curiosity, her lips pulled to one side as if to contemplate heavily on the fact that this ball held you in a vice grip.

Your short temper as of late, how you’d skulk around, much to the dismay of everyone fearing you had turned into another Bucky. The guy wasn’t that bad, you’d give him credit for that, the guy had a lot on his plate.

But what Wanda was perhaps most interested by that whenever she was present in the same room as you, all that would vanish. At least for the most part.

But to her, you would ask her how she was doing or even compliment her. Little did she possibly know that it was because you had felt a little courageous to take that small leap of faith to tell her she looked good.

But she might as well have that knowledge now.

You weren’t sure if it bothered you or not that she read your mind. Invaded your thoughts. In some weird way, you wanted her to. But you also feared her rejection.

But in the end, it all made sense. No one else pieced it together but her. And this time, she didn’t have to read your mind to do it.

She could read you. She knew you.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow night. They’re anxious.”

You were often lucky to avoid this topic with the others. They’d just chalked it up to catching you at the wrong time, that the mission was a hard one that day and you had some pent up anger to burn. The other half, you’d be out of the compound. Taking a much needed break at your apartment, visiting your sick grandma who they suspiciously noted you saying had passed away years ago three times now. But who was counting.

Never did they realise it all happened around the same time every month.

But Wanda did. She noticed it.

You brave to stare into those eyes you were content to drown in but find something else. It’s mysterious. Not what you’d expect to see in her eyes when she looked at you of all people.

“Y/N, Fetch!” Wanda cooed as she tossed the ball away from her. It’s a primal instinct that ignited within you at that very moment. A natural, engrained sense and desire.

How Mother Nature intended for you to react to survive or to have fun, your skin tingled with the sensation all too familiar.

The shift is over within the blink of an eye, seamless as you launch yourself over Wanda’s sitting body after the ball, large paw-like hands scrapped across the floors as you skid to a halt and the ball captured within the grasp of your maw.

Your tail wags involuntarily and your ears pinned against your head as you bashfully ducked your head at the sound of the others who chuckled and praised your reflexes.

It felt nice. Wanda turned in her spot on the couch to peer over at where you’d jumped over her, chin tucked into her folded arms.

“Nice catch,” she giggled and you swore she could see your blush in this form, “bring it here.”

Hesitant, you take a step forward and then another, your eyes cautious as they wandered over the others in case they deemed your advancements were dangerous to be left unchecked.

Rarely did you allow this form to take around them without the proper surveillance equipment and safety precautions. They already had Bruce to worry about losing control as the Hulk. They couldn’t risk you as well.

But no. They marvelled in their stares, smiles of contentment encouraged you to approach Wanda. You let the ball fall into her grasp with a small whine, ears still pressed back.

“Don’t be shy, Wolfie,” she whispered, the sound soft for only your ears to hear. You liked that nickname. You could only hope she would continue to use it.

Wanda raised the ball again only for Tony to interject. “No! No, you are not playing fetch in this compound, Miss Maximoff.”

Wanda smirked at the look in your eyes. The same one you had right before you tore up all the good, expensive furniture within that 3 hour window.

A few more throws turned into furniture shoved aside to make room. Tony remained in the kitchen, arms folded and a scowl etched hard into his face, it would take a miracle for Pepper to wipe it from his face.

Everyone else was too engrossed in the game of indoor fetch, all having had a couple of turns by now with throwing the ball. Bucky humoured you once and threw it, an approving nod when you caught it. Clint, Thor, Peter and Scott fought hard to get the ball numerous times, Natasha and Wanda were promoted to ‘ball-directors’ so everyone had a fair go.

But Wanda maybe got an extra throw in once or twice - by order of Natasha.

Steve now held the eye catching sphere in his hand, high above his head. Though with your stature in this form, it was rather tricky to keep it away from your snapping jaws.

You yipped and howled in anticipation before Steve tossed the ball and you leapt after it. You caught it before it could bounce off the wall. An eruption of claps and cheers followed immediately, your ears flopped back as you whine softly with that feeling that buzzed in your ribcage.

“Bring it here, Wolfie.” Your ears perked up high and alert at the soft tune of Wanda’s accented voice. A few of the others couldn’t refrain from laughing a little at the sight.

Whenever they had permitted you to shift on mission skirmishes, it was all done through protocol and extensive preparation to ensure you were stable.

And they only saw one emotion when you changed. Aggression.

To finally get the chance to play and be comfortable in your own fur felt good. Shit, well beyond good.

“I was promised the next throw! Come on, give the ball here, Y/N,” Sam called with an outstretched hand.

Even if Sam had a point, you couldn’t stop yourself in your approach towards Wanda, who now was crouched down with her hand out to receive the ball.

Her eyes were soft in their gaze as they pierced through the veil of your own. It was like she could see the humanity deep within you.

Her magic touched you differently, prickled against the shell of your mind, you welcomed her in.

‘I see you as more than you realise.’

A whimper crept up your throat in response, ears tucked back and eyes often shrouded with the thirst for carnage grew to relax. Become tender in the embrace of her eyes - her soul - touching yours.

Your fur bristled suddenly and you shook your head with a huff. You dropped the ball into her hand and she threw it down the long hallway.

You bound after it, your claws clinked against the tile floor, your breath hot in ragged pants as you gave chase. Each bounce of the ball echoed faintly in the back of your mind, too occupied by the words Wanda spoke through your mind.

It was the first time you’d heard her voice in your head. And you enjoyed it. It settled you into a sense of calm.

You didn’t register the elevator doors open ahead of you, Nick Fury stood with files tucked under his arm.

Your eyes shot open and you swore you saw his unpatched eye mimic yours. Your weight was too much to control with the momentum you had backed up behind your pursuit in a cramped hallway. You skid to a halt but slipped forward, the force of your body knocked Fury and yourself back into the elevator.

A series of cringed groans and gasps reminded you of your teammates as the elevator doors closed behind you.

You’d knocked Fury into the buttons and now, your destination was another floor.

Sheepishly, he could tell, you whine a pathetic sound in your apologies. You shuffle in the elevator that was almost too tight for the two of you to fit with you like this.

“So,” Fury said after a few moments of silence, eye intently watchful of the floors you both now visited. Some had agents give pause and a receptionist even dropped her cup of steaming coffee at the sight of you.

“What brought the wolf out?”

He turned his head slightly when you grunted, ball held up in your mouth to show him what had ensued before his arrival.

It felt like hours that the rest of the team stood in their places, eyes stuck on the elevator door you and Fury both disappeared into.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” Wanda asked, voice coated in a toxic amount of unease.

She was scared what would happen to you. As a matter of fact; everyone was scared.

The government knew just enough and that was a hard - yet private - case that was not disclosed with the public.

Your existence and your species as a whole had to remain top secret. One slip up that was determined out of hand would grant you a one way ticket to who knows what for punishment.

“It’s okay, Wanda,” Clint assured, “I doubt Fury would do anything like that. I mean, he brought them to us.”

“He’s right. No way would Fury do something like that,” Steve added, firm in his judgement or perhaps what he hoped for.

“We will… figure it out if it comes to that,” Tony sighed from his place. Not often did Tony jump to your defence in cases such as this.

But in the end, you’d proven yourself mostly to be trustworthy.

He had some inkling of reason to believe you wouldn’t cause intentional harm to the team.

The elevator pinged and everyone held their breath as the doors slid open.

Fury and you stood side by side, gazes directed down the hallway towards your team. Your eyes immediately sought out Wanda who gave you a smile but her brows were furrowed.

Fury held up the ball as he strutted forward, like an obedient pup, you followed close to his heel.

“Next time, take the game of fetch outside,” he advised and threw the ball forward and Tony caught it swiftly.

Another good throw. Really bad timing.

You were still hyped up and because of that, you charged forward and closed the distance within a matter of milliseconds.

“Wait no—!” Tony grunted as he was pinned to the floor beneath your weight. “Get. Off!” He growled and you slinked away from him with your tail tucked.

The others did little to hide their laughs at Tony’s unfortunate expense.

“Good job,” you caught Bucky mutter to you as you joined Wanda’s side. You chuffed rather proudly and your head held high.

Steve aided Tony from the floor. “Alright, Fury. We’ll note that down.” Steve flashed a toothy smile and wink your way.

“I have a mission briefing. Ya’ll better buckle up and dress for the cold. You’re going on an undercover operation located in Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Wanda asked in sync with your curious head tilt, ears flopped to the side.

“Alaska. And you also have a guide present right now who is familiar with the territory.”

It didn’t take a second long for your team and yourself to gather what Fury meant, his single eye on you knowingly.

Fury left some time later after he handed the files over that provided more information on your new task in Alaska.

Wanda turned and knelt down in front of you, a hand ran through the thicket of your fur. The act itself made your eyes droop and your chest rumble. Wanda couldn’t keep the full, toothy smile to spread on her lips.

“I think this gives us all the perfect opportunity to play more fetch with our beloved wolf.” Wanda’s words didn’t go unnoticed by the numerous hums of agreement. Truly you felt seen by them all. For the first time perhaps ever, you felt accepted.

You even looked to Tony who shrugged with an eye roll. “I suppose I could indulge in a couple throws myself. So long as I can test my new theory of what travels faster: the wolf or the red ball?”

“Wolfie,” your team chimed in claim of their theory right there.

Your pack that Mother Nature intended for you.

Thank you for Reading!

(◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#dark demeter writing catalogue column #treehouse taglist #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x y/n #werewolf reader #gn reader #female reader #male reader #y/n #marvel #mcu #platonic avengers x reader #wanda maximoff x reader

252 notes · View notes

darkdemeter · 4 months

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HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE’S WILL II: AFTERMATH

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #3 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N at the bottom!

WORD COUNT — 4.5k

READER DISCRETION — Fluff ending after a hard journey — slightly sad but it's comforting — brief mention of passed relatives — implied sex (fade to black style) — minor alcohol consumption — slight profanity slip.

PREVIOUS COLUMNS — HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE'S WILL HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE'S WILL II

SUMMARY — The battle was won and so begins the time to heal. You return to Alaska to have some time away, to take in the home you had once lost and you've come to your decision. When Wanda shows up with the team, you finally reveal to Wanda the special bond you both share. you will tell her that she is your mate. And of course, someone had to bring the red ball along...

ONE MONTH LATER

Fury had informed you that the Hydra resurgence operatives were apprehended during your recovery. The base was destroyed along with any weaponised supplies and what remained of the pack was unknown for the most part. Most likely moved on when they saw the state of their former alpha. A second warning wasn’t needed.

True leadership was the betterment for the pack. You did for the pack as they did for you. It was not a matter of power dynamics, but respect. Packs were built through blood and loyalty: you were bound as family.

You would do anything for family for one reason: love. You never understood your father’s lessons back then but now you finally did. You sat atop one of the taller hillsides that overlooked the valley; your territory. The evening wind blew gusts of white across the snowy peaks in the far distance. Half the lake had begun to splinter, the dark water softly lapped at the still frozen half, the orange hue painting the sky reflected off its surface.

Your hair was swept by the oncoming breeze from behind. This was home. This was sanctuary. A place of peace and which, from the ashes, would arise with renewed strength. New memories. You’d recovered quite a bit from your wounds but a little more time was required before your next assessment and your go-ahead into the field. No one was risking putting you on the front lines anytime before then.

Your hand fiddled with the little trinket you’d found in the locked room when you began to clear it out, and put things back where they belong. Deep in your thoughts, the wind howled a low and long note.

Your head lifted slightly as your ears strained to hear something behind you. Footsteps crunching in the snow. You turned to look but saw nothing and your brows furrowed hard. The world suddenly slowed around you and any outside sound became muffled.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” you sighed in defeat, shoulders sagged as the burden was slowly lifted. “No,” your father said as he sat beside you, “I’m the one who should be sorry. It wasn’t right what I said. I never meant what I said.”

Your breath froze in your lungs when his hand pressed against your wounded shoulder. Tears pricked in your vision. “I was scared you were going down that wrong path again, Y/N. I wanted to make sure you would pull through it - that you would be safe - before I passed on. I should have been more… understanding.”

