witchkisssed - Tumblr blog

witchkisssed · 19 days ago

Text

ours ☀︎

summary : you may be the compound’s resident sunshine girl, but you belong to the witches and widow who keep you worshipped and ruined and completely theirs. always.

word count : 4.4k

warnings : dom/sub dynamics, smut, mommy kink, daddy kink

— — — — —

You’d been at the Avengers Compound for nine months now.

Nine months of flower beds and herb gardens, of dancing barefoot in the grass with soil on your cheeks and petals caught in your hair. Nine months of soft greetings and laughter slipping freely from your lips.

Nine months of falling in love, feeling loved, and being utterly ruined.

You didn’t have powers. Not like the others.

No super serum, no spells, no assassin training, or enhanced intellect.

Just a basket of wildflowers, tangled curls, flowing sundresses, and a heart so open it practically bled gold.

You were the kind of girl who left bundles of lilies on doorsteps, talked to animals, and gave genuine compliments to terrifying people who didn’t know how to accept kindness before you came along.

Tony called you “Sunbeam.”

Steve made you fresh coffee in the mornings just to see you smile.

Peter couldn’t stop blushing whenever you helped clean a scrape on his hand.

You were sunshine.

Always smiling. Always humming. Always warm.

You were also the only person in the world that Agatha Harkness, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha Romanoff ever truly softened for.

Everyone noticed. No one understood.

You were tender and kind and unarmed.

They were weapons in skin. Sharpened in wildly different ways.

And yet—

It’s Wanda who holds your face between her hands after missions, magic sparking at her fingertips as she whispers, “my sunshine, my baby, my perfect little thing” like a prayer.

It’s Natasha who slips behind you when you’re getting bratty in the kitchen, her thumb pressing under your jaw with a rough, “watch that mouth, baby.”

It’s Agatha who tugs you into her lap when you’re too giggly to sit still, her fingers trailing slowly up your skirt as she drawls, “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you, little flower?”

They don’t touch each other like that.

They have no desire for anyone else. No hunger, no craving—not even for each other. Their fire, their adoration, their obsession, is all reserved for you. You’re the only one who stirs that kind of devotion, that kind of all consuming need.

You’re their center, chaos, and calm all at once.

The first time Tony Stark saw you, your apron was crooked, your smile was crooked-er, and you were gently tucking a dandelion behind a child’s ear.

He didn’t know why he’d walked into that sleepy roadside diner in the first place. He certainly didn’t expect to be sucker punched in the face by the sun herself.

You, with your hair a little messy from the long shift, eyes full of honeyed light, and skirt flowing past your knees like some beautiful forest creature who just happened to be holding a coffee pot.

He watched you call an old man “sweetheart” as you filled his mug, then turned to let down some teenager who was trying to flirt with you, all without losing your kind smile and laughing tone. When Steve asked what he was staring at, Tony simply said, “A problem.”

Because you weren’t like anyone else.

You didn’t try to be radiant. You just… were.

And that was exactly why you were so dangerous.

Within a month, you were officially the Avengers Compound’s “resident flower girl”, which mostly meant you had total control of the gardens and the entire team wrapped around your dirt stained fingers.

You weren’t sure when it happened. When your life became less about compost and chamomile, and more about silk sheets and powerful hands that couldn’t get enough of you.

But you never questioned it.

You never wanted to go back.

You were their shared obsession, and they didn’t pretend otherwise.

The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive on the rooftop.

Golden light from the sunset pools around your shoulders as you slip through the doors, adorned in a white dress that flutters lightly around your thighs. Your hair, wild and unbrushed, is threaded with daisies and delicate silver rings, little braids winding through like vines.

Tony's voice cuts through all the chatter, loud and bright. “Our sunflower has finally arrived! Now the real party can start.”

You giggle, cheeks warm as Pepper pulls you into a hug and kisses both your cheeks. Maria follows suit, and Kate immediately swarms you with questions about what you’ve been doing all day. Steve hands you a drink while Sam loops his arm around your neck, and Bucky mumbles something about you looking like summer incarnate.

You thank them all, affectionate and glowing, but your gaze has already started to wander.

You don’t have to look for long.

You feel Agatha before you see her, her fingers trailing possessively up your spine.

“Such a pretty little thing in white,” she murmurs, her voice like steel draped in silk. “Practically begging to be ruined.”

Your breath catches as her fingers slip into your hair, tilting your head until your throat is exposed and her lips press against your jaw.

“Say hello to Mommy, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mommy,” you sigh out breathily.

