#wanda goddamn maximoff

[d-1hater]

You love her in a "omg she's so cool, we could be besties!" way

I love her in a much more "go to church and apologize to your mother" way

#i feel like this very quickly devolved into me simping over tessa thompson #the people in my life are sick of hearing about harley quinn and tessa thompson #i'm so normal about them #emily prentiss in red supremacy #goddamn she's gorgeous #this is nothing but a gay rant and appreciation post for upcoming pride month #gotta beat the corporations to celebrating pride month #valkyrie #harley quinn #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #emily prentiss #captain marvel #carol danvers #jane foster #lady thor #wlw #lesbian #tagging lesbian because i think they'd appreciate this #i'm actually pansexual #pansexual #pride month

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 620

Wanda: *going to take a shower*

Wanda: *opens bathroom door*

Y/N and Agatha: *crouched on the bathroom floor in mage robes whilst they conduct a ritual on the shower floor with tea leaves and burning parchment*

Wanda: “Nope.” *slams door*

Natasha: “I thought you were taking a shower?”

Wanda: “No I wasn’t”

#inspired by a recent project of mine where I had to tea stain paper in the bathroom and my poor roommate just wanted to goddamn shower #wandavision #agatha harkness #house of harkness #agatha all along #hahndavision #house of harkness counter #marvel #wanda maximoff #agatha harkness x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #coven of chaos counter #coven of chaos #incorrect marvel quotes #agatha: darkhold diaries #darkhold diaries counter #Darkhold diaries

[st0ryf1lms]

SPOILERS FOR X-MEN ‘97 EP 5 AHEAD

if i had a nickel for every time a superpowered redhead loses her lover to a big purple villain who shoots blasts and says to dead lover, “i can’t feel you”, i’d have two nickels which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice right?

#yes i’m so funny #humor is my coping mechanism #those mfs in the writers’ room are so cruel for this #i can’t believe it’s been three years since they’ve broke me with that line #guess what it broke me again #goddamn marvel always killing off character couples i love #marvel #x men 97 #x men #wandavision #rogue #anna marie lebeau #gambit #remy lebeau #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #vision

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

What are your favorite Wanda Maximoff moments in the MCU?

Oh, an excuse to fangirl over Wanda. Awesome.

So I have to pick only a few because I think every scene where she's on-screen is a favourite, but I want to start with how absolutely badass she is in EG

That mixed with the red magic is just perfect. She wasn't holding back and I enjoyed every second of it. Just look at this!

She could have defeated Thanos single-handedly and I would have watched the hell out of it.

I love her whole scene with Vision here and more specifically, this line:

This is pure headcanon, but a little before her conversation with Vis she was feeling guilty over Lagos. I think, if this chat had happened right after she watched the news, she would have instantly thought Vision was talking about the safety of others. But, Steve comforted her and she internalized it, so at this point when Vision says "it's about safety" she goes "Oh, I'm not a danger so he means he's worried about my own safety". This is personal interpretation of course, and a pure headcanon, but it goes well with...

I love that line. Also, this is a second part to AoU's heroism chat with Clint. She loves Vision and doesn't like having to do this, but she does it because she knows something bigger than herself is going on and she's willing to hurt the man she loves to do what's right. If that's not heroic, then what is it...

I love everything about this one. Her accent, the look on her face, and probably her guilt in not even trying to save herself but burying herself with Ultron if that's what it takes as she's in such pain.

And of course this conversation with Ultron:

I left WandaVision for last because it's so good... how am I going to pick just one or two moments?!!

Okay, besides the obvious ones... the entirety of ep8 but I'm going to say this scene in particular:

"I know you have him, please. When I came back, he was gone. His body. And I know he's here. He deserves a funeral, at least. I deserve it."

I love the way Liz says that. And I really like how she's doing this nicely, but once she's granted access she's like "yeah, I'm going to open the doors with my magic to prove to you all that I could have stormed here and gotten whatever I wanted, but I was nice enough to ask."

And this scene too cause hey, our girl isn't always a good one...

... but I'll be damned if I don't love this scene from beginning to end. I love Wanda when she's good and I love her when she's not.

#I could pick a lot more but this got long enough so yeah #goddamn I'm having Wanda feels now #wanda maximoff #my girl is very much alive and I don't care what anybody says #also... in case you didn't notice... I ignored the hell out of MoM

[inkblot-inc]

Fury and Hill come to realize pretty quickly that their orders mean basically nothing to Jaws. There’s nothing they can threaten jaws with either to get them to comply. But simply asking Natasha or Wanda if they could get Jaws to do it will always get them results. Jaws might be dramatic and grumble a bit but they would do it. That’s why 95% of Jaws’ missions have Natasha or Wanda on the team as well.

mhm precisely

There's not much you can do to intimidate Jaws into doing something they don't plan on doing themselves.

It took two times when Jaws was finally able to go on missions for them to be like, "Well this is gonna be an issue."

You had an instance where Jaws is just beating a target till their two inches from death for information even though they're a public figure and their instructions were to incapacitate him and bring him in for questioning.

The thing is: Jaws is efficient at getting the job done, it's the specifics of what they have to do that they pass over. "Let's skip the song and dance. I can get the answers you want right now, gimme five minutes."

Jaws works best in strike missions or those with high threat level since they get shit done. Jaws definitely has to be with Natasha or Wanda for something like and intelligence or recon mission though. Again, you wanna guarantee Jaws will listen? Bring Natasha and/or Wanda *shrugs*

#jaws au #jaws on missions #nat or wanda have to go with jaws tho #if you want jaws to follow your orders anyways #fury and maria are *tired* bud #but what do you really expect? #they can't just pull Jaws because they *do* complete the op #but listen to goddamn orders tho #*collective sigh* #it took Jaws a long time to finally get the green light to go in the field *anyway* #jaws simply cannot say no to nat and wanda #jaws is sweet on nat #jaws and wanda’s sibling dynamic #wanda maximoff #jaws maximoff #natasha romanoff #mutant!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #j.headcanons #ib/jaws #ink.wanda #ink.nat #ib-jc.

[funnygirlthatbelle]

I had the idea of doing a Wandavision “I Put A Spell on You” cover- which started out as me imagining, like, a sinister character Wanda situation, but quickly devolved into “Hello, Westview! My name’s Agatha! What’s yours?”

#Wandavision #wanda maximoff #agatha harkness #goddamn my brain

[ladylesboenthusiast]

Doctor Strange's definitely the strongest avenger because I would've folded and gave Wanda a child right then and there.

#doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #doctor strange #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #dsmom is wanda's hottest era idc idc #wlw #LIKE- MY GIRL WAS LOOKING LIKE A WHOLE ASS MEAL #she ate the whole goddamn table

[vampiresbloodx]

Innocent eyes.

Summary: In a city where crime rate is high, murders, incidents and accidents, unexplained deaths start to happen as they all somehow have a connection, your boss signed you on to this case, a detective, and along the way you meet interesting people that may somehow be connected, or not.

They could be on your side or worse.

Pairings: Wanda maximoff x detective!reader(focus), Natasha Romanoff x detective!reader (more platonic)

word count: 1047

warnings for this chapter/tease: murder mentions.

a/n; welcome to my new series I been working on!, more chapters will come eventually, don't know when, but I'm excited for this one. This is just a teaser, I'm happy to hear feedback!.

Low music played from the car’s radio where you sat during your lunch break, shuffling through a pile of files you were supposed to finish yesterday, but that’s not what you’re looking for. 

“Ah, there you are,” you muttered, smiling to yourself as you reached for it. 

Much to your annoyance, you’re distracted by a knock on your window, turning your head, you try your best not to roll your eyes at the person staring back. 

“I know you can hear me, roll down the window” a woman’s voice demanded with authority, it wasn’t a surprise it was your boss bothering you on your break. 

As you did what she asked, she leaned forward. 

“Jesus christ its a mess in here” she commented, making you sigh, you can’t really hide it now. 

“You know what time it is?” you said, tilting your head to the side. 

“1:24 PM” she answered nonchalantly. 

“I started my lunch break at 1:15, I still have a few minutes, leave me alone” you groaned, others would frown at the way you’re talking to someone superior than you but they also knew you’re closeish friendship with her, and that neither of you gave a shit. 

She smiled. 

“Got a new case for you, meet me in my office in five.” 

“Couldn’t have texted me that?” you asked, watching as she turns on her heel to walk away with a proud smirk. 

“Nope.” 

Well, you knew the rumbling in your stomach meant you didn’t exactly eat yet, did you even bring your actual meal you were gonna eat today? No, you never did, coffee will do. 

Sighing, you stepped out of your car, turning off the engine as you grabbed your bag, keys, everything you needed and oh yeah, coffee. 

-

The building that was built in late 1870 and was founded by Ivan Romanov, who gave over his title as head chef of New York romanov agency, yeah, he basically named it after himself, Natasha, his daughter, who he handed it over to, always said he was a bit egotistical. 

But then she never denied her being egotistical either. 

As you walked back into the agency, several other workers, officers were there, scrambling at last minute deadlines or starting new ones. Most look like they haven’t even left their last shift and stayed overnight. 

Not like you could judge. 

Natasha romanoff, your boss, unfortunately, sat waiting at her office as she shooed away everyone else trying to get her attention but happily smiled at you when you finally entered after she had cussed out another employee for not doing his job. 

“What a bright, happy day it is to be working for you, Ms. Romanov” you sarcastically say, going to stand in front of her desk, she grinned at you. 

“Ah my favorite detective, remember when you weren’t such a smart ass but a nice rookie?” she said. 

“Nope, those days are long gone, ma’am.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that, rookie” she says with annoyance, you couldn’t help but grin as you know she hates being called that. 

Miss, ms, anything is fine except for ma’am. 

Because her father used to address every goddamn women as ma’am so it pissed her off. 

And so she tries to use rookie against you like it still bothers you. 

“No but I did bring you here for a serious matter” natasha said, standing back up as she grabbed her coffee cup, taking a sip. “We have a new case, and I want you to investigate it.” 

“Well that is kind of my job” you couldn’t help but joke. 

“Cut the crap, this one isn’t to mess around” natasha sternly said as she took a couple of steps towards you. It must be serious this time for her not to crack a joke every five minutes, you frowned, straightened up, knowing she hates bad posture. “Every other agency has turned this one down or couldn’t be bothered to touch it, it’s… new, different. I’m thinking it’ll get us big in the news, everywhere if I have you solve it.” 

“Why me exactly?” you asked, she raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Is that really a question you need answering?.” 

You shrugged. 

“Fine, I get why, but still, why is this case any different than to our other ones we always get?” you said. 

“Finally a goodish question” she smiled, looking pleased as she turned around to face the window that overlooked the city. It was stunning, really, of course she had the best view in the entire building. “You know you’re one of my best, and I mean that when I say that. You know I don’t say things lightly to anyone, I want you because we need you, this case, it doesn’t fit right with me, why would all the other agencies turn away this case if it could get them in the papers? Hell, I even know some old bastards in other offices that would kill for this kind of cover.” 

You stood there, letting her ramble, unsure of where exactly this is going but you have an idea. 

Natasha has taken after her father to be the very best in the world, not just new york city, but everywhere she wants her name known, and to not be fucked around with. 

You let her continue. 

“So, please, take this opportunity, to catch whoever did these murders, people are calling it accidents, but how is it an accident when they’ve all been found dead the same exact way? And in similar locations? God, you’d think people nowadays would know a thing about true crime shit. Fucking hell.” 

You smiled and she noticed that, her lips turning into a grin. 

“Come on, you can get a shit ton of money for this, and well, you’ll get a bonus if you actually catch the guy before the police put him behind bars” she tempts you, though she already knows what you’re gonna say, and so do you. 

“Funny you mentioned this case as I was already working on it” you say. 

“Good for you there’s a new crime scene that just opened up, you’ve got permission to go investigate, detective.” 

You nod, waving her goodbye as you exit her office, guess your lunch break is over.

#wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #stuff i wrote

[scoonsalicious]

1.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, slight objectification of men.

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: Lily McIntyre met Bucky Barnes. Everything had changed, and now it's only him that matters.

A/N: You know what? Fuck it. Turns out I write more when I'm actively writing for all of you. Plus, I miss you, besties. Yes, I know-- it's only been two days, but I don't care. You guys give me the strength to face the day, and when I'm interacting with you, I'm happiest. So, we're starting the full roll-out of With Friends Like These... Now, there won't be multiple postings per day, so I won't be dropping a bunch at once. We're going to start nice and slow, lol. I hope you like it!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You stood outside the door to the bar, nervous as fuck. It wasn’t every day a girl got invited to spend an evening out on the town with the goddamned Avengers, and though you’d only known Natasha Romanoff for about six months now, you were honored she liked you enough to extend an invitation for you to join her and her friends on their off time. 

Giving yourself a once over in the reflection of the bar’s window, you double checked to make sure you looked good– your hair and makeup were on point, your dark wash skinny jeans hugged your curves in the best possible way, and the black satiny top you wore under your leather jacket showed just enough cleavage to be tantalizing, but not trashy. 

You got this, you told yourself. You took a breath, and walked inside. 

The place was dimly lit, but not too crowded. You were able to spot Natasha easily– it wasn’t as if the striking redhead was hard to miss. She sat at a high top with another redhead, nursing a vodka tonic. Catching her eye, you waved and made your way over.

“Major!” Nat greeted you, going in for a friendly hug, which you happily returned. “I’m so glad you made it!” She pointed to the other redhead– Wanda Maximoff, The Scarlet Witch, you remembered now from having seen her on the news– and introduced you. “Major, this is Wanda; Wanda, Major.” You shook hands as the other woman offered you a kind, welcoming smile.

“Finally, some balance to the force,” she joked. At your questioning look, she elaborated: “We are desperately outnumbered in the girl department when it comes to our friend group,” she said. “It’s just me and Nat versus the boys.”

“There’s Lily, too,” Nat interjected.

“Please.” Wanda said, waving Nat’s words off dismissively. “We all know that Lily is not one of us.”

Nat snorted into her drink. “Lily’s just not really a girl’s-girl,” she offered to you in explanation. “Very much sees herself as ‘one of the guys,’ if you catch my meaning.”

You nodded; you’d had plenty of experience with pick-me girls in the past. “Yeah, I know the type.” You waved down a waitress and put in an order for a frozen margarita.

“So, Major,” Wanda said, taking a sip of her beverage once the waitress had gone, “which one of our lucky bachelors is going to catch your eye tonight?”

“I don’t follow,” you said, confused. 

Wanda turned to Nat and playfully hit her on the shoulder. “You bitch! You didn’t tell her?”

Nat had the decency to look sheepish. “I wanted it to be organic,” she said, offering you an apologetic smile.

“Natasha Romanoff,” you said, realization dawning on you, “did you invite me out tonight to try and set me up with one of your teammates?”

Nat frowned, looking remorseful. “I know I should have said something, but you’re always complaining about how you never have luck with dating, and it just so happens I live in a compound literally full of eligible men, so I thought… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped.”

The waitress brought over your margarita and you raised it, toasting to Nat. “Fuck apologies; you want to hook me up with an Avenger? Girl, remind me to send you a gift basket!”

Nat and Wanda both laughed, raising their own glasses to toast with you. Wanda leaned over toward you, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Alright, don’t be obvious about it,” she said, “but our fine gentlemen are over at the pool table.” You followed her line of sight and were met with an array of some of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Yeah, you’d seen them on tv, and in magazines, but they were always wearing costumes and masks. But up close? And in person?

“Woof,” you said softly. 

“Okay,” said Nat, leaning in on your other side. “Let’s size up our options. First, we’ve got Captain America, himself, Steve Rogers. All-American, corn-fed, take-home-to-mamma kinda guy. Such a gentleman, could bench press four of you. Knows how to treat a girl right.”

“And bore her to tears,” Wanda added.

“Wands!” Nat flashed her eyes. “We’re supposed to be talking them up!”

Wanda shrugged. “Facts are facts,” she said. “A sweetheart, really, but very old fashioned.”

“Fine,” Nat said, exasperated. “Moving on, we have Sam Wilson, our resident Falcon. He’s funny, charming, a great dancer.”

“Seriously good moves,” Wanda added with an enthusiastic nod.

“Smart, good listener,” Nat offered. “Incredibly loyal.”

“You make him sound like a puppy,” you said, laughing.

“Oooh, oooh, my turn!” Wanda said enthusiastically. “Next up is our resident himbo, the one and only Thor Odinson. Unbelievably endearing, the body of a literal god: Great hair, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of, arms that could snap your tiny little body right in half if he had half a mind to…”

“Down, girl,” Nat said, flicking some droplets of water from her water glass at Wanda. “Damn, we’re here for Major, not you.”

“Sorry,” said Wanda, ducking down to hide her blush behind her hair. “He’s just so… big. And… beefy. Like, what does one even do with that much man?” she asked, before muttering so low you could barely hear her: “I would really like to find out.”

You and Nat stifled your laughter. “Okay, definitely not going to be Thor for me, then,” you offered. Across the room, another man caught your eye, one Nat and Wanda hadn’t mentioned yet. “Who’s that?” you asked them.

Nat craned her neck. “Oh, that’s Parker. I dunno; he’s kinda on the young side for my taste, but the kid is 18, so if that’s what you’re into–”

“Ugh, no– pass,” you said, realizing she had been referring to the skinny teenager who was hanging on Steve Rogers’ every word. “No, I mean the brunet. Who’s he?” The more you studied him, the more you realized he just may be the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was currently leaning against a pool cue, engrossed in conversation with Sam. He had a slight smirk on his face, as if he was keeping in a very humorous secret, and it painted his features in an adorably boyish light. 