You finally exhaled the iced over air caged in your chest. Your father - the former alpha - so instilled in the ways Mother Nature made him out to be, sniffled and broke into a sob. It was the first time you saw that headstrong demeanour crack.

Who knew ghosts could weep and mourn the sorrows of their regrets after they were gone?

“But I was wrong about you.” His hand patted your shoulder. You looked at him and he gave you that nod of approval you’d spent years chasing. “You learnt what it truly means to be part of a pack. And I was wrong to think that bloodline was the only source such loyalty - such love - could be born from.”

“I learnt from the best,” you said, voice crackling slightly under the pressure of your own tears. He smiled with a shake of his head.

“But you’re far better than I. Braver than I ever could be. You surrendered yourself without fear to protect them. You always have. Mistaken for recklessness; you’ve a heart of pure wolf. You define Mother Nature’s intended protector. A leader.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. The familiar scent of pine blended together with his signature musk, but you could smell one more thing.

The one rare scent a wolf could ever smell. It was often said that a werewolf would only smell it during three points in their life. It was like when people said that water has no taste. But when blindfolded, they would know it was water because they could taste it.

That was what spirit smelt like.

Your father stood up from your side. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. I’m proud of the person you’ve come to be. To embrace who you are, no matter how else anyone perceives you.”

“Thank you, Father,” you said with a bow of your head. You watched him wander back to the treeline, your mother and siblings waiting for him there. “Oh,” he mused as he shot you a wink, “don’t shy out on her this time.”

You smirked. “I won’t.”

You found yourself waving at the barren treeline as the world resumed around you, eyes red from the tears that streamed down your cheeks but you weren’t stricken by grief or guilt any longer. You were smiling. You were done running.

“Home. A wolf calls this home.”

The sun had fallen over Alaska’s horizon and the orange curtain with it. The inkling of Northern lights danced across the blue and black sky, but the moon was bright and full. Your eyes were radiant in their excited glow as the Quinjet flew over the top of you, heading straight for the landing pad.

With a flick of your thumb, the trinket rolled in the air before gravity pulled it back down, you snatched it into the palm of your hand. Your gaze never wavered as the Quinjet’s ramp lowered with a hiss.

“Are you sure you want to go alone? You don’t want me to come with you?” Wanda asked from her spot, sitting cross legged on your bed as she helped pack some clothes for you.

You threw a smirk over your shoulder. “You just want to get into my pants.” She gasped and slapped a hand to her chest, mouth agape to feign shock. “Y/N M/N L/N, the scandal!” she laughed, “I dare say, it makes me wonder what else goes on in that mind of yours.”

You raised a brow as you looked back at her, that amber hue bright as ever.

‘You damn well know, Velvet Cupcake.’

‘Oh, do I ever.’

You both chuckled together and you grabbed a few pairs of pants from your drawers and brought them back to the bed. Wanda stood and placed a hand to your chest, halting you from packing. Your eyes moved from the delicate way her hand rested against your front, up her arm to her face. Her eyes didn’t meet yours, however, as you thought they would. “I’m going to miss you, Wolfie.” Her voice had lowered into a whisper, a sigh of disappointment not too far behind her words. Your good hand - as it could be - raised to tilt her fallen chin until her eyes found yours again.

“It’ll only be for a short while. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Her arms looped around your neck as your arm circled her waist and held her firm to your front. She took care to not lean her weight on you, afraid she would agitate your wounds.

You didn’t really care much. You’d pull stitches fetching a stick she threw across New York’s busiest street during peak hour.

“And you’ll finally tell me what it is you keep avoiding to tell me? Because I’m not letting you off the hook, Wolfie.” Your lips stretch into a toothy grin, a silent chuckle laced in your throat. You nodded in assurance.“Yeah, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Promise?” she purred with dangerously pursed lips and a sharpened glare.

You nodded again slowly as you began to gently sway her side to side. “Meet me on the next full moon.”

She scoffed at this and rolled her eyes. “Where?”

You lean forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Trust me… you’ll know.”

Wanda pulled her arms to cover her chest as a particular chill ran down her spine, herself and the team exiting the Quinjet. She couldn’t help herself as her eyes coasted over the landscape in search of one thing.

You were all she could think about during the last month. Time was far too slow for her liking and she counted the days even the hours until she’d see you again.

“Looking for someone, Wanda?” Natasha asked with an all too knowing smirk as she walked down the ramp to join her. Wanda didn’t need to answer her, her chin tilted to the ground was answer enough for the ex-widow. “Funny to say this, but it feels good to be back,” said Clint with a small grin, carrying his and Natasha’s bags down the trail towards the lodge.

“Y/N said it was a beautiful place,” Steve added with a shrug. Wanda stared up on the vacant hillside, gaze pulled there by a force unknown to her. She just knew you’d been there at some point recently.

“Come on, Wanda. Let’s get settled in.” Sam curled an arm around her shoulders and led her after the others. The walk felt peaceful down to the house. No looming threats of an attack, no distant howls that haunted the valley like a dark cloud.

The lights were on when the team arrived in anticipation for their arrival. They wandered up the porch and entered, Wanda however, paused before she could fully commit to the first step. Her eyes turned towards the thicket of woods around them.

You were waiting for her. Her eyes shimmered with a scarlet hue. “I’ll meet you guys inside,” she said to the others. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Gonna go and find the pup?” Tony asked, his eyes flickered up when he heard something rustle in the bushes somewhere in between the cluster of pines. She nodded, the act all too eager, as her fingers laced together. “They wanted to meet with me. They… want to tell me something.”

Natasha waved her off, encouraging her to do what she felt she needed to with a smile. “Just be back in time for dinner, alright?” Wanda nodded again and when the team walked inside, she turned and made for the pier. Something was pulling her there.

The lake was beautiful from where she stood at the end of the pier. She understood your love for the spot. How comforted you looked when she saw you standing watch, arms folded over your chest and leaned against one of the posts.

Anxiously, she waited for some form of sign of you as she stood there, silently. She wouldn’t allow doubt to intrude on your promise to her.

‘I told you you’d know.’

Wanda turned fast on her heel. Her relief in her anxious smile pulled her lips into a toothy grin, the corners of her eyes glistened at the sight of you. Your fur gently swept along with the wind as you stood proudly on the other end of the pier. Your head lifted a little higher until the radiant colour of scarlet in your wolfish eyes was visible. Slowly, you advanced towards her. She admired you for your strength to carry yourself despite the scars that marked your body and would for years to come.

They were part of your legacy; a battle hard fought to protect your pack. A trophy that outranked any hunter’s prized quarry. Nothing could ever garner more admiration and respect than bearing the marks of war. Because it showed they had the strength to keep fighting even when their body was so close to giving in.

Wanda felt the pull of that ethereal thread tug her closer. She advanced towards you, her mouth agape as her eyes misted over. You stood on your hind legs and your body shifted back, your arms spread wide open as Wanda pushed herself into a jog. She practically threw herself into your embrace as her arms looped around your torso. “Wolfie,” she sniffled, “I missed you so much.”

You ran a hand along her back as a way of comforting her, your other cradled her jaw with a tenderness reserved only for her. You leaned your forehead against hers with a sigh as her rose scent filled your nose, you failed to subtly nuzzle your nose into her hair. “I missed you too,” you drawled quietly against her head.

She pulled her chin away that had been tucked against your chest to gaze up at you. Your own met her there already, the same vibrant red glowed in your eyes. She’d admit you looked mesmerising - intimidating - with those coloured eyes. But nothing could conceal the hint of amber behind them; flaming coals that burnt with such passion and fire. Unbridled and unmatched ferocity.

You took her face in your grasp and your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. “You’re my mate, Wanda.”

“W-what?” she asked with knitted brows and the adorable scrunch of her nose. You huffed faintly in amusement. “You’ve felt the bond yourself. You’ve felt it - even just an inkling of it - since the last full moon. When I fell into the ruins, the thread of our tie were under threat of severing…”

Your voice quivered as it fell silent. The realisation dawned on you both again that your strength had almost given in. The soulmate tie almost plucked loose with your very close demise. It was why Wanda had shrieked your name with such anguish, such vigour it compelled you to keep fighting. “Even now, you knew to meet me on the pier.” You let a hand drop from her face to grab hold of one of her wrists. You brought her hand to rest over your heartbeat. Like waves, something pulsed beneath the steady rate of your heart.

“The dread that I had the entire time you weren’t awake, while Helen and Bruce worked to bring you back, I… I felt like I was drowning. Suffocating and when you awoke I broke free from that. I felt like I could breathe again.”

You nodded. An accurate description many mated couples expressed in stories of their own experience. “You and I, Mother Nature intended us to be for each other. But… I-I’ll understand if you don’t–”

She pressed a finger to your lips and silenced you completely with a small whimper. She swore if you were in your other form, your ears would be folded back so far they would be lost to the thickness of your winter coat. She shook her head with a smile.

“I know what it is like to feel alone. To feel rejected. And I promise you that I want this bond. I want you; both the wolf and the human. Every part of you Mother Nature intended to be mine. I want it.”

The wolf retreated back into the depths of your very soul to make way for you. Two different sides, but still very much intertwined. It was a balancing act but each of you shared the common interest; the betterment and safety of your pack and your mate.

“You accept?” you asked, you tried to fight the growth of anxiety and excitement. She giggled. “I accept it with all that I am.”

You pulled her lips to yours without another moment to spare. Her body flush against yours as you held her to you by her waist. Your thumbs danced over the fabric of her coat. Her nails scratched along your scalp to deepen the kiss. You bit down on her lip and she moaned. Your tongue met hers in the intimate entanglement you shared under the silver full moon, bathing the two of you in her light.

When air became thin and nearly nonexistent in your lungs were you forced to withdraw from each other's heated kiss. “Getting wild again?” you chuckled with a click of your tongue. She had a mind not to shove you off the pier. “Unlike someone else,” she cooed with a hot breath beating against your neck. You whined at her insinuation.

‘Touché.’

She stepped around you with her hands in yours, she began to drag you back towards the house. “The others are excited to see you, and Natasha wants us in for dinner.”

You didn’t budge, however, and Wanda was forced to stop when she realised you weren’t going to follow. Her brows furrowed as a ghost of a frown made itself present. “Wait a moment, I… I have something for you.”

Damn it, you were going shy on her. You reached a hand to scratch behind your neck. Wanda’s body slowly moved back towards you to bridge the gap between you both. She tilted her head and damn it all, if she wasn’t so adorable. She had that effect on you. “What is it, Wolfie?”

“I…” Your sentence trailed off on the single word as courage deflated. You shook your head and stepped forward. “I’ll save it for later.” Her eyes were pressing you with that quizzical glare. “I promise. Come on, let’s head inside the den.”

After dinner, the cluster of you all gathered around in the lounge room. Familiar faces from the mission and those who stayed behind at the compound finally took the venture to see the beautiful snowy slopes of Alaska.

“Come on, I never got to see them! Please, just one? Just one and I’ll stop asking, I swear,” Peter pleaded with his best attempt at puppy eyes, he was jeered at by the others, each of them told him to leave you be. They didn’t want you to get your back up because of peer pressure. Though you couldn’t miss the curiosity that some of the others themselves were guilty of. They just wouldn’t ask while it was still all a fresh ordeal.

You raised a hand up to bring order to the argumentative group. “It’s alright,” you assured them. Wanda shifted beside you as you moved to pull the neck of your shirt down to reveal the marred flesh of your shoulder. Peter’s face was beyond priceless, eyes wider than any full moon you’d seen and jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Holy sh–”

Steve pointed at the teenager accusingly with a firm raise of his brow. “Language.”

Peter, after regaining his composure, looked back to you. “That alpha did that to you?”

“Yep,” you answered with a nod, “All the way down my back too. Didn’t feel particularly nice either.” Wanda’s fingers soothingly ran through the length of your hair. She wasn’t shy about showing a strong level of affection, the matter of relationship between you both was silent but in the air. Where exactly you were with each other wasn’t spoken and known by account on the others, but there was no argument about it. It just felt natural, especially now that you’d told her the truth.