She hums, low and pleased, the sound curling in your stomach. “Good girl.”

You could say something clever. Could remind her that you’re surrounded by friends and superheroes and people with very good hearing. But you know she wouldn’t care. She’d probably just take it as a challenge.

Before you can even try, Natasha’s hands find you.

One palm slides over the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard. The other curls into your hair from the right side, tugging just enough to make you sigh.

“Look at you,” she rasps, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. “All that sweetness and nowhere to put it.”

Agatha laughs low in her throat, a dangerous kind of amusement. “Oh, I’m sure I can think of a few places.”

You shift to face her, the movement making your skirt ride up just enough to catch Wanda’s eye as she walks closer.

You kiss Agatha slow and deep, one hand tangling in her silver streaked curls, the other bracing on her hip.

She moans low into your mouth, her nails digging sharply into your side. Pulling you closer to her, she wraps one hand tight around your middle, the other gripping your chin as the kiss deepens until your head spins.

You gasp when you feel Wanda’s fingers trail over the bare skin of your spine, her body warm and flush against your back. She kisses along your shoulder, up your neck, along the shell of your ear.

Natasha replaces Agatha’s mouth with her own, all teeth and tongue, devouring you without shame. You whimper, melting between them, and the sound has Wanda moaning quietly behind you, hands fisting in your dress.

“Careful,” she breathes, her hand wrapping around your neck in the softest, surest grip. “She’ll come apart right here if we let her.”

“She wants to,” Natasha growls, grabbing your thigh and lifting it up over her own. The pressure of her hand around your waist keeps your hips tight to hers, rocking in time with the low thrum of music vibrating through the rooftop floor.

“Oh, I know she does,” Wanda grins, voice syrup sweet and dangerously fond. “But she loves being our good little girl. Don’t you, baby?”

You nod, dazed, head full of them. “Yes, Mama.”

The party around you continues like nothing’s happening.

Bruce and Carol are laughing near the bar. Sam and Bucky are playing pool. Kate’s trying to beat Clint at darts. And you’re trapped between three women who make it their mission to keep you adored and ruined all at once.

Eventually, Agatha shifts to face you again, thumb stroking just beneath your eye.

“Why don’t you go say hi to the others, sunshine?” Her voice is all velvet and challenge. “Be sweet. Maybe flirt a little.”

Her smile is pure wickedness. “Let’s see how long we can behave.”

You swallow, thighs pressed together, because you know that means they’re going to spend the next hour watching you—tracking your every move—and punishing you later for every eye that lingers too long.

Wanda adjusts your neckline, brushing the curve of your skin like she knows she owns it. “And keep that smile on, little flower. We want everyone to see how pretty you are before we take it all away.”

Natasha kisses your temple, then lands a playful smack to your ass the moment you start to turn. “Go on. We’ll be right here.”

You nod shakily and drift off towards the others, the heat of their touch still lingering.

Everyone welcomes you with the same warmth as before, doting and excited, like you’re the center of every good thing in the world.

And you love them, you love all your friends.

But the moment you look across the room and see their eyes on you—dark, sharp, possessive—you know exactly where you belong.

Later, when the rooftop empties and the music fades, when you’re tucked away in their room, stripped of your sundress and sunlight, voice hoarse from begging—

They’ll make you cry for them.

Make you say who you belong to, over and over and over again, until you can’t speak at all.

And you’ll thank them for it.

Just like you always do.

It’s well past dusk when the party finally settles into that haze of warmth and wine, when the laughter spills easier, the drinks flow slower, and the music feels lighter.

Your skin glows under the twinkle of fairy lights, body loose from a few drinks as you drift toward the middle area where Tony turned concrete into a makeshift dance floor.

You step into the center, eyes fluttering shut, hips swaying as you let the beat take you. Your arms lift above your head, fingers weaving through your hair, the motion slow and sexy as your sundress floats around your thighs like it’s made of starlight.

Wanda, Agatha, Natasha stand just past the edge of the floor. Watching. Burning.

Their gazes pin you in place even as you move, drinking you in, seething with barely contained hunger.

Maria just lifts a brow. “God, she’s trouble.”

Peter, red faced, mumbles, “I think I’m in love.”

Yelena mutters something in Russian that sounds suspiciously like “She’s going to die. Slowly.”

And Steve just clears his throat, politely looking away.

Meanwhile, Agatha is gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles are white, with a dangerous look gleaming in her eye.

Wanda’s jaw is clenched tight. One hand is already twitching with restrained magic, glowing a faint red where it curls into a fist at her side.