While you were looking at him, he turned his head and saw you watching him. You should have been mortified at being caught staring but instead, you were taken aback by how striking his crystal blue eyes were. You offered him a soft smile, and were delighted when his own widened in return, his cheeks taking on a dusky hue in the low light, before Sam elbowed him, bringing his attention back to the game of pool. He shot you another look, running his tongue along his bottom lip, before refocusing his attention.

“Oh,” said Nat, following your gaze. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s Bucky Barnes. He’s… not on the menu.”

You turned back toward her, disappointed. “Oh. Of course, guy that good looking’s got to have a girlfriend, right?”

Nat and Wanda exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” Nat said.

“Remember how we mentioned Lily not being a girl’s-girl?” Wanda asked, nodding her chin toward where the boys were racking the balls for a new game. You hadn’t noticed the woman in their midst before– petite, blond, and athletic. 

“Yeah, Lily’s more of a Bucky’s-girl,” Nat added. “Just, you know, Bucky’s not aware of it.”

You must have looked very confused, because Wanda was quick to clarify. “Bucky only joined the team… what? Four years ago?” She looked to Nat for confirmation, and Nat nodded. “He was like a totally different guy back then. Didn’t go out, didn’t want to be around people.”

“Like Oscar the Grouch, but if you took him out of the trash can and gave him moderately better grooming standards,” Nat offered. 

“Yeah,” Wanda continued, nodding in agreement, “and for the longest time, the only person he would talk to was Steve. But then, like, Lily made it her life’s work to become his best friend.”

“I remember it annoyed the shit out of him in the beginning,” Nat added. “Poor guy just wanted to be left alone to process his trauma.” She sighed. “But the girl was relentless. She’s got tenacity, I’ll say that for her.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet,” you said. “That she wouldn’t give up trying to be there for him.”

“No, sorry,” Nat said. “We’re not explaining this well. She basically made being Bucky’s best friend her entire fucking personality. It was like, any other friend she had just–poof! Stopped existing to her. We no longer mattered; everything became about Bucky.”

“It’s a bit much,” Wanda said. “She’s very… I don’t want to say protective is the right word for it, but very possessive of him.”

“It’s like no girl Bucky’s ever dated has been good enough to pass her standards,” Nat said. “And she’s had no problem making that abundantly clear, and I know she’s been the reason for at least a couple of his relationships ending. Poor guy’s balls must be so blue by now, they’re practically black; she never lets him get any action.”

You took a sip of your margarita. “Well, they’ve got to be sleeping together, right?” you asked. Nat and Wanda both looked at you. “I mean, that would explain it, right?”

“Oh, they are definitely not,” Nat said. “Though I’m sure she wishes. I heard him tell Steve she reminds him of his dead kid sister.”

You sucked in a breath. “Ouch,” you said. “Just what every girl wants to hear, I’m sure.” You looked back over to the pool table, admiring the way Bucky bent over to take a shot. “It’s too bad,” you said, turning back to girls. “I mean, he’s hot as hell, but no man’s worth taking on that kind of drama.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[stuckyrogersbarnes]

'Fuck me then.' (Pietro smut)

Warnings - Creampie, oral, praise kink. 

Word count - 1.3K

Female reader

You and Wanda had been bestfriends since your traumatic days trapped at HYDRA. And even though it was long gone, you still met eachother at least every 2 weeks. She was quite busy after joining the Avengers, you couldn't be prouder. And although she tried to convince you to join, you didn't want to get back into that. So, you got a normal job as a barista at a local coffee shop. It wasn't the best, but it was fine for the moment. 

However, Wanda's brother, Pietro Maximoff, never failed to get on your nerves (and vice versa). Sure, he was attractive, but he was a huge asshole, unlike his sweet sister. You, unfortunately, had been blessed with x-ray vision so you got to see Pietro's "progress," all throughout his teenage years, without being able to do anything about it. Meh, he was average. But, luckily, now you know how to control it. 

"Hi, what can I get-" you gasp as you look up. Pietro, the man you hadn't seen in years, was standing right in front of you. "Good to see you too, kochanie. Long time." The word 'kochanie,' never failed to piss me off. It meant 'darling,' or something in Polish, around where he was from. "Pietro, never thought I would see you again." "Life's full of surprises, Kochanie. I'll have a regular cold coffee." You put on a sarcastic smile. "Coming right up." He walks off. You hand the drink to a waiter to give to him so that you won't have to see his insufferable face ever again. And although you hated him, you couldn't help but think that he had become super-duper good-looking, atleast compared to what he used to look like. 

Tony and you were quite close too, so of course, you were invited to his huge New Year's Eve party. You put on your slutty red dress with a pair of golden earrings. After seeing Pietro today, your ovaries had kind of been in a twist, if you know what I mean. You walk your way down the large stairway and feel the stares of hungry men on you. You look around, only to find a certain someone looking directly at you. The same man who you saw today in the coffee shop, he looked taller, more defined, and with a beard than when you knew him. You had a thing for beards, you loved the sting. Your breath hitches. Pietro. "Kochanie, how pleasant to see you here." He greets you. "Mhmm, good to see you too." You try to sound confident but little does he know, you're dying to use those powers of yours right now. You shake it off and begin to walk away.

 Instead of walking away and never seeing him again, you trip and he instantly grabs you by the stomach. "Fuck." you whisper. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he leans closer, "Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes." he whispers in your ear. He then leaves you, alone, with goosebumps surrounded on your skin. What just happened?

Even though you tried your best not to let your curiosity take over you, you find yourself outside the fancy bathroom. Should I go in? "Ugh." you groan. "Ah. I see you came." "What do you want Pietro?" You didn't turn back to see him, but you could hear his steps as he walked closer to you. "I'll get straight to the point, kochanie. After seeing you today, I needed to see you again. Now that I see you in that dress, looking so goddamn beautiful Y/n, I need to fuck you. Hard." You gasp and your pussy clenches. You slowly turn back, the background music slowly fading out. You thought for a second before saying, "fuck me then." He instantly grabs your neck and connects his soft lips to yours. He pushes you into the bathroom and locks the door. "You sure about this, darling?" "Yes." "good girl," he smirks and hitches you up onto the counter. He immediately bends down to his knees, spreads your legs wide open, and moans at the sight of your bare, wet pussy. No panties, no nothing. "Oh, I have been waiting for this for so fucking long." Before you get to even process what he says his tongue enters your wet hole, you moan and he begins to thrust. He then adds one finger to your pussy and latches his lips to your clit and sucks on it, hard. You grind on his face. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You never thought Pietro would be so good at eating you out. You pull on his hair and grind on his face as he inhales your juices. "Fuck, you smell amazing." That statement alone was enough to send you on edge. But as soon as he says it, he adds two more fingers, completely stretching you out. "PIETRO!" you scream, unable to hold it back. Your pussy pulsates and you squirt, all over his face, leaving his hair and face wet. "You taste amazing, kachanie." Your blush in embarrassment. Did I just do that?  "I-i'm sorry that never happened before-" Before you finish he cuts off with a kiss, making your pussy even wetter. You can taste your sweet juices in his mouth and lips. "Don't be embarrassed, Kochanie. That was so fucking hot." he then takes two of his fingers and enters your pussy abruptly. He kisses down your neck, immediately finding your soft spot. You moan.

 "Fuck me Pietro." as soon as you say that he unlatches his belt with one hand and takes his jeans off. You can see his hard-on through his boxers. You moan at the nibling sensation on your neck. The surprise and shock of this happening sent you more on edge as your pussy clenches on his fingers and he pulled out, panting, making all your juices spill on his boxers, leaving them see-through. You could see his pink tip and his veins pulsating. He slowly takes off his boxers, his dick jumps out, almost reaching his belly button. You gasp. You do not remember it being so long. And you certainly don't remember it having a slight curve, which it does now. Wow, he has become a man. He takes off the straps of your dress, only to see your tiny, hard nipples. Your breath hitches as he latches his lips onto one of them and plays with the other one with his fingers. You moan, "Pietro. Inside. please," unable to form proper sentences. "Tsk. No patience. Though, I'm complaining." He unlatches his lips from your throbbing nipple. He lifts you up, you yelp. He bends you over on the cold marble counter, making you shiver from the cold sensation. His cock enters you, reaching a spot that had never been reached by anyone, including you, ever before. Before he even started thrusting, your vision blurs and you come. Wow. He groans and begins to thrust. "Fuck y/n, you're so tight." You moan. He bangs into you, again and again and again. You scream. He keeps hitting your G-spot over and over again. "I need you, Pietro." "Need me to do what, my darling?" "I need you to go faster, harder." He speeds up, banging harder. "Fuuuckkkkk." you moan. "Ugh," he moans, "I'm going to come Y/n." "Me too." You clench on his dick, seeing stars for the fourth time in the last half an hour. You can feel his come ooze out of him in your pussy as he pulls out. You squirt all over his still-hard cock. 

"One more round?" He asks. "Yes please." 

#the avengers #smut #female reader #pietro maximoff #one shot #pietro x reader #marvel #pietro marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #pietro smut

[togrowoldinv]

Assistant

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natalie Rushman is the new assistant to hotshot attorney y/n.

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, fingering (N receiving), oral (R receiving), Wanda

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

“Good morning, Ms. y/l/n,” you hear a voice ring out from the threshold of your office.

Annoyed by the interruption, you sigh and look up to see who might be bothering you at this hour. You don’t expect to be met with a beautiful redheaded woman, but your curiosity is peaked.

“Who might you be?” you ask the woman.

She enters the office further before she speaks again. “I’m Natalie Rushman, your new assistant.”

You don’t recall interviewing any new assistant candidates, but then again, it’s probably something that your subordinate took care of for you. You didn’t have time for the task.

“Well, Natalie. I have a few rules,” you say with a smirk.

“I’m listening,” she fires back quickly. You think you are going to like her.

“First, you have to think ahead. If you are two steps ahead, you’re already a step behind,” you explain. “Second, I expect you to work when I work. The days and nights are long.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” Natalie replies.

“And finally, do not ask me about anything personal. We’re not here to be friends. We’re here to do a job. Understood?”

“Understood,” she says. There’s a look in her eyes that you can’t quite read, but you ignore it for now.

“Okay then. Welcome to the greatest law firm in the country. Get to work, Ms. Rushman.”

With that, she gets up and goes to her desk outside your door. She doesn’t ask any questions the entire day but seemingly knows exactly when to provide you with assistance.

It’s a month before you truly challenge her at her job. She hears you in your office having a heated conversation with your true rival.

“Wanda, drop the case. Or you won’t like what happens,” you say sternly. You’re standing behind your desk as the other woman challenges you from the other side.

“I’ll take my chances, sweetheart,” she says condescendingly. “See you in court!” Wanda shouts, flipping you off as she walks out of the office.

You notice Natalie watching from her desk.

“In here now,” you command her.

“Yes, Ms. y/l/n?”

You sit back in your chair and rack your brain for what you could actually ask for help with.

“I need everything we have on Wanda Maximoff,” you say.

“Absolutely. On what case?”

“Not a case. On the woman herself.”

“But-”

“This is what I meant by thinking ahead. I’m sorry, can you not do what I’m asking of you?” You are losing your patience. No one quite gets under your skin as Wanda does.

“Consider it done,” Natalie changes her stance at your tone.

She leaves your office to go put a team together to dig up dirt on Wanda, or at least you assume so. You get to work on your own.

By the time Natalie returns with a folder of information, you have already found out the worst details about Wanda.

“What?” you ask the woman as she sits across from you. She is looking you over a little too closely.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, please tell me,” you encourage her, but it is sarcastic in demand.

“Is this really a good idea? To go after her, I mean,” she says.

You stand up from your desk and pace to the drink cart in frustration.

“Why would it be a bad idea? Natalie, she is going after one of my most important clients. I cannot let them sign with her!”

“But why go after her and not her work?” she challenges you.

“I don’t pay you to ask me personal questions.” The sternness of your voice makes Natalie blink hard at you, but she isn’t quite finished.

“I’m sure it was really shitty what Wanda did to you, but you don’t mix business with pleasure, so your logic doesn’t follow,” Natalie explains.

“Just stop, Natalie. I don’t care what you think! Do your goddamn job and stay out of my business!” You slam your hand on your desk in the midst of your anger.

Natalie holds her hands up in surrender and leaves your office. You sit down with a sigh. You never felt bad about yelling at anyone before, but how she looked at you when you did was enough to make you ponder why you felt guilty now.

About thirty minutes later, a food delivery person approaches Natalie’s desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think we ordered anything,” she tells them.

You step out of your office to greet them at the same moment.

“I got us dinner,” you say. You tip the deliverer and gesture for Natalie to follow you into your office.

She sits across from you at the table you often use to work over case files. You get out the food and hand her a share.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” you begin. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s alright. I didn’t follow your rules,” Natalie says. You think she bats her eyes at you, but maybe it’s a figment of your imagination.

“So, tomorrow night is a party for all of the attorneys in the city. It’s a good networking event,” you say. “I need you to come with me so we can get some leads.”

“I’ll be there,” Natalie replies. “I can contact your designer. What kind of dress do you want?”

“Mm, I was kind of thinking of a suit. What do you think?”

“I think you’d look amazing in anything,” she says.

You oddly feel heat creep up your neck in reaction to her words.

“Tell them you need clothes too. A dress, a suit, whatever your choice is. It’s on me,” you tell her.

Natalie smirks at you and puts a reminder on her calendar to get those outfits. She leaves your office.

The next day starts normally. You get to work early, and Natalie is already there with a coffee for you. You work on your case against Wanda, and you do start to wonder if you should be going after her like this. What Natalie said about mixing business with pleasure is getting to you.

You’re interrupted at midday by your clothes for the evening arriving.

“Here you are, Ms. y/l/n,” Natalie says as she hangs your suit in the closet. It’s red velvet and maybe too extra, but you know Wanda will dress to impress. You want to stand out.

“What did you get?” You ask her.

“Oh, just a simple black dress,” Natalie answers.

“Great. Have the driver here at 7pm.”

“Yes ma’am,” Natalie says. She leaves your office again.

That night the driver is right on time. You walk down to the front of the building and Natalie stands next to the car. Your eyes can’t help but see the way her dress frames her hips and breasts. There’s no denying your attraction to her now.

“Good evening, Ms. y/l/n,” she greets you.

“Natalie,” you say. She doesn’t miss the way your eyes rake over her.

You get into the backseat, and she follows after you. She is fielding calls during the drive. Oddly, she doesn’t mention you once and you begin to wonder who she is talking to. The thoughts leave your mind as you arrive at the party.

When you walk in, the attention of the room falls on you. You greet Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Carol Danvers. Three attorneys that work with Wanda. If anyone has dirt on the woman, it’s them. But you’re surprisingly cordial with the trio.

Natalie follows behind you as you settle into the party. You find a spot at the bar for a break from the socializing.

“You look stunning,” a voice suddenly comes from behind you. It’s Wanda.

“Fuck you,” you mumble, not even giving her the time of day.

“Hello,” she speaks to Natalie this time. “I’m Wanda.”

You can see Natalie shake her hand out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m Natalie, Ms. y/l/n’s assistant,” she says.

“Right. You look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere?” Wanda asks.

That piques your attention. You turn around to watch the women interact.

“Just the other day at the office,” Natalie quips quickly. A little too quickly.

Wanda is going to say something more but Stark gathers everyone’s attention for a toast. Wanda walks towards the man, leaving you and Natalie at the bar.

“What was that about?” You ask her.

“I have no idea,” she answers. You wonder if she’s lying. If she is, then she’s damn good at it.

Once Tony finishes his speech, he hands off the microphone to Steve. His statement is quick, and full of wisdom like usual. Carol is next and she’s supposed to be last, but Wanda takes the microphone.

You feel Natalie move closer to you.

“As some of you know, I have just closed a huge client,” Wanda begins. Your pace quickens. How could she already be announcing this when nothing is set in stone? You thought for sure you had the client convinced to stay with you. “And I want to celebrate that tonight. Thanks to the rest of the Stark, Rogers, Danvers team for helping me achieve this goal. And thank you to y/n y/l/n for giving up this client.”

You’ve had enough and you charge towards Wanda. Natalie tries to hold you back, but it’s no use.

“What the fuck?” you yell at her. “The client hasn’t signed with you! And they won’t!”

“Oh, but they have,” Wanda says.

“Bullshit,” you reply.

“Bishop,” she calls for her assistant. The young girl hands her a document. “It’s right here.”

“This must be fake,” you counter.

“It’s real. Trust me.”

“Never again,” you say. It’s loaded with meaning. “You’re a fraud.”

You storm out of the ballroom. Natalie follows after you, her presence notable as you enter the bathroom.

“Leave me alone,” you tell her.

“Y/n,” Natalie says. She never addresses you by your first name. “Listen to me.”

You look up to meet her green eyes. She looks worried about you.

“Wanda needed to take that client,” Natalie says. Her words shock you.

“Why? Did you help her?” You get no response. “Natalie, did you fucking help her?”

“Trust me on this one.”

“You’ve given me no reason to. First, you tried to convince me to stop going after her, and now this. Are you working for her? You’re some kind of undercover agent, is that it?”

“I- okay y/n, I am going to be honest with you,” she says.

“About damn time.”

“I work for SHIELD and they assigned me to make sure that Wanda got that client. They have been wanting to go for her for years, but they needed an in. Your client, her client, is up to some shady shit,” Natasha explains.

“What’s your real name?” You ask. She didn’t expect that to be your first question.

“Natasha,” she says. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Well, Natasha I’m very angry with you,” you say. She nods. She understands. “But I guess I owe you one.”

“I wish we had met under different circumstances,” Natasha says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe then I could’ve made a move on you,” she admits.

You can’t help but smile at that. So, she was flirting all of this time.