You knew what you were to each other and that’s all that mattered. Natasha couldn’t help but pull Wanda aside during dinner to speak with her privately when she saw you both enter the house, your arm wrapped around her waist and pulled into your side. And the look she’d given you both after that was all the more evident Wanda confided in her the new foundation of your relationship together.

“It’s good to see what you’ve done with the place, Y/N,” Steve said from his spot on the couch. His blue eyes scanned the walls that were once bare of anything besides the odd abstract canvas of art, now a host to frames of people he never knew personally; but through you he could pinpoint what trait belonged to either your father and mother’s side.

“Thanks, Cap.” Your head turned up to view the sill of the lit hearth. The most treasured frames adorned their space once more. However the wall above the fireplace was bare. It needed something to fill that space. You knew exactly what. “It means a lot to me to have you all here. I want you guys to consider this place as a sanctuary, if you ever need to get away for a while. This is as much your home as it is mine.”

Slowly, one by one, your packmates nodded in gratitude. In your first few months with the Avengers, you had a bit of a reputation of being unable to share space without getting territorial. A minor and nasty habit at that. But you worked hard to break out of it. You wanted to share your space with those you saw as your family. “Thank you, Y/N.” Natasha smiled at you and raised her beer. The same brand you couldn’t drink without getting an upset stomach. “To Wolfie,” she announced and the rest of them joined in raising their bottles and glasses alike. “To Wolfie!”

You gave a bow of your head with a wave to fend off their antics. You looked to Wanda but you were pulled away from her by that one, single and very familiar thump.

Thump.

First your eyes and then your head followed suit. Up and down.

‘Ball.’

“Oh boy,” a few of your teammates chuckled, all amused by the sight of your fixation on the red ball Tony bounced. He looked up as if he didn’t recognise he’d caused the commotion. “Oh yeah, this,” he held the ball up, “I thought we could finally put that theory to the test.”

The ball flew towards you, pulled from Tony’s hand by Wanda’s magic tinged fingertips. She caught it easily and smirked, her eyes found yours. “But first, I think we’re owed a game of fetch.”

“I get the first throw!” barked Sam immediately as he darted up from his seat, racing to the front door, his beer discarded without a second thought. He really was dedicated to getting that throw you denied him. Everyone followed after the enthusiastic bird boy and promptly dressed themselves for the cold. Tony held a manner of professionalism as he swaggered by, his hand snatched his coat off the rack and pulled it over his shoulders.

“Come on, Mate.” Wanda cooed playfully, the singular word made your spine tingle from the way her accent tinted voice said to lowly in your ear.

Your paws crunched through the snow with great ease as you bounded after the ball, your movements fluent and natural in this environment. Sam had a very good throwing hand.

Cheers and applause came from behind you as you bit down on the ball tucked between your hot, panting jaws. Your tail wagged madly and your front bowed slightly.

“Bring it here! Come on!” You sprinted back towards Sam, eager for another throw that would have you halfway across the half frozen lake. You dropped the ball into his awaiting hand with a rasped, high pitched growl and your jaws snapped together as he feigned to make the throw; obviously teasing you.

“Go get it!” He shouted as he put all momentum behind his throw. You bolted after it in the blink of an eye. Indeed, the wolf could travel faster than red.

When you returned, Wanda was next to retrieve the ball. Your breath came in hot, ragged and fast puffs. “We should head inside, it’s getting late.”

Although there was a chorus of disappointed groans and pouts, Wanda assured them all that tomorrow they could play fetch all day long, if you were up for it of course. Your head bowed a few times with a snort, the team understood that you were in agreement with that idea.

Organising the sleeping arrangements was quite the carnival, but ultimately you and Wanda shared the master bedroom again. She changed into a similar style as she did the last time, an oversized shirt - one she had stolen from your stash - and a pair of panties.

You now had free reign to let your eyes take in her form from head to toe, but a deep flush still bled into your neck and cheeks, your fluster made Wanda chuckle. The adorable and yet frightening alpha, her wolf and her mate.

You pressed your forehead to her stomach when she stood before you, her hand found purchase in your hair again to massage your scalp. She knew your weak spot for head rubs was the small dip right near the juncture where your skull and neck met.

You grumbled deeply when her fingers found that spot. “You’re too sweet on me,” you mumbled, not intentionally meaning for her to hear, but she lifted your chin so your eyes could meet.

“Because you deserve it.” Her hands slipped down past your neck until they rested on your shoulders. Her body slightly arched forward as she tilted her chin down. Her state penetrated through the barrier of your mind.

‘And because I love you.’

Your brows raised and she saw your pupils shrink in response. Did you hear her correctly? What were you thinking, you’d never been bad for hearing. She confessed that she loved you.

Your hands ran up the back of her thighs and gripped her by her hips. “And I love you, Wanda Maximoff.”

She hummed and leaned down, her plump and soft lips ghosted over yours. She teasingly let the pink tip of her tongue press against your top lip. Your grip on her hips tightened a little.

“Don’t tease,” you rasped lowly, that dangerous glow marked the wolf’s return. She continued to ignore the warning. She was testing the big wolf before her, how much she could get away with, as your mate.

“Or what?”

You flipped her over, your legs on either side of her and your hands pinned her wrists above her head. Your canines were longer now as you growled.

“Or the beast comes out,” you answered and Wanda shimmied her hips playfully from beneath you. Purposefully. She had you right where she wanted you from your first night together.

“And maybe I want that.” With a roll of her hips, Wanda Maximoff sealed her fate with Mother Nature’s finest killer when she pulled her stolen, oversized shirt up and over her head.

Sunlight beamed in through the glass panel of the window, the idea to draw the curtains to block out the invasive light completely forgotten after last night. Wanda took the liberty of using you as her bed, her hair a little razzled and the scent of your climaxes only faint in the morning air.

The blanket was pooled at the middle of her back, the rest of her body had you to keep her warm. Your hand absentmindedly ran up and down the column of her spine, your breaths even and slow. You heard her mumble softly beneath an exhale, her face calm and untroubled. She had everything she could want in that moment as did you. Seven years on the run had put you in a state that shut you off from everything and left you bitter because of the fear that one day Hydra would find you again.

Had you followed orders… you didn’t want to think about where you would be now. But that didn’t matter anymore. No one was ever going to tear you away from your mate or your pack. You were with them to the end of the line.

Your other hand securely held the small trinket you’d saved, elegantly sliding along the golden chain. You decided to let Wanda sleep for a little while longer before you presented to her your most promising gift. Your everlasting vow that you would forever be by her side; come what may.

THE END.

A/N — And there you have it, the finale of Habits of Mother Nature's Will. We've reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has shown their love and interest in this "trilogy". Truly, I appreciate it. More stuff to come, Babbies! Okay I'm just gonna... go back up to my treehouse now... bayy.

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — @alexawynters

#treehouse taglist #dark demeter writing catalogue column #wanda x werewolf! reader #werewolf reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #platonic avengers x reader #werewolf #gn reader #female reader #male reader #comfort #fated mates #affection #alpha reader

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darkdemeter · 4 months

Text

HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE'S WILL II

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #2 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Here it is, werewolf readers! Been a little busy raccoon with writing this behemoth. Quite the read as you can tell by the word count. Please take care in reading the discretion list because this column is quite graphic and may be potentially triggering for readers.

WORD COUNT — 13.8k

READER DISCRETION — High levels of angst — hurt/comfort — minor sexual interaction, unspecified genitals but use of "groin". (making out. slight dry humping) — high level gore and violence (werewolves are fighting, and that is never clean) — sprouts of fluff moments — trauma/ptsd — mentions of violence and death (WARNING: Unspecified ages, but implied deaths of children and teenagers) — protective reader — aggressive werewolf! reader — reader begins recovery from trauma — some adult language — brief alcohol consumption — minor name calling feat. Tony calling reader "pup" — use of Y/N

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SUMMARY — Habits are not easy to let go and neither is the past. The team and yourself are sent to Alaska for an undercover op, but it becomes clear to the team that you’re more guard than guide on this mission. Mother Nature herself vouches that you will put your new wisdom to her intended use when the once distant howls have grown close. You will do everything in your nature to protect your pack and your mate. Instinct will take over; and instinct shall turn into habit.

You can’t change what cannot be undone. She wants you to embrace this, yet you fight it, tooth and claw.

There came this new and sole desire that occurred during the excruciating ordeal of your shift on the full moon last night.

Only such an experience meant Mother Nature was granting you a new wisdom, that which altered your previous nature, no matter how complicated the human biology was.

By her law, instinct was instinct.

You splashed cold water onto your face and absorbed the sight of yourself in the mirror. Often you caught sight of the beast beneath your eyes in the reflective surface. And many times it scared you how close it always lingered. Ever watchful and biding its time.

How could Wanda see you as more than you realise?

You caught the shine of amber as it shimmered across your eyes in your reflection. Right below the surface of your own skin, a predator resided with unbridled force. You shook your head to rid the intrusive need to let it out.

‘It is done now. She’s preparing me for something.’

Your hands gripped the sides of your sink, your white, strained knuckles ached with the pressure that threatened to crack the ceramic basin.

‘They wouldn’t understand it. Wanda wouldn’t understand it.’

A knock on your room’s door caught you off guard. That rarely happened with your keen senses. Your hands released their hold on the sink.

“Y/N?” Your ears pricked at the accented tongue of her voice, “you finished packing?”

You don’t even think about your actions because it felt natural to approach her. To be close to her. You’ve already opened your door when you came to your senses

when a pair of bright eyes blink up at you. Fuck, you can’t control your racing heart whenever she smiled.

You’re almost afraid she’ll read your mind again and discover what she’d be better off never knowing.

She saw you as more than you realised but could she possibly understand the idea that you saw her anymore differently than you did before?

‘Mate.’

“I came to let you know everyone is waiting for us. Can’t leave our guide behind now.”

Her eyes momentarily fluttered down before they lifted to stare into the captivity of yours.

“Y-yeah,” you bit back a snarl at the stutter of your response, “I’m ready.”

“Good. Could you help me with my bags?” Her eyes looked hopeful for the short moment you left her unanswered before you nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

“Of course!”

And that’s why you now fought so hard against Mother Nature. She instilled within your agonised cries, broken bones and reformed muscle what every werewolf anticipated: a soulmate tie.

When many were overcome with a pure and primal feeling of joy, you were consumed by trepidation.

Nevertheless, you walked Wanda to her room and retrieved her bags - much to her protest, you gave a wolfish smirk to hide the near breathlessness in your lungs and rapid beating of your heart - and joined the others on the Quinjet for your mission in Alaska.

Where a wolf calls home.

“So tell us, Wolfie. What’s the whole story with you and Alaska?” Natasha spoke up from the co-pilot's seat, Steve sat next to her, his focus on flying the jet though her question piqued his interest. “Did you grow up there?”

A few hours into the flight and all was smooth sailing until her question made the hair on the back of your neck stand.

When you mentally prepared yourself, you turned your eyes in her direction.

She’d turned to peer over her shoulder at you with a quirk in her brow, curious to Fury’s designation as the team’s guide.

“Ah,” you huffed and scratched at your neck haphazardly, another habit you shared with disdain, “something Fury left out of my file, I take it?”

“Well, yeah. Your file has barely anything regarding background. Only when you moved to the city and your skill set mainly.” Your lips pulled into a thin line with Sam’s deliverance of this news.

Your nose wrinkled at the scent that tinged the air like ash and smoke. A dark tone to their concern. Were they worried you were hiding something?

You simply shrugged to ease some of the tension that built around you and your teammates. “Just spent some years there before I moved on to live in the city. As a werewolf, you tend to learn terrain quickly, no matter how long it’s been.”

Natasha nodded but something in the way she pursed her lips made the tight coil in your chest grow, almost to the point it strangled out a whimper from you.

“Alaska is a really beautiful place,” you sighed and your lips stretch to form a smile, “if we have enough time, I’ll happily show you guys around.

“I’d like that very much,” Wanda said from her seat across from yours. Your smile turned shy under her gaze, a flutter of her glowing red magic used to merely entertain herself made your heart warm.