Natasha just stares, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly, like she’s deciding how many walls you’re going to be pinned to later.

You twirl again, deliberately slow this time, catching the hem of your dress in one hand and lifting it just enough to tease. Your lips curl into a wicked little smile as you bite down on your bottom lip and wink directly at them.

You know what you’re doing.

You want them hungry.

And a minute later, someone finally steps onto the floor behind you.

A firm grip wraps around your hips, dragging you back against a body you know as well as your own.

“Okay,” Natasha growls, voice low in your ear. “I was patient. I gave you a song.”

You giggle softly, breath hitching as your back arches into her chest. Your head falling against her shoulder and your lips ghosting over hers.

“I know,” you murmur, pouting up at her with mock innocence. “You were so good for me, Daddy.”

She groans under her breath, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh possessively, fingers curling hard enough to bruise. But before she can fire back a response, another presence slides in, hot and humming.

Wanda’s fingers thread through yours, with her other hand finding your throat and tilting your head so she can mouth along the underside of your jaw. “You’re going to pay for that one, sunshine.”

You can’t help the shiver that rolls through you. Especially when Agatha steps beside you, letting her nails trail lazily down the side of your arms.

You whimper, helpless under their hands, and feel their collective smile. Dark. Wicked. Proud.

“I was just dancing,” you whisper, the protest weak and useless.

“Is that what you were doing?” Natasha asks, tone dry and dangerous, like she’s daring you to lie again.

Wanda continues dragging her lips along the side of your neck. “Kinda looked like teasing to me, baby.”

You squirm, flushed and bright. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You never mean to, do you, little one?” Agatha cuts in, voice dripping with faux curiosity. Her hand slips up under your skirt with the kind of certainty that makes your knees weak.

“You’re always just so pretty,” she purrs. “So sweet. Wandering off like a little lamb in the woods.”

You tremble as her fingers skim the backs of your thighs, cool rings dragging goosebumps up your skin. Wanda’s mouth is still on your jaw, and Natasha’s breath is hot behind your ear.

“And you know better,” Natasha adds, her voice a low promise. “Don’t you?”

You nod quickly, cheeks burning. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” she praises, and your whole body melts into her. Wrecked with just two words.

Wanda hums against your cheek in approval. “So responsive. So needy.”

“She’s always needy,” Agatha sighs, almost fond. She bites your earlobe gently, her hand sliding up higher under your skirt. “Always looking for someone’s hands on her.”

“Yours,” you whisper quickly, eyes snapping open. “Only yours.”

Three different smiles curve along three dangerous mouths.

“Ours,” Natasha repeats, hands tightening around your waist, grounding you. “Not theirs. Not anyone else’s.”

“Those little boys flirt with you,” Agatha murmurs, dragging her teeth down the curve of your shoulder, “but they don’t know what they’re asking for. Sweet, soft, needy thing that you are. They’d die trying to keep up.”

“They wouldn’t last a second with you in their lap,” Wanda echoes, almost pitying. “You’d break them. That’s why you belong with us.”

“Yes,” you whine, breathless, eyes fluttering closed. “I belong to you. Only you.”

Just what they want to hear.

And then Natasha’s hand is sliding between your legs, over the damp spot on your underwear.

The touch is confident, practiced, possessive.

“Already wet?” she murmurs, smugness dripping in her tone.

You whimper. The sound is barely a breath.

“Just from us touching you a little,” Agatha coos, purring at your ear. “God, we’ve ruined you.”

You nod again, because it’s true. Every word.

They’ve unraveled you. Rewired you. You can barely go an hour without their touch, their voice, their scent curling into your brain and turning your knees to liquid.

They know everything. When to push you down or lift you up. When to soothe and when to punish. They know how to make you cry with just a look, how to make you beg with just a sigh, how to piece you back together after being the ones to take you apart.

Natasha leans in, her tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line up the side of your neck. Her breath is hot against your skin when she growls, voice barely restrained—

“You taste so sweet, baby. Like you’ve been dreaming about this all night.”

You whimper before you can stop yourself, trembling under the heat of them—hands at your waist, lips brushing your skin, magic like static in the air around you. You're coming undone and they haven’t even really started.

Wanda’s fingers are already sliding beneath your dress from behind, grazing the top of your thigh.

Agatha’s nails scratch a slow, lazy pattern along the back of your neck, just sharp enough to make you shiver.

And then, Natasha’s voice turns to gravel in your ear. “Ten seconds. That’s all I’m giving you before I take you right here and ruin you for everyone.”

By the time you leave the party, you’re trembling.