“Can I ask if you handed the client over to Wanda?” You ask her. You know the answer. She seems like the kind of woman who knows how to complete a task.

“It was for your own good. And it’s a chance for you to see your ex-wife fall,” Natasha says.

You nod. Your history with Wanda wasn’t widely public, but Natasha found out while digging up dirt on the woman.

“I think you can make this up to me,” you say. Natasha quirks her eyebrow. “You said I would look good in a suit, so do you think I would look good with it off?”

Natasha comes closer to you. You’re pressed against the bathroom sink. Anyone could come in, but you don’t care. The woman reaches out and unbuttons your pants. She slides them down your legs, keeping eye contact the entire time.

“Wait,” you say before she kneels in front of you. She pauses her movements. “Is this a part of the mission?”

“No,” Natasha says. “This is me wanting to make things right with us.”

You gesture for her to continue. Natasha lowers onto her knees and gets right to work. You have no time to waste. And god, is she good at this. Nat licks through your fold and takes your clit into her mouth. She sucks while her fingers find their way into you.

Being here with such a beautiful woman having such risky sex makes it easy for you to come quickly.

“Fuck, Natasha!” You shout as you come hard against her.

She licks you clean and stands back up. She wears a sweet smile.

“That was even better than I imagined,” Nat says.

“Yeah.”

“You imagined it?”

“I imagined bending you over my desk and fucking you until you couldn’t walk,” you tell her. She grins and finally kisses you.

The kiss is filthy as her tongue mingles with yours. You take control and turn her to sit on the counter. Lifting up her dress, you pull her panties to the side and bring your fingers through her wetness.

“Great dress choice tonight, baby,” you tell her.

Nat moans at the feeling of your fingers sliding into her. She is more than ready for you.

“I picked it for you,” Natasha says. “I was hoping this might happen.”

“Mm, bad girl,” you say. Natasha’s body jerks at your words and the feeling of you being deep inside of her. “Did you want me to punish you for lying to me?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” Natasha says. Her voice is raspy.

“I don’t like to be lied to, Natalie,” you use her alias. It turns her on further.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Nat says.

“You better be,” your voice is cold as you continue to move inside her.

With a few more strokes, Nat comes apart. You keep your fingers moving as she has the best orgasm of her life.

“Fuck, Ms. y/l/n,” Natasha whimpers. “I’m sensitive.”

“One more,” you tell her. She bites her lip. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“One more,” she agrees.

You move your fingers quicker again. She is already close. When you lean in and kiss her lips, she is done for. All of the days she had imagined doing this with you had finally come to fruition.

“That’s a good girl, Nat,” you say.

You remove your fingers, and she puts them into her mouth. She licks them clean. The sight is downright pornographic.

“Are you sure you can’t stay on as my assistant?” You ask. “I’d love to fuck you like this on my desk every day.”

“How about I be your spy girlfriend?” Natasha asks. You knew she’d recover from her orgasms quickly and have a quippy reply to you.

“Deal,” you say.

Just then the door opens and Wanda walks in. She sees you and Natasha tangled together and your pants down around your ankles.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, turning around and leaving.

You and Natasha can’t help but chuckle together. A wonderful spy girlfriend she will definitely make.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff smut

[sytoran]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐖���𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄) ⌇ wanda maximoff

summary: it's christmas once again, and the only thing on wanda's wishlist is you.

☰ PAIRING: sub!milf!wanda x dom!gn!reader

☰ TAGS: modern!au, smut (18+), pwp, rough sex, cunnilingus, horniness, teasing, begging, strap-on usage, slight daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, overstimulation

masterlist

wanda bit her lip while watching you work, folding her arms over her chest.

it embarrassed her to admit it, but it was true: even after nearly five years of marriage, everything that you did turned her on. her high sex drive never seemed to be fulfilled, especially when you were so goddamn attractive.

even in an old band shirt and cargo pants, hacking away at a tree with a heavy axe for the christmas tree. you were out doing the handiwork, while wanda stood in the house with a mug in her hands, watching you from the balcony with a smile on her lips.

your shirt was sleeveless, much to wanda’s excitement (or arousal), which showed off those biceps that had been the fruit of hours spent in the gym. or in wanda’s bedroom.

“mom! mom! when’s santa coming? is he here yet?”

“have i been good enough this year? will i get a dog?”

the cries of billy and tommy, wanda and you’s twin sons, snapped her out of her lustful trance. wanda turned to her sons, a red flush on her cheeks still, thankfully gone unnoticed by the twins.

“santa will come on christmas night, tommy. so not today. and billy, i don’t think there’s dogs in the north pole, yeah? you want like, a remote-controlled car instead?” wanda chuckled as she managed to quieten the boys down in a matter of moments, with her expert motherly nature.

“who wants to set up the christmas tree?” you called from the doorstep, hefting the top section of a pine tree on one shoulder. tommy and billy ran up to you with excited cries, jumping with the energy of the young children that they were.

with some dirt on your face and a sheen of sweat covering your skin, you smiled cheekily at wanda, who thought you never looked more attractive.

when she came up to you, you didn’t miss the opportunity to use your free hand to pull your wife in, whispering in her ear with a husky voice.

“saw you looking at me from the balcony just now, baby. you’re horny, aren’t you?”

wanda gasped as she pulled away, slapping your arm. she looked around, and when noticing that billy and tommy had run off, quickly pecked your lips while standing on tip-toes.

you winked at your wife with the rouguish smirk that made her weak at the knees. “yelena’s babysitting tonight. you and i are gonna have some fun under that mistletoe.”

the two of you didn’t even make it past the kitchen when the door slammed shut after yelena came to pick the boys up. in mere seconds, your lips came crashing together like a tidal wave, tongue and teeth clashing with fervency.

“baby,” wanda panted, trying to unbuckle your jeans with one hand, the other tangled in your hair. you laughed breathily at her neediness, using a hand to wrap around her neck and bring her closer, as she readily complied.

you had a hand above her head against the wall, steadying the two of you, as the heated wave of lust escalated relentlessly. you moved your head beneath her chin, nipping and sucking at her pretty collarbone as she whined with impatience.

“d- don’t leave a mark,” she gasped, as you moved up to her neck. “gotta meeting tomorrow-”

“then let everyone see,” you interrupted, harshly biting right next to her pulse point, purple bruises forming in its wake. “let everyone know that you’re mine.” she groaned in slight annoyance at your cockiness but threw back her head nonetheless, allowing you better access to mark her as your own. wanda knew she could never turn you down, anyway.

in the midst of your merciless teasing, you slipped a hand under her shirt and under her bra to grasp greedily at her tits, loving the feeling of how soft and ample she was. wanda whined at your roughness, which only encouraged you to heighten what she thought was at its crux.

you pressed and pulled and twisted her nipples during the sloppy kisses and desperate pants, until she was nothing more than putty in your arms. her nipples were burning with pain but more pleasure, and wanda felt like she wouldn’t be able to feel them tomorrow, but yet she wanted more.

“harder,” she said firmly, against your mouth, then breaking off into a moan when you slipped your tongue inside that delectable mouth of hers.

“want it harder?” you teased with a heavy pant. “so needy for me, hmm?”

tears pricked at her eyes in frustration, nodding furiously despite the feeling of burning against her skin. throwing her shirt over head and slipping her bra off with haste wanda thought unimaginable, you sank your teeth into a nipple without warning, closing your eyes when goosebumps ran over your skin.

she let out a silent scream, nearly coming undone there and then. wanda couldn’t breathe. she didn’t want to breathe. she wouldn’t breathe unless you told her to do so. her hands were gripping your shoulder blade so tightly you were surprised your shirt didn’t rip.

the feeling of your teeth in her nipple caused so much pain, so much pleasure, and an avalanche of arousal to flood her senses. wanda wanted to be roughed out, stretched out, used ‘til she was a doll of your playtime.

she gyrated her hips along your thigh that was shoved between her legs, moaning your name. the way she sounded, so pliant and obedient in your arms, drove you downright insane.

“just like that, baby,” you groaned, removing your teeth from her overly sensitive nipple. “such a good girl for me.” wanda cried, wept for your touch, and you would be a sinner and a fool to deny this goddess of a woman.

manhandling her onto the kitchen counter, you bent her over with strength you yourself didn’t know was in your possession. she could only moan in response, growing wetter each time your words were tainted with all things unholy.

wanda gasped as you rubbed your strap against her ass, words dissolving into nothing more than a puddle of her submission. she moaned something unintelligible, pressed against the cool surface of the marble.

“what was that, baby?” you asked, tugging on her auburn hair.

wanda’s face was flushed, with embarrassment and arousal, maybe both. she turned back to look at you with her eyes drooping in a hazy lust. “i wanna give you more babies.”

fucking hell.

that definitely did more than just something to you, as you snapped the side of her purple panties, throwing it over your head. you let out a damn near growl when you saw how sodden her sex was, all puffy and swollen for you.

“wanda,” you groaned, using a hand to press her harder against the countertop, as she raised her ass to give you a better view.

on another day, you might’ve asked her to beg for it, beg for you to take her as she was. but today you decided there was no time for all that. each second you spent with wanda was sheer paradise, and the ticking clock was your only enemy.

in the midst of a loud moan from wanda, you thrust the entirety of the strap into her awaiting pussy, watching in a trance as each inch was taken by her so well. her moan became a scream, as her knees went weak.

you took her enthusiasm as a green light, beginning to thrust slowly into your wife. as much as she was needy and desperate, you didn’t want to hurt her.

“faster please, daddy.” she begged, her arousal dripping down her own thighs and your own.

might as well kill me now.

you slowly removed the strap from her tight pussy, as she whined at the loss of your cock, clenching around nothing at all.

then you slammed it into her, wanda’s scream rebounding around the walls of kitchen. suddenly, the gentle touches or sweet words dissipate into thin air, and this time you’re fucking wanda with every intention to break her.

you let the strap ram against her cervix, tight and wet and everything wanda could have ever wished for. the splutters that leave her mouth all get soaked up by you as each of thrusts get deeper and faster, opening wanda up.

god, if this was where she would meet her end, wanda prayed she could burn in your fires of hell.

the heat and haze cloud the two of you into your personal little bubble, until the only thought ingrained into your mind is wanda maximoff.

she shakes with every harsh slam of your hips, eyes glazed over as you lean down to press the two of you together. wanda can feel your hardened nipples pressing against her bare back, leaving her breathless.

all she can do is drool and moan helplessly, as you pound into her for all it was worth, almost as if fucking her into the counter.

“you gonna come?” you say lowly, right next to her ear, hot breath on her skin. goosebumps raise all over her skin, and wanda can’t even do more than moan your name as if it was the only word that could ever fall from her heavenly lips.

her lack of coherency makes you laugh. the cocky lilt in your voice, with the breathy rasp and low tone - it fucks her up, and wanda nearly loses goddamn mind.

you hike her hips up from the counter and give yourself better access to her hungry pussy. the show of effortless strength leaves her throbbing even harder than before. you then use a hand to reach out and toy with her clitoris, fingers nimble in bringing to an earth-shattering orgasm.

wanda wails and twitches underneath you, but you pin her down and keep the strap buried inside her as she comes. her heavy pants and whines, and just the sight of wanda, all spent and drooling and red-faced and moaning your name - it brings you to your own climax.

after what seemed like an eternity of sacred silence, and making sure wanda’s breathing has steadied, you take the strap out of her pussy. her walls are stretched out, and for a moment you feel more arousal building up in you.

but with a look at wanda, you knew it would take a while before a second round. wanda was positively glowing, but exhausted. she smiles at you with the most genuine sunshine you’d ever seen in her life, and you’d never guess she was the most dirty devil under the sheets. or, well, in the kitchen.

you slowly undo the clasps of the strap, discarding it somewhere and making a mental note to clean it later. wanda reaches out for you, and you interlock your fingers with hers.

she pulls you into one of the most gentle, sweet, and love-filled kisses you’d ever had in your life. it was slow, it was vanilla and roses, it was wanda maximoff.

it was just her and you, the sunlight reflecting off golden skin, on a dreamy christmas day.

“mom,” billy calls out for wanda while she’s preparing dinner. you’re helping her chop up some carrots, admiring your wife in a cute kitchen apron.

“yes, honey?” wanda says, brushing a strand of red hair from her eyes. billy steps into your view, holding a pair of familiar purple panties that looked like it had been through hell.

“why’s there panties on the kitchen floor? and why’s it ripped apart...... and wet?”

you choke on air.

thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are much appreciated :)

masterlist

#marvel women #gxg smut #wlw smut #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximilf #marvel smut #bottom wanda maximoff #sub wanda #top reader #dom reader #my works

[wmarximoff]

(she will always be) a broken girl | w. maximoff

summary: life away from home is good, and you're studying at the college of your dreams; however, your new neighbor is loud, irritating and a person who doesn't respect boundaries. and, also, is your ex-girlfriend from high school, Wanda Maximoff.

warnings: lots of cursing, smoking, drinking, very brief mentions of smut, mentions of physical parental abuse, mentions of homophobia, angst, fluff.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: and I'm back guys! I hope you guys like this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

There's a thump on the wall behind your head, followed closely by a strident, full-bodied laugh and yet another dry bump, like a deferred hammer blow to a wet rag.

And then an eager conversation that goes back and forth around your head, which turns into lively, intelligible buzzes when muffled by a thin wall, which gives way to another round of drunken giggling like two intoxicated hyenas, as if the competition on the other side of the plaster, pipes and bricks were who could laugh the most without losing their breath first.

You open your eyes, but maybe you just haven't closed them quite yet. Your eyeballs sting as if carpeted by a thin dusty layer of sand that crinkles behind your eyelids, crying out for the sleep that never came, staring up at the white ceiling lit by the bluish luminosity coming from a streetlight outside.

Rolling lethargically to one side in your sheets, half grunting as you do so, your actions are shrouded in a thick veil of torpor; your tired left fingers grope vaguely on the pale wood dresser set beside your bed, and it is after considerable effort all blindly made in the helplessness of your dark room that you finally find the frozen plastic of your phone, that is plugged into the charger socket.

The white glow burns your retinas for half a second when you press the side button with the cheek of your thumb and unlock the screen half a foot away from the tip of your nose. Large digitized thin numbers show the time of 01:19 am. And you wonder who’s the goddamn bastard who would be making so much noise at 1:19 am on a full Monday, as if they were going to demolish the damn wall above your head.

Or a late Tuesday morning, in fact, your drunken brain kind of thinks so. But whatever, nobody cares.

You just know that you need a good night's sleep, and that your muscles are crying out for the much-needed relaxation found in the soft sheets of your bed, something that in the last week has seemed so difficult to achieve even while still inside your own home, your own apartment.

Life was placid, peaceful even, calm in the most acute sense of the word until it found its so fateful epilogue at the beginning of the last week. With the beginning of the college semester came the moving of your new next door neighbor (on the left), from who you don't even know what their face looks like, but who you sure know likes to enjoy life as if every day is the last one. Your healthy sleep has sickened and died on this neighbor's doorstep, so it's likely that each day will indeed be your last as long as your door is next to them.

And it's even odd for you, because your routine has been pretty much the same since you left the bliss of the small Westview, New Jersey (population 6,685), your birthplace and home, to go to college in the big city as soon as you got your high school diploma by shaking the headmistress' hand, three years ago or so.

Your day consists of working in the morning at a coffeeshop that has accepted your meager résumé as a recent high-school graduate and pays just enough to keep you from freezing or starving to death, a handful of classes to pay attention to in the afternoon, and overnight, after a few more hours of work, feed Loki, your grumpy black cat, and study for some upcoming test after having dinner on cereal with milk or instant noodles and drinking a bottle of cheap beer just because you can.

Sleep and repeat, one day after another.

But then it came, as the prelude to the descents of your peacetime; the thunderous beats and the guttural laughs, the intoxicating reek of smoked cigarettes one after the other, and the loud tunes of some distorted heavy guitar in an alternative rock song, engaged in a melodic voice that moans pro-sex and anti-system obscenities (and that actually, you kind of agree with that part).

But that mysterious person behind the wall is like a specter, a ethereal ghost, a foreboding sign that comes to haunt only at night, to torment and keep you from laying your head to rest against your pillow. And you know things aren't quite right with you because yesterday you burned the skin of your own hand by falling asleep propped up on the machine in the process of brewing a big, double espresso for a mean-looking man in a suit.

It's when the sound starts (and gets louder, and gets even louder after that, almost in the form of a rant) that you decide it's enough – the wall swelling with the sounds coming from behind it. Something in you comes undone in a bust, like a pulled thread that snaps in half from the tension at both ends, and the sleepless nights of the last week simply become too much to bear.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me..."

With your right hand you pull your covers to the side, and your bare feet nearly trample a sleeping Loki who's lying beside your bed like a pillow you accidentally dropped, and then you stand up, stretching your legs.

The cat meows in obvious displeasure when being woken up, straining with his front paws, but you just poke him in the side with the tip of your big toe.

“Sorry buddy, but I really need some sleep and this asshole next door isn't helping much.”

Your knees are bare, and your shoulders are tense as you step out of your tiny room into the single hallway, even scrawnier than your own room, and you go to your door, jerk it open, and then, marching like a general, you take about six or seven steps to the left to the side door, where the alternate metal song leaks through its cracks.

You knock once with your bent right fist, moving your wrist joint back and forth, but there is no immediate response and you just want to break down that door like your neighbor wants to break down your wall. Nor is there an eventual answer, when your good manners compel you to expect non-existent cooperation from this noisy stranger.

And you let out a cavernous grunt, plotting a lapse of hot rage inside you, feeling the tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulders smolder like embers.

“C’mon, open the damn door! I know you’re there! You can literally hear the music all the way down the hall, what the hell!”