An odd sensation as if her very magic was tied to your heart.

Steve hummed out from his place, his eyes wandered to Tony as if to hear out his thoughts on the matter. Tony shrugged.

“Just don’t forget we’re here for a mission, not a ‘walk-with-nature’ getaway trip.”

The small assembled team nodded and mumbled amongst themselves.

“Alright, Stark. But I am personally not leaving Alaska without playing a proper game of fetch with Y/N.”

Your chin tilted down to conceal the smirk on your lips. Wanda was surely determined with a tone like that. You briefly caught her eyes and the wide grin plastered on her face.

If Mother Nature gave you one chance to change yours and Wanda’s - unbeknownst to her - new fate, would you truly want to?

The Quinjet landed without trouble thanks to Steve’s impeccable piloting skills, though you could tell Sam and Tony may have had a few hundred pointers for the captain.

The engine was turned off and everyone gathered their bags together. You reached into your suit pocket for the small pill case, taking two of them. When Sam gave you a questioning look, you mumbled something about it being medicine for your headache.

The ramp lowered and the frozen breeze brought most of your teammates to a shiver. You and the super soldiers hadn’t so much as flinched.

You were the first to step down the ramp and greet the snow with your feet, the deep crunch beneath you a welcomed whirlwind of contentment.

‘Home.’

The others followed behind you, bags adorned, they took in the marvel of their new surroundings. Below a blue and sunny sky littered with clouds, the platform was mostly covered by the ensuing white that covered the landscape.

Down the trail that led alongside the woods, a large house laid vacant in the distance right near the edge of the frozen lake.

“Quite the walk,” Tony huffed with a cluster of windy ice before his mouth. Snow already littered in his dark hair.

Your gaze followed the span of the ice until it reached the far off cluster of trees on the other side. Beyond that, the mountain peaks contrasted against the sky.

“See that mountain up there?” You pointed at the tallest one and your team all turned their sights to where your hand directed.

“I’ve been up there. A sort of tradition to race up to the top just as the sun grazed the horizon.”

The memories were distant when you moved to the city. But now they flooded back like an avalanche.

“All the way up there, huh?” Steve asked, mouth agape as he assessed the frosty white peak. “By yourself?”

“No, with my siblings.” You answered that too quickly and too honestly. The frosted mist faded before your lips into the air with your words, unable to take them back.

“Wait, you never mentioned you have siblings,” said Bucky with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, I guess I never did…” Your once smile faded from your face and your eyes were overcome with that pain that stained the snow you walked upon. You felt the stares against your back and you huffed aloud, shoulders sagged.

“Come on, we should get settled in,” you said with a forced smile, the cold for once stung harshly against your face. It burnt your skin.

The others nodded and you led the way down the trail. The sun would set soon, and it was unwise to wander around after sun down. But that sole purpose that fuelled your soul burned deep within you like a campfire amidst a snow storm.

You wouldn’t allow any harm to befall your team. You’d sooner die than let anything happen to them. To her.

As you walked with a determined stride towards the lodge, Wanda’s warm fingers swept across your knuckles.

‘I’m here for you, if you want to talk.’

You swallowed thickly and the inkling of your head nodding seemed to answer her as her eyes scanned you.

“So how did Fury get this safe house?” Clint asked with a deep, and huffy breath, his hand adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“It belonged to a family many years ago. But it’s been vacant for some time and Fury gained ownership of it.”

“You seem very familiar with the safe house.”

Shit. Was she reading your mind as you spoke?

You walked up the steps onto the front porch, key in hand but your hand lingered on the door handle with an iron grip.

You stood locked in place for what felt like an eternity, eyes scornful as they glared daggers into the wooden and glass panelled door.

“I’d worked alongside the family. Did some odd jobs here and there, kind of became a family friend.”

you unlocked the front door and promptly stood aside with a gesture to the others before you, the door held open. You offered them all a kind smile the moment your eyes found Wanda’s, the sharp lines in your brows eased even when in hers, you saw the glimmer of concern.

“Come on in.”

It was safe to say the majority of your party were relieved to step inside the lodge and turn on the thermostat. Not that it was ever much in use back in the day, you were a little surprised that it still managed after all this time.

While the others took in their temporary residence, you couldn’t help but let your eyes rake over the emptiness that took place. A shadow of its former self.

Your hands ran over the hearth’s sill, clean of any dust but once, it held the memories of a past you left behind. Each frame a moment in time which you treasured beyond belief with the passed family.

Now you stared at the unlit hearth. Barren of those memories. You thought it was for the best. Fury did well with the clean up.

‘Are you okay?’

You looked towards where Wanda stood by the L shaped lounge, arms folded over her front and fingers knitted together; her nails dragged across her knuckles and it made you cringe from the thought of her discomfort.

‘Yeah, I’m alright.’

“So how are we doing the rooms?” Natasha asked after she finished her investigation of the kitchen right across from the lounge room.

“We will do pairs,” you answered curtly, yet you still feigned a smile even if they could tell it was fake.

“Follow me.”

You only hoped they wouldn’t say anything that delved deeper than the surface. Only the wolf awaited them there.

You hadn’t expected the return to Alaska to hit you in such a way. And to add atop of it all, your senses were at an all time high, dialled up to eleven. You felt far more sensitive than usual.

More easy to falter. Easier to piss off.

Everyone followed you up the flight of stairs to the second floor.

The hallway was less narrower than you remembered, it could fit two people shoulder to shoulder fairly well. Rooms lined the hallway down towards the singular pair of double doors at the end.

“These are the rooms, take your pick. This is the bathroom here, the master bedroom has an ensuite,” you explained to them, your tone rapid fire.

“Wanda and Natasha, you can take the master bedroom.” You opened the double doors and it took everything in you to prevent the tears. And yet a sad smile pulled at the corners on your lips.

You could still smell them after all this time. It was like they never left.

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked rather sharply, almost offended you offered it up so casually, given your relationship with the family.

“I don’t mind bunking with Clint is all, if that’s your concern. You and Wanda can take the master.”

Natasha’s tone was one you knew well enough for your months with the Avengers. Firm. Bossy. She wasn’t asking, she was telling. Your breath goes still in your lungs and your face became heated, a red hue bloomed in your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You and Wanda together in a room? By yourselves?

“I— er, I don’t—“ you’re a fucking stuttering mess again and you clear your throat, the sound more of a growl than anything.

“I don’t mind bunking with you, Wolfie!” Wanda assured with a light and gentle smile, you could see easily she was holding back a flustered giggle given the faint colour in her cheeks.

Though you wished to chalk that up to the cold still settled in her bones beneath the layers.

“Then that’s settled!” Natasha flashed you both a wink and you whined lowly, involuntarily on your part but no less made Wanda giggle freely this time.

“I’m not sleeping in the same room as Tony,” Bucky grumbled, his eyes found Steve’s to indicate he’d chosen his roommate.

Tony huffed with a roll of his eyes. “Likewise, cyborg.”

“Okay, boys. Keep the peace. Everyone settle in and come downstairs for dinner in fifteen minutes. That’s an order!”

“I thought I was in charge!” Tony called after Natasha down the hallway, Sam patted his shoulder. “Yeah, only on report. We know who’s really directing this mission.”

Steve and Bucky took the room that belonged to the second eldest sibling, further down the hall, Natasha and Clint claimed the room next to theirs; the twin’s old room and Sam and Tony chose the room opposite Bucky and Steve’s, the third eldest’s room.

When you looked down that hallway, you could see the kids in that hallway again, their feet pattering against the wooden planks in their rush of excitement.

The last bedroom, however, was off limits. Under lock and key. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Fury put everything in there and put a lock on it.

It was for the best.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wanda asked after everyone had gone to their chosen rooms to unpack and settle in.

You closed the doors with a heavy sigh, forehead pressed into the cool, wooden surface.

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, “yeah, I’m just… not feeling too good. Feel different…”

Wanda took a few steps forward but was paused in place by the command in your voice. “Don’t…”

Your vocals were contorted into a deep, husky drawl as the wolf shined through enough to reflect in your eyes with an ominous glow. Your claws dug into the skin of your palms to the point they almost drew blood.

Her eyes drifted down to see your balled fists and her hands nervously fiddled together once more, you waited to see the red hue of her magic.

Was she trying to read your mind again?

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ you retracted yourself, getting a grip of the wolfish desire to let go. You had to keep it together.

Your heart rapped hard in your chest, your claws sank back and the amber glow faded from your eyes. “I’m sorry, Wanda.”

‘I’m sorry, Mate.’

“It’s fine, really, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. Just know I’m here for you if you want to talk. We all are.”

There was too much on your mind to simply talk. No. You needed action. Talking about it would only lead to tears and a breakdown.

“Hey,” Wanda closed the gap between you both and you fought between doing the same and taking a retreating step. You were locked in place a second time.

Her hand was delicate as she placed it on your arm to give an assuring squeeze.

“Don’t fight it. Whatever it is that’s troubling you. I want to help you.”

‘I want your help. I want you.’

You feel like you can only nod in reply. Your words all jumped in the back of your throat, a knot ready to burst the moment you try to utter a single one of those words.

She took the daring leap and wrapped her arms around your torso.

The instinct Mother Nature had sewn into your wisdom made your arms wrap around Wanda, and you tugged her in until she was flush against you.

Her scent filled your nose and your eyes softened with a rumble reverberating against her chest, the glisten of tears not long to follow as your eyes became coated. How you wished you had the courage to tell her this new desire. This need to protect her; claim her.

But she wouldn’t understand it. Those who did not share their very soul with the wolf couldn’t possibly grasp the identity of such serious and sacred matters that kept your species alive and the old ways honoured.

Not often were humans and werewolves bound together by Mother Nature’s soulmate tie. Often the wolf was spurned because their mate didn’t understand that their rejection held far greater consequences than hurt feelings.

Perhaps that was why you wanted to protect Wanda so much. Not because she was your destiny or to protect yourself from getting hurt.

You were no stranger to getting hurt.

It was to protect her from what you would become and the guilt she would harbour on herself.

“Thank you, Wanda. For being here,” you sighed after a long moment, time having felt dragged on for years as you held her in a tight hug. You didn’t want to let her go. Not now or ever.

“Of course, Wolfie. You’re my friend.”

You whined softly but the corner of your lips turned up into a faint smile, conflicted between pain and relief. “I like that…”

‘Mate…’

You and Wanda had been the last to join everyone downstairs for dinner. Natasha and Clint mostly tutted and bickered with each other as they slaved away with dinner, Wanda opted to help out when she had a taste test.

Tony and Bucky had helped themselves to one of the finely aged whiskey bottles in the cabinet near the dining table and Steve took interest in the small collection of books arranged by volume, while Sam took in the terrain from the wide, floor to ceiling windows that looked out into the growing dark woods.

Everyone was growing accustomed to their surroundings in the house. This was good, it meant they felt comfortable. That’s what you wanted, had hoped for. You couldn’t exactly say the same for you, but there was that feeling of home.

You joined Sam by the window, a cold bottle of beer curled into the palm of your hand. It didn’t taste the best, you’d never liked the brand, but it was what was on hand.

Alcohol had a weird effect on werewolves anyway so you opted to stay away from it as much as possible.

You took a swig with a grunt from your unsettled gut and Sam smirked at you. “You doing alright, Wolfie?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Just fine. Beer’s shit though, I don’t know how you guys like it.”

The sneer on your face as you glared down at the bottle only made Sam chuckle. “Honestly, it does taste bad, but I don’t fancy myself the connoisseur.” Sam, subtly as he might, gestured towards Tony and Bucky. “Unlike them.”

You huffed at that, a small grin on your lips. Sam was a good man to talk to whenever you felt like the world around you was caving in with a purpose to destroy you.

Even more, when he’d talk about his family, you got immersed in his stories; as though you were there too.

“I wouldn’t trust Tony to drink a shot of dyed bleach and tell the difference.”

Sam’s fist was brought to his face, a mouthful of his drink chuffed back when he snorted so he wouldn’t choke.

