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widowpunx · 10 days ago

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Work Your Magic

Made for @selfcestmovies

Wanda Maximoff x Wanda Maximoff | Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 3840

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Wanda knew it — she looked fucking gorgeous. The red dress hugged her curves in all the right ways, fitting her like it was made just for her. God, her date for the night didn’t deserve her. Who the hell stood up someone like her?

She should send Nat a photo. Just to mess with her.

I mean, look at her — standing in front of the mirror like she was a five-star meal served on a silver platter. Long, silky legs. Perfectly perky breasts. Soft hands. Plump lips. If only someone were here to touch her the way she deserved.

And on her birthday, no less. Honestly, she felt like she could cry.

Just for the hell of it, Wanda pulled out her phone. She angled her body just right in front of the mirror, raised her arm, and turned on the flash. One snap. She’d hiked the hem of her dress up to the top of her thigh — just enough for the delicate lace of her floral panties to peek through. Just enough to tease. Just enough to tempt.

She hit send. To: Natasha.

Then reality set in again — Wanda still had no one to make her feel good. She leaned her head back against the wall with a groan, trying to think of a way to fix the ache blooming low in her belly.

Blinded by the heat clouding her mind, Wanda let one hand drift between her thighs, fingertips grazing the soft skin there. A breath escaped her lips — soft, needy. Her other hand hovered over Natasha’s contact photo, fingers ghosting over the screen like she was afraid to press too hard and break the illusion.

Her mind raced with possibilities — all the things Natasha could do to her. Fucking her into the mattress... A girl could dream.

Then, her phone buzzed in her hand.

"Touch yourself for me while I'm away. Work your magic 😘"

Just one text — but it was enough.

Wanda grinned, already imagining how she’d indulge herself. She slipped her phone onto the nearby table and peeled off her dress, trailing her hands down the length of her body. Her skin tingled under her own touch as she knelt in front of the mirror again.

With her eyes closed, she let herself feel — one hand tracing the waistband of her panties, the other mapping the shape of her slick heat, soaked even through the lace. She rubbed her clit in slow, light circles, just enough to tease.

She kept it up, drawing out the tension until her thighs were trembling, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She was surprised she’d lasted this long.

And then — as if the wait itself had summoned it — hands gripped her thighs. Firm but gentle. Warm lips pressed against her skin, trailing kisses up the inside of her leg.

Wanda shuddered, eyes fluttering open as reality blurred and fantasy took hold.

Wanda lazily opened her eyes, her fingers drifting from between her thighs to the head of the redheaded woman kneeling before her. Natasha.

Her breath hitched. She must have come early — a silent promise to end Wanda’s birthday misery. Wanda said nothing, just guided her closer, letting her hands tangle in the other woman’s hair, needing her touch like a balm.

Natasha’s hands curled into the waistband of Wanda’s panties and pulled them down in one fluid motion. Her mouth followed immediately — hot, wet, ravenous — lips sealing around Wanda’s clit and sucking it into her mouth like it was everything she’d been waiting for.

Wanda’s head fell back against the wall, her body arching toward the heat. A strangled moan escaped her as pleasure burst through her like wildfire, lighting her up from the inside out.

God, she loved this. The way Natasha worked her mouth — confident, rhythmic, devastating — like she knew every part of Wanda’s body better than Wanda did herself.

How had she gotten this lucky? A wife who never held back. Who devoured her like this. Worshipped her like this.

Her orgasm was building fast — too fast — curling low in her belly, hot and inevitable. And Natasha wasn’t letting up. Not even a little.

Somewhere in the far corners of her mind, Wanda might’ve noticed how quiet it was — how the air felt heavier than usual, the way her skin tingled not just from touch, but from something else.

But she was too far gone to question it.

Not yet.

But this orgasm — it was different. It didn’t build slowly. It took her. Swift and complete, like a storm that swallowed her whole. God, Wanda didn’t even know if she was ready for it — but with every swipe of Natasha’s tongue over her clit, every deep, hungry suck of her lips, Wanda only grew greedier for the release rushing toward her.