Natasha just scoops you into her arms like you weigh nothing, one hand under your thighs, and the other gripping the back of your neck.

Wanda walks ahead, heels clicking and hips swaying in a way that’s not fair, not when you’re already soaking.

Agatha follows behind with a dark smile—slow, unhurried, hungry. She trails her fingers along the backs of your calves, then lands a sharp slap to your ass that makes you gasp loud enough for the whole rooftop to turn.

But again, no one says a thing.

The bedroom door shuts behind you with a decisive click, and your body is immediately pressed against it.

Wanda’s magic curls around your wrists and pins them above your head. Natasha’s hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head up just enough for Agatha to lean in and kiss you—biting your bottom lip, licking the sound out of your throat.

“You were such a good little flower tonight,” she purrs, hand dragging up your thigh to cup you over your ruined panties. “Maybe a little too good. Letting everyone see how loved you are. How owned.”

“Please—” you whisper, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for.

“Oh, baby,” Natasha groans in your ear, voice low and full of hunger. “You don’t have to beg yet. We’re just getting started.”

Wanda’s lips press against your cheek, your temple, then your ear. “But you will,” she murmurs. “You’ll be begging for it so sweetly, little one.”

They move you like a doll—gently but with total control.

Your dress is gone in seconds, peeled off your body and tossed carelessly to the floor. Hands press you back into the mattress until you’re laid out flat with your arms still above your head, magic twined around your wrists like ribbons.

Agatha leans over you, eyes traveling lower, taking in the sight of you bare, legs spread, and shaking under the weight of their attention.

“Mine,” she says, her voice all velvet and fire. She drags her nails down the length of your stomach, watching you shudder. “All mine.”

Wanda sinks to her knees in front of you, dragging your panties down with teasing slowness. “Look at this pretty pussy,” she breathes. “Dripping and desperate and ours.”

And then, without warning, her mouth is on you.

Possessive. Precise. Devouring.

You cry out, back arching, head pressing hard into the pillows as white hot pleasure ignites in your core. Your thighs try to snap shut on instinct, the overwhelming sensation too much, too fast. But a firm grip stops you.

Natasha.

One hand clamps around your jaw, her fingers curling tight, steadying you. The other holds your thighs open with practiced strength, refusing to let you hide from what’s coming.

She climbs in behind you and your body instantly melts into hers. Already trembling and boneless, you press back into the heat of her chest. One of her arms wraps around your waist, while the other tips your chin back, baring your throat for her mouth.

“Let her hear you,” she growls against your skin, voice dark and smoky. “Let the whole fucking Compound know how good your Mama’s making you feel.”

You whine, high and raw, as Wanda’s tongue flicks just right. Your hips buck without permission, needing more, needing everything.

“That’s right. Take it, baby.” Natasha breathes again, quieter this time, lips grazing your ear like a secret promise. “Be good.”

You sob out a moan, your wrists pulling helplessly against the scarlet ribbons of Wanda’s magic still binding them above your head. Completely at their mercy.

And that’s exactly where you want to be.

Agatha watches from the foot of the bed, pupils blown wide. “Such a good girl. Keep those legs open, sunshine.” Her voice drops lower, silk turning to smoke. “Or Mommy will tie them open herself.”

You obey without hesitation, your legs falling open, trembling as Wanda works you closer to the edge.

There’s no mercy in her touch, no pause. It’s her mouth, relentless and hungry, and the slow, deliberate slide of her fingers now curling inside you. She hums low in her throat, and the vibrations make your vision blur.

Your first orgasm hits fast, so hard it knocks the air from your lungs. You sob into Natasha’s chest, your body arching helplessly as the pleasure crashes through you. But Wanda doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even slow. Her hands pin your hips, her tongue and fingers dragging you right back into the fire.

She owns you in this moment, and she knows it.

It’s only when your breathing turns ragged that Agatha finally tugs Wanda back by her hair, guiding her away from your sensitive core.

Her lips are wet. Her pupils blown wide. Her smile feral.

Natasha’s voice is low in your ear when she rasps, “My turn.”

She doesn’t waste time. The harness is around her hips before you even see it.

She rolls you onto your front, palms flat on the mattress, and presses her chest against your back as the slick heat of her strap teases between your thighs.

“You ready for me, baby?” she murmurs against your ear, one hand sliding under your belly to find your soaked cunt, fingers teasing your entrance. “Already fucked out from Mama’s mouth, and we’ve barely started.”

“Yes, Daddy. Please,” you whimper, hips canting back toward her without thought. “Need you.”