You grin impossibly more and clapped his shoulder. “Hey, I’m not the best at jokes, how did you even find that funny?”

“Something funny, pup?” Tony asked over the rim of his glass. Your eyes met his and you shook your head. “Just told a dull joke,” you replied, “like your taste buds…”

Only Sam heard your muttering and once he was free of his mouthful of beer, he laughed loudly. The sound faded after a moment and you both stared out into the woodland.

“It’s really peaceful out here,” Sam said finally. You nodded but you feared something in you couldn’t entirely agree with him.

It had been peaceful once. But now there lingered something eerie. It made you too alert to easily relax as the others did. Even if they too could sense the same thing as you, their scent gave nothing away. “I thought the same as you once.”

Sam looked at you with a troubled, confused furrow in his brow. His lips pulled down into a frown. Sam opened his mouth, no doubt to ask the question you already saw in his eyes, but Natasha’s announcement cut him off.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Clint and Wanda served up everyone’s plates with the spaghetti bolognaise. The food was good on account of Wanda adding just a little bit more spice and salt to the sauce, and of course what was dinner without conversation.

Talk about smaller topics were easier to digest with your food. How you didn’t expect it to take a turn that made your hand halt before you could take another bite of your food.

“Is there anything dangerous out here, Y/N?”

“It’s Alaska and we’re in the middle of unsettled territory. Of course there are dangers out here,” you answered Sam with a casual shrug.

Not many predators roamed so close to the house when you were here with the family. Just the odd bear once or twice. You glanced up to meet Sam’s unsure stare.

He didn’t believe you.

“Just as a safety precaution, when we’re not on a mission, stay within the border of the property,” you began, “I’ll show you guys around tomorrow. At night, I ask that you stay inside. If you do go outside, let me know so I can come with you.”

“We’re capable of holding our own against a drifter moose or yogi bear, pup,” Tony snarked lightly with another gulp of his whiskey.

“I know,” you bite with a tone a little too harshly, the beds of your fingernails felt bruised and ached as your eyes burnt. “But just… please, just do that for me, yeah?”

You looked around the table and you let out a relieved sigh when you saw heads nod. “Of course, Y/N,” Natasha assured.

“Good. Other than that, you have free roam of the house, minus the locked room upstairs. Just the family’s old belongings.”

The others nodded again and your eyes met Wanda’s. she could see something deeply troubled you. You were usually so calm and collected on missions, barely flinching when bullets fired at you in a frenzied spray. Sure, your aggression was a feat unmatched in the heat of battle but it was what made you strong.

Deadly.

Effective.

You were Mother Nature’s definition of safety and danger. An apex predator.

But now, something in you had visibly switched. Gone was the fearsome animal that could maul and maim without restraint but one. Your confident smirk and wicked disregard for your life - despite your actions to protect your teammates - had contorted into a concerning frown and a strained, husk of a drawl. An underlying threat to unleash the wolf if steps were not taken carefully.

Dinner resumed, albeit, a little less talking and a lot more tension. You finally excused yourself after you promptly thanked Natasha, Clint and Wanda for the food.

You knew everyone watched you leave but Wanda’s eyes pierced through you like nothing else ever could.

The wind swept across your back and through your hair with a hollow whisper in the night. The pier was a spot you went to to think when you felt troubled. The Northern Lights danced across the black canvas littered with stars and a bright, fading full moon.

The frozen lake offered a different ambience with the rest of nature. A deep, echoing boom across the frozen surface could be heard from the water beneath the layer of ice.

Boots intruded on the wooden boards of the pier as they gently - calmly - thundered towards you.

“Wolfie,” one accented tongue said so beautifully you thought for a moment an angel greeted you. Startled with a gasp, you spun your head to look in the direction of her voice.

“Wanda,” you greeted with a rumble.

‘Mate.’

“What are you doing out here?”

She rolled her shoulders back and stepped closer. Then another step. The post behind you greeted your back then.

“I came out here to find you. May I join you?”

You nodded, the action more of a nervous quiver than anything, Wanda smiled and stood by your side. Her shoulder brushed along your arm and you felt the air in your lungs dissipate.

“You left dinner so abruptly. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m alright.” You stared off into the distance to keep your eyes away from Wanda’s who you knew analysed you now. Her scent filled you and smothered out all the rest. You couldn’t smell the fresh wetness of the snow, the rich, earthly smell of the pines, nor the herd of the elk that traversed the wilderness across the vast lake.

You could only smell her. That intoxicating scent of rose and vanilla that her shampoo couldn’t conceal from you.

The vanilla was stronger. She was in a state of unease. Worry.

Your eyes slowly drifted from the mountains to her. Her gaze must have left you to also see where it was your sights wandered off to.

“You don’t believe me?” You asked and she sighed, unable to meet your eyes. “Not really. I know something is wrong, you’re encumbered by this fear and it’s driving me crazy that I can’t— that I can’t…”

Your brows were pulled into a hard formation and your mouth fell agape. The struggle within her to voice her thoughts made your heart wrench and break. “Hey…”

That instinct took over again, your arm wrapped around her waist and you didn’t hesitate to pull her to you.

It felt nice for Wanda to be held like this. The cold slithered beneath the layers used to keep it out, only to find the heat of your body to immediately nullify the chill.

“It’s hard to explain, Wanda. I’m in a very difficult position right now and I fear what might happen to those around me.”

“I told you that I’m here to talk, Y/N. I won’t judge, I promise. Please just… tell me.”

Her head rested under your chin, her hands rested against your chest. It all felt so intimate. You wanted to cave and tell her everything on your mind. She was your mate and she had a right to know.

But would she understand?

“Wanda, you’re…,” you trailed off as something thick coated the back of your throat, “you’re…”

‘My mate. Just say it, tell her she is your mate!’

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, Wanda’s head lifting with it. Her cheek nuzzled against you. This was your chance. It was now or never.

“Wanda, you’re my m—“

An announcing howl reverberated in the far distance like wind moved through a hollow.

Your blood turned ice cold. The searing burn in your eyes returned with that striking, animalistic glow of amber.

“What is it?” Wanda had asked but you didn’t answer. You glared off in the direction where the howl came from. That sounded haunted you; hunted you.

“Get inside and don’t come out. No matter what,” you commanded beneath a baritone growl. Wanda looked at you, jaw dropped and eyes wide. You could smell it on her. Vanilla.

Confusion. Fear.

“But—“

“Now.”

You left no room for argument. Not when it came to her safety. Not when the wolf shone through the amber that danced ferociously in your eyes. There she could see a semblance of that old you.

Protective. Dangerous.

She made her way back towards the house but she stopped at the end of the pier and turned to look at you once more. Her bright, glossy eyes pleaded with you to follow her. You watched her and nodded for her to go on, that you wouldn’t be too far behind.

‘Promise you’re right behind me.’

‘I promise. Now go.’

She rushed off towards the front porch and entered the house as the wind was bitter against your back again; harsher than before.

You wanted nothing more than to end this. Your arm rested against the post, claws digging deep into your palm. You’d make it painful but to strike now would only invite conflict so early into your mission.

It would complicate things all because you couldn’t keep yourself in check.

A confirmation that even with your positives there came your negatives; unpredictable, bloodthirsty and dangerous to the team.

Dangerous to Wanda.

You lowered your arm and drove your fist hard into the post with a pained grunt. You promised Wanda you were right behind her and what you planned on doing was only going to do the opposite.

You saw the fear in her eyes. You couldn’t put her through anything else if you came out of this fight scathed and bruised. No less, the team would be suspicious.

You’d have to wait.

Wanda waited up for you, no matter the hour it was now, she wouldn’t rest until she knew you were safe. The red hue of her magic glowed in the darkness of the room, the only other source of light was one of the twin lamps on the bedside table.

Her head shot up and her magic ceased when she heard the doors open to your shared room, your form emerged from the dark hallway and promptly closed the doors behind you.

“Y/N,” she gasped your name and sat up on her knees, mattress dipping beneath her.

Your eyes met hers, amber flickering just faintly behind your pupils. With a growl, your face goes flush. Wanda was dressed down into nothing but an oversized shirt and what you chalked up to be her underwear.

“H-hey,” you choked out as your hand rubbed the back of your neck. Your eyes darted elsewhere to keep your gaze - that now festered with a hunger - away from Wanda.

‘Fucking hell!’

“What?”

“What?” Your eyes widened as they stared into hers, you fought the tempting urge to let your gaze travel down her body.

Was this the work of your soulmate tie or your little crush?

Wanda tilted her head curiously, her nose scrunched a little as the corner of her lips turned up. You appeared less troubled by whatever it was before. Now you were… you.

That you, whenever she would walk into the same room you occupied. That you, that often asked her how she was doing and complimented her.

Her flustered wolf with the red ball.

“I’m good, I just er—“ you glanced towards the ensuite bathroom with a wave of your hand. “I’m just gonna, ya know, get ready for bed.”

“Okay.” Wanda let out a light giggle. You were quick to gather your change of clothes and hurried into the bathroom. You may have taken a little longer than you’d have liked, but you had to get your bearings together before you re-entered that bedroom.

‘To have her and mark her right now— no, no, none of that! She’s your friend…

Mate…

Fuck.’

You face-palmed yourself with another growl. The faint glimmer of the wolf behind your eyes had now brightened once more but with a newfound interest.

‘I was so close to telling her. I missed my chance.

Could tell her now…

No. Ain’t doing that.’

You walked out of the bathroom to find Wanda settled in bed and under the covers much to the conflict of your relief and disappointment. You climbed into bed beside her, being sure to leave a good amount of space between you both.

Was she really happy to share a room with you for the duration of your mission?

You flicked off the lamp and laid back against the pillow with a heavy, tired sigh. Both your arms rested underneath your head.

“Wolfie?” Wanda’s voice whispered into the darkness. You hum in response. “I’m a little cold…”

You lifted your head slightly to look at her, able to see every detail on her face in the dark. A fine trait to have until you woke up first thing with the fucking sun in your eyes.

It’s why you opted to always have the curtains drawn closed.

“The thermostat is a bit rusty, but I could get you an extra blanket if you’d like?”

She shook her head, fiery hair and cheek nuzzling into her pillow. A faint, shy smile on her plump lips. Lips you wanted so badly to kiss.

“I don’t want to trouble you with that.”

You raised a brow at that. Why did she bring it up if she didn’t want you to resolve it?

Before you could say anything, she moved closer into your side, her arm curled over your stomach.

Your muscles tensed as her cheek laid where your shoulder and neck met. Anything you did want to say completely went out the window of your thought process.

“Much better,” she sighed almost silently, her breath even and slow. Your arm wrapped over her shoulder and Wanda relaxed more against your side.

“You good?” You asked, albeit hesitantly. She softly hummed in return and you couldn’t restrain your smile.

By the soft thump of her heartbeat and her quiet breaths, she’d fallen asleep quickly. The warmth of your body must have really helped her.

You turned your head and your nose brushed against her scalp, lips hovering over the crown of her hairline. “Good night…”

‘Mate.’

You awoke to the sound of voices coming from downstairs. New voices that didn’t belong to anyone on your team. You grumbled as you sat up, arms pulled up to stretch your muscles.

That’s when you realised the bed was vacant beside you. A piece of paper sat on Wanda’s pillow and you plucked it, reading the delicate handwriting.

‘Didn’t want to wake you. Come downstairs when you’re awake, Wolfie! P.S you were really warm and comfy’

You huffed at that, a smirk plastered on your tired features. For a moment you’d forgotten about the strange voices until you put the letter aside.

You frowned and your glare landed on the closed doors.

You stood up and silently, you opened the doors. You moved equally as quietly down the hallway until you reached the top of the stairs, thankfully you were obscured from sight on the first floor.

“What a wonderful place you have here. So, you lot just moved in?”

“Yep,” Steve said with a chuckle, “we all pitched in together to start fresh from the city. We’d heard good things about Alaska, stunning views and a lot of opportunities.”

You applauded Steve’s skill to act like a civilian. A true and natural actor when it came to undercover ops.

Too bad your rather aggressive nature tended to give you a bad impression on people. It’s why you were often a background actor. Someone who was passing through, someone who wasn’t a permanent fixture to the attention of your targets.