She needed it. And thankfully, Natasha was here to give it to her.

“Fuck—fuck! Don’t stop… that feels—so fucking good, oh my hell—ah!”

Wanda looked down, lost in lust, on the edge of coming undone. With no other thought in her mind, she gripped Natasha’s hair like a vice and held her there, her hips jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm crashed through her. It ripped the air from her lungs. She came hard — all over Natasha’s mouth and chin, her vision whiting out for a heartbeat.

Her body slumped. Limbs heavy. Mind blank. She let go of Natasha’s hair, breathless and shaking, as her lover gently licked her clean.

But Natasha didn’t stop.

She kept going — licking, sucking, slurping softly — her mouth insistent, almost mechanical in its precision. Wanda whimpered. It was too much, too soon. Overstimulation was her thing — not Natasha’s. Maybe she was trying something new, but Wanda had just had the orgasm of the century.

She couldn’t take this.

Her thighs twitched and tried to close, her breath hitching. She reached down with trembling hands to push Natasha’s head away—

And came again. Just like that.

Barely a few soft licks, and Wanda’s body betrayed her — shuddering through another climax that stole her breath all over again.

The room filled with the sound of her labored breathing, echoing alongside another’s — Natasha’s. Or what she still thought was Natasha.

The redhead finally pulled back, kissing up Wanda’s trembling thighs as she rose from between them. Wanda was still catching her breath when she realized her skin was now littered with hickeys, little bite marks blooming across her hips, her thighs, the delicate curve of her waist.

Natasha had been busy.

She really did her work tonight.

But when Wanda looked up, expecting to meet her wife’s eyes, she was met with her own.

Same face. Same mouth. But those eyes — not quite hers. Scarlet swirls danced in them like magic barely held in check.

Her breath caught. For a second, panic buzzed in her chest. But then… wonder. Control.

She had conjured this.

And as unnerving as it was, part of her knew — this double, this living spell — was something she could learn to master. Refine. Command.

Wanda reached out slowly, cupping her double’s face with trembling fingers. The skin was warm. Soft. Real.

She guided her gently on top of her, and whispered, “You’re not my Nat.”

Her thumb dragged slowly across her double’s lips, savoring the familiarity, the power of it.

“But you’re going to fuck me like you are.”

****

“Fucking hell,” Wanda panted, her voice hoarse from overuse as she rocked her hips down against her double’s, their clits grinding together in a slick, desperate rhythm. The pressure, the friction — it was too much. It was everything.

Her hands trembled as they fumbled for grip, finally latching onto her double’s waist when she felt her second orgasm building, sudden and unstoppable, like a wave crashing out of nowhere. She gasped — it was coming fast, brutal.

The double’s hands reached up, steady and calm in contrast to Wanda’s frayed nerves, guiding Wanda’s own hands to her breasts. The shift in touch — skin on skin, weight and heat — made Wanda shiver.

Her double took control, sliding her palms back to Wanda’s hips and pressing down, setting a slower, more deliberate grind. Guiding her host to the edge.

Wanda’s movements stuttered, then stalled, her thighs trembling as her orgasm tore through her again.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—!” she cried, eyes fluttering shut. Her grip tightened pathetically on the plush of her double’s breasts, desperate to ground herself as her climax surged through her like lightning.

The moan that escaped her was loud, ragged — the sound of someone who’d been pushed far past their limits, yet still wasn’t ready to stop.

When the wave finally passed, Wanda slumped forward, breath catching in her throat, her whole body slick with sweat and trembling from exertion. She hadn’t realized how long they’d been at this. Her inner thighs ached, her clit throbbed, her muscles twitched involuntarily — but the hunger still hadn’t left her.

That gnawing need was still there. Still clawing at her.

She drew in a slow, ragged breath and rolled off her double, landing beside her on the bed with a thud. No words, no softness — just the burn of her lungs and the sweat cooling on her skin.

Silence settled over them, heavy and electric. Her pulse still pounded in her ears.