And annoyance starts bubbling up inside you like magma inside a volcano about to erupt, growing and expanding in size, and then you hit it a second time, and then a third time, and you're barely counting how many times you knock on that damn door until you threaten to knock again (the side of your hand hurts), but then the door opens and your hand hangs in midair, like you're holding the handle of an invisible lantern.

You don't even hesitate to regurgitate, still half asleep and definitely very pissed off, the stress evaporating from inside you.

“Look here,” you begin to wiggle with your chest full of air and your cheeks burning, reciting the speech that has been stuck in your throat for about five or six days, “I know you probably have no idea or don’t care, I don't know which of the two options and honestly I don't give a damn about what you think, but some people around here tend to wake up early–”

And you blink at the figure in the doorway, a young girl with long dark hair who looks to be around your age. And she blinks back at you. And whatever you were going to say next, but the words die and wither behind your tongue, drying up in your throat. And you crease with the flash of skin between your eyebrows, as if you were facing some macabre apparition like in a horror movie.

“Wanda…?” a thoughtless whisper comes out of you that, without an effort, you would never have found actually slipped out of your lips, and not from some other person standing in the hallway that you just didn't see was there.

And it's like an atomic bomb being dropped from the skies on top of a city, because you see her (really see her), gorgeous and tangible, standing in front of you like a memory of your past, and your sleeping, irritated brain beeps and stops when your stomach drops, because your skin tingles as awareness leans over you and you realize that your incognito neighbor is, actually, an old acquaintance from a time you'd rather forget.

A time that you left behind, that you buried six feet from the ground and veiled and moved on after the due period of mourning paid in honor of your adolescence.

And the infectious smile she carries around the contour of her peach lips, with an air of excited laughter referring to a funny story still fresh on her features, fades, withers, and sets to dust when a glint of identification as helpless as yours breaks amidst her emerald irises, adorned by a smoky black eyeliner – the heavy makeup that looks like it was applied a long time ago, hours and hours behind the clock.

The atomic bomb dropped on the city exploded.

“Y/N...” she whispers your name, trying to understand, scrunching up her dark brows, and something in you breaks, “What are you... what are you...?”

“Wanda?” a male voice calls from behind her shoulder, intertwined with the sound of loud rock and the sour scent of cigarette ash, “Who is it? It’s late.”

And such a voice, to your deepest misery, is recognizable to your ears as if it were part of a second nature cloistered within you, of course – you would never forget the light chest, the quiet contentment that carried you during your days of youth, when you were part of the school's literature reading group and the debate club. Her shy smile and his voice carried by his native Eastern European accent.

Your onetime girlfriend, and your former best friend, the immigrant neighbors who moved in next door to you during your freshman year of high school. And you remember kissing her open-mouthed in the backseat of their father's car (by that time she already tasted like cigarettes and tears) and drinking hot beer with him behind the local gas station.

“No fucking way, Y/N!”

Pietro Maximoff is the one who calls out your name, passing his twin sister and almost bumping into Wanda Maximoff's left shoulder, who is motionless like a marble statue, as if her soul has left the shell that is her beautiful, (but) empty body.

And wearing nothing but a plain skinny blouse and sporty shorts that do nothing to cover your bare thighs, you feel suddenly exposed in front of the pair of siblings who should have stayed far away, buried in your past along with all of Westview. You don't want them to see you.

You don't want her to see you.

“Dude, what are the chances of us finding you around here, huh? It's been a long time, what the hell! And we are neighbors again, just like before!” he kind of chuckles to himself at his own line, his accent already faded, “I mean, Wanda is your neighbor again. But hey, are you here for college? I remember you got that approval letter! NYU, right?”

“Yes, I...” you whisper, half babbling, blinking sleep and shock out of your lingering brain, “I... yeah...”

You look at him, who has now grown a beard around his chin and bleached his short hair to a platinum silver tone, once the owner of streaks in a profuse coffee-brown color like the pretty hue that adorns the long beams on her head (he seems to be more of a man's bearing than a boy's per se), and your troubled gaze migrates towards Wanda, who is the only one of the two Maximoff twins who truly comprehends the core of your dazed silence, matched by a remorseful look that she hides behind her hair as she turns her chin appallingly to the side – because she knows, you know, and he doesn't.

He never knew. Nobody ever knew. She made sure no one ever knew.

Just as no one ever knew you ran off with Pietro in the middle of the night to drink cheap beer and eat cheeseburgers behind the gas station, no one ever knew you kissed the taste of red-filtered cigarettes on Wanda's tongue in the back of their father's car.

ᗢ

“And why did she break up with you?”

It's Yelena Belova who asks you the very next morning, your coworker and classmate alike, a friend for life, as her elbows work back and forth with the wooden handle of the wet mop that slides across the linoleum flooring in one fluid, continuous action, because today is her day to mop the floor and only tomorrow is yours, according to the appointment on the calendar adjacent to the staff room wall at the back of the store.

The two of you wear polo shirts on your torsos and similar aprons tied around your waists, the pieces arranged in the same shades of black and green and, behind the glass counter, which in turn has an array of sweet and savory to go with a cup of coffee, you growl lamely, like a grizzly mad dog that doesn't want to let go of the tennis ball in its mouth.

It's still fifteen minutes (and counting) before the store opens to a new wave of morning clients, and you just don't want to talk about your ex-high school sweetheart so early in the morning, even after a long sip of fresh coffee. Not after seeing her before you, (still as stunning, as enchanting, still as detestable as she was almost three years ago), in a dreadful revelation that the noisy, irritating, maddening neighbor, all this time, was just Wanda; an ex-girlfriend behind the door who distanced you from her.

But Yelena looks at you with keen amber eyes that gleam with insistent curiosity, pushing you over the edge, and your cup of coffee with shots of warm milk suddenly looks more interesting than your blonde friend who mops the floor under her feet.

“Homophobic rich dad, 'it's not you, it's me', stuff like that,” you mutter grudgingly from behind your drink, before shrugging your shoulders as if in a bogus performance of indifference.

“I mean, at least that's what she told me. You know, by text message. Three damn days before our senior prom, when everything was ready for us to go together. Just a single text message of four, five lines, whatever.”

And you take another sip of coffee, which even though it's soft against the milk, now feels as bitter as a crumbling lump of earth against the face of your tongue.

“Ouch,” Yelena exclaims in a falsely offended tone that smacks of laughter, “What a bitch.”

“Don't even tell me,” you muss, not being able to mask the wrath still pulsing in your tone, staring at the dark plastic lid that covers your paper coffee cup, “Just one hell of a bitch.”

“But hey, strict rich dad and mean teenage daughter, huh? Such a cliché.” She still mops the floor as she talks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you take a sip of coffee, “Erik Lester, Lehnsherr, any shit like that, whatever. He's a businessman, does something involving magnets, I don't know. All I know is that he has, like, a lot of money.”

Yelena mutters in agreement even though she has no idea who this much-hated father figure is, silently indicating that she is setting the stage for the continuation of your speech.

“She only met him after her mother died when she and Pietro were about ten years old, when they had to leave Sokovia. And like, the guy is a real asshole, I won't deny it, and he and Wanda never had a good relationship from what she told me and from what I've seen and heard, either. Sometimes I could hear his screams through my bedroom window.”

And you remember her crying, so beautiful and so broken at such a young age, the makeup smeared around her eyeballs that glistened in stinging tears, a black thread of eyeliner trail running down her ever so sharp cheekbones her as she crept out in your bedroom window, into the comfort of your arms or into your fogged-up car, searching for cigarette smoke through the desert streets of the small town, during the nights lit by the neon of streetlights and headlights.

And then, in a rather bittersweet mental parallel, you realize that you could never sleep properly while in the presence of Wanda, who is a nocturnal animal, a source of red energy – like a dream that came to torment you, disappearing along with the first cracks of sun to rise in the morning.

“I always thought she did those things – the clothes, the music, the cigarettes – to piss him off. And she did, yeah. He was very pissed off about all these things. The two were always up in arms in that house. But if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was that he would find out she liked girls. She was terrified of coming out to him. So she didn't come out to anyone. She didn't… she never assumed me to anyone.”

You gird your lips in a straight line, ending the sentence in a den of resentment that weighs heavily on the tip of your tongue; both your forearms braced on the clear face of the counter's reinforced glass, the half-full coffee cup placed in the space between your wrists.

“I thought that because we were together for the entire senior year it was going to work out, you know, me and her.”

Yelena looks at you from behind the counter, and there's an air of pity that envelops her facial expression, but that you prefer to just ignore as you focus your gaze on the rings that line the length of your fingers. Wanda wears these too.

“That thing we had, even if it was just between the two of us, it all felt so… right. So natural. Like, we were going to graduate and leave, weren't we? There was no reason to give up like that. It was me and her. Just the two of us. But then... then came the time for the prom.”

You sigh, as in a vicious memory. For a minute your vision threatens to cloud with smothered tears, but you blink them back from your eyelashes.

“And she freaked out and ditched me. Went with that stupid Jarvis Stark guy, an English idiot, son of Erik's business partner or some shit like that. And, well, I left town after that. Moved on. And now here I am, making coffee for rude people who barely look me in the face and having to deal with you bothering me all morning.”

Your voice is teasing, wrapped in a mockery that befits the goofy grin that breaks at the corner of your lips, and the young blonde girl half-laughs at you, swinging her high ponytail to back of her head.

“And now she's your noisy neighbor. Call it romantic.” Yelena reminds you in a voice full of petulant innuendo in an irritating retort, raising her thick, dark brows to the middle of her forehead.

You grunt against the plastic lid of your coffee cup.

“Ugh, please don't remind me of that right now, I don't want to think about it anymore.”

You can almost feel the heavy, dark bags under your droopy eyes, the sleepless nights weighty on the bones of your spine – but the young blonde woman smirks, having stopped mopping the floor for a good few minutes now.

“I'm pretty sure that would make a great plot for a low-budget romcom, if you ask me. One of those twin actresses could play her in the movie. She kinda looks like them, doesn’t she?”

“Yelena!”

“But it's true!” your friend laughs at your earnest displeasure, “But hey, maybe you can sneak into her apartment for the night and make her make it up to you for the prom. Or those sleepless nights, if you know what I mean.”

You blink in lethargic action, looking towards her.

“I swear I'm going to spill coffee on the floor you just cleaned if you don't stop pissing me off, Belova.”

ᗢ

The empty, hard blue plastic laundry basket rests against the right side of your hip bone, slithering against the waistband of your baggy, light jeans as you descend step by step on the concrete stairs that lead toward the laundry room in the building, located on the underground floor of the condominium residence.

The weight of the tiring day of flawed sleep still weighs on the muscles of your back, but you know the neighbors will nag like macaws if your laundry spends another day that takes possession of the washing machine again.

But it's late at night, past ten o'clock, so there's no one to be found in front of the sextet of washing machines that are still side by side against a white wall, like cars parked in a large parking lot. Your sneakers bounce against the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor as your left index finger presses the face of the switch, turning on a half-eerie, icy white light that flashes once and then stops right above your head.

You move without circumlocution, nonchalantly, walking toward the middle machine, and open the circular hatch to take out your now-clean, though damp, clothes.

But along with your clothes, you notice, with a curious and uncertain look, that there seem to be other pants and shirts that don't actually make up your wardrobe – in a way, such pieces don't even match your personal style, and you certainly don't remember putting them there in the first place.

Just take a single pair of tall black cotton socks between your fingers and something catches your eye, like a candle burning in the dark. Your eyebrows crease in the middle of your forehead, like a big question mark.

And, with the tips of your curious left fingers, you make your way to the hollow interior of the large domestic appliance to pull out, from inside, a thin red lace panties like the petals of a rose that is certainly not yours, hovering with the tiny piece in front of your eyes in midair – but you soon know whose it is when you realize that you already know that lingerie, the identification hovers like a crimson fog in front of your brain.

“For fuck’s sake...”

It's a beautiful piece that you bring close to your face to check, a cotton adorned with well-crafted details in the fabric and that, in the past, would be nothing more than purely sexy, which would incite libidinous feelings that would spark into the your chest and between your legs; but something in you inflates, bursts and goes flying, because you know whose alabaster thighs are from which you yourself have already taken those same panties, only to head towards the center wet with liquids of pleasure.

And you squeeze the damn red lace between your fingers, in a fist shape, like you're choking a chicken's skinny neck. A gust of hot air is expelled between your nostrils like steam coming out of a factory chimney.

So you turn on your heels and march toward the stairs, your cheeks burning in a snarling amalgamation of smoldering shame and volcanic rage, and six flights are a blur that burns your calf muscle as you walk hard to the second floor of the building, crossing the empty hallway in evenly spaced footsteps, like a guided missile aimed at the door next to yours on the left.

 The shiny metal of the numerals “1” and “9” attached to the center of the oak wooden door is what most attracts your solicitous attention when your closed fist knocks just above the handle; the round piece, large and gold, like a Christmas ornament the size of an apple or a clenched fist, you still holding the red garment in the palm of your hand placed to the side of your hip encased in the waistband of your jeans.

When footsteps are heard inside and Wanda comes to open the door, this time with her pretty face cleansed back to its natural state, devoid of the characteristic heavy makeup she usually puts on, it doesn't surprise you at all that she has a lit cigarette tucked between the fingers of her right hand, which has fingernails lacquered with a sober black polish that has peeled off the neatly cut and sanded ends.

“Y/N, what do you– do you have any idea what time it is, damn it?! It’s almost midnight!”

“What time is it? What time is it?! Look who's talking, for God's sake!”

When you brandish it with your hand, the underwear wobbles and it's only then that you remember that you still have it in your possession, and that seems to be able to irritate you even more.

“And is this yours by any chance?!” Holding the thin red strap just pressed between the tips of your forefinger and thumb, you lift the panties up to her face.

There's a curiously surprised frown in a flash of white skin between her dark brows, a light of disagreement circling the jade green of Wanda's eyes as they gaze at the underwear presented to her by you.

“What– what do you think you're doing with my panties, you creep?!” The accusatory tone in her voice, curled in thick cigarette smoke, is enough to pop a nerve in your neck.

“Creep?!” you whimper in thunderous rage, “I’m the goddamn creep?! You’re the one who put your underwear to wash with my clothes, you’re the creep in this whole situation! You creep!”

“What–?” Wanda looks at you like you're just insane, going into a snarky defensive pose, “I–I didn't do that!”

“Oh, of course,” your voice drips with angry sarcasm, “Your lingerie just decided to come out of the other washing machine and into the one I'm using. Seriously, Wanda, you've been better at lying before, I swear–”

“Look Y/N, I may have been confused, but I just moved here–”

“I don't,” your voice rises to match hers, ending whatever now-finished excuse that would come out of Wanda's mouth, “I don't wanna fucking know. I don’t care! Just– just take this and please don't bother me anymore!”

And there's barely a window that takes in the time it takes for the young woman with the jade eyes to plan with her brain an answer so her mouth can modulate it to you, because you crumple the red garment against her chest hidden inward the worn material of a loose-fitting band shirt that had faded to a tawny gray (that she had once sworn it was black), before turning around and, without giving her undue satisfaction, you head back toward the stairs that lead to the lower floor.

But you're barely ten or fifteen paces away from her door before Wanda's voice echoes across the hall, reverberating through the walls into your eardrums, through your muscles and your bones.

“Very mature, you asshole! How fucking old are you, five?!”

And you're just done dealing with her shit.

“Fuck you!” you bark like a shot in a game of table tennis and, without looking back, lift your elbow to your ribs, holding up the middle finger of your right hand for Wanda to see and take offense.

A shocked gasp comes from afar, but before she can even respond to you in a burst of rather naughty insults, there's the click of another door that opens at the end of the hall, and a third surly neighbor appears in a guttural rage as he engages in an unseemly bickering with Wanda ("It's late, shut the fuck up!" and "Go mind your own fucking business!" is the least that reaches your ears) while you, in full of silence and without giving much thought to the exchange of sharp curses between the young girl and an old gray-haired man from apartment sixteen, just turns the corner and walks down the stairs, trotting back to the laundry room.

Your right foot in your white sneaker taps arrhythmic to a distressed beat on the checkered linoleum floor, as you wait for the dryer to drying your clothes, your unflinching gaze staring at the silver device as it emits a round hum, your forearms interlaced down your chest, pressed against your rib cage, your shoulders stiffening in a recurring muscular tension from the episode of anger still fresh in your body.

When carefree footsteps echoes down the stairs, you don't stare toward the door of the laundry room because you only know who's approaching when the uncompromising scent of tobacco, smoke and strawberry moisturizer catches your nostrils, prompting a fearless grunt and an avid eye roll on your part.

Wanda carries a red plastic laundry basket with her, and doesn't exchange a word with you as she takes her clean clothes from the washing machine you've just used.

“It was a mistake, you know.”

For a moment, you think she's talking about your relationship. After all, it makes sense to imagine that this assumption is correct; your relationship with her was indeed a mistake, you know and imagine that she thinks so too. But her voice comes in a few seconds within the silence interspersed between the groans of the dryer machine, and she seems even half embarrassed as she doesn’t look directly at you, prickled into an almost intelligible thread.

You remain in terse silence as she gives it another try.

“It was an accident Y/N, that's all.”

But there's not a single answer that comes from you, and you don't even fix your proud gaze on Wanda, even though, with your nerves already chilled and your head clear away from the drowning fog of anger that seemed to have caught you in blind rage, you have realized that you have been quite unnecessarily rude to your new neighbor, your old lover.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” she claims your gaze, staring sideways at your profile, “That I'm sorry? Even by a stupid accident? All right, look, I apologize. I’m sorry. Now can you at least look at me, Y/N?”