Exactly the reason why you hid upstairs and eavesdropped.

The man downstairs gave an amused hum. “And a lot of game,” he mused, you could hear the test in his voice.

Yes, you knew that voice.

“Oh yeah, quite the trophies hunters claim up here. We’re quite the group ourselves, James particularly.”

‘Oh, Steve.’

You could smell the sudden change in Bucky’s scent. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh?”

“Mm, when I’m up to it. I only go after the best game when it’s trophy season.”

“Then why don’t we go hunting together this weekend, huh? It is game season and I think it’d help break the ice as neighbours.“

You stiffened in your place, back rigid against the wall. You smelt it in the air. Each one of your teammates had a sense of unease. They must’ve known something was up, this man - these people - were undoubtedly your targets; drawn in just as Fury had predicted.

Only, he didn’t disclose what they were with the others. Only you knew.

“Neighbour?” Sam asked and the man laughed.

“That’s right! Over the mountain ridge out that way. A lodge like this one, you can’t miss it.”

“Sure, we might come by. Any particular spots for good game?” Tony asked, he’d actually fooled you for a second there with how invested he sounded in the idea of hunt and game.

“This valley is quite the place for hunting, actually. The best.”

Your eyes screwed shut, your mind slowly slipping away into that dark space you’d purposefully left behind.

You wished they’d just leave.

“So it’s just you seven here? Nobody else?” He asked and your breath froze.

“Nope, just us,” Wanda answered.

“I see… hmm,” he replied, his response slow before a second silence befell him. You heard him clear his nasal before he shyly said, “Apologies, the cold season tends to make my nose sensitive. Well then, I’d best be going before the wife hangs my head over the hearth. Be seeing you, neighbours and welcome to Alaska.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief when he and the men with him left. Your team bid their farewells to your neighbours and the front door closed behind your departing guests.

Your team was in danger.

‘And it’s my fucking fault!’

Werewolves don’t get sensitive to the cold. You lot were basically self-established heating machines to withstand the cold climates.

No. He’d sniffed you out and your pills to hide your wolf scent had worn off from yesterday.

Your scent was known and he knew that his new neighbours had a little secret of their own. The muscles around your mouth and nose twitch, teeth clenched hard together as a rumble vibrates in your chest.

How could you be so careless? You could smell them before you even opened your bedroom door and yet you failed to keep your own scent hidden.

“Well, that was something,” Natasha huffed and you heard Clint grunt in an agreeable fashion.

“You can say that again. The guy had a weird look in his eye when he spoke about the whole hunting thing.”

“I don’t think he hunts ordinary animals,” Bucky drawled, voice laced with his deep-rooted suspicion. He was right to be and you were glad he - or anyone on your team - didn’t fall for the facade.

They hunted animals to keep people off their scents but elk, bears and beavers weren’t their preferred quarry.

They prided themselves in hunting their own kind. A sick, perverted desire to slaughter other packs. Not only that, they had a sickening obsession with hunting humans. To do things no person should be subjected to.

Mother Nature scorned such vile behaviour with hatred beyond words.

And this pack had connections to a Hydra resurgence group that intended to operate within Alaska.

They had to be stopped and your temper was running short. Sooner or later you were gonna wolf out and you wanted the snow to be stained red with that pack’s blood.

You should have done so last night, keeping your cover be damned.

You finally decided to head downstairs, the necessity to conceal your footsteps no longer mattered.

All eyes fell to you and you waved in response to the uttered good mornings and greetings.

“I take it you heard all that upstairs?” Tony asked you, doing you the courtesy of getting a cup of coffee ready for you. You nodded with a snarl, “yeah, and we’re gonna need a new plan.”

“Why?” Steve asked, brows knitted together as he leaned against the wall. Tony passed you the cup of steaming coffee.

You took a gulp of it before your eyes looked to Steve and the others. You were silent, gaze elsewhere as your thumb massaged the handle of your mug.

“What aren’t you telling us, Y/N?” Natasha asked from her place at the dining table, her own mug nestled against her palm. Still, you didn’t answer.

“Because they know I’m here.” That’s all you said. What you intended to say. Did they truly need to know that they were dealing with werewolves? Probably, but you had other plans.

“How? We told them it was just us,” Sam argued. You only shook your head. “They know I’m here. We need a new plan quickly. They’re not gonna wait until the weekend now.”

They didn’t like your answer, or rather, lack of answers.

“You’re still hiding something from us.” You growled over the rim of your cup. Steve was pushing it. “If there is something about these guys that you know about, you need to tell us.”

You placed your cup down on the countertop, hunched over on your stool. “Werewolves don’t get sick little noses because of the cold, Captain. The only thing that makes us sick are infections from wounds and poisons engineered from wolfsbane and silver. To which, Hydra has been known to have an abundance of.”

They wanted the truth and you gave it to them on a platter. You allowed them to have their stunned silence, no matter how suffocated it made your nose feel.

“You mean—“

“He could smell me, Tony.” Your eyes slowly rolled to meet his and for the first time since you met the billionaire, you saw the colour drain from his face as he stared into your eyes.

“He’s the same damn thing I am and because of that, that leaves us in a very compromised position.”

Another wave of silence filled the open space. You downed the rest of your coffee in a few gulps. You couldn’t even process the taste.

“What do we do?” You heard Bucky ask from behind you. You turned to see him stare at you, blue eyes piercing into you to get the answer they needed. Wanda stood next to him.

She’d been quiet this whole time and that fear wedged itself sharply into your heart. To see the uncertainty of the mission because it had already gone sideways.

“The whole guide shit was only half true. Fury sent me in as a guard,” you began, “but if you’re asking me what I really think we should do is get you guys back to headquarters.”

“What do you mean? Y/N, we’re not going to leave you behind. We’re going to complete this mission together.” Steve was pissed that you’d suggest such a thing.

“We do have two capable super soldiers, an enhanced witch who can move things with her mind, an ex-spy, two mediocre talents at best and myself: the brilliant genius that I am,” Tony said. How you wanted to slap the arrogance from his head so hard. “And also a werewolf. What could go wrong?”

You shook your head again, tongue running over your teeth with a tsk. “You don’t get it, Stark. This pack has been here for many years. They know the terrain better than any of you. They will use that to their advantage. On top of that, they have ties to the Hydra resurgence. Tony, if I don’t get you guys out of here, there will be no getting out of here.”

You turned to the others as you stood from your stool, your eyes coated in a hot, watery layer.

“These werewolves are not your ordinary pack. They are literal hunting dogs for Hydra. You’ve all seen Bucky as the Winter Soldier…”

You didn’t wish to bring it up, not to see the pain in those blue eyes of his. Bucky and you seemed to get along quite well. You both understood each other. His time with Hydra was not something you brought up lightly; you had a point to make. They couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation. They hadn’t experienced what you did.

You needed to get your team out of Alaska because they were yours to protect. They were your pack.

You take a deep breath in, your eyes scanned each awaiting face until they landed on Wanda.

“Now imagine that type of scenario, but times it by ten. You have to trust me on this one. If I stay behind, I can fend them off while you guys get home and get reinforcements.”

“No, Y/N…,” you heard Wanda whisper with a shaken breath. You didn’t want to see the tears in her eyes, but you turned anyway to face her.

“Wanda, you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into with this pack… but I do. What they did to the family that lived here is something I will not see happen again. Not to you.”

What remained of that day all felt like a blur. You’d all discussed the new plan and now, after two days of waiting, you were going to execute the escape plan.

The howls from the woods had gotten closer each night. Their arrival was just as you had said. They weren’t going to wait until the weekend.

“I don’t like this plan, Y/N,” Wanda said, voice quivering in her throat, “what if something bad happens to you while we’re gone? What if they kill you?”

You shook your head. “They won’t kill me. I won’t make it easy for them.”

Wanda scowled at this and she rounded the bed to where you were. She placed a hand over yours, clenched together between your thighs.

“This isn’t about making it difficult for them, this is about your survival. You said it yourself, these werewolves aren’t like any other. They’re different because of what Hydra did to them.”

Your jaw clenched tightly at her words. Her soft skin against yours made your hand tingle, her breath so close to beating along the apple of your cheek.

“But so am I,” you said lowly. You turned your chin towards Wanda, her eyes searched your face and your uttered words for some semblance of understanding.

“I… I still don’t like this idea. Just come back with us, please…” Tears wept down her cheeks and she didn’t hide the small sniffle.

“It has to be this way, Wanda.” You stood up and pulled her into your chest without hesitation, her arms immediately encircled around your torso.

“This is personal. What they did to—“ you grimaced at the memory. The blood that splattered the walls and the snow alike. Carnage like no other you’d seen stained the house secretly. The clean-up may have hidden the history but your memory did not let it go.

It couldn’t. The only way the nightmares would stop is if you uprooted it from the source.

“What they did to this family - and more - is unforgivable. I have to be the one to do this. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, you’re my—“

This fucking soulmate tie. Why was it so difficult for you to tell her? Maybe she was right, you could possibly get killed and she would never know the truth because you were too scared to tell her.

Your arms squeezed around her a little tighter, hands quivering as they balled into fists until your knuckles were white and your claws unsheathed from your nail beds.

“I’m what?”

“I-I’m just…”

‘Scared.’

“Scared of what?” Her words made the air gasp from your lungs. You blanked your mind to shield it from her reading anything more. You just held her close. It was all what you felt capable of. With her head resting against your chest, she was able to hear the bombardment of your heartbeat.

“I can’t say it,” you answered but Wanda shook her head. She was done letting this fear eat away at you from the inside.

“Tell me, or I’m going in there,” she ordered firmly, her hand reached out to grab your chin and hold it so she could rest her forehead against yours. You heard the smirk in her voice.

You chuffed at her light attempt at humour, to make the currently dark moment a little brighter than it was.

“I am scared that I will lose a second time. And I won’t survive that agony again.”

Wanda nodded, her nose bumped against yours and your lips danced so close to one another. It was a struggle to not close the slight distance between you to kiss her.

“You still haven’t told me what I am to you.”

“I’ll tell you when this is all over,” you sighed, voice hesitant as you slightly withdraw your face from hers. Wanda’s hands slid to your cheeks and held you so you couldn’t pull away anymore.

“Promise?”

The corners of your lips tug into a smirk. “I promise.”

You caught the way her eyes flickered down slightly to your lips and out of habit, your tongue darted along your bottom to wet it. Your eyes did the same to hers, plump and soft looking. Always tempting.

“Kiss me, Wolfie.” Her voice called to you softly, the plea of your mate making you cave as you brushed your lips against hers.

If you did this, you weren’t just friends. You saw her as more than a friend. Whatever she saw more than you realised, was it more than a friend for her?

Did she see a companion in you? A mate?

Your lips pressed into hers and your chest relaxed as the air was drawn from you, a deep growl resounded in the back of your throat.

Wanda tilted her head to deepen the kiss with a breathless moan.

Your hunger consumed you. Your hands drifted down the length of her back until they reached her thighs, you knocked her knees and she gasped. Your tongue darted through her parted lips as her legs wrapped around your waist, your strength supporting her as if she were a feather.

Her hands ran through the length of your hair with another moan and that unmistakable swell of arousal pooled in your groin.

Fuck, how you wanted to claim her right now. That wolfish hunger, selfish in want, desired to make the bite now.

But you would wait. You’d wait for Wanda and you’d wait for the rest of eternity for her. You couldn’t say she’d do the same, but you damn well hoped.

You fell forward to lay Wanda down on the bed, your arms supported your weight like pillars on either side of her head. Her hands pulled you closer to her, even if the fight for air was growing too much to bear.

You smelt it on her, the sweet aroma of rose tinged by an even sweeter scent; her arousal. Your hips bucked against hers and she gasped out, her fingers dug into you with a whimper of your name.

Oh, how you wanted to hear that sound again. Her hips in turn began to grind against you, the friction of your pants made her legs quiver around your waist.

You growled against her open mouth, her tongue submitted to you long before her back met the mattress. Her hand flew to your belt to loosen it but you captured her wrist and she stopped, you pulled away from her lips with a deep breath.