With a low groan, Wanda dragged herself up onto one elbow. Her eyes were half-lidded, dazed, lips parted like she was still trying to catch up to her own body. She leaned in and began pressing slow, greedy kisses across her double’s face — not out of affection, but possession. Claiming.

She kissed her cheek. Her jaw. The corner of her mouth — each one more drawn out, more deliberate than the last.

And then her lips found her double’s mouth, and she kissed her there — deep and hungry, her tongue sliding in with an almost aggressive slowness. Not frantic. Just raw, unrelenting need. The kind that never really goes away.

When she finally pulled back, her breath hitched, voice scraped and low: “You’re perfect for this…”

The double didn’t speak — just dragged her fingers slowly down Wanda’s spine, a silent reminder of what she could still give.

The way her double shifted beneath her — slowly, confidently, mouth slick with the taste of her — said it all. There was heat still pulsing between them, thick and heavy, begging for more.

Wanda smirked faintly, still breathless, as her double laid back and looked up at her — lips parted, eyes half-lidded, inviting.

Wanda crawled over her like she owned her — because she did. Her knees framed her double’s shoulders, thighs trembling slightly, body already slick with sweat and arousal.

“You want to be useful?” Wanda breathed, dark and low, hand slipping into her double’s hair. She grabbed a fistful and gave a gentle tug. “Then open your mouth.”

The double obeyed without hesitation, and Wanda lowered herself down — slowly at first, deliberately, watching the way her double’s mouth parted, the flush on her cheeks, the gleam in her red-streaked eyes.

“Good,” Wanda muttered, almost to herself.

And then she started to ride.

Not gentle. Not shy. Her rhythm was desperate, messy, wet — using the double’s mouth with purpose, like it was hers to claim. Wanda’s head fell back, a ragged moan punching out of her chest as her hips rocked harder, her clit dragging over her double’s tongue again and again.

There was no love in it. No softness. Just raw hunger.

She ground down harder, panting now, one hand bracing herself on the headboard while the other kept the double in place by their hair.

The only thing Wanda wanted — the only thing she needed — was to come. And she was going to do it on her own face.

The double moaned into Wanda’s pussy, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through Wanda’s spine — but the sound wasn’t just service. It was desire.

She could feel everything Wanda felt. Every pulse, every twitch, every wave of slick heat soaking her mouth — it all echoed through her as if they shared one overstimulated, pulsing nervous system.

Her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering, mouth open wide to take more. Tongue flat and firm, then swirling, then pointed — eager to chase the next twitch of Wanda’s hips like a drug. Her nails dug crescent moons into Wanda’s thighs, trying to keep her close, needing the weight, the pressure, the purpose.

The double’s mouth was a mess. Her chin was slick with Wanda’s arousal, her cheeks flushed, strands of hair clinging to her face in a sweaty tangle. But she didn’t stop. She couldn't. Every grind of Wanda’s clit over her tongue sent a ricochet of pleasure through her too — not between her legs, but in her mind. Deep. Addictive.

Wanda’s breath came faster now — sharp, wet little gasps punched out of her lungs. Her hips started to stutter with every roll. She was losing rhythm. Losing control. Her thighs clamped tighter around her double’s face, her fingers fisting the headboard like her life depended on it.

She kept licking through it, through the spasms, through the wetness pouring down her throat, through Wanda’s entire body jerking and writhing above her.

Wanda sobbed out another broken moan, thighs quivering, one hand abandoning the headboard just to slap against the wall, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Fucking—shit, I’m gonna—ah—”

Her clit throbbed under every stroke of her double’s tongue. And it wasn’t gentle anymore — it was fast, insistent, like the double needed her to come. Like it was a command programmed into her bones.

Wanda’s body tensed suddenly — that split-second before release, when everything coils so tight it nearly hurts. Her eyes squeezed shut, her jaw went slack, and her whole body arched violently as she let out a sound that wasn’t even a moan — it was a cry. Raw. Ugly. Real.

Her orgasm hit her like it wanted to ruin her.