But no, you don't look at her. And her shoulders sag in a sure sign of defeat.

When the machine finally dries your clean garments that smell sweetly of a softener pleasing to the senses, you pick them up, fold them, and place them in your blue hamper without uttering a word to make your actions light. And, walking behind Wanda carrying the basket on your hip, nonchalantly as if the girl in the cherry-red denim shorts were just an intangible ghost, you leave the laundry room—her gaze burns into the sore muscles of your back as you do.

ᗢ

Your nights are spent listening to loud music and smelling of toasted tobacco, and it's been a while since you've been able to watch TV anymore because of the loud noise from the neighbor next door. Maybe she's playing a tantrum, maybe she has no idea how life works in an apartment complex. But even Loki is more skittish by the lack of sleep that prompts his already grumpy nature.

The long scratch mark that grows angry red on your right forearm, towards the inside of your elbow, says a lot about how you and your cat have been having a rather toxic relationship on the feline’s part.

The early afternoon is engulfed by a partially warm climate, with a mild temperature, but even so, you chose to grab a sweater from your hanger, just before leaving the house early enough not to run into Wanda in the hallway, as had happened on a few unfortunate occasions since then – once when you went to meet a Thai food delivery boy and she was taking out the trash, and another time when you were leaving for work and she was arriving from whatever she'd spent the night before, looking a little woozy as she tried (and failed) to unlock her apartment door.

Carrying your backpack on your shoulders, your elbows tucked into your ribs and both your hands raised, squeezing the outline of your fingers adorned by a handful of silver rings through the dark straps. You walk in measure with Yelena's footsteps, who treads to your right, dressed in a stylish yellow flannel coat crisscrossed with gray and white stripes, and Kate Bishop, the tall girl with dark hair tied back from the of her head, who comes close to your left shoulder – the three of you heading towards the classroom befitting your third period Wednesday schedule.

“Man, I can't believe Nat actually became a cop,” is what Kate says in an indignant tone, addressed to Yelena.

“I mean, like, she's your sister, you know? And you’re so– so, so politically engaged! Besides, you are Russians, you should know about these things! Isn't your dad like, an anti-cops die-hard communist or something?”

“That literally says absolutely nothing,” Yelena answers her crookedly, wrinkling the skin on her nose, “Your mom is a goddamn CEO and yet you don't see me charging you about all the capitalist shit she does in her office.”

“But is different!” Kate exclaims back, almost offended, “My mom isn't like, that Howard Stark guy or something. She's just—”

“Rich,” spits the blonde girl, “She’s rich. She’s filthy rich. So yeah, she's kinda like him.”

“It’s different!”

“It's no different, Kate, I'm sorry,” you finally say to the girl in the purple blouse and ripped gray jeans, who just grunts in a pained, giving up response.

But it's when you turn the corner of a hallway that Kate turns to you with a certain air of curiosity that hovers over her actions.

“But hey Y/N,” she calls your name, and you turn your head towards her deep-brown eyes, “Is it true?”

“What exactly is true, Kate?” you blink in confusion towards her.

“That a crazy ex of yours moved in next door to you.”

One of your eyebrows rises in dubious ambiguity. You don't remember saying anything to Kate concerning Wanda, nor your disastrous relationship with the said Sokovian girl.

“How...?” but your train of thought soon traces towards Yelena, your confidant who lately is so close to Kate, who is also unnaturally quiet beside you, “Wait, did you tell her, Yelena?!”

“W-what? Sooner or later she would find out about it!” as the blonde girl shrugs her shoulders into the fabric of her yellow coat, you let a disgruntled grunt escape your lips.

Great, you allow yourself to think in an exhausted mindset, that's just great. What you most needed now is for people to know about your intimate life.

Not that the young Bishop heiress isn't a dear friend of yours, but it just so happens that you've only met her a few months ago, and it's not customary for you to open your heart to someone you're not so close to – for example, Yelena herself, who you've known for almost two years only became a close figure of your in the last eight months or so spent in each other’s company.

“I mean, everybody kinda knows that now...”

Kate says in a tiny voice, but it's not low enough to go unnoticed by your hearing or, for that matter, even by Yelena's ears, who scolds the other girl, exasperating a loud “Dude!” that echoes through the entire hall.

Your hands certainly yearn to strangle your friend in the coat who walks close to your right shoulder, to squeeze her neck which is adorned by thin and stylish chains in a good taste for fashion, but your fingers are content to just hold on enfolding the backpack straps that circle your shoulders, as your chin turns toward Yelena.

“Who else did you tell it to, huh?” but when the silence is lasting, your patience that is already running short insists on pressing the girl with the white backpack, “Who else knows about it, Yelena?”

“Well,” she starts, a little embarrassed, a little hesitant.

“Like, first of all, in my defense, it's not my fault you're an antisocial weirdo who doesn't go out to drink with us! But you know how it is, we went out with Natasha and Peter and Kamala this weekend and we went to this Irish pub that I keep saying you'll like, and I may or may not have had a shot or two more than the usual and, well... they started asking about you, well... and shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” you repeat in a half-tired, half-incredulous tone of voice, “Shit happens, sure.”

“Sure,” she repeats, before quickly adding a few more names to the list, “I mean, that Quill guy from the football team showed up with his girlfriend too, and Carol arrived later with Maria and Darcy, and then one of them called Jane and Brunnhilde, and then—”

“Ugh, okay, I get it, please don't continue,” you grunt, squeezing your eyelids together in pain, suddenly feeling several eyes turning to you as you cross the hall on a walk of shame, “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, kinda everyone knows, yeah,” Yelena's tone is soaked in contrite agreement, and she shrugs her shoulders that carry the straps of her white backpack, “Sorry, dude.”

“No, it's okay,” you force plastic optimism out of your mouth, imagining that if you say it out loud the words will come true, “Everything's perfectly fine.”

Over their shoulders, Kate and Yelena exchange a worried glance.

But a few minutes pass after such a conversation had passed through the halls of the university with the other two girls dressed in the yellow coat and the purple jacket, and you can barely get your brain to focus on the mental activity of understanding the words uttered by Ms. Harkness's mouth, who dramatically cries out to the entire class of thirty or forty students as she gestures in a Shakespearean manner with her hands, waving her thick, long brown hair back and forth as she does – she was always a dramatic type, despite her genuine sympathy for students of her liking.

And even later that day is when you find yourself in the cafeteria's bathroom, rinsing the soap foam that lathers your palms under running tap water, when the door of a booth on your right opens, and you hadn't even realized there was anyone else there but yourself.

And your rib bones feel like they want to rip through the tissue in your lungs as you look up from the sink, only to realize that the figure in the open red sweatshirt and black miniskirt is Wanda, heading for a sink next to the left to the one you use to then squeak the record between her fingers and start the action of washing her own hands of matte black enamel nails.

You just want to blink and realize that it's an illusion, a mirage, a product of your twisted mind that hasn't been sleeping well and that you're certainly thinking too much about her, who is now your neighbor.

But she doesn't go away even as your eyelids open and close, once, twice, three times, and a hot, tangled thread rises from the muscle of your shoulders to the outline of your neck, crisscrossing your cheekbones and the tips of your ears.

The prickly anger that bristles your skin is like a hard, prickly grip around your throat, and a lump of flesh and gall weaves inside your larynx. The tips of your clipped nails scratch the palm of your left hand a little harder than necessary; the girl standing next to you is like a spark, and you are like a haystack.

And the ember burns loudly, almost even emanating smoke from the top of your head, as the melodiously unassuming voice in her usual low pitch echoes through the floor and the tiled walls.

“There's been word out there that your crazy ex moved in next door to you, did you know?” says Wanda, still looking at her wet, soapy hands.

You try to bite the words before they come out, but it's inevitable that you'll respond in the same tone.

“And what are you even doing here to begin with, huh? Have you become a stalker or something? That's kinda sad, even for you.”

And she half-laughs, which causes the blood in your body to leak to your head, but also to other rather unwanted locations in your lower organs.

“People have the right to study at this university. It's not all about you, Y/N,” you rub your hands together harder, “I mean, unless it's about your crazy ex. Then I think it's about you like, for real.”

And your tongue is quicker to rise to the roof of your mouth than your brain is to censor whatever it is you're about to regurgitate in the form of an insult, when the quick response comes in a reactionary backhand to the girl with the jacket of a deep shade of red like wine.

“Well, those rumors aren't even true. Because, you know, to have a crazy ex-girlfriend I would need to have had an official, public relationship, and as far as I can remember, I've never had that with anyone,” your saliva is bitter between your teeth, “So I don't think I need to worry about these rumors. It’s just gossip that everyone will eventually forget, anyways.”

You turn off the faucet on your use and Wanda does the same to hers, but neither of you moves to dry your hands or even head out of the bathroom. She looks at you instead, but you only find your own exhausted eyes in your reflection in front of the mirror placed on the wall in front of you.

“So you didn't have anyone,” Wanda says, her emerald irises fixedly contouring your jawbone, “After me.”

The thread of anger stretches from your stomach to your heart, and you still don't look at her as your curled fingers grip the oval edges of the white porcelain sink. She doesn't deserve satisfaction from you; after all, if you were never officially a couple, if there was never a title before the promise, it's all her fault, it fell on her, it starts and ends with her.

“That's literally none of your business,” you mutter under your breath, but you kind of hesitate a bit as she takes a step toward you in her biker boots that wrap around her ankles clad in a pair of black high tights.

“You didn't have anyone after me. Besides me. Did you, Y/N?”

And you turn your nose towards her, only to find a pair of verdant irises that lie dark as moss, a kind of possession that weaves through the abyssal dark puddles that are her dilated pupils, and the black smoky eyeshadow makes her retinas glow like two gemstones reflected by a beam of light in a darkened room.

Wanda is like a black hole that draws you into a dangerous magnetism, engulfing you like a supernova explosion.

And something primal inside of you kind of likes that, kind of craves for it, for her monopoly over you, for the exclusivity that's been maintained since the last time you two saw each other, three years ago, back in your hometown. Secretly you wonder if she hasn't had anyone else after you either, and you kind of hope the answer is a big fat no.

After all, if you're still hers, she's still yours too.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like I did?”

You swallow hard, the inside of your throat hardening when as close to her as you are, your shoulders deflating a little into your dark sweatshirt as the scent of strawberry moisturizer and toasted tobacco clogs up your nostrils, spilling Wanda's red into your bloodstream. She looks like an animal ready to devour you and you're not sure if you're going to let her do it or not, but you tend to think that yes, you will.

“Has anyone else licked you on the corner of your mouth before actually kissing you, because they know it turns you on?”

You swallow the still air in your throat.

“Did anyone else run their hands down the sides of your neck before holding your hair?”

She takes a step toward you, and you take another step back.

“Has anyone else,” her voice is a low, dangerous whisper, “Bitten the side of your rib before they went down on you? With their tongue slow and soft at first and accelerating as your moans get more desperate when you ask for more?”

You want to kiss her. Your hands tingle to cup the sides of her jaw and pull her face down so your lips meet in midair, and she kisses you the way she knows you like. As you've done before, as she once wanted. But then you remember why you hate her as much as you want to kiss her, and it's like a reality check. And a new gust of angry air ignites inside your chest.

“It's none of your business, Wanda,” you finally say through gritted teeth, steadying the bridge that connects your intense gazes. You are annoyed and turned on, and you just know that she will always be your undoing.

“And I don't owe you any fucking satisfaction. I don't need to remind you that it was you who broke up with me via texts, do I? You're the one who dumped me, not the other way around. I don't owe you shit.”

A guilty hesitation crosses her gaze, which taking slashes of blame, quickly turns away from you to stare at the sink pipe on the right side of your hip; Wanda seems to shrink a little, wilting, squeezing the folds of her ringed fingers through the single strap of the crossbody bag that spills down her torso.

“That’s not true, Y/N, I… I– I didn’t…” she muss, in a low voice soaked in massive regret, stepping back a step, “It’s not like that, you just… you don't… you don’t understand–”

“I don't understand what, huh, Wanda? I don’t understand what?!"

Your voice rises an octave, and something stuck inside you for the past two years, like a bottle of champagne that pops a cork, just starts to flow, pouring out of your chest in a loud, painful confession and just so, so purely angry.

“That you got tired of playing with my feelings and decided to finally be the perfect little girl your father wanted you to be? That you decided to pose as a straight girl for one night, hanging on that jerk Jarvis' arm to be the perfect couple with a bright future after graduation? That all our plans, our confessions, our dreams were nothing but a hobby for you, a toy to play until you got sick of me and threw me away when you just felt like it?”

She looks on the verge of tears, her waterline glistening in crystalline pools of liquid embarrassment and her bottom lip threatening to quiver, and you barely notice when hot strands of bottled up feelings begin to leak down your cheeks, dripping towards the contour of your chin.

“Because if that's what I don't understand, then yeah, I really don't. I don't understand how you had the courage to be so coward to hurt me and break my heart in that mean way, when the only thing I ever did for you was take you in, Wanda! I took care of you! I listened to you, I dedicated myself to you, I gave you my heart, I fucking loved you! And that's how you repaid me, because you're a walking fucking problem and nothing will ever, ever satisfy you!"

And there's a sharp, deafening silence that follows after that, rumbling in your eardrums. And a veil of reality falls both over you and her; after all, whether indirectly or not, at no time had you confessed to Wanda that in a way, even with the immaturity worthy of late adolescence, you loved her as much as was possible at that time.

She looks hurt by your words, her eyes a gloomy, sad green, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag. And even if you've spent three long years believing that you really wanted to harm her, once you've done it, you don't feel the way you should. It's not satisfactory at all, because it hurts you too. It hurts so, so much.

“Y/N...” she whispers, but there's nothing more to say after that, so your name just hangs and dies in the air around her.

You pant, inflating and deflating heavily with your chest as if you've just run the course of a long marathon. And she looks at you like a shy child who's done something stupid, and it only takes one blink for a drop of black makeup to run down her pale, sharp cheekbones, the green of the irises now as bright as the grass in the spring pastures or in Botticellian paintings.

Her tearful face should feel like your masterpiece, not your leading lament.

“Wanda, I…” you whisper, wanting to say something you don't know, wanting to undo what you've already done, “I... I didn't mean..."

She seems to take a gulp of air to part her peachy lips and start a whole new sentence when the bathroom entrance door opens and an agitated group of chatty girls enters, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere established between you and Wanda. You look at her who doesn't look at you.

With the back of your hand, you quickly sweep the tears away from your own cheeks. And, picking up your backpack that is on the floor, placed next to the sink, you brush past Wanda and head towards the door without saying another word to the young lady in the red sweatshirt, who looks just as broken as you do.

All you have to do is turn one corner to the thick tears begin to pour down the warm skin of your face.

ᗢ

The movement of warm-weather morning firstfruits is a little slow, even still, with the occasional businessperson in a suit or tired student stopping by to enter the store before the clock strikes nine in the morning, to resort to the necessary high doses of caffeine and only then can start their day with a temporary and bogus simulation of a burst of energy.

And it's when Yelena says something about needing to use the restroom, when there's no customer to attend to or even a soul sitting at the tables just to use the free WiFi, that you decide that checking a few emails in your phone's inbox will do no harm to your start of the day.

After all, you've already scrubbed the damn mop on the floor so much that the linoleum now looks like a mirror under your feet, and you've changed three times the napkins that didn't really need to be discarded and changed.

And you know well that you did, though, to take your mind away from the memory of the night before; of the loud, heavy music blasting through the dividing wall of your room with Wanda's, in a failed attempt to stifle the sobbing cry of the neighbor apartment, who kept your brain alert throughout the night, until tiredness won over by the fatigue of your muscles (or maybe her muscles first), allowing the both of you, so close and yet so far away, to fall asleep together, at the same time, each thinking of the other as you lost consciousness.

A few minutes pass, however, before the distinctive tinkling of the small bell above the front door engulfs your attention away from your cellphone screen, and your rehearsed speech of welcome comes almost as an involuntary response that fills your mouth, before the most genuine of smiles slip through the pulp of your lips as braided ginger hair comes into your field of view, clasped in a heavy, handsome leather jacket.

“Nat, hi!” you greet her, Yelena's older sister, and she smirks as she walks toward you from across the counter.

You always liked her and she always liked you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha looks around as if scanning the area, before turning her piercing green gaze back to your face, never missing the tiny smile on her full lips, hands shoved in the back pockets of the dark jeans that she wears around her toned legs.

 “Yelena left you here to deal with those grumpy people all alone, huh? That suck. Guess I'm gonna have to rap her knuckles for a change.”

“Nah, it’s okay. She went to the restroom,” you smile, “I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Natasha raises an orange brow, “Well, it must have been. She was never good at holding her bladder, you know? I mean, seriously, there was this time when we were kids back in Ohio where she was playing on the slide and then my mom—”

“Hey, don't you even dare to start it!” Yelena's voice comes from the back in a protesting exclamation, before the young blonde girl appears, tying her leaf-green apron around her waist.

“And may I know what you're doing here, huh? Don't you have, like, cop stuff to do around, officer? There must be some kitten stuck in a tree in Central Park or some sucker in a manhole in need of help.”

“I think this is a fire department thing,” you comment, and in return Yelena blinks in disbelief in your direction.

And the older sister lets out a lame giggle through her nose, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils.

“I was passing by and I decided to come around just to annoy you, 'Lena” says Natasha, half-laughing, prompting a roll of the eyes on the part of the youngest sister, “But I'll take the opportunity to ask Y/N to make me an espresso. You know, her coffee is really good.”

And when Natasha's voluptuous gaze falls on you, the corner of her lips twitching a little, there's a pang that nudges your stomach and makes your lungs inflate and deflate with warm air evaporating off your skin.