“We don’t have to rush this, Sweetheart,” you pant, head nuzzling against hers. She smiled shyly and a red hue coloured her cheeks and nose.

Not that you blamed her, your own face was a fiery mess of its own.

“Sorry, I got a little wild,” she giggled and you flashed her a wolfish grin, chuckling deeply.

“Says the witch with the literal wolf on top of her.”

You brushed your nose along the curve of her jaw, inhaling her intoxicating scent. It made you feel how you presumed people felt when they got drunk.

You lifted your head so you could see her now. Her eyes stared up at you and that smile that scared away the darkness was there.

How you adored her. What you wouldn’t do for the woman beneath you, you could not name.

You’d do anything for your mate.

Your hand caressed her cheek, thumb running over her chin. “What do you see in me, Wanda?”

You were curious. She always looked at you with a sense that she saw something in you nobody else could.

“I see many things within you.”

“Name one,” you urged. Silence ensued as

her lips thinned in thought. Her gaze softened, perhaps you misread it because of the lighting in the room. You thought for a moment you saw love.

Her mouth opened to finally give you her answer when a knock pounded against the door - and also your sharpened hearing. A grimace twisted your features.

Wanda offered a sad smile when the realisation that the small world you and Wanda were in had come to an end.

There was a darkness out in the world that needed to be rid of. That temporary light had to withdraw for the time being.

You rolled off of Wanda and she stood up quickly as the door opened, after you’d beckoned whoever it was to enter.

“We’re ready to head off,” Natasha said from the doorway, eyes suspiciously squinted between you and Wanda with a smirk.

You cleared your throat when her knowing eyes landed on you. “Alright. Thank you, Natasha,” you bit down the bark in your words.

When you two were left alone again, you looked to Wanda. “Don’t go getting yourself killed now. Promise me, Wolf.”

“I promise…”

‘… Mate.’

The sun was setting over the valley, the last rays of light quick to fade as night encroached. You would have to hurry to get everyone on the Quinjet safely.

“Everyone ready?” You asked as you opened the front door and your team nodded. There was no time to drag their bags along. You’d all suited up and gathered your necessities.

“Let’s go,” Steve said behind you.

You exited the house first, a quick assessment of your surroundings, you signalled to your team to follow.

“Keep together and in front of me. Go!” You urged, letting Steve take the lead to the Quinjet while you covered the team’s rear. It’d allow you to see any oncoming attacks.

Wanda kept glancing back at you, to make sure you weren’t too far behind, her own fear that you’d be targeted first evident in her eyes.

Twigs and branches snapped in the woods around you, the scent of your team polluted the air with their growing anxiety of an impending attack.

“There it is, get going!” You called out, relief flooding the entire team in a shroud when the ramp was already lowered. Your hand brushed Wanda’s back as you urged her forward into a sprint, Bucky and Natasha beside her. You knew they would look after her.

A colossal weight slammed into your side from the thicket of trees up the snowy hillside, your body instinctively shifted to the mass of muscle and fur now laced with snow. A roar tore from your vocals at the beast that’d separated you from the others.

An expected tactic.

You charged up the slope you’d been pushed down onto, leaping into the air and shoved your opponent into the ground beneath him. The hillside was crawling with the ambush, they moved swiftly down to join the first attacker. Most charged for you, but the few that ran for the jet didn’t escape your notice.

You bellowed a warning roar, Wanda among the group that guarded the ramp as Tony and Sam went to get the jet fired up. A clawed hand swept across your face hard, slashing you blind for a second and knocked you onto the ground. Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your attacker’s arm, a pained yelp echoed in the frosty wind. Your hind legs kicked at their toned stomach, claws tearing through fur and tissue as you launched them away; a chunk of flesh clenched between your canines.

A flood of blood wept from the chunk in your mouth, you dropped it with a wet splash to the snow. A roar came from behind as another came at you but an arrow fired into her eye, her attack faltered as you rolled to the side. Wanda’s magic grappled hold of the wolf and flung her further back, her back smashed into a thick trunk with a growl.

“The jet’s on, let’s get going!” Tony’s voice yelled above the ensuing chaos. You barked in agreement and cocked your head in encouragement for the team to leave.

“Y/N!” Wanda yelled out for you, fingertips touched by the tendrils of her magic as reached out for you; the ramp began to close. She made to run to you.

“Wanda!” Steve called in his attempt to halt Wanda. One of the werewolves ran at Wanda, clawed hands outstretched to tear at her.

Just as you went to jump to her defence, teeth clamped a hold of one of your hind legs. You yowled and used your other leg to kick at him but he avoided your defensive kicks.

Wanda screamed when a large, clawed hand grabbed hold of her leg, Steve and Bucky held onto her to keep her from being dragged out. Your leg arched towards your stomach and with another kick, you managed to loosen the jaws around your ligament and you charged at the wolf that tried to drag Wanda out from the jet.

You ignored the agonised yelp caught in your throat, replaced by a deep growl as you jaws bit down and yanked at the bushy tail that dangled ahead of you; even when two new sets of jaws set their attack on both your legs this time. Flesh and muscle would be torn to shreds but that mattered little to you.

You’d survive it. The one that had a hold of Wanda released her and Steve and Bucky dragged her further back, even when she tried to reach for you again. “Y/N!”

“Go!”

Your roar cracked across the valley like a whip.

You snatched hold of the tail again before the werewolf could make a run for it. The two on your legs tried to shake you off your balance, you pulled the tail in closer and with all the strength you could muster, you flung him at a nearby rock side. His skull pelted against the dark stone and fell limp on the ground.

The jet rose up just as the lip of the ramp closed.

Wanda’s eyes glowed a dangerous aura of scarlet.

‘Be safe—!”

‘I will.’

The two jaws released your legs as you were hit from the side once again. This one was heavier, with more anger behind it.

You let out whines and growls as you tumbled down the snowy terrain and onto the ice lake. You lifted your head to see him approach down from the tree line.

The beast that had sniffed you out. That intended to harm your team when he invited them over.

Who was responsible for killing your family.

“You’ve grown stronger,” he rumbled with a tilt of his head, his dark lips twisted into a crooked, fanged smile.

His stare was bloodthirsty.

“You should have been killed in that lab when Hydra had the chance. A wasted specimen who couldn’t obey a simple order.”

“I… was not going… to kill… innocents!” You ignored the way your ankles threatened to buckle under your weight, you stood on your hind legs to match the alpha’s height.

The remainder of his pack gathered behind him, forming a crescent around you. Car lights flittered through the tree line.

Hydra agents. Your muzzle wrinkled with a snarl and your teeth bared until the line of your bloodstained gums showed.

“Well. We tried.”

He surged forward faster than you could perceive to dodge his attack. His teeth sank deep into your shoulder, a high pitched yelp that mirrored a scream travelled across the ice.

He pushed you down. He had you pinned, the layer of ice cool against your belly. His jaws ripped and shook you, a pawed hand pressed against you as he tore fur, flesh and muscle across your back.

His pack barked and yipped in their sickening cheers for their leader to maim you. Your jaws snapped again and again until you finally had his unguarded limb in your grasp. He snarled as your teeth gnashed down repeatedly, bone splintering until he kicked you aside.

His ears were pinned against his head with a low, pained whine. His tongue hesitated to lick his wound and his eyes, full of hatred, darted towards you.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Yeah…”

Your eyes squeezed shut, the pain from your shoulder down the line of your back stained your coat with dark crimson, the pain excruciating that steam rose from your wounds.

A guttural growl rose from the depths of your chest, anger festering in the old wounds.

“You really should have.”

You ran at him and he met you halfway. Claws and teeth gnashed and swept at each other. Triumph in your fight with the alpha turned into moments of being overpowered; but you’d find a way to slip out and regain the upper hand.

A series of explosions caught you off guard. You looked up to see the jet had been hit, one of the engines on fire. The jet sputtered and sank. You whimpered out when the Quinjet crashed into the side of the tall mountain peak.

Thankfully it hadn’t exploded. Everyone had to be alright. You had to hold.

You made an attempt to run for the mountain when something flew towards you and you ducked out of the way, a large harpoon penetrated the ice with a thunderous crack.

Silver.

You could smell the poisonous tinge of it.

The armoured vehicles circled you, and Hydra agents jumped out, armed with what you only imagined were silver bullets. You roared and snarled at anyone who made a move to shoot at you.

“Nets ready!”

“Get it tied down and back to base!”

The mounted machines on the vehicles fired at you, whipping through the air as one net after another held you down. When you managed to slip out from beneath the nets, agents threw their hands forward, ropes entangled around your limbs as you struggled to break free.

“Get the humans!”

You turned your gaze back to the alpha at his command. His pack and him ran off towards the mountain.

“Wanda! No!”

You’d heard the commotion from the mountain. Their screams. Your father’s howl.

You didn’t wait a moment as you almost got yourself killed sliding down the slopes and cliff sides to reach home faster.

Your pack was in trouble. You panted as the wind attacked your fur as your claws cracked the surface of the ice beneath you.

Your mother was who you heard, followed by your youngest siblings. Your heart felt as if it’d stopped beating.

Your jaws came around the neck of their attacker and with a jerk of your head you heard the bones of their neck snap.

Your heart broke so very hard. Why did you leave them alone?

The twins laid together side by side, their smaller bodies nestled in the snow. Around them was a halo of their blood.

Blood that could have been avoided if you hadn’t left. You whimpered, your nose pushed into the fur.

“Wake up, wake up please… no, please…”

Not far from them you glanced up to see your mother’s body. Her fur blended in with the snow.

A rare white pelt. Now tainted with blood.

It was there your heart grew…

Ice cold. Your maws latched hold of the ropes that constrained you from protecting those who needed you.

Who you promised yourself you would protect. Even if it killed you. You would not allow that alpha or his pack to massacre your pack again.

Your mate.

The agents stood no chance. They screamed as you shifted your weight to fling them into one another or the vehicles. You rammed and smashed into the armoured cars, destroying most and leaving the rest to burn when you tore the engine apart and flung it into another car.

The ice cracked beneath you and you moved swiftly. You didn’t allow your wounds to alter your performance, no matter the pain or trail of blood you left behind.

You pursued the pack that made their way to the cliff side. They jumped and leapt onto any vantage points but they didn’t know this mountain like you did.

You knew the best routes for quick travel up the terrain of the mountain. Whoever was in your way was shown no mercy. Your large hands ripped them off their balance and flung them off the cliff side to whatever fate awaited them below.

Wanda softly grunted with a hand pressed to her temple.

“Steve,” she mumbled as he knelt beside her. His hand helped to support her weight while she got her bearings.

“Wanda, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, what happened?” She asked as her eyes focused on his blue eyes. “The jet’s engine was hit. It’s pretty obvious they wanted to knock us down.”

Wanda didn’t respond, not even as Clint and Natasha joined her and Steve. “Is everyone else ok?” Steve asked Clint and he nodded.

“Yeah, the crash just took them by surprise is all.”

“Come on, let’s get to cover.” Natasha’s hand found Wanda’s arm and pulled her to her feet, careful not to startle or aggravate any potential injuries.

Wanda pushed away from the ex-widow.

“No, I have to see if Y/N is alright!”

“Wanda, we have to get to safety,” Steve argued back but Wanda would not hear it.

“They promised me!” She choked out, “you have no idea how I feel about them. The bond we have. This is why I must go to them!”

“They’ll be alright,” Steve assured with a hand pressed to her arm, “this is Y/N we’re talking about. If anyone can fend them off, it’s them.”

Gunfire fired down the cliff side. “Stay here with her, I’ll help the others.” Natasha and Clint watched as Steve ran off to defend their flank with Sam, Tony and Bucky.

A series of growls tumbled over the mountain ledge, glowing eyes crept into view as three hulking forms climbed up.

Clint knocked an arrow to his bow, stance low and ready to perform a rapid fire, Wanda’s hands danced together before her as the glowing scarlet of her magic swarmed about her fingertips. Natasha drew her pistol and took aim at the middle werewolf.