Pleasure exploded from her center and tore through every muscle. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, her hands slapped against the wall, the headboard, the air — anything to keep from floating away. She couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Her cunt spasmed against her double’s mouth again and again, but the double kept licking like she was worshipping something sacred, like she didn't care for overtimulation.

Wanda sobbed out a breath — wet, helpless, gasping — as wave after wave rolled through her. Her body jerked once more before collapsing forward in a heap of sweat and overstimulated nerves.

The room was a mess of heat and breath.

Wanda's chest rose and fell in ragged swells, her body slack, flushed, glistening with sweat. She hadn’t even moved yet. Her thighs trembled, slick between them, and her eyes blinked open in lazy, unfocused fluttering.

The double lay underneath her, equally wrecked but not nearly finished — pupils blown wide, mouth wet, fingers twitching like they were waiting for an excuse.

Wanda slowly shifted off of her face, breath heaving. The double stayed beneath her for a second, licking her lips, then sat up with Wanda, their bodies pressed together, heat still radiating between them. Before Wanda could fully catch her breath, her double maneuvered her gently but decisively — pushing her back onto the bed, guiding her down onto her back with hands that were both tender and possessive.

Wanda let herself fall, legs parting instinctively.

The double smirked — wicked, hungry — and moved over her again. Her hand reached down between Wanda’s legs and pressed firmly against her overstimulated cunt. Wanda whimpered, hips jerking away, then back down, unable to fight the surge of need clawing back up her spine.

“More?” the double asked, her voice breathless but steady.

Wanda’s mouth opened, but no answer came — just a broken gasp. Her hand reached down and grabbed the wrist pressing against her. Not to stop her — just to feel her. Anchor herself.

The double didn’t wait.

She slid two fingers into Wanda — slow at first, thick and deliberate — then began to fuck her with smooth, purposeful thrusts. No teasing. No build-up. Just pleasure. Wanda’s walls clenched greedily, sucking her in deeper. A third finger followed soon after.

“Oh—fuck, fuck—” Wanda’s back arched, hands clawing the sheets.

The sound of her wetness filled the room, each thrust squelching louder, more obscene. Wanda’s thighs kept trying to close around the double’s wrist, but she couldn’t — her double had thrown one of Wanda’s legs over her shoulder and held the other pinned flat to the mattress with a firm, unyielding palm against her inner thigh. She was spread wide open, helpless beneath her own creation.

The double leaned in, lips brushing Wanda’s ear. “Come like this.”

She curled her fingers just right, hitting that spot that made Wanda’s eyes roll back and her hips buck helplessly. Wanda sobbed out a moan, legs thumping weakly and helplessly against the bed.

She wanted to fight it, but she couldn’t.

Her body was betraying her—or worshipping her, she didn’t know which. Her mouth hung open, drool spilling from the corner of her lips a tiny bit as her double pumped harder, deeper, more ruthlessly.

Every nerve in her body screamed. She was being fucked open, destroyed, made into nothing but the quivering thing beneath her own conjuring.

Her vision blurred, and she came with a scream — loud, guttural — and her whole body seized like she'd been shocked. Her pussy clamped down tight around her double’s fingers, soaking her hand completely. Her body shook with aftershocks, twitching uncontrollably.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

Her double eased out slowly, watching her with blown, scarlet-swirled eyes, hand slick to the wrist, and just barely smiling.

Wanda’s lips parted — a ragged breath dragged through her lungs as she stared up at the ceiling, not even fully back in her body yet.

But even as the orgasm tore through her like a ripcord being yanked, Wanda didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her hips kept grinding, trembling, chasing more. Her double’s mouth stayed open beneath her, obedient, tongue flicking gently now, coaxing every last tremor from Wanda’s spent muscles.

And Wanda… still needed more just like a greedy slut needed more.

A sound left her — a low, frustrated cry — and her hands clutched at the double’s shoulders, dragging her up, dragging her fingers with her.

“I need you to fuck me,” she hissed, her voice gone hoarse. “More.”