Natasha is a few years older than you (and therefore also more experienced), and you are well aware that she is a very stunning woman, who is constantly enveloped in a simple aura of sensuality, which spontaneous flirtation seems to be like a second nature to her. And it feels good, it's really warming to know that someone like her looks at someone like you in such a way. Even if, deep down, your brain is aware that your heart doesn't beat for her, and never will.

“For God's sake Natasha, the coffee is made by a damn machine, literally every time it's the same thing,” Yelena mutters crookedly under her grumpy breath, “Just get a room, damn it, this is a public place.”

“Come on, 'Lena, you don't need to be jealous,” and you know it's now nothing more than a sibling bickering, a healthy petulance that ends up trapping you in the middle of the situation that leans towards comic, “You're the lucky one who has to see Y/N every day, not me.”

And you take it easy, barely able to suppress a round of giggles when Yelena looks like she wants to jump over the counter and kick her sister in the face.

“Listen, get the hell out of here, go away! Go! Go! Go! You're not getting no fucking coffee anymore—!”

But the entrance bell jingles a second time as the glass door opens and someone enters the establishment.

And the second time is worse than the first, because all you need to do is glance over Natasha's left shoulder and a pair of emerald eyes other than the rookie cop's eyes connect with yours, like a knot tied in mid-air, two magnets that attract and repel each other. The soft smile plastered on your lips begins to fade and then disappears into a dry line and a wisp of skin between your brows.

And you just can't believe it's Wanda who's there, like an obsessive spirit or even an obsessed stalker, even though your apartment is just a block away from the coffeeshop, even though there's a cozy bookstore across the street and, if you hadn't paid so much attention to Natasha, you would have noticed the blood-red dress, so delicate against the imposing black jacket; the clothes dressed in the familiar silhouette that had entered the store on the sidewalk opposite your work environment.

“Such a psycho…” Yelena muss for only Natasha to hear, but you do the same and believe Wanda does too, because she looks hesitant as she gazes at your uniformed friend, standing beside you behind the counter.

You blink, and so does Wanda, still standing in the doorway.

The atmosphere that sets in is palpable, and the two sisters, then aware of your unfortunate situation with your neighbor-ex-girlfriend-not-really-a-girlfriend, exchange looks that only two people with a connection like theirs can exchange.

And then, you turn your stiff shoulders toward the coffee machine, stepping away from the compact glass counter, “I–I'll make your espresso, Nat.”

The clatter of the machine seems to be deafening when the silence is thick and even the sound of a penny falling to the floor would echo through the entire store, and the sudden sour smell of coffee sends your stomach into a wave of nausea you don't quite know where it's coming from, but it's here to stay and, in such a way, you feel like you want to cry.

The acerbic regret of harming her still eats you into your muscles and your bones.

Fitting the lid on the tall clear plastic glass, you place the drink across the face of the counter, in front of Natasha, who gives you a complacent look, in a green so different from the green that stares at you from behind her.

“Here it is,” you say in a rather mechanical voice.

Natasha takes her wallet from the back pocket of her tight dark jeans and places a bill that exceeds the stipulated amount next to the glass, holding you back with her hand when you get her the change. Everything is very vague, and the cozy, playful aura that once enveloped the three of you left the store as soon as Wanda opened that door.

“See you later, sis,” Natasha says to Yelena, who stares at Wanda like an angry guard dog, before turning back to you, “And you… take care, honey.”

There's a deliberately deferred squeeze of the red-haired woman's hand by the delineation of your own fingers caged in rings, and even as Natasha turns onto her back, her single long red braid slipping between her shoulder blades hidden inside her leather jacket, pouring along her spine, you know she shoots a hard look at Wanda, who flinches as she passes close to her shoulder – even though the two of them have never touched, it’s as if Natasha has bumped her shoulder against Wanda’s.

The temperature seems to drop, and the Sokovian girl takes a step forward, toward the counter – her dark hair looks beautiful even in a messy bun on top of her head, and you really have to hold back before uttering that compliment out loud. She doesn't seem to be sleeping well, and even layers of dark makeup can't hide the bags under her tired eyes. You thought it would bring you some kind of comfort, but really you just want to hug her.

"Can I help you?" Yelena is the one who takes the initiative, even if her hard tone doesn't at all befit the implications of her rehearsed store clerk phrase.

"I..." Wanda starts, opens her mouth, closes it for a second and then opens it again, "I was going to order an iced tea, but now I... I... Y/N," she then looks at you, “Can I talk to you? Please."

No, you want to say, not at all. I'm ashamed that I said those things to you. But Wanda's gaze is as intense as Yelena's. And you let out a lame sigh, squinting in disbelief towards your own thoughtless actions, before turning to your coworker who is next to your left shoulder.

Fuck it.

“I'm gonna… I'm gonna take a break,” you announce, before returning your gaze to Wanda, who seems to hide gratification beneath the hesitation in her eyes.

Yelena, on the other hand, seems pretty discredited with your words.

“Dude, it's like eight-thirty in the morning,” she reminds you, “And you're going to spend your break time with… this?”

The tone is displeased as she looks at your ex high school sweetheart, who then just looks away. You just shake your head in embarrassment.

“Yelena, please, just… please,” you look nonsensically tired at the young blonde in uniform, “Not now.”

And Yelena looks like she wants to say something, but she stops before she does, because looking from you to Wanda, two restless spirits, two broken bodies, she understands. Something about her understands, even if she doesn't like what she understands. And she shakes her head, following your figure that goes around the counter after untying your apron and, shadowing Wanda closely, just leaves the store behind you.

The bell jingles up from the door.

ᗢ

Leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the cafeteria, a cigarette smoldering in its blazing tip, breathing in puffs of smoke, Wanda stares silently at her own feet—her faux-leather boots dark, tall, and worn. You, leaning against the damp wall opposite the one she leans in, watch her and look away every time she tries to engage her eyes with yours. It's like a game where whoever speaks first loses, and you and Wanda are just too competitive to let go.

You know there's no need to wonder why Wanda's sudden arrival has upset you so much, still a little remorseful for your explosive outburst in the university restroom as you are; but even as displeased as you claim to be to yourself, you also feel, in a way, happy and exultant, a comfortable lull warming the inside of your chest that you kind of really try to fight against, but it's a losing battle and you know it.

And, as engrossed in your own head as you are, you don't even notice the red specter that, like the devil himself, looks your way as if she might rip your soul out of your chest, the strawberry scent wafting through the alley with cigarettes that only Wanda Maximoff can squander.

With your hands tucked into the back pockets of your dark jeans, you just say nothing towards her.

“Do you... want a cigarette?”

Her voice catches your attention, but for a few seconds, you find yourself bereft of words that are capable of responding to it. When you lift your chin to look at her, though, both of your dark gazes are linked together in a single train of thought, Wanda too hesitant, you too uncertain.

She, with dark makeup, has the nicotine stick between the pulps of her profuse lips, and you watch her through the whole process that unfolds through her smoking the cigarette; you notice when her mouth is parted to receive the smoke, revealing flashes of white, opalescent teeth, and you also notice how a thin bed of glossy gloss ends up smearing the yellow filter, like a midnight kiss exchanged before imminent death.

Wanda blinks playfully at you, still waiting for an answer, her lepidopteran eyelashes fluttering in mascara, before leaning her head toward your gaze. Her sudden proximity shooting lightning bolts to your stomach, because now the alley seems so tight and her soft skin feels so touchable.

You stare at her for a few seconds, pupils dilated in a vortex of darkness, before shaking your head as you move your neck from side to side.

The thick smoke leaves Wanda's peach lips not long after you do. And then you remember doing it with her, cigarette after cigarette, between kisses and touches, the moans engulfed by dawn in the dark corners of Westview, where no prying eye could have realized that you loved Wanda Maximoff.

“No, thanks,” you raise your right hand hesitantly, “I stopped a while ago. I was starting to run out of breath to just walk up the stairs.”

You think she knows that you only started, years ago, because of her, in order to impress her, to be able to approach her the night you visited her house because of Pietro and, not knowing how to properly initiate a conversation with a pretty girl, you asked for a cigarette because you once saw her smoking behind the bleachers; she knows you never liked the taste and that you coughed more than you held the noxious smoke into your lungs and lied that you liked it, prompting an avid wave of laughter from her.

Then she shrugs, resolving to herself that she won't press the point. For a few minutes, present is the silence erected between you like a massive wall. Wanda puff on her cigarette, and after that, you sigh.

“You wouldn't order iced tea,” you say in a neutralized voice, “You've seen me in uniform before, in the hallway. You know I work there.”

And she kind of laughs, unsurprised, through thick cigarette smoke.

"Well, I do. But I really want an iced tea, just so you know,” there's an air of good humor in her speech, even as her icy eyes gaze at the floor between her boots.

The silence descends again for half a second, until it's pierced once more by you.

“I'm sorry, by the way,” is a semi-whisper that crosses the alley, “For the things I said to you in the bathroom that day. Or the things people are saying around about you. It's been a while since all that shit happened and it's not… it's not fair that you're being held accountable for this teenage bullshit. Breakups... breakups happen, I guess. You weren't obligated to stay with me.”

She looks at you, her eyes glowing the color of guilt-ridden jade.

“But I didn't have to break up with you in such a shitty way, also,” and then, a sigh comes in a cage of smoke, “I… I think I deserve some of your treatment. I'm the one who should apologize. It was stupid of me, it wasn’t… it wasn't right what I did to you, Y/N.”

You compress your lips into a line because you know it's true, but you don't want to start a new intrigue right after finishing another one.

“Well, you could have done it any number of ways that would have been better, in fact,” you shrug, “But we were seventeen, Wanda. I was an idiot, you were an idiot. And I understand it was hard for you, you know… with Erik, and stuff.”

The mention of her father's name seems to make her shift uncomfortably in her clothes, the dark jacket that covers the short dress of reddish fabric seeming abruptly cramped and exposed as she seems to shrink in on herself, lifting the walls that have kept you away. And then she smokes, closing her eyes, like she used to when he made her cry.

You see the smoke coming in and out of her pearly mouth, and you feel kind of nostalgic to see her like this, so vulnerable and transparent, feeling everything but saying nothing.

“Yeah, it was really hard,” there's an eerie tone that creeps into her voice, the moss green of her gaze seeming to carry a baleful hue, “But it wasn't fair that I just threw all that shit at your back every time that I was sad. But… that's in the past, right? It's no longer a problem I have to deal with, let alone you."

And she doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, so you don't bring it up again. A car passes on the street and a dog barks at a bicycle rider. When the cigarette she smokes finally runs out, she stubs out the butt against the brick wall and lets a limp sigh escape her nose.

“I think I'll go home now… I don't want to take your break time anymore,” and she smiles, albeit minimally, “Your tired face on me is starting to make me feel guilty.”

“Does that mean you're going to stop listening to Deftones all night long? Because that’s kinda depressing,” the air of laughter doesn't escape you, and she shyly lets the smile grow on the contour of her lips.

“Well… at first it wasn't on purpose, but then I just kind of kept doing it to get your attention,” she scrunches with the skin of her nose, “On second thought, it wasn't my best idea. Sorry about that. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Fine,” you smile small, even if that still won't make your morning tiredness go away entirely, “I'll charge you more for your iced tea and then we'll call it even, Maximoff.”

“Are you still going to get me an iced tea?” Wanda looks in your direction and, a little awkwardly, you nod.

“You want one, don't you?” you look at her, “Still like black tea with lemonade?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

ᗢ

The taut muscular tension radiating from the top of your spine fades along with the heavy bags of skin under your eyes, and the days gone by become bearable, even pleasant, as the weeks that follow as a result of the conversation and the apologies exchanged between you and Wanda.

In part, of course, you suppose your light mood is related to the fact that there is no longer a sound of drums and guitars that seems to want to breach your bedroom wall, once sleep is invited back to inhabit your bedding, cradling you in a necessary embrace that is only undone again when Loki bites your foot because he's hungry in the middle of the night. As if the recurring spark igniting within your filled chest could even be overlooked, anyway.

You then have the luxury of unconcernedly greeting Wanda with an exchange of affable smiles for the expected times you bump into each other in the hallway of the apartment complex you live in or the campus of the university where you both study, and now and then she goes to the coffeeshop where you work during her free time in the afternoons, carrying with her some excuse to buy an iced black tea with lemonade to sip along a classic book you know she likes to read.

“Hey sucker, you're drooling. Stop looking before I report you for public nuisance.”

Yelena mutters beside you as you find yourself staring at the girl in the black miniskirt sitting so charmingly at the table in front of the cashier, who then looks at you in a splash of emerald-green irises over the top of the hardcover book, allowing herself to hide a slight smile behind the full pages.

The skin on your cheeks and the tips of your ears glows in deep pinks when you tell your co-worker to “shut the fuck up”, because you just know there's no way to look away from Wanda's pale, exposed thighs that are draped over each other down the table – her kneecaps slightly turned toward you, almost as if purposefully put in that position just for you to look at.

One night when you came in from yet another extra shift at work, Wanda was having a hard time getting the key in her door while she had bags slung all over her forearm extensions, and you immediately helped her carry the groceries into her house, being then rewarded with a can of cherry Coke (her preferred drink), and a small peck ghosted on your left cheek that felt like an electrical charge against your epidermis, stirring something up inside you.

You exchanged your phone numbers later when you asked her to feed Loki for another extra shift and gave her your spare apartment key to do so.

Yelena, of course, made fun of you for grinning so kindheartedly when the notification came in for a photo of Wanda holding Loki against her lap like a grumpy little baby, but you just didn't bother to care about your best friend's continuous teasing that went on until late of the night. The following afternoon, Wanda sat with her tray on the table with you, the Belova girl and Kate during your lunch period at the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah, Y/N was part of the debate club when we were in high school,” she says with her cheek resting on her open right palm, prompting a good-natured eye roll on your part, “It was cute.”

“I bet it was, indeed,” Yelena replies, in a voice filled with hints of mockery, her mouth full of chewed apple, “So cute, little Y/N!”

“Dude, just shut up,” you grumble awkwardly from behind your glass of orange juice.

“I bet you guys were a really cute couple though,” but when Kate says that, drinking from the straw of her grape juice box, the atmosphere around the table is a little weird.

You and Wanda look at each other, and it even amazes you when you see that she can't help but express a reserved smile that goes far back, back to her adolescence.

The succeeding weekend, when Pietro came to the big city to visit his sister, he didn't accept less than a drunken company in your presence, which, according to him, would bring back the flame of the good old days; and it was late into the night, when the young boy in the bluish blouse (the brown roots of his hair sampled in the strain of dyed gray locks, cut short) pointed an accusing drunken left finger that trekked from you to Wanda and from Wanda to you.

“You know, it's a shame you two never dated back in high school,” he grumbles, before tucking the neck of his beer bottle between his parched lips, “I always thought you guys were, like, super alike. And Wanda kept saying she thought you were super hot, Y/N, seriously, it was super annoying!”

There's an incredulous grunt on the part of the twin girl with the creased brow and gauchely twisted mouth, who's sitting opposite her brother's, as she spits the cigarette smoke out of her nostrils instead of down to her lungs, tapping the ashes into a hard ruby-color metal ashtray placed in the center of the coffee table in front of you, amidst a heap of several empty beer bottles and leftover bread, hamburger and fries, the junk food now all cold and withered.

“Shut up, Pietro!”

Her voice is loud as the shyness that rises red across her pale cheeks, making her look younger and more innocent behind the dark makeup and lank hair. And you, sitting like a physical barrier founded between the pair of siblings, just take a sip of your own cold beer, sinking your body a little deeper into the dark linen sofa that smells like Wanda.

“Come on, Wanda, you’re always nagging that you're gonna die alone or whatever that emo shit you keep saying, so date Y/N instead! She's a great catch!”

“Pietro, I swear to God that I actually will fucking murder you.”

She looks like she's going to explode. It's almost funny in a certain way, but you don't allow yourself to laugh, so you just drink more and more of your beer.

“Y/N,” he moves to you in a drawl and, in a silence that connects your mouth to the mouth of the bottle, your hooded gaze turns to the boy’s piercing blue eyes, “Date Wanda. C’mon, date her! I know your type, I know you have a taste for edgy girls–”

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up!” thunders the younger sister, who is promptly snubbed by the older brother.

“Don't act like it's not true, Wanda! Back home it was always “oh, but Y/N is so pretty”, “Y/N is so cool”, “Y/N's sneakers are stylish”, “Y/N eyes are so–”

But before Pietro can continue in a monologue about his sister and how much she always noticed you, his speech is interrupted by a pillow of reddish fabric that flies close to the tip of your nose only to then crash into his forehead, causing him to spill beer all over his shorts.

But it's a few days later, maybe another weekend or the start of another Monday, that Wanda's wide television, which flashed on her screen an old black-and-white American sitcom that you know is to her taste (who appreciates classic literature and old series, nostalgic for a time when she never lived, something she says came from her mother) is the only thing that clutters the apartment like some source of light or sound, which meet the two of you, both of you snuggled up on her dark beer-stained couch.

You don't have anything to say to each other, but even so, the atmosphere is comfortable and domestic because Wanda, with a sudden abundance of coziness surging into her bubbling core, has her head exhaling the scents of freshly washed hair reclining on your shoulder, your arm in outline of her body pulling her close to your right side, chuckling along with her in innocent humor when some goofy character trips over a piece of furniture or a banana peel.

On the coffee table are a couple of cans of Cherry Coke and an empty red ashtray. You don't know when you two ended up like this, but there's no complaint on your part, and certainly not hers either.

When an alacrity chuckle escapes through the parted crack of her lips, her scalp approaches the underside of your nose and you feel the sweet aroma of strawberry shampoo, which is enveloped in a full-bodied cigarette smell that causes a wave of nostalgic clamor disperses through your bloodstream.