Natasha was the first to fire. Round after round only made the beast grunt as if bitten by a fly as he charged forward. Clint shocked him with his knocked arrow and Wanda thrusted her hands forward with a grunt.

The werewolf was pushed over the cliff side with a howl.

The werewolf to their right leapt at Clint, barely ducking in time. He rolled to the side and shot another arrow while Natasha took cover from an oncoming blow from the second. Clint was knocked back and used his bow to block the maw of his opponent from mauling him.

“Clint!” Natasha yelled out, Wanda waved her hands and pushed the werewolf off of Clint, granting him the opportunity to overpower it. He and the beast went tumbling down into a crevice in the mountain, having looped its neck between his bow and the drawstring.

The last werewolf swiped at Wanda but Natasha threw herself in front of it, grunting when claws tore at her arm sleeve. A clean gash bled through her suit. The werewolf rose it’s arm to come down at Natasha again when Wanda used her magic to fling it towards the edge.

It bellowed a distorted roar at Wanda only to whimper when your teeth mashed down into its jugular with a baritone growl. Your amber eyes the bright fire beneath burning coals as you crunched down further. With another whine, you ripped your maw clean from the wolf’s neck and they fell to the bottom of the mountain.

“Y/N,” Wanda gasped out as she ran to you. You dragged your body over the rocky ledge, Wanda was able to see the blood and wounds that covered you.

“Good to see you’re alive,” Natasha said as she held her bleeding arm, her attention averted to Clint who was still standing his ground against his opponent.

“I gotta help Clint!” She said hurriedly and rushed off to Clint’s aid. “Be careful!” Wanda yelled after her, hands attentive as they gently stroked along your neck.

A soft whine wheezed up your throat. Gunfire continued to ring, now having travelled further up the mountain near where you and Wanda were.

Natasha and Clint climbed back up a short moment later, Wanda tugged Clint to rest as blood trailed down his face.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about these guys, Wolfie. What exactly did Hydra do to them?”

Your vocal cords strained the rumbling chuff, hot air fanned out of your nostrils.

“Come on, we should help the others,” said Wanda urgently. You, Clint and Natasha nodded and began to follow her but a blur flew from one of the higher up ledges.

Wanda screamed when she was pinned down, the form having pushed her back some distance from you and the others.

“Wanda!” You roared, you leapt towards her and the alpha without a second thought. The three of you fell over the lip of the mountainside, your body instinctively clawed Wanda out of the alpha’s grasp and encircled around her; caging her from the fall.

Wanda was tucked between the heat of your body above and the snow against her front, both of you stared at the alpha in front of you.

His wolfish face formed into a snarl, saliva and blood dripped from his lips.

Blood dripped from yours, fangs bared right back at him.

“Protective, aren’t you? Found yourself a little mate?”

Your jaws stretched open with a protective roar.

“That struck a nerve.”

The alpha jumped at you but this time you were prepared. You arched your body, arms latched hold of him as you both rolled back and over another lip, this time the fall was more steep and less intruded by any sharp rock edges. Your back collided with wooden blanks as yours and the alphas weight broke through it and crashed into the dusty keep below.

Wanda shrieked your name. The sound was a fracture to your very soul, the tie to your mate tugged a little too hard for your liking.

You barely were up on your own four limbs when the alpha continued his barrage of attacks. Each hit was ruthless as his claws swiped and tore at your body. His teeth fractured a number of your bones as you attempted to pry him off. He grappled the scruff of your neck and slammed you face first against anything he could.

He tossed you back and your back smashed into the crumbling bricks behind you.

The sky of Alaska’s first rays of dawn illuminated through the old, stone archway with a pink and orange hue. Snow bellowed in with the gusts of wind.

For a moment you both stared at each other. Covered in the wounds bred from conflict.

Your shoulders rose and fell with each pant, pain rippled across your body and your fur bristled against the cool breeze.

His glowing red hues danced in the darkness on his side, and the amber in yours did the same on your side.

If you killed him, it would be over. Without their leader they were hopeless. Defenceless. Weak.

“Do you really think you are one of them? You’re not. You never will be. Mated to a human. She’ll break your heart and then… then you will become as cruel as I.”

“I am nothing like you. I will never be anything like you.”

Your hackles raised at him. He snarled back at you.

“We are monsters! Just embrace that! You will never be anything but that!”

You averted your gaze for a moment. He was right. You were a monster. You huffed lowly, ears twitching slightly when the breeze tickled against them. Mother Nature thought otherwise.

“I’ve embraced it. But if I’m a monster… then I’m a good one that hunts the bad ones.”

You ran at each other with teeth bared and claws out. Snarls and growls echoed in the chamber of the ruin as you swiped at one another, biting into the flesh of one another.

Carnage.

Monster against monster.

Mother Nature was not always as peaceful and beautiful as many thought she was.

She could be cruel.

Heartless.

And it was all in the name of balance. It was fair.

His elbow drove into your face and knocked you back, he pinned your weight to the ground as his muzzle dug into your stomach and chest. You yelped and kicked your legs against him as the savagery of his mauling tore away at you.

Your claws swiped him upside the head again and again until he pulled his head away. A distorted scream came from the depths of his black and bloody throat.

His clawed hand swept across your head, slamming it into the stones beneath you repeatedly in rapid repetition.

Any moment he would smash your skull.

When he figured you’d endured enough, he stared down at the sight of you; ears flopped and a whimper struggling to escape your beaten and half torn apart chest. He raised his hand high. The light bounced off the blood, making it almost shine in the Alaskan morning.

Fairness.

Was this fair? Perhaps not for you but for Mother Nature? Who were you to fight against her?

You’d been doing it for seven years. You were done.

You had embraced it all. What you were, what you went through, and what you were to become; come what may.

“You could have been something more. Something great.”

“I already am. They made me something great.”

With a shake of his head, maybe calling you a fool beneath the huff of his breathy exhale, he prepared for his final slash.

A bright red aura surrounded his arm just as it went to strike against you. Unmoving, the alpha whined when his arm refused to move. Wanda stood just in sight above the ruined keep.

You saw the determined shimmer of scarlet in her eyes.

He roared at you in his confusion and you arched your neck forward. Your muzzle stained red once more when your teeth crushed bone, minced flesh and punctured his artery.

He stilled above you and his weight drifted until it rested against yours. The sun finally began its rise over the distant peaks. You grunted as your limbs shoved the corpse, rolling him through the stone archway and down into the depths below. The ice could have him now.

You didn’t know how long it took for your team to make their descent into the ruins you found yourself in. Your eyes were glazed over, the amber of your fiery hues slowly faded. Each breath you took was stunted from the damage you inflicted.

Blurred forms moved down towards you, snow danced across your vision when a particular gust of wind blew through the archway.

Voices beckoned you by your name but you couldn’t respond.

“What are you doing here, Big Wolf?” You knew that voice. That adorable, innocent voice. “Big Wolf… why are you leaving them behind?”

‘Hm.’

Their voices were inseparable, even in Mother Nature’s light.

Your vision grew dark but the eyes of your mate were the last thing you saw.

“Please, Wolfie… you promised.”

You inhaled deeply as the smell of early stages of rabbit stew filled your nose.

“Mother?” Your eyes were coated in a blurred layer of sleep. How long had you been out? Your mother was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared the freshly skinned rabbits.

“You’re awake,” she chuckled as she peered at you on the couch from her place at the stove.

“You’re awake, Big Wolf!” One of the twins shouted, the other not far behind. Their small feet thumped against the floor in their dash to get to you.

You wheeze when your breath was knocked from your lungs as the twins plop themselves - rather happily as well - on top of you.

“You were asleep for so long!” One of them giggled. You chuckled at the enthusiastic pout on their lips.

“You promised you’d take us up that mountain before dark!”

“I…” you paused for a moment with a furrowed brow. Not long did you sigh and went to move. “I know. We can still go.”

They both jumped off of you as they raced each other to the door. “Yaaaay!”

You shook your head with a chuckle as you walked up to your mother, patting your two other siblings in greeting as they passed. “You guys coming or what?”

“Yeah! We’ll be out front in a second!” Said your second younger sibling.

You looked to your mother who had chopped some vegetables on the wooden board, expertly. Even still, she never lost her concentration though her skill was unmatched and she could do it blindfolded.

She never overestimated herself. Never pushed herself to prove anything to the sake of being seen or respected. She did what she could with all she had.

And that was enough for everyone.

She turned to put the chopped vegetables into the pot. Her eyes turned to you finally and she grinned.

You often reflected your father in both demeanour, stature and appearance; but the one thing you prided yourself for was that you had your mother’s eyes.

It was the one reprieve you had. When you’d stare at yourself - beyond the wolf - you could see your family just from the colour of your eyes.

“Something the matter?” She asked. You shook your head silently and stepped forward. Your arms wrapped her to you and she guffawed.

“Finally gotten into the habit of being affectionate, have you?”

You huffed at her words with a smirk. “Hmph. I guess I have.”

You should have known. A wolf’s memory was good. Often too good. This wasn’t a memory in that old lodge tucked into the valley, nestled near the lakeside.

You and your mother pulled away to look at each other again. Her eyes were misted over and yours did the same.

Her hand rose to caress your cheek tenderly. With a mother’s touch.

You leaned into her palm with a rumbling purr. “It’s time to stop running. Let go of that guilt that weighs you down.”

You opened your eyes to meet her tearful eyes. “We’ve never left you. We have always been here, just know that in your heart.”

“I will, Mother…”

“You have to go now or you’ll be missed,” she said. You knew what she meant.

She looked towards the front door for a moment. “I’ll take them up the mountain for you,” she whispered with a kind smile.

An understanding smile. She knew you had others waiting for you.

“Thanks.” You embraced her again. Her warmth comforted you.

“I love you, Y/N.“

“I love you too.”

“Vitals are stabilising.”

“Good, that’s really good. Let’s get them on a new drip.”

“Wanda, here you go, Honey. Have some coffee.”

“They’ve been like this for a while. What if… they don’t make it?”

Your eyes peeled open slowly. The bright lights above flooded in. Wanda lurched forward with a hand clasped over her mouth with a sob.

“I beg to differ,” you rasped, your hand outstretched and your fingers combed through her hair.

Your name was said by voices you recognised all at once and many faces greeted you on the other side of that dark tunnel. Relieved smiles and sighs, tearful eyes and many uttering your welcomed return.

Wanda grasped hold of your hand, the clear, thin tube of your drip made you aware you were in the medic ward.

New York. The compound.

“Damn, Wolfie,” Tony sighed, “you gave us all quite the scare for the past two weeks.”

“Two weeks? W-what happened?”

“You were in a really bad way when we found you, Y/N,” said Sam, eyes casted down to conceal the way his eyes glistened.

“We all thought we lost you a couple times there.”

You tried to shuffle your body to sit up more when pain shot through you from all directions. You laid a hand on the wound that reached over the entirety of your shoulder. You hissed, teeth clenched hard and everyone winced at your reaction. Your memory of the fight came back to you, piece by piece.

“Your wounds were severe, Y/N. When Cho and Banner saw you… they told us it was likely you wouldn’t pull through…”

“Moving you back to the compound was a risk we had to take. Even from the ruins.”

You shook your head with a grimace as the pain slowly subsided. “Is everyone else alright?” You asked and the room of your fellow Avengers scoffed in disbelief.

“Minor scratches and bruises were the worst we got,” Steve informed you with a light chuckle, “everyone else is fine. It’s you who everyone is worried about. You took the brunt of that attack.”

“Well… I had to.” You moved again, being more cautious of your wounds. “You guys are my pack. Mine to protect.”

Your eyes met Wanda’s, a small smile on her lips as she pulled your hand to cup her face. To feel the comfort of your warmth.

You chuckled as you remembered that night she told you she was cold, only to then cuddle into your side.

How her body fit just perfectly against you when you both stood on the pier.

Your eyes lifted up to the rest of your pack.

“So get used to that because that’s a habit you’re not gonna shake from me anytime ever.”

To be continued in: Habits Of Mother Nature's Will II: Aftermath

Thank you for Reading!

(◕ ᴥ x)

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