“Oh, I know, sunshine,” she groans, dragging the head of her strap through your folds, coating it in your slick. “You always need me.”

She slides in slow, thick and deliberate, savoring every inch as your back arches and your breath breaks in a gasp.

Wanda watches from the side of the bed, mouth still wet from you, cheeks flushed, lips parted in awe.

“She’s so beautiful like this,” she whispers, cupping your face as Natasha bottoms out with a hard thrust that steals the air from your lungs. “Completely full. Completely ours.”

You moan into Wanda’s palm, and she smiles sweetly as she kisses your temple. “You take her so well, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Behind you, Natasha sets a brutal pace. Deep. Consuming. She’s not just fucking you, she’s staking a claim. Every thrust is punctuated with a low growl in your ear, with filthy praise and rough hands pinning you down.

“You’re mine,” she grits out, one hand yanking you by your hair. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you cry, broken and breathless. “Daddy, I’m yours.”

“That’s right. Who fucks you like this?”

“You—only you—”

The bed dips as Agatha climbs up in front of you, spreading her legs with slow grace, her smirk electric.

“Not just Daddy, sweetheart,” she admonishes, hand threading through your wild hair. “Now open your mouth.”

You do. Immediately. Obediently.

She pulls you in with a soft sigh, your tongue instantly flicking out to taste her, and her reaction is one you’ll never get tired of—hips rolling, grip tightening, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” she moans. “So eager to please. Mommy’s perfect thing.”

The room is hot and spinning, the scent of sex beginning to thicken in the air. Wanda watches with a hand tucked between her thighs, barely touching herself, too focused on you.

“You look divine like this,” she whispers. “So used. So loved.”

You’re stretched and filled, your tongue worshipping Agatha while Natasha pounds into you from behind, and Wanda whispers sweet encouragement as she lazily touches herself.

Agatha starts to roll her hips—slow at first, watching your tongue flick and swirl and your lips wrap around her with that same desperate devotion she’s addicted to. But then she hears the way you moan into her, broken and wet and so fucking needy, and she loses all composure.

She groans, low and guttural, hips snapping forward with more purpose now, grinding down deeper onto your mouth.

She watches your eyes flutter, stray tears leaking from the corners as you try to keep up with her pace, with Natasha’s pounding behind you, with Wanda whispering how good you are while pinching your nipples between her fingers.

“That’s it, sunshine,” she breathes, voice thick with lust as she tightens her grip in your hair, tugging to guide your tongue. “So sweet, so obedient. Mommy’s perfect little mouth.”

Behind you, Natasha is relentless, every thrust slamming deep. She’s groaning now, rough and low, her hand locked on your hip to drag you back into her again and again.

“You feel that, baby?” she growls in your ear. “How well you’re taking Daddy’s cock while you lick Mommy like she’s the only thing that matters?”

You whimper and moan around Agatha’s cunt, tongue flicking in a rhythm that makes her hips stutter.

Wanda’s beside you, kissing every inch of your body she can reach—shoulders, spine, the curve of your ass. She’s murmuring in Sokovian now, soft praises laced with heat and adoration, her fingers ghosting over your skin like she’s etching her love into it.

“My sweet girl,” she whispers, and you sob, overwhelmed and glowing with pleasure. “We’re going to make you feel so full. You’re already shaking, little one.”

Agatha’s hips rock faster now, her moans getting sharper, her thighs trembling around your face.

“Don’t stop, just like that,” she gasps. “Yes, baby—gods, your tongue—”

She comes with a cry, grinding down against your mouth, and you don’t stop. You lap at her, greedy and eager, wanting every last drop until she’s shivering and breathless and easing off you with a shudder and a flushed smile.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, fingers wiping your mouth lovingly. “Always so perfect for Mommy, aren’t you?”

You’re barely breathing when Natasha’s hand wraps around your throat again, pulling you up as she fucks into you even harder now, the pace relentless.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let out a stream of cries and groans and whimpers.

“Come for me,” she demands. “Let go, sunshine. Now.”

You unravel instantly, your second orgasm ripping through you with a guttural sob as your whole body tenses. Thighs clenching, your cunt flutters around the strap inside you as you cry out for her—for all of them—your body trembling in the cradle of their hands.

But they’re not done.

Not until you’re limp and soaked and twitching.

Not until you’re brainless, blissed out, babbling into Agatha’s thigh while Natasha holds you open and Wanda rubs soft circles into your clit just to watch you come again.

They don’t stop until you can’t remember your own name.

Only theirs.

#agatha harkness x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #wanda maximoff #wandavision #marvel

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