And she knows you like it, because her fingers curl against the hem of the blouse you're wearing on your hunched body on the couch, nails tinted in a sober black nail polish deferring a continuous, circular caress against your lower belly, close to your belly button, dangerously close to the zip of your pants.

“Y/N,” she calls out to you, in a low voice that comes with a background of laughter from an old-time television audience, “Did you really love me back then?”

You look at Wanda, whose head has slipped to fall to your chest, in the warm embrace in which you have captured her. She looks up, now bare of her makeup, in a modest shade of green that shines in the black-and-white lighting that radiates from the television. And in that bonded midair, with the sting of her gaze burning into your irises, you move your chin up and down, never dissolving the bond that you've built.

“Yes,” is a sigh, “Yes, there was a time when… when I loved you. When I really loved you.”

You say, as if you still don't love her. As if you wouldn't be able to break your own bones only to have her there again, lying in the comfort of your arms that salute so much for the outline of the warmth of her body glistening the red color against your bristling chest.

Wanda, for her part, stops with the deferred caress against your lower stomach, shifting her watchful gaze toward the glowing television screen.

“I loved you too, you know,” her body moves closer to yours, “I really loved you back then.”

"Then… why?" your speech can't help but emulate the reactionary question, which comes like thunder, hitting the back of your throat, "If you loved me, then why...?"

Her muscles, even beneath the rock band shirt she wears and the black miniskirt that adorns her hips, strain against you. She knows it's about the prom night, about the abandonment. Your tone isn't furious, but rather, just infested with a genuine curiosity that turns out to have a background in faded hurt.

“Those people,” she mutters between ragged breaths, “The rumors… he would have known. Erik, he… he would have known.”

“We were going to get out of that town, Wanda,” your voice is low against the top of her ear, “I had nothing else to worry about. I didn't care if any of those bastards were going to judge us—”

“It's not about the judgment, Y/N,” she interrupts you, her voice a whisper, after an empty, unfunny chuckle, “Fuck, I couldn't care less if someone was going to judge us. It's not like no one ever judged me for the trouble I got myself into or the shit I did back then, anyways."

And yes, she has a point. If there was anyone at Westview High who would be regarded as the black sheep, a hopeless cause, it would indeed be a young Wanda Maximoff. And then, your frown creases across your forehead. You don't know where she's going with this information that is nothing short of new to you, but you are willing to listen.

“It's just… I told Erik about you. Well, about you and me. On prom day,” your stomach drops as your grip increases the deferred pressure on her left bicep, through the cotton of her shirt, “And then that idiot hit me.”

Her laughter is not matched by yours. A sudden fury that takes over your bones makes you want to punch Erike Lehnsherr in his damn jaw. Wanda has always been the keeper of a sour humor, drinking from sources of cynicism, but this time you weren't able to escort her into a bittersweet joke.

“And I found out that stupid Pietro opened his big mouth and talked about your acceptance letter from NYU,” your gaze falls to the top of her dark-haired head, “And it turns out he had an influential acquaintance inside there. Do you know Professor Charles Xavier?”

“The bald guy who’s always wearing that ugly suit?” you ask, and Wanda nods, between another chuckle. The barely perceptible flicker falling over it indicates an onset of suppressed crying you've seen before.

“Erik, he,” she sniffles, “He said he was going to end your life. And I always knew, I– you wanted so badly to get out of that town, Y/N. You spent that last year studying so hard, you worked so hard for that damn letter… I couldn't let him get away with it, with everything you've worked so hard to achieve. It was your dream, I couldn't, I—”

She gasps against your shirt, in a greedy wave of painful sobs that feel like they want to shatter the bones in her shoulders. And you hold her when she cries, when she breaks down into tears that seem incessant, just like you did before, in your bed at night or in the cold of dawn inside your archaic old car given to you by your father. Even if you also wanted to burst into a painful cry. Even if you want to apologize for all the harm you've caused her in retaliation produced by the bastard who fathered her.

And you see her as you saw her before; just a broken girl in the world, the daughter of someone who didn't deserve to have her in his life.

“I–I just miss my mom so much,” she cries against your chest, sounding so young, so innocent, and so shattered.

You hold her until she sheds all her tears, when the crying subsides, and she begins to wheeze loudly in weary sleep against your chest. It's only then that you allow yourself to cry silently against her hair which, even after so many cigarettes smoked, still manages to smell so good. And you cry for what you did and what you didn't do either.

The bright sun of the pale of the next dawn comes to shine in the middle of the celestial field, somewhat immodic during that particular warm day, in the middle of a sultry and sunny climate.

The wide-open window causes golden slivers of sunlight to warm the top of your cheek, and when your brain finally wakes up, blinking the sleep out of your eyelashes, you feel along with the morning a look burning on your face. And when your eyelids open, it's to reveal Wanda's slightly puffy face in front of you; her eyes half red and puffy from the crying that had put her to sleep, her chin balanced on your chest.

She's lying on top of you, her legs tucked between yours.

“You woke up,” she whispers, like a little child. You smile, still lethargic from the recent sleep in your system.

“I woke up, indeed.”

“Are you okay?” Her tone is curious, full of meaning. A gust of warm air blows between your nostrils, close to her nose that almost touches yours.

"I am. Yes, I am. Are you? What time is it?”

“Early. And yes, I am,” and then, her gaze drops to the line of your lips, “I'm sorry, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Something burns inside you.

“I really want to kiss you now too, Wanda.”

 And then Wanda dives toward you, grabbing the sides of your face between her warm hands. And you then reach forward and take her, pressing the commission of your lips against the contoured sleepy-cherry-flavored mouth that could belong to none other than the girl who always had your heart, who moved her body hers against yours. You just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, comfortable in your grip.

A slow kiss, half snooty and sloppy, dissolves, but you hold the air inside your lungs and search for more of her, the red inside her mouth, armed with a soft red nostalgic familiarity contouring your bodies through your lips, being eagerly reciprocated by an affectionate Wanda. Your lips were moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictated you not so reckless actions like a rehearsed act.

The fervent kiss becomes a pacified kiss, and the pacified kiss becomes little kisses that soon fade into serene peace. You feel a forehead press against yours.

Soon, a sly pink tongue slips back into your mouth in search of what is hers, expert and needy. And then, a robust and powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the curve of your jaw, asks you to open your eyes – and Wanda stands before you like a creature out of a dream, Wanda usurps your senses, Wanda pulses inside your veins and on your tongue.

“You're perfect, Wanda,” you whisper hot against the pulp of her swollen lips, “You're just perfect.”

“I love you,” she says in return, and hot tears again adorn her eyeballs, “I fucking love you, Y/N.”

You want to explode, explode in love. Your forehead presses against hers, and she caresses the cheek of her thumb against the top of her cheekbone.

“I love you too Wanda,” you smile, “I love you too.”

She is no longer your noisy neighbor after this.

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x you #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #yelena belova #yelena black widow #agnes wandavision #agatha harkness #natasha romanoff #black widow

[the-doomed-witch]

✦ The Sky Is Where I Fell (For You)

Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader | Flight Attendants AU

Summary: When you and a former fellow trainee attend a flight together, but a really attractive blonde wishes to dally with you, feelings unravel. (Read Warnings)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. MINORS + MEN DNI. smut, angst, jealousy, a bit of toxicity, brief Carol Danvers x Reader, Carol is a bit of an asshole here i’m sorry, top!reader & bottom!wanda, oral (wanda receiving), fingering (wanda receiving), semi-public, sex on an airplane lmao, finger sucking, daddy kink, praise kink, use of pet names, cunt slapping (wanda receiving), multiple orgasms, orgasm control

Author’s Note: those are a lot of warnings compared to any of my works 😭 you can guess that it’s just smut because i really would love to fuck flight attendant!wanda she’s such a little baby🥺 please don’t judge this harshly it’s my first time writing a lot of smut in one fic (as if it’s a lot) besides, i’m sorry for whatever character carol has you’ll kinda have to bear that i love carol danvers 😩 to the two dots anon, i hope you like this <3

Masterlist

YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED TO REPOST OR COPY MY WORK.

— ✦ —

The plane reached the runway, and it was time for you and Wanda to take your seats at the cabin crew seats. She sits down next to you and you give her a smile. You were familiar with her back from your training days, but nothing more.

It was common for you though, to attend a flight with a person you barely knew, so you were quite thankful for knowing her name rather than asking her last minute.

You fasten your seatbelts and breathe deeply before the airplane starts the take-off on the runway. The flight was supposed to be 9 hours long, and you felt like you were already exhausted. It meant multiple rounds around the cabin and constant checking around here and there. There were some more crew members resting in the crew rest apartment above you, who would cover the latter shift, so it was a relief.

The plane started running, then almost glided on the land, and no sooner than that, you departed from the grounds of the city you may never even come back to. The moment the land was not in touch with the wheels of the plane, you felt a wave gulfing you. Past went the tall buildings, and past went the cotton-like clouds.

Upon reaching the peak of the horizon, you take a deep breath. A substantial part of your work gets cut off the moment a take-off is successful. It means you can breathe for a few minutes, despite the change in altitude.

“Y/N, if I’m not wrong?” Wanda asks you, still smiling at you. You nod in reply, not really sure what else could have been said. “I think we know each other? Remember the Carter Airline Academy? A brunette girl, kinda shy, oh and I have a twin brother as well?” Her hair was gorgeously reddish ginger now. Maybe that’s why she preferred to indicate her former hair colour.

“Oh yes, Wanda! I remember you, we never interacted much but I know you.” You pretend to have just recognised her. But she looks so happy about it, it’s the least one could do for her. Her contented smile is so precious and contagious, that you cannot help but beam right back at her. “Well, now is the time if you wanna “interact much” you know. I don’t wanna get bored today.”

“Neither do I.”

— ✦ —

On the first round around the cabin, while serving the pre-booked meals, you happened to make an acquaintance. You and Wanda had been giving out the meals and drinks starting from the very first row, but as you proceeded forward, some of the overhead storage cabins started loosening. You asked Wanda to take the snack cart back to its place, to avoid a fuss.

Walking down the aisle, you closed and locked overhead cabins. And when your head was tilted to a side, a powerful looking woman with blonde hair stood up and shut the one behind you, before you could get hurt. You immediately turn around to see a muscular arm holding down the shutter. Goddamn.

“Th-Thank you ma’am,” you managed to say to her, “Is there anything I can do in return?”

She gives you a smile, and says, “First of all, Carol, please. And second of all, nothing. You’re an absolute cutie.” The last sentence was whispered in a low tone, then she winked at you. You were losing your mind standing next to her, she was superhumanly attractive. So you just blush and walk away back to Wanda to continue with your work.

“Carol Danvers” you mumble, looking at the list of passengers, and went back to giving out the meals.

While giving out the rest of the usual meals, you meet Carol once again. As she paid for her meal, she handed out a card with her phone number on it. You felt a bit of awkwardness with the passengers sitting next to her watching the two of you. However, you walk away twinking back to her. There was a high chance you were probably never going to call Carol, but you appreciated her very much. Plus, she was quite charismatic.

You enter the compartment where you and Wanda sat, and shut the door behind you. “How have you been ever since… you know, the academy?” you try initiating conversation with Wanda. She stares at you with a blank face, and you are confused. “Fine, I guess.”

You didn’t allow her bland response to ruin your mood. You just got hit on by a really pretty woman and you were here, trying to hit on the one beside you. You take out the card from your pocket and stare at it, while Wanda watches you.

“Actually, you know what Y/N? Why don’t you just go and fuck her? Seems like you have a lot of fucking to do. Hmm?” She asks you as her face tilted towards you, her warm breath on your cold cheeks.

Not going to lie, you did consider hooking up with Carol because you have been really needy all morning. But the way Wanda phrased it was very rude, so your expression faltered. “So… you’re jealous? Well uh, I don’t know how to phrase this well but I’m sure Wanda there are plenty of people who wanna fuck you. I can guarantee you, actually.”

“That is so fucking not what I meant.”

“Well what you’re thinking isn’t what I meant either.” You place a hand on her shoulder and get up, walking away towards the passengers’ compartment, letting your hand slowly slip away as you walk. You could sense Wanda’s reddened face from the back of your head. You go around asking every passenger if they required something.

You reach Carol and ask her, “Do you need anything, ma’am?” She gives you a wide smirk, “Nothing that I can’t think of.” She knew her game all too well, and she was being a fucking champion at it. But you were a bit more enticed by the redhead you left behind to contemplate.

Upon re-entering the cabin crew compartment, you saw Wanda waiting patiently for you. You sit down on the seat opposite to her, so that you would be able to notice her expressions. She nudged you to shut the door behind you.

The very second you two were alone, Wanda practically dived at you; connecting your lips with hers, moving along with you rhythmically. When you both begin gasping for air, you start marking Wanda’s neck gently, just enough to make her feel aroused, and to not affect her professional attire. Not that her shirt wasn’t already ruined, and her skirt on the verge of being so.

Her hands reach your shirt, and she proceeds to unbutton it, but you hold her hands in place. “You need to be a good girl and ask me first, baby. Or I won’t be touching you. You understand what I’m saying?”

She places her hands on your cheeks, each on one side, and says, “Yes daddy, I’ll be a good girl for you. Can I take off your shirt?” You groan at the honorific, unable to resist your need to give her what she wants right away.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that later. Let me get a taste of your pretty pussy first.” You guide her on the seat beside you, and spread her legs wide open. Her shirt rumples upwards and you slip both your hands under her skirt to pull down her panties. Wanda bucks up her hips, the way you were slow with your hands, tracing down her thighs with gentle fingers, leaving her longing for more. When you’re done talking them off her, you see her literally dripping and glistening.

“Does daddy really make her good girl so wet?” Wanda’s breathing intensifies. Your waft warmly, light against her core, that makes her need more and more of you.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm baby?” You hum against her again, making her almost go feral right there.

“My stockings… I have only one pair of them… I can’t ruin them today, please?”

“I got you baby. Daddy’s not gonna leave a drop at all anyways.” You gently kiss her cunt and then lick up a stripe. Wanda bucks up her hips again, looking for the friction she was aching for. Again, you lick up her slit slowly, teasingly.

“Da-daddy please.” Wanda says clutching your hair with desperation. “I promise you I will be a- Ah!” You start eating her out, with a pace she could barely keep up with. Wanda’s chest was heaving as she panted, her legs slowly wrapping themselves around you, as you sat on the floor.

Eventually, you stimulate her clit, making her moan too loud. You were glad that the door was soundproof and whatever sound that escaped wouldn’t be heard by people travelling kilometres above the ground. She was struggling to speak, but Wanda managed to say, “Daddy, I’m going to come. Can I, please?”

On your lack of response, she pulled your head in closer into her. You were too busy absolutely devouring Wanda. Not many moments later, she starts coming, and you keep up your promise by licking it all up. Her stockings were perfectly fine.

Gently, you stand on your knees and pull her face down in a deepened kiss, giving her a taste of her sweetness. She moaned against your lips and pulled you in impossibly closer. You both pulled away only when air became a necessity, but stayed in your little proximity. You help her get cleaned up and make her look presentable again. Her entire makeup was messed up because of the kissing and sweating.

The moment was tender, with her looking directly in your eyes as you held her chin and applied her lipstick. Her face was perilously close to yours. “Daddy, may I?” she asks for your consent, before connecting your lips again, but less intensely this time. She laughs and says, “Now I fixed your lipstick too.”

“I think we should mess it up quite often.”

“We were the ones who messed it up in the first place.”

“I know exactly what I said.”

Suddenly, you get the signal for another round of water and drinks around the passengers’ compartment and you have to go out reluctantly. “Y/N, do I look okay?”

“Well in my humble opinion, mademoiselle, you are fucking slaying.”

She burst out laughing at your little humour but didn’t realise you meant it. “Stop joking, and tell me if I look presentable enough or not!”

“Yeah, yeah you do Wanda.”

— ✦ —

Outside, you are met with Carol once again. You decided you’d better not hurt Wanda’s feelings this time, even though you didn’t know what terms you both were on. Carol’s seat was on the aisle side, so it was quite easy for her to flirt with you.

She conveniently dropped her phone the moment you passed next to her. “I’ll get it for you, ma’am.” you said, but she held you back, and bent down to her side, lightly brushing your thighs while doing so. Her touch gave you goosebumps all over the place, but you kept moving forward, knowing completely well that Wanda had been staring at the interaction with rage.

Back inside your compartment, Wanda seemed pissed off. “What are you even being so furious about? I am not even a guilty party here!” You plead, not knowing what else you could say.

She parted her lips slightly, but chose not to say whatever she had at the tip of her tongue. “Actually, let’s just go to the crew rest compartment. It’s time to switch shifts anyways.”

Before you two could leave, you heard a knock on the door between the compartments. You opened it to see Carol standing there, leaning on one of her arms. “Do you need something, ma’am?” Wanda asks on your behalf, because you seemed too troubled yourself. “Maybe just a moment with your colleague?” she replies, eyes still locked on you.

You add on to the conversation, “I’m afraid the passengers are not permitted in here, only the crew members.” But Carol pulls out something from her pocket; a pilot licence, to your surprise. “Am I still allowed?”

Placing her licence back in its place, she steps towards you. You side-eye Wanda as a signal to not leave you alone, but she walked right away. “Hey, I know you have been returning all my advances, so why are you denying it?” Her hands land on your waist, pushing you against the closed door. “Carol… Please don’t.”

“I love it when you say my name. Say it again, will you?”

“What will it take for you to leave me alone?” You throw her hands off you in rage. “Just a kiss, please?”

“I can’t do that I’m- Look, you just can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, I am serious.”