The double moved quickly, wordless, slipping two slick fingers back into Wanda like they’d never left. The thrusts were immediate, deep, practiced, and impatient. Wanda clenched, her entire body tensing around the sensation. Every nerve ending felt raw, overexposed — but still aching for more.

“Deeper,” she begged, voice strangled. “Please—God, I’m—close—again—”

Her magic sparked to life again — tiny red whips cracking across her fingertips, licking up her arms. Her body bowed. Her legs shook.

The pleasure wasn’t pleasure anymore. It was pressure. A wild, collapsing star in her gut. Something that you can't do anything about, except let it happen. Something that just pulls you.

And when she came this time, it was nothing short of euphoric.

Wanda’s scream ripped the air. Her body convulsed violently, an explosion of red magic bursting from her chest like a shockwave. The walls trembled. The bed frame groaned. The mirror shattered.

Her double held her through it, arms firm, eyes wide — as Wanda writhed beneath her own power, drowning in the pleasure she demanded, begged for, took.

Then — nothing.

Wanda collapsed back onto the bed, slick and shaking, mouth open in a silent gasp, sweat dripping from her forehead. Her magic flickered again — quieter this time — before finally sputtering out.

A single thread of red crawled up the headboard.

****

The house greeted Natasha with a familiar stillness.

She exhaled softly through her nose, shoulders sinking as the door clicked shut behind her. The scent of something warm and faintly sweet hung in the air — candles, maybe. Her boots made no sound against the floor as she toed them off, already picturing the relief of soft sheets, her wife warm and waiting, maybe still awake.

It felt peaceful. Private. Safe.

And then— A moan.

Not gentle. Not sleepy. Another followed — higher, needier, Wanda’s voice cracking around it. Then the sharp rustle of shifting sheets. The rhythmic creak of the mattress. Wet, desperate sounds filling the silence.

Natasha froze mid-step, her brows lifting slightly.

She followed the sounds with quiet curiosity, her pace slow, measured. And when she reached the cracked bedroom door, what she saw inside made her pause completely.

Wanda lay on her back, utterly ruined. Spread wide, fingers tangled tight in the sheets, hips bucking into the face of her conjured double — a perfect mirror of her own flushed, breathless body. The double had three fingers buried knuckle-deep inside her, thrusting with slick, precise strokes, while her mouth greedily latched onto Wanda’s swollen clit, sucking and licking with a kind of ravenous focus that Natasha had never seen outside of her own wife.

And Wanda — poor, greedy, wrecked Wanda — had no idea she was being watched. Her eyes were shut tight, mouth falling open on a shuddering moan, her whole body tensed and quaking. One hand clawed at the headboard, the other grasping uselessly at the sheets, her thighs trembling violently around her double’s head.

The wet sounds grew louder. Sloppier. The kind that filled every inch of the room and left no space for modesty or restraint.

Natasha leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folding over her chest as she watched the scene unfold. Her expression stayed unreadable, but her eyes lingered — cataloguing every tremor of Wanda’s wrecked body, every curve of her hips grinding down, every greedy noise her double made in return.

Wanda’s sobbing moans built with intensity, each one more breathless and fractured than the last.

She slapped a palm against the wall, helplessly searching for something to hold onto. “Fucking—shit,” she gasped, voice broken, “I’m gonna—ah—”

And then it hit.

Her body snapped tight like a live wire, hips surging up off the bed as the orgasm tore through her. The double moaned into her, fingers fucking her through it, tongue relentless. Wanda screamed — actually screamed — as the pleasure dragged out into something brutal and all-consuming.

Still, the double kept licking through it, through the spasms, through the wetness pouring down her throat, through Wanda’s whole body jerking and writhing against her.

Only when Wanda collapsed back onto the sheets, twitching, gasping for air, her thighs slick and shaking, did Natasha finally let herself speak.

A low smirk tugged at her lips as she said, voice rough with pride:

“That’s one hell of a homecoming gift.”

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This took waaaayy too long to make omg, I'm so sorry lmao. y'all be sure to check out @selfcestmovies, their work is absolutely astonishing. Also, credit to them for the media above, you guys can see that here^^

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