“I cannot believe I am doing this. Just don’t expect anything more from me, okay?” You feel guilty but you lean forward to give a small peck on the corner of her lips. You don’t allow her time to say anything, and motion for her to leave. Wanda was rightfully pissed off when you told her what happened, but you didn’t leave out anything, because you wanted her to trust you.

“You cannot be for real Y/N! You really consented to kissing her? That’s really not justified, especially when we just- Gosh.”

“Wanda, she could’ve done worse to me! It was forced consent! I didn’t know how else I could escape, I know what I did was wrong but I didn’t even have a choice. Besides, I don’t even know if you like me or we just fucked for a while.”

“So you really can’t see what I’ve been trying to say? Did you even pay attention to me at all or just had sex with the first woman you could find? Fuck off, Y/N.”

— ✦ —

The other two flight attendants who would be covering the second shift were Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill. You had met Maria before, but only ever heard of the former. Wanda didn’t wait for you to gather your things and walked right away, leaving you alone. She was being way too unreasonable for someone who hasn’t even declared who you are to her. She didn’t understand that you needed a verbal confirmation, not the little signals.

Entering the compartment, you were met with the most outrageous sight — Wanda was quite a bit too comfortable with some other redhead who you assumed to be Natasha. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding her chin. Wanda’s hands were in Natasha’s hair, pulling her closer and closer towards her. Just the moment you clear your throat to signify your presence, they both turn their heads to see you and Wanda tells Natasha, “And that is Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, meet Natasha Romanoff.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Natasha says courteously. You return her politeness and then add, “I presume you two already know each other?”

Wanda answers the question with an air of smugness, “Kinda well enough.” You take your stuff with you to go and rest in your respective area. Wanda takes the one right across you. Though there is a curtain segregating the areas, you felt like she was watching you through the opaqueness.

“Y/N, can we talk?” She approaches you, funnily enough.

“Oh I’m surprised to hear that. How about, let’s say, no?”

“I want to clear this out. I don’t want to play this game of jealousy with you. I’m sorry, I guess I was a little affected, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know Wanda. Do you want this to last for a while or just a one time thing? I need an answer.”

“Definitely not a one time thing. Can this be… a little bit more? I think I’ve had a liking for you ever since the academy.” She begins to speak timidly, just like she was during the training years. “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

You give her space to lay down next to you, and gradually begin hovering over her. “For that, you need to let daddy punish you for what you did. If you’ll be a good girl this time, daddy will reward her princess.” Your fingers trace her facial features, till you put two of them in her mouth, gesturing to her to suck on them. Shoving them deep down her throat, you praise her by saying, “What a perfect baby you are. But you have been very slutty today. Daddy needs to take care of that, doesn’t she?” You shove your fingers down deeper, and pull them out immediately. A strand of her saliva dangling over them.

You unbutton her skirt, and take off her stockings, being careful to keep them safely folded in the corner. Although Wanda knew you were being mindful of her wishes, she wanted to feel you inside of her desperately.

Her panties were really damp, and she couldn’t resist but rub her thighs against each other. The moment you saw her doing so, you held her legs apart. “Uh huh, no baby. What did I tell you about being good?”

“But daddy, please. Your princess needs you.”

“Are you going to be good and be patient or are you going to keep arguing and not get touched at all?” Her silence gave you a perfect response. You bend down to kiss her and completely captivate her under you.

Agonisingly, you pull down her panties, till her bottom was completely bare and there for you to wreck. The next moment, her heated, dripping cunt was met with a stinging slap. Wanda lets out a wail and her posture stiffens. “Sorry princess, but daddy needs to make sure you’re a whore for her and her only.” You add with pretentious innocence, followed by another slap.

Almost tearfully, Wanda requests you, “Daddy I swear I will behave, please touch me. I’m your whore, and yours only.” Her response was sufficiently satisfactory for you.

So you put in two of your digits in her heat, your shirt already a mess. Wanda clutches her hands tight on the bedsheet as you fuck her intensely, hitting all the deep spots inside of her.

She bites her bottom lip to avoid screaming, but you tell her, “I wanna hear you baby, tell everybody how you’re a slut for daddy.” Little by little, the volume of her moans increased. She was panting heavily, her diaphragm contracting and expanding hastily. And when the walls of her cunt were clenching around your fingers, you knew she was very close to her orgasm.

“Daddy pl-please, can I come?” Her ginger hair was spread beautifully on the bed, and a few strands on her face. You could almost see the brunette Wanda you had once known — the one you often encountered during breaks, the one your heart had remembered for so long, the one right below you.

“Hold back princess, you look so beautiful like this. Come when daddy asks you to. You don’t know for how long I’ve been dying to get you under me like this.” Her breathing is laboured, even more than before. You begin sucking on her neck, biting harshly to leave marks all over. After a few moments, you realise she wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer, so you ask her to make a mess over your fingers.

You help Wanda ride through her climax, little beads of sweat running down her body and yours. She looked stunning, with her little smile and eye contact with you. You withdraw your fingers and put them in her mouth again. “Suck ‘em clean, princess.” The feeling of her tongue around your fingers was incredibly erotic, you looked at her fondly.

“You’ve been such a good girl for daddy. You think you can give her another one, baby?” The question left Wanda struck. She hadn’t imagined you’d not let the ego consume you, considering her elaborate past with emotionally unavailable, egoistic partners. She looked at you with no calculable expressions. “Wanda, are you okay? Can you hear me? Do you need water?” you try snapping her back to reality, suddenly worried if it was all too much for her.

Her eyelashes flutter and she groans, arching her back. She whispers, “Make me your fucktoy daddy.” The immediate wetness pooling in your underwear was unmatched.

After multiple rounds of orgasms, she was almost fatigued, ready to be asleep. With her eyelids drooling, she says, “Can I please return the favour, daddy?” You smile at her innocence. “It’s okay baby, you are tired right now and need to rest. Besides, you did so well. I’ll use my strap on you as soon as we reach inside the airport and get our luggage, okay? You want daddy’s cock do you not?” She hums in response, “Mhmm.” Teasingly, you softly press her extremely sensitive clit with your thumb, making her moan and twitch completely. You giggle at her and kiss her forehead. “You’re so fucking beautiful, princess.”

You relax your back as you lay down next to her. Right when you were about to doze off, Wanda tilts towards you and says, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yes Wanda?”

“I’m sorry for everything that happened earlier. I guess I have been in many relationships that have put these scars on me. But I promise I’ll work on my trust and jealousy issues.” Her hands comb through your hair, softly massaging your head. “I’m sorry too, Wanda. I’m glad that you’re trying to heal yourself and work on everything. But mostly, thank you for choosing to open up to me.”

She slips a hand inside your shirt, cups your breast, and both of you fell asleep for the rest of the flight.

— ✦ —

[Extra Scene]

Maria returns to the crew resting compartment to collect a sheet of paper she had forgotten about, followed by Natasha behind her. Natasha holds her by the waist and begins planting soft kisses on her neck, and under the earlobes. Maria almost tumbled into the area across the passage, where Wanda was supposed to rest.

But then they both notice Wanda’s skirt thrown onto the passage, and your bare feet peeping out the curtain. It was evident that you and Wanda were sleeping together.

“Guess we’re all simply gay.” Maria shrugs before making out with the Russian again.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #mcu wanda #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff smut

[rayshippouuchiha]

feel free to ignore this but it truly p*** me off when people who are "rightfully" calling out wanda maximoff only cite her actions in WandaVision and beyond as if she hasn't been evil - acknowledged or not - for the ENTIRE TIME SHE'S BEEN A PART OF THE MCU!! like DUDE! are we FOGETTING about when she set the HULK on CIVILIANS or that she VOLUNTEERED for f***ing HYDRA!!! to say NOTHING of everything ELSE she's done in either AOU or CW. rant over

Oh I'll live and die right there beside you on the hill that Wanda was bad the entire goddamn time and it shouldn't have taken WandaVision for more people to start picking up on that

#RayRambles #MCU #anti wanda maximoff

[missvelvetsstuff]

With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies

Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female and above average height.

****Previous chapter

At the compound they were still trying to find where Nat and Rainbow had disappeared to when Tony hollered "YES! I've got it. I know how to find her."*****

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst, violence

Bucky bolted to Tony's side to see what he had found and stared at him expectantly "Well?"

Tony turned to see him right in Tony's face "A little space, Barnes."

Bucky scoffed and backed up "Fine"

Tony looked at Bucky and Sam before glaring at Steve "Well, obviously I had FRIDAY searching for Y/N and Nat but no luck so far. Then it hit me, she left with her sister Yelena so I found some video from her visit and Friday is searching for her now, too." He grinned, pleased with himself.

Bucky nodded "Yeah, that's not a bad idea" he sighed heavily "I hope it works."

After a few hours Friday alerted them "Mr Stark? I found her, Yelena Belova was just sighted in a Kroger in Cleveland, Ohio."

Tony grinned "Send the Iron Legion to detain Miss Belova"

"Yes, boss"

"WAIT!" Bucky shouted.

Tony looked over at him, brows raised in question.

Bucky shook his head "The Iron Legion isn't very stealth. If Nat even thinks we're on to her she might pack Rainbow up and bolt somewhere and..." He trailed off before Sam spoke up

"And what?"

Bucky was lost in thought for a moment not realizing that all eyes were on him "She was raised in Ohio, with Yelena. Before her training in the red room, to acclimate her to the states and work on her accent."

He looked up to see everyone staring "What if they're staying at their childhood home?"

Sam stared "Do you know where in Ohio? Maybe we can narrow it down. Like set up in the general area before picking up Yelena?"

Bucky shook his head "No, maybe. Fuck I don't remember exactly, just Ohio."

Tony nodded "Alright, fair point. How about we just send Vision ahead since he can fly and be practically invisible? He can pick up Yelena and find a discrete place for us to meet them."

Everyone sounded their agreement and after a kiss from Wanda, Vision was on his way.

Tony looked at the team, pointedly passing Steve over "Suit up kids, wheels up in 10."

Steve headed towards the quinjet hangar before Bucky stopped him "Not a chance, Rogers, you're waiting here."

Steve started to protest before Tony nodded "Yeah, Barnes is right you can wait here. I think the rest of us can handle Nat and her sister if she gets involved. So go take a nap or whatever and we'll see you later."

Steve bristled "No way I'm sitting this out, you need me. Y/N needs me." The last part was almost under his breath but Bucky heard.

Bucky took a few deep breaths to keep from hurting him "Y/N needs you? Like when you spent most of your relationship with her off fucking Nat? Like when you helped Nat coordinate this bullshit and would be doing god knows what to Y/N right fucking now if Nat hadn't betrayed you?"

His eyes burned into Steve as he fought to keep control "It's your goddamn fault that she's in Natasha hands and I think I speak for the team when I say we can't trust you. You're just as likely to betray us and try to sneak away with her as you are to help in any way.'

A chorus of agreement followed Bucky's words and Steve deflated. "Fine, I'll go on my own."

Tony shook his head "I don't think so, can't have you coming in with your own agenda."

Steve laughed "You can't hold me prisoner here, I'll-" he looked at Tonys armored hand and grabbed at the sting in his neck "What the-' he almost dropped to the floor but Bucky caught him and threw him over his shoulder then carried him to Steve's room, dropping him on the bed.

Once Bucky left Steve's room Tony spoke up "I knew those tranq darts would come in handy. Friday. Please keep the Captain locked in until we return."

"Yes boss."

As they boarded the quinjet 10 minutes later they heard from Vision "Miss Belova is with me and we will be waiting for you..." and rattled off the coordinates.

Tony grinned, finally something good "You heard the, uh man? Friday take us to his coordinates, fast as you can. Everyone strap in."

They landed in an empty field and when they opened the ramp Vision walked Yelena into the jet, and the ramp closed behind them.

Yelena looked at the team with disdain "What are you assholes doing here? We left the city like you asked so now what do you want? Wasn't it enough to kick her out of your so called family?"

Bucky tried to keep his voice calm "It would have been plenty if she hadn't decided to kidnap Y/N on her way out."

Yelena scoffed "Why would she do that? We have enough to do to find the rest of the widows, after Natalia gets some rest. That's why we stopped here for a few days. I would know if there was another person with us."

Clint shook his head "Are you sure? She couldn't have Y/N hidden away somewhere on the property? Maybe somewhere that she's spending time to "recuperate"? She lied to you about the whole drama so maybe she's still hiding something."

Yelena started to object before her eyes widened "No, she wouldn't I mean she couldn't but........She's been hiding in the basement. Said she had some kind of project to help find the missing widows. She was so distraught about leaving the Avengers that I thought I should give her some space."

She shook her head

"I should have known she was up to something, girl never knew how to let anything go."

Suddenly Yelena's phone rang "it's her"

she paused for a moment before answering

"What's up sestra? Oh sorry I didn't realize how late it was getting, I've just been chatting with some of the locals. No I'm fine, I'll be home in a few."

They set up a rough plan and the team waited 30 minutes for Yelena to get home and settle in before converging around the property to ensure Nat couldn't get past them.

Bucky and Clint took the lead through the front door, being the more stealthy members of the team. Sam followed right behind. Wanda and Bruce stayed further back to make sure Nat didn't escape. Vision went through the outer basement door, while Tony stayed behind to make sure she didn't try to sneak out that way. Wanda set up a field surrounding the property. Bruce just stood back hoping there wouldn't be a code green for the woman he had once loved. His feelings for her were gone but he didn't know what the other guy would do to her.

Yelena let the first two into the house and showed them the door to the basement.

Clint went first hoping that their friendship would be enough to distract her so the others could get to Rainbow.

When the door opened the slight creaking caught Nats attention

"What are you doing Yelena? I told you not to come down here, I still haven't quite been able to work this properly"

She was standing at a work bench next to a wall of fresh drywall with a door. She jumped as an arrow hit the wall, barely missing her face, then quickly turned to face him.

"Clint? Very funny. It's about fucking time you remembered who your real friend is. Go hang out with Yelena, I'll be up in a little bit."

Clint scoffed "Friends, right. You need to let her go, she never did anything to you."

Nat looked at him in shock before quickly pulling herself together "She who? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm working on a way to find-"

Clint interrupted. "I know she's here, Natasha. Please, for the sake of our friendship, let her go before this gets out of hand."

She smirked at him "You gonna try to take me down? Maybe if I was alone but I have Yelena on my side and you don't stand a chance."

Clint shook his head "No one is on your side except maybe Rogers and he's not here. You've gone off the rails and taken someone who doesn't deserve your ire." He paused, sad that his closest friend had come to this.

"Besides, I'm not alone and I don't want to hurt you. None of us do. Well maybe Barnes but you can stop this madness and let her go."

Nat snapped "Fuck you Barton that little bitch is leaving here one little piece at a time and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Bucky stepped out of the shadows

"How about me, Natalia? Anything I can do to stop you? I'm not Barton and don't have any reservations hurting you if that's what's needed."

Nat eyes grew wide with fear, knowing first hand what the soldier was capable of, before she quickly composed herself

"Aawww, the Soldat came to rescue his little princess but I'm not quite done with her yet."

Bucky bristled "You're done, Natalia. Done as an Avenger, as a SHIELD agent, as our family or friend, as a free woman. Let her go now before you're done living."

While Bucky and Clint kept Nat distracted, Vision found Y/N, bruised bloodied and half dead, and worked to release the binds keeping her in the chair. Once he had her freed he decided not to remove the knife still in her stomach so she didn't bleed out. When he went to carefully pick her up the chair fell over and made a loud noise.

Nat jumped at the noise and turned towards the door in the drywall "Dammit, you and your friends are ruining everything. Why do you even care so much about a stupid little girl?"

When she opened the door it slammed her into the wall, stunning her as Vision walked to the stairs and out of the house with Rainbow. Vision advised Bruce that he had her and was on his way, giving all the info he had on her condition.

Bucky was distracted for a moment when he saw the terrible shape she was in. He felt like his heart stopped as his eyes followed her up the stairs until they were out of view.

Then he turned to Nat, jaw clenched, face turning red, hands balling into fists and soft whirring from his vibranium arm. His chest ached and his breathing was heavy as he fought to keep the Winter Soldier at bay.

His voice was low and dangerous as he growled out "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now, Natalia."

Nat stuttered "But James muy lobuv, we can be together now. For real, in the open. I had to get her out of the way, she was dangerous. A silly child who could get us all killed. Please. Ple-"

Bucky grabbed her by the throat with his vibranium hand squeezing until she couldn't speak, could barely breathe. "Yeah, that wasn't it. You know, Steve told me we should let you live, have you sent to the raft but he is just as much of a snake as you are so I know he would try to find a way to get you out. Hell even Tony said I shouldn't kill you and maybe he's right but I don't know if I can live with the knowledge that you were out there somewhere, plotting against us. Against her. Maybe if we take you into custody you'll be tried and executed anyhow or locked up somewhere you can't escape but I just" he sighed "I just don't think I can live with that. Good bye, Natalia."

He quickly snapped her neck and let her body drop to the floor without a second thought, quickly following Visions path to the quinjet.

Clint looked at the remains of his old friend sadly before wiping a tear away and hurrying to the jet, softly apologizing to Yelena on his way past her.

Once the team was all in the jet on their way home, Bruce advised them of all Rainbows injuries before he contacted Helen Cho so she could prepare for their arrival.

Bucky sat by Rainbow on the med bed for the flight home, holding her hand and speaking words of love and encouragement softly as his tears fell onto her. She died twice in the air but Bruce was able to revive her. She was barely hanging on as they landed and Helen took over, barking out orders as they rushed to the med bay.

Bucky said a prayer to any gods, to anyone that would listen, that his Rainbow would be alright.

Chapter 11

@vicmc624

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader