#;;Wanda Anon [Westview]

[aparticularbandit]

Hi, I would like to request a fic where America Chavez was part of the Westview incident when it happens? I’m not sure how familiar you are with the comics, but maybe you could include Viv Vision in there too? https://www.marvel.com/characters/viv-vision

Thank you so much! I love your writing :)

~

ALRIGHT I HAVE POSTED THE FIRST PART.

It’s a prologue, so it’s not much, but it’s a start.  This one is, ah, possibly a bit bigger than what you might have expected?  But I know how it ends.  Among other things.  ;)

Sorry that Viv isn’t in the prologue, but I know where she’s going to come in.

I’m hoping for maybe nine more chapters.  MAYBE.  Or eight and then retitle the prologue and use one of those titles for an epilogue (which honestly, one of those titles might be for the - no, no, the epilogue’s a separate thing).

But like.  I should actually.  What happens in each of said chapters instead of just I want nine more chapters because really what I have is a cool idea for theme naming for the chapters but that doesn’t mean I can actually the story in nine chapters, you know?  I haven’t actually outlined it.  ><;;;;;

The smart thing would have been to either outline it or done the write the whole full thing and then title chapters and then post one chapter a week but I got so excited about something else that I want to connect that I just.

HERE IS THE PROLOGUE FRIEND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE RIDE.

#cherry anon #anonymous #bandit answers questions #musings #bandit writes fic #viv westview fic #don't mind me rambling up there #it runs on found family vibes mostly #it might be a /bit/ before viv shows up #but i know where she shows up! #you just might end up with agatha and america stuff before that #sorry if that is not your bag of tea #it'll make sense later trust me #had to put her with someone and didn't want her to be with anyone else in westview #and like i GUESS i could've put her with monica #but i write agatha she's gonna be with agatha because wanda's getting viv #eventually

[spideystark]

“Oh, um, I haven’t started cooking yet. I was waiting for your father to get home. She’s not joining us, though,” Wanda explained, going to the kitchen to get everything ready. “Will you please help me prepare?” Vision, Mr. Hart, and Mrs. Hart entered at that moment. After an embarrassing encounter, Wanda went into the kitchen, more than a little panicked.

Peter gave a quick but polite, somewhat awkward, hello to Mr and Mrs Hart and a genuine one to Vision before excusing himself into the kitchen to help Wanda with the cooking. He set the bag he still had in his hand by the back door and asked her. "What do you need help with?" He wasn't the best cook but wasn't the worst, he'd help the best he could.

#;;Wanda Anon [Westview]

[sytoran]

𝐒𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

howdy, thanks for dropping by :)

✦ this blog is intended for sapphics, men dni

✦ what i write: sub!marvel women x dom!reader

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𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

4k followers celebration

the christmas chronicles

kinktober 2023 masterlist

2k followers celebration

valentines' special 2023

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅

SERIES:

pretty in pink

Adopting a hybrid bunny girl becomes one of the best decisions you've ever made in your life. Despite the blurred lines that form in your relationship, you wouldn't trade anything in the world for your sweet angel that is Wanda Maximoff.

the excellence of misfortune

Moving into Westview to escape the demons that chase you, there you meet Wanda Maximoff, a married woman who's looking for the same kind of escapism. Where one seeks order and the other seeks thrill, maybe you can show each other a little neighbourly support, and perhaps, find the excellence of misfortune.

ONESHOTS:

spooky scary skeletons the one where you're ghostface and wanda maximoff is your next victim.

nsfw alphabet your sex life with your girlfriend, told through snapshots of the alphabet.

the pirate and the mermaid in the midst of a voyage, a notorious pirate stumbles upon a pretty little mermaid.

arabella as a writer, your love for wanda transcends the boundaries of words.

medicine after a particularly taxing work day, there's no better stress relief than your cute little bunny sleeping half-naked in your bed.

doctor's orders barbie!wanda hasn’t got a clue about how her newly-human body works. thankfully, you happen to be the best gynecologist in town.

babysitter duty | pt.2 the mom of the kids you babysit is extremely hot.

kick a ball, score a hot mom wanda's sons have soccer practice, while she spends some time with their young and ridiculously good-looking coach in the equipment closet.

extra credit the one where professor maximoff promises you extra credit if you make her squirt, and you're a fast learner.

taunt the several times wanda scrunches her nose at you.

god, you're insatiable a formal work party gone wrong when wanda's co-workers get a little too close to you.

giddyup in which you wake up to your girlfriend riding on your abs.

boudoir photography the finals assignment where your top student submits her nudes.

heat waves omegaverse - the one where an omega wanda in heat goes to the bar to find some relief, and meets the alpha bartender.

study break in which straight A student wanda maximoff studies with the school's jock and jerk, you.

rockin' around the christmas tree in which "rockin'" is a euphemism for sex.

'tis the season to be horny making gingerbread houses with your horny girlfriend.

last christmas | pt.2 the one where you reunite with your toxic ex on christmas.

i'm (c)reaming of a white christmas when they said 'white christmas', you thought it meant being covered in snow, certainly not...... this.

all i want for christmas is you (to fuck me] the only thing on wanda's wishlist is you.

slow hands | pt.2 college au where you had always thought wanda was out of your league, until that night at tony stark's party.

DRABBLES:

babygirl wanda

more babygirl wanda

babygirl model wanda

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅

SERIES:

home is where the heart is

In which your married life with Natasha Romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. With your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (And ultimately, very horny.)

my divine goddess

After saving a mystical cat from a deathly experience, you're hauled into the world of Gods and Goddesses with one wish to get whatever it is you desire. Turns out, all you crave is the Goddess of Lust, Natasha Romanoff. Steamy entanglements turn into love-filled confessions, but the two of you were star-crossed from the very start.

ONESHOTS:

mile high club on a plane ride to dubai for a romantic getaway, natasha takes matters into her own hands, and your cock into her own mouth. (oops?)

arsonist's lullabye natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player.

mechanic jacks and jacked mechanics natasha's car breaks down in the dead of the night, and an unbelievably sexy mechanic shows up to fix her right up.

let me fuck your tits? your wife thinks you've been acting a little off lately, but it comes down to the 'hard' truth that you just wanna fuck her tits.

i wanna be yours despite your countless pleads for natasha to stay away during the full moon, she decides to brave the beast... and gets a lot more than what she bargained for.

widow's web natasha's mission to retrieve a thumbdrive file by seducing a high-ranking executive goes a little too smoothly, and she doesn't notice you're not all you seem to be.

break the rules when visiting the strip club downtown with your co-workers, you catch the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.

obsession, possesion! your roomate's an innocent little thing, the prettiest girl on campus, whose boobs you're a little too obsessed with.

office hours | pt.2 natasha romanoff is your new secretary, and she's ready to help you with your every need.

DRABBLES:

natasha plays a prank

━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 fics

ONESHOTS:

if god forbid (Peggy Carter x Gn!Reader) you're eating your wife out under her office desk as she speaks to - or at least, attempts to speak to - her military soldiers.

the super soldier theory (Wandanat x Amab!Reader) being a supersoldier had its perks, like getting to fuck the black widow and scarlet witch on a mission.

DRABBLES:

subby!agatha

possesive wandanat

© 𝐒𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍 2024 ━ do not copy, edit or translate my works

#marvel women #marvel smut #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #gxg smut #wlw smut #women of marvel #wanda maximoff #my works #marvel #x reader #masterlist #marvel masterlist #wandanat x reader #kate bishop x reader #peggy carter x reader #sytoran's big list of things #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff smut #agatha harkness x reader #pretty in pink #goddess natasha #teom series #⋆⭒˚｡★ home is where the heart is

[wmarximoff]

Reader being Pietro’s bestfriend and Wanda having a crush on them but is too shy to say anything because she is popular and reader is apart of the unpopular dirtbags kind of group. The n reader confronts Wanda and it leads to Wanda’s first time. Pretty please with a cherry on top🥺🥺

freaks | w. maximoff

summary: high school isn't easy at all, especially for a kid as misfit as you. but just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a bomb is dropped in your lap; because Wanda Maximoff, the popular, perfect girl with the kindest heart of all, actually has a crush on you. and she just happens to be your best friend's twin sister.

warnings (18+): underage characters, smoking, secondary characters using illicit drugs (weed), cursing, first time, smut, oral sex (Wanda receiving), penetration (Wanda receiving).

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 12k

A/N: sorry for the delay anon but i'm lazy as heck kjsfkjfs

anyway, this was fun to write (and actually pretty cute too). it's practically a romcom, really. hope you enjoy it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The cushions of the narrow couch you were sitting on felt cozy and comfortable under your thighs clad inside the material of a beat-up denim. But perhaps it wasn't for the furniture itself, which, although distinctly well maintained by a taste of carefully carved work, in no way appeared to be an expensive or even onerous piece in its cheap springs and foam.

It turns out that ever since your presence became something made frequent inside the Maximoff residence, you had found between those walls an air of coziness and reception that, like a warm maternal hug, dissipated the tense weight that was usual to fall on the muscles of your shoulders and your back.

The house of the family of four (just a mother and her three children, two teenagers and a child) was situated in one of the areas inhabited by the low-income citizens of the small town of Westview, beyond the gas station and the railroad tracks, a few blocks up from that trailer park that everyone knows from bad legends, but it's not like you need more than that to snuggle into the blandishments of that dark brown fabric sofa.

After all, it was enough to be accompanied by the presence of Pietro Maximoff, the eldest son (for twelve minutes, his sister occasionally reminded him of the fact in front of you), for you to know that the upheavals of the world would disappear inside your chest and, immersed in a bubble of comfort being with your best friend for about nine or ten months, there would be nothing that could hold you back for so long.

Pietro just had that effect on people; he was a good guy, a receptive young man of your age who used to be an esteemed figure by those who came in contact with the recurring good humor that guided him – but, like a typical misfit high school kid, there was nothing about him that pleased everyone at all. Not like his sister did so masterfully, at least.

The boy, dressed in khaki shorts and a long blue blouse as thin as a sapphire stone that showed off his similarly colored irises, was thus sitting half sprawled with his legs spread as if he had fallen there and not gotten up for a long time, parallel to you, in a small dark armchair that was only distanced from the sofa by a scrawny coffee table set there, of cheap pale wood that he used to prop his heels put into a pair of worn out running shoes.

To your right and to his left, perched in a chair pulled out from under the dining table, Darcy Lewis was the girl with long brown hair who had her upper back leaning against the back of her chair. Her clear, intent eyes so solemnly bound to the phone screen she kept blinking close to the tip of her nose, behind the thin glass lenses of a pair of dark plastic-framed prescription glasses.

Pietro and Darcy, then friends almost out of convenience because no one else was close to them (she being a weird amalgamation of a know-it-all geek and a half-inconvenient sarcastic little shit, he just an immigrant kid with a weird accent who slipped up at times and a sense of humor doubtful), they took you in because the others didn't seem all that interested in keeping you close – not when you were the only new kid around with a tattoo hidden somewhere on your body and a few more pairs of piercings than was acceptable for your neighbors dangling stylishly from your ears.

The boy dressed in the blue shirt, then seated opposite you, was expertly rolling a thin weed cigarette with his fingertips curled towards his athletic pecs in an intent gaze at the action exerted on his digits.

He then stuck his tongue out, sliding it down through the crack in his parted lips, using his saliva to glue the loose end of the rolling paper against the skinny little body of the cigarette which, when it was finally ready to be smoked, he tried to tuck it into the corner where his lips ended as if he wanted to perform a mobster from the height of the twentieth century.

But he was only sixteen-almost-seventeen, as young as he could be, and that was why Pietro only appeared to be what he was at that moment; a disheveled kid with poorly homemade bleached hair done with the help of his grumpy sister (the brown roots were showing in the crook of his head, giving him an air of sloppiness) with a long joint lying in the corner of his mouth.

He then leaned with his spine forward so his right hand went for the small pale blue plastic lighter set on the coffee table, before pouring his thumb across the stone so that the spark ignited the flame that lighted the end of the weed cigarette, from which he drew a long, lingering drag to spread the thick smoke through his nostrils in a state of mind imbued with a zealous tranquility, leaning his back against the armchair.

Behind your own red-filtered cigarette dangling between your lips, you raised an amused brow at your friend's slouched figure.

“Fucking stoner, man,” you mussed, albeit in airs of morose jocularity that inferred a little chuckle on Darcy's part, “That shit gonna fry all your brain cells someday, you know that? Make you dumber than you already are.”

He took another swig of the joint before fixing you with a pair of droopy blue eyes, since this was the second or third of the day he'd smoked – around his firm chin, the tiniest fuzz of an occasional dark beard was already threatening to arise with the emergence of age, each day closer to adulthood. One day, he would be a handsome man, because for now he was just a boy who promised to be a good-looking adult.

“And that shit gonna kill you someday,” with a little finger movement, waving his limp left hand, he pointed to the nicotine cigarette that was blistered between the index and middle fingers of yours, raised right at your face.

You smiled and so did he, half on his side, still lying on the armchair cushions like a misplaced decoration.

“At least I won't die stupid like you.”

“Just kiss him already man, for Christ's sake,” Darcy grumbled in a tone of shared humor, before reaching for the joint from Pietro's hand and bringing the small cylindrical body to her to draw a swig of weed for herself.

“Nah,” you expressed a small smile flanked by smoke, “As much as I know Piet wants it so much, he's not really my type, sorry.”

“What do you mean he's not your type, huh?” Darcy gave you a funny look from behind the glasses placed in front of her sharp blue eyes, as if she wanted to poke a small lump hidden inside you.

“I thought his last name was Maximoff. That sure is your type, sister.”

There was a second puff of smoke until the boy, then already in a somewhat lethargic action when clouded by the cognitive effect of the cannabis he was smoking, lifted the back of his head from the backrest and lowered his chin, squeezing with his eyelids that wandered from Darcy's smile to your brow furrowed in a bewildered slant, only to redo the act once again a little more confused, cinching a flash of fur from his forehead with the thick, dark-haired brows above the blue eyes sort of gleaming with a curious blaze.

“Y/n, what’s she talking about…?”

“Your mom, duh,” was your immediate response, a mock-masked deliverance dripping from your throat, a smirk taut in the unnaturally twitching muscles on your face, “Ms. Maximoff's got it going on, right? I mean, gosh, she really looks hot in her waitress uniform.”

“Dude, I always knew MILFs were your type, you totally look like you would do a MILF.”

Darcy looked back at you with an air of laughter as her chin tipped in your direction, the lack of sobriety evident in her airy actions, which in no way complied with the implications of the first comment bestowed on you.

“Well, and who doesn’t like MILFs?” you smiled burlesquely, to which Darcy readily acquiesced with a sharp nod.

“But yeah Pietro, your mom is like, hot. The hottest MILF among all MILFs. So hot.”

“So hot,” you repeated in a profuse drag of a cigarette, pointing to the girl sitting next to your right knee that showed a beam of skin through a long slit in the fabric of your pants.

“Very, very hot.”

“Like, super hot.”

The platinum-haired boy, meanwhile, only let out a loathsome grunt as his drunken face contorted in repulsive distaste for the idea you and Darcy offered him about his own mother, shaking his head firmly as if he wanted to shake off these thoughts as if they were really mosquitoes pestering him to sleep at night—something that brought on you, of a good-natured nature, and on Darcy, just too stoned for her own good, a long round of loud, juicy laughter that caused the muscles in you abdomen to ache in hot cramping.

“Dude, gross! That's disgusting, she's my mom! What the fuck!"

Though a little unsteadily, his left fingers hooked against the fabric of a red pillow that was brought up and then hurled toward him with just a flick of the tendons of the young man's strong shoulder, which depended on minor physical labor to add a little more on the household income.

It was a quick if somewhat lingering half second, when your gaze only caught a glittering blur pouring air to shatter against your face.

The fluffy object then collided with a soft thud against the top of your left cheekbone, pushing the muscle of your neck back against the back of the sofa, as your senseless fingers detached from the still-lit half-smoked cigarette, whose butt fell against the pillow that soon had its fabric sprinkled in a small hole with burnt and blackened edges.

“Shit, Pietro–!”

Darcy, with cheeks as rosy as a pair of ripe tomatoes against her usually pale, lifeless alabaster countenance, seemed a second away from writhing into a convulsive laugh that would soon take the form of a fit of choking vomit, and you soon treated catching the remains of the cigarette between your right index finger and thumb, before pressing the tip against the pale porcelain pot that was the makeshift ashtray to then stand on your knees, scrutinizing the damage done to the mobile.

“Shit,” you repeated, albeit in a slightly lowered tone, the palms of your hands resting on your bent and exposed knees, “Shit, see what you did, dickhead? You ripped a goddamn hole in the pillow, you jerk!”

“What–?!” the boy then scrambled to his feet in exasperation, suddenly slipping into a layer of momentary sobriety, rounding the coffee table to walk over to your side in rather worried steps, “What the– oh my God, oh my God, my mom’s going to kill me—”

The sound of the front door being opened so close and then being closed as it was before, was what spread throughout the house of close rooms, succinct and with a small and short square footage composition.

The walls of your stomach collapsed in on you as Pietro shot you an alarmed look that flickered a troubled blue, turning pale as if the blood was suddenly draining from his cheeks. For a second he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on the road.

“We're fucked.”

“I know.”

But desperation didn't rage among the three of you for as long as it would have; like a bucket of water dispersed in a still-igniting spark, putting out a coming fire, who came into the living room was not the figure of Ms. Maximoff dressed in her signature red and white ketchup-stained waitress uniform, but only a young Wanda Maximoff, Pietro's younger twin sister, who had a pair of headphones screwed into both her ears, under the profuse bundles of her dark-brown hair.

“Pietro…?” the low voice came from far away, as footsteps approached the room with heavy combat boots high-laced on her ankles, “What are you…?”

Wanda's irises wandered from Pietro to then you and Darcy, as her index and middle fingers, with extensions adorned in a series of silver rings, hooked onto the long wires of her headphones to pull them down from inside her ears.

“Wanda!” you muttered under your breath, because your unconscious was taken over by the image of her standing there, and there was nothing else to say but call her to you, “Wanda. H-hey, Wanda. Hi.”

“…Hi, Y/n.”

You gasped for a bit as you opened and closed with your lips, saliva hardening in the back of your throat at the pretty figure of the girl dressed in dark clothes and chains dangling from the belt that threaded around the waistband of her black skirt and around her milk-white neck, with pointy pendants that alluded to the mysticism she held dear.

And she just brought out something inside you. After all, Wanda Maximoff was affable, soft, beautiful and gentle as a bouquet of red roses, the prettiest of them all.

At Westview High, everyone knew who she was when she walked through the halls, the only girl who could walk shoulder to shoulder with the cool kids clique even if she hadn't gotten out of her Evanescence listening phase – even if her wealth was not as capital as theirs. Everyone wanted a little bit of her, from the kind, generous, gorgeous girl, essential member of the academic decathlon team and debate group.

A keen library goer, consumer of thick, hard-to-read books, who kept high grades as well as the good will of the people like it was second nature to her. A school prodigy. A popular necessity.

And Wanda went out of her way to be extremely considerate of her requirements. It just so happens that she was never quite able to share that said kindheartedness with you, something that has always given you doses of discontent inside your chest – after all, even after almost a whole year of seasons all past since your permanent installation in the small-town blandices, Wanda never bothered to look you straight in the eye for more than three or so seconds.

“This–this isn’t what it looks like, Wanda,” cried Pietro, who raised a hand to his sister across the room.

“We’re just,” you tried, “Well, we were—”

“Of course we sure as hell weren't smoking pot in your living room,” Darcy muttered to the ceiling, still sitting in her chair, “I mean minus Y/n, because she's such a boring bitch,” there was a snort on the part of the bespectacled girl.

“Darcy, shut up!”

“C’mon, what a fucking surprise Piet, everybody knows you smoke pot!”

And then when Wanda's gaze woven in a curious green latched onto yours, an air-tied knot whose ends met between you and her, you pressed your lips together in a single line, because a thin layer of blush turned pink on her high cheeks, which flushed like a little porcelain doll.

You straightened your posture, but the girl with the long, silky dark hair only looked away, aiming for the dirty porcelain bowl set on the cheap wooden table.

“I,” she whispered, like a shy little mouse with rosy cheeks, “I won't… I won’t say anything to mom, don't worry about it. Just… just clean this mess up before she gets home.”

There was a flash of green gaze that flashed into your eyes like a beacon on the horizon, but then it faded in less than a second because Wanda seemed to relinquish eye contact with you, again lowering her gaze away from your face, hiding her pretty pale eyes behind a thick curtain of dark hair.

She suppressed her lips in a thin, rosy line, seeming to shrink into her blackish-brown, long-sleeved blouse. Wanda opened her mouth as if to say something, but then clasped her lips together again in a sign of resignation.

“I–I'm going to my room.”

And the girl barely waited for an answer from any of the three parties before she left for the house, leaving like a deserting spirit. You blinked once, and then turned your nose towards Darcy.

“Dude, did I do something wrong…?”

“She’s probably just scared of you,” teased the girl with the glasses, “You know, she dresses all edgy and stuff but she's just so sweet and kind like this little black bunny and you... well, man, you spilled cigarette ash all over her mother's couch, what the heck.”

When she laughed at her own joke, something in you faltered for half a second.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you mussed awkwardly, screwing the palm of your right hand against the skin of the back of your neck, “I… I guess.”

“Whatever, Wanda’s a weirdo,” Pietro's voice came from your side, even if half muttering to himself, “Just–just please help me clean this up, dammit. My mom’s going to kill me, I swear...”

ᗢ

A gust of annoyed air had left the gap between your lips open for what was perhaps the tenth time in a row allotted to that meager period of time that spanned a lengthy fifteen minutes of a rather dull morning – at least that's what you was, when your weary gaze sagged across the raised square screen of your phone, towards the upper right corner, and there you were faced with the digital clock marking the scorching hour of nine thirty-seven on a hot morning in Wednesday.

You sighed slowly, warm air draining from your lungs and your chest deflating into your unbuttoned flannel shirt, through the straps of your thin tank top, because there was nothing to do other than that.

You might as well proclaim your notes in your notebook as Miss Harkness, who was standing right in front of long rows of other bustling teenagers who, like you, huffed bored air out of their mouths into their faces, dictated to her history class to all the school kids in their seats.

However, as much as you were interested in the class (as, in fact, you were), it turns out that Miss Harkness just had a habit of getting quite carried away in her classical prose, and even though the middle-aged woman in the lilac waistcoat was one of your favorite teachers, nothing there was enough to capture your diverted attention.

Because you, moreover, barely had any thoughts floating around in your head that weren't entirely focused on Wanda Maximoff and the esoteric wonder that came along with her, as if it were her own shadow.

And, given the situation similar to yours in which Wanda found herself in that same class, it was she who was sitting there next to you, taking note of everything the teacher said about that historical event that honed the details of the modern country founding; Wanda was just a pretty smart type of student, it's true. The girl urged you on in a superhuman way.

Yet, at that morning and like every other morning before, the two of you hadn't even exchanged enough sentences for you to actually engage in a conversation with the other girl. In fact, you hadn't even spoken to her at all.

You knew she was deep enough in her notes to having someone to piss her off. With the chin supported by the hand supplanted by the left elbow raised to the face of your table, your gaze headed towards Wanda, who was seated to your right and attracted you like a damn lodestone, in an inevitable magnetic dazzle; in the same room in the company of several people, Wanda was always the one who caught your attention under her fingertips to keep.

Just the appeal, the idea, the unknown, they were enough to find you rambling about your classmate – Wanda interspersing her diligent attention between Agatha and her own dark-covered notebook where the digits of her fingers, lined with rings, wrote so cunningly in a black ink pen, one opalescent knee crossed by the other under the table, the miniskirt exposing her pale, firm thighs that were suddenly engulfed by high dark stockings that rose above the confines of her knees.

And it admired you, how her brown hair seemed to modulate accentuated shades of honey color when laid out by the rays of sunlight that entered the room through the thick glass windows that adorned the walls adjacent to the tables you occupied respectively. How her irises looked like two sparkling emerald stones when highlighted by a profuse smoky dark eyeliner liner around her waterline – her naturally thick, long lashes adorning her stylish, heavy makeup.

There was the leaf-shaped pendant in dark silver dangling from a thin chain that flowed across her attractive bosom, between the sharp collarbones that poked out of her thin black blouse, adorned with strands of long, silky light brown hair; the necklace between her breasts, the exposed skin there looking so soft, a tiny mole situated high on her right breast that you just wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss and feel through your tongue.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

The teacher's voice called out of your thoughts between the heads of young people, which caused a sea of eyes to all turn to you, like creatures from another world, a pack of animals in the forest looking to a flashlight.

Even Wanda's gaze got caught, which for half a broken second turned to you only for when, upon catching your face already turned towards her, she only turned to the filled pages of the notebook placed between her forearms, like if you really were just an eminent pest. She doesn't know who I am and yet she doesn't give a damn about me, huh.

“Can you answer the question, Miss Y/l/n?”

Miss Harkness's tight, dark curls swayed in your direction when you look at her, standing there on the other side of the classroom and in front of the blackboard cluttered with notes made all in powdered white chalk.

“Eh,” you mussed, somewhat unimpressed by the teasing smirks that were beginning to form on unfriendly faces, containing in your grunt a sudden roll of disinterested eyes.

“What's the question again, please?”

“Pff, sucker.”

A voice pierced the veil of silence that had fallen over the other youngsters, the voice of that smug boy Tony Stark, which soon erupted into group giggles that spilled back and forth into the classroom like a flock of flustered parrots.

“Alright, alright, cut it off for Christ's sake!” Miss Agatha Harkness cried out somewhat aggravated, waving both her hands in front of her body in a rather weary way.

“None of you here is in position to laugh and you all know it very well! Would any of you like to answer the question for Miss Y/l/n instead, huh? Somebody? Nobody? Well, that’s what I thought.”

The teacher's simple, elaborate tone sounded an octave higher than usual, drawing your attention towards the woman in question. You looked at her, but Wanda's gaze burned to the flesh of your right cheek, before glancing at Miss Harkness another time.

And then, a hand with nails tinted in dark polish rose above the others' heads, not at all hesitant in her actions as she did so. Wanda, of course, was willing to speak up when no one else did. You looked at her with an air of interest, straightening your posture against your hard, clear plastic chair.

“Yes, Miss Maximoff?” Agatha nodded, to which the young girl immediately lowered her right arm.

“The Church created the Court of the Holy Office in the thirteenth century, and it was supposed to prevent people who had deviated from Christianity from leaving. They used various mechanisms of persecution and punishment for that,” narrated Wanda with exquisite mastery.

“That's what led to the Inquisition and, after some time, the Salem witch hunt, which actually started in France in the fifteenth century.”

You focused your eyes on her for a couple of seconds longer than what would be considered healthy for the habit to do. It was because of looking at her so intently, however, that you found the other girl giving you a single, chaste glance out of the corner of her eye, which then retreated away, as if in an internal game with both parts of her brain; one wanted to look at you, and the other didn't.

“Finally, great,” Agatha brandished.

“At least someone here is paying attention in class. You are correct indeed, Miss Maximoff. See, Miss Y/l/n, this is what happens when you actually listen to your teacher and not just daydream looking at your classmates all morning.”

"I– what?! I didn't—!” A heat spread from the tips of your ears, all the way down to your cheekbones, your neck, and your shoulders inside your unbuttoned shirt.

Someone stifled a laugh on a cough from behind your seat. Fuck.

Wanda remained silent, and you wouldn't even dare look to the side, at her, who so relentlessly strayed her curious gaze in your direction, her chin slightly tilted at a broken angle to the side of her left shoulder. Mortification in bright crimson still burned the flushed skin of your cheeks at the pretty girl's gaze.

“That's what you heard, heartbreaker,” the teacher waved her witch-like hand, “Now, please, everyone pay attention here for another fifteen minutes until class is over, will you? I swear I want to be here as much as you kids do.”

And then there was another bout of chatter from Miss Harkness in a waistcoat buttoned over a white shirt printed with corny light blue flowers. Perhaps, if you hadn't covered your eyes with the open palms of both your hands, you would have caught the tiny fond smile that tugged at the corner of Wanda's peachy lips.

ᗢ

It didn't take long, with some minutes passed right after lunch time, for you to sneak into the four closed walls of a second-floor women's bathroom stall so that, in such a way, you could give yourself the courtesy of blowing smoke from your cigarette, scorching in peace. With your back resting peacefully against the laminated plastic of the scrawny cabin wall, you leaned your back, staring sluggishly at the pale plaster ceiling. It’s not like the time and space around your miserable existence matters all that much.

The cigarette that appeared between your parted lips had a flickering tip like a firefly in the night flickering in the dark night, and the smoke that just sailed up to the ceiling was thin and wavering, fading from reality like a utopian idea.

Near the flush valve, painted onto the white tile, an elaborate graffiti in black marker pen penned two names joined by a mathematical plus sign – something like “KATE + YELENA” etched near your right elbow, a promise perpetuated in the inerasable act of a young heart lacerated by a still budding idea of what warm love would be pulsing inside someone’s chest.

Behind an opaque veil of cigarette smoke, you considered doing the same with your own name and Wanda Maximoff's, until you suddenly gave up on the idea as it was supposed to be an impulsive lapse in need.

So you just sighed, shaking your head from side to side, getting rid of those silly thoughts as if you had quaked them out of your brain. The only sound that erupted through the silence encrusted in the cabins was that of the avid drip of a poorly closed sink. Dripping. And dripping. And stopping. Until a trio of female voices burst through the front door.

“Shit–!”

In an act of open desperation, you just dropped your still lit, half-smoked cigarette down into the open toilet, into the still water.

“I swear, that's what she said,” the evident tone of voice that reached your ear was distinctly that of Pepper Potts, the girl a year older than you who was the head of the cheerleading squad.

“Rogers dumped her because he's dating Barnes!”

“That's weird, I thought it was Wilson this time.”

Just behind her, the second voice couldn't be anyone other than Monica, the only child of principal Rambeau and that, like her friend, everyone knew who she was; a genuinely nice girl from the lacrosse team who turned out to be Pietro's crush for as long as you knew him.

“No, Wilson used to date Barnes who now dates Rogers. It’s hard to keep up, I know.”

Pepper clarified it to her friend, and for a second it sounded like she was planning to start a new sentence about the ups and downs of her peers' social-love life when, after a broken half lapse of silence within those with walls, the strawberry-blonde girl’s voice was then charged with a queasy tone, which indicated a nose twisted in repugnance that you couldn’t see behind the cabin’s closed red door.

“Ugh, what is that smell…?”

“Cigarette smoke, I guess.”

Your heart slammed and disarmed inside the middle of your chest, because the answer was based on Wanda Maximoff's delightfully low voice. She was there, in the company of her friends who reapplied makeup to their faces. Well, fuck. You gulped like a criminal in trial.

You scarcely dared to breathe accurately between your nostrils, but it's not like your lungs, at the sound of her melodic voice, know how to do anything but just inflate and deflate sparingly like a pair of flat tires.

“That’s disgusting,” Pepper clicked with her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

“It must have been Y/l/n, everyone knows she comes here to smoke after lunch,” said Monica, who seemed to have a crooked joyful smile in her voice.

“I swear, Wanda, she was practically drooling on you earlier today. Heart eyes and all, totally head over heels. It was actually kinda cute to watch.”

“She… she was?” it was small, almost inaudible from your listening hiding position, away from the eyes of those who spoke.

There was something shy that could be pointed out in Wanda's voice, but there was something also glistening with the tiniest glimmer of hope that you couldn't help but notice. Something that lulled your senses and made you ponder about the direction of this conversation so intimate that, for a second, you felt like you were crossing an invisible line of common sense. Maybe it was wrong. A mistake. Or perhaps it was just a weird type of unconventional luck, even.

It was like you couldn’t be there at all. Because you, in the wrong place at the wrong time, were just invading Wanda’s privacy; that’s how it felt, at least. It was as if the walls of the cabin were going to swallow you and squash you to death like the stomach of a dark creature.

“I really don't understand what you see in that girl, Wands,” it's Pepper's turn to say, “You should just give Jarvis a chance. He asked you out to eat Indian food, didn't he? You love Indian food.”

“I hate Indian food,” Wanda reiterated to the other girl, “And he doesn’t give a damn about me, anyways. He just likes hanging out with people who have high grades. And you just want me to date him because he's Tony's brother, and if I do date him you'll have someone to go on a stupid double date with.”

“It's not that, geez,” was the head cheerleader's reply, “It's just that he's on the decathlon team like you and he's graduating this year, so you can date a college boy in your senior year. Damn, I'd like to date a college boy my senior year."

“You're already in your senior year,” Monica reminds her, “And you’re dating Tony.”

“Yes, for that very reason.”

Something about that suggestion didn't appeal to your taste at all, still tucked inside the cabin as you were. Just the thought of Wanda dangling from Jarvis Stark's arm, a known prick among the students other than those who made up his intimate circle of handpicked relationships, was enough to ignite an acrimonious revulsion in you, which even seemed to want to devour your muscle cells from the inside out.

That bitter feeling running down the side of your tongue, pouring out between your teeth, was nothing to do with your half-smoked cigarette which then floated down the toilet like a sunken ship. And you just didn’t want to think so hard about why the slightest mention of the idea of Wanda dating Jarvis fueled such a revolting feeling within your ribcage.

“Besides,” the Potts girl continues her own line, oblivious to your deep displeasure.

“Unlike that Y/l/n girl, Jarvis has a guaranteed future in his father's company for when he finishes his graduation. And look, don't get me wrong, but that girl is either going to end up in jail or dead or both, and that's probably before she even turns thirty. Ugh, c’mon Wanda, she's just another freak. You can do way better than that. I mean, you even have a shot to be prom queen this year if you start dating Jarvis.”

“I don't wanna be prom queen, Pepper. Everyone already knows it's going to be you and Tony, anyways,” said Wanda, in a tone that emulated lapses of discomfort towards the other young woman, “And don't say that about Y/n, that's not true.”

And it surprised you, in fact, because you had never heard Wanda be so incisive with her words before. Or even someone using such a tone of voice when addressing Pepper Potts.

“She's not… a freak, she’s funny. And smart. And she’s actually pretty sweet when you really get to know her. I... I never talk to her much when she comes over to my house because she's always hanging with Pietro and Darcy, but... she just... she just seems nice to have around, you know? Something about her is… soft. She once made me laugh until juice almost came out of my nose.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your memory traveled back to that day, at a dinner night guided by the traditional house stroganoff, were Ms. Maximoff made sure that your presence was there, at the dinning table with her and her children. The tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulder burned to embers that carried the ashes of that night, but it was as if that heat itself soothed the anxious twinges in your bristling veins.

It was the first time your eyes were ever pleased to witness a sincere laugh burst from within Wanda’s lungs.

And no one had ever looked as stunning in front of you as she did back in that day so many weeks ago, with her head thrown back and her eyes squinted, cheeks flushed in such a lovely rosy layer of flesh, shoulders swaying inside an ancient rock band shirt, peach mouth open only to reveal the two front teeth partially larger than the rest, like a scrunched nose bunny.

So genuine and so pure that your heart turned on itself – and if you dared to do so, you would say it was that day she usurped the rights of your feelings.

“And, uh...” Wanda's voice was small this time, in a timid, measured edge, “She's... she... she's pretty. Like, really… really pretty.”

It was like an electric current that ran from your ribs to the flesh of your cheek, heating the tops of your cheekbones. The saliva in your mouth, still vicious like a full-bodied drink, only evaporated and disappeared, making the wetness pooling in the palms of both of your sweaty hands even more evident. It was as if fireworks erupted in a hot red roar inside the walls of your stomach.

“She’s hot! I once heard that she had a hidden tattoo somewhere,” it was Monica's turn to cry out in an air of laughter.

“She’s a freak,” growled the Potts girl again, in an eye roll, “And you two are just too squeamish for your own good. She’s not the only person with earrings out there, Jesus.”

“Seriously, Pep, look at Wanda, her type is obviously not those preppy boys like that Stark douche. Girl, her type is delinquents. Bad girls. You know, just girls as a whole. Someone to listen to, I don’t know, Iron Maiden with her or whatever emo shit she listens to.”

“Yeah, got it, geez,” muttered the older girl in a bad way, “It's just what I think.”

“Well, you thought wrong then.”

“Really, Monica, just shut up–”

A few more frivolous conversations drifted over the trio of girls, who took off out of the bathroom minutes later, striding farther and farther away when the subject in question strayed into something that was of no interest to you at all. You blinked once, and then twice. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean and coming back to the surface abruptly.

You breathed. You just breathed. Soundlessly, your right hand slipped to the latch of the laminated plastic door, which opened out in a continuous squeak.

You gulped down the saliva sitting on the back of your tongue. Meeting your eyes in the quadrangular mirror placed in front of the cabin from which you exited, the air still reeking of the remnants of your cigarette mixed with Wanda's perfume, it did not surprise you at all that your cheeks reflected in the glass were like two reddish cherries burning over your boiling flesh.

“…Fuck.”

ᗢ

A few succinct days were passed one after another in front of your secret incident in the girl's bathroom stall (there was no more dignified labeling for such an occurrence than an incident as pleasant as it was also uncomfortable, it's true).

The entire seventy-two hours that followed were then grounded in several thoughtful cigarettes burning between your aching lips, the lighter's flame flickering in the ashes of broken reasonings, considerations and daydreams taking puffs of smoke, all which circled in your brain as if it were the moon that gravitates around the planet, as if space itself had usurped the oxygen from your bloodstream and changed it to Wanda’s name.

Wanda. Your cigarette smoke burned Wanda's name in your lungs. Your eyelids blinked Wanda's emerald gaze out of your sleepy eyes. Just Wanda. Only Wanda. Wanda Maximoff, red, green and black, a dream and a doom.

Your everyday contemplations then became the shelter of the other girl's tender jadish irises blooming in shades of a cordial green, like the green of spring pastures, and only the Maximoff girl could have been able to capture your attention even when you were within the walls of your own room, away from her piercing vision.

You couldn’t help but glance so assiduously at her when she was wearing nothing but partially buttoned black shirts on her chest and increasingly revealing miniskirts, whose fabric didn't even bother to cover the hollow of her soft, pale thighs worn down in tall, dark stockings.

Like a delightful reverie, she came in a spectral crimson form at night, only to disappear early in the morning sun. Four days were enough for you to bury your face in the middle of your pillow and let out a cavernous and frustrated yell vanish there, in vain trying to engage in a battle already lost since its beginnings against something that.

 Like the addictive nicotine contained in the extensions of your countless smoked cigarettes, every cell in your body clamored for more of her. It was as if your lips would bleed if you lacked the taste of her kiss for even one more day.

If Wanda were a witch endowed with mystical gifts, you would sure be bewitched by her addictive charms with an intangible scarlet grip around the outline of your neck – for the length of the halls between class periods, the cafeteria packed with students heads at lunchtime (campaigns for prom royalty were starting to brew little by little) or even on the bleachers smeared out of the faculty buildings by the warm sun, you searched with intent eyes for the slightest trace of her stunning presence, like a hungry dog hunting something down to satisfy its starvation.

And you could barely be sure in your own limping functions of what it was that led you there when it was that your feet, in untied shoes, marched under a stifling blanket of the scorching spring sun, even if the excuse paramount was that you just wanted her brother's company by your side to smoke a cigarette – even if Pietro wasn't into smoking conventional cigarettes at all, just like you also weren’t into smoking what he had to offer either.

 Stepping hard on the concrete of the sidewalk without a definite purpose at the heart of your rash actions, like a maze with only one exit, your feet instinctively led you up the two entry steps of the Maximoff residence – the newly painted one storey house that contained within its structures two bedrooms and only one bathroom.

That's where your right index finger, so accurate, searched for the bell to press with the tip of your digit and, after the miserable seconds that followed the act, who came to meet you was that same brunette girl who stole the gift of sleep during the nighttime.

Wanda looked a little different on that scorching Sunday afternoon of sunny skies and wispy clouds sprinkled around the cerulean sky dome, without any hint of dark makeup to adorn the moss-colored puddles that flanked her sharp pupils to be found in her natural beauty, albeit the long coffee-colored strands that were tucked behind the contours of her ears, in the usual casual way she liked to stylish them.

“Y/n?” it was a stunned tone at your offered smile as her chin tilted toward her left collarbone, one corner of a dark brow cocked in an expression nothing short of stupefied, her eyes enlarged in size.

“Hey, hi Wanda. How’re you doing?"

“I–I,” she huffed for a bit, “I'm fine... I'm fine, thank you. You?”

“Oh,” you smiled, “I’m great, thanks.”

Wanda's rosy mouth tightened into a line at your sight, and you couldn't help but notice the fact that the way she shifted her weight from one bare leg to the other beneath the dark material of her front-buttoned skirt, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do there at the door of her own home – surely you weren't a face she expected to find there.

Seconds passed in a slow swoop when a bird hummed in a nearby tree. Wanda just played fidget with the handfuls of rings that adorned the pale extensions of her right fingers, twisting, pulling and touching them with her left fingernails carpeted in dark nail polish chipped at the tips. There was a cigarette leaning behind your right ear.

“So,” you then began rather casually, and your voice drew her attention from her own clean shoes, as the other girl saw herself as being imbued with a somewhat restless silence, “Is Pietro at home? I sent him some texts, but he hasn't replied for a while.”

“No, he… he left a while ago,” she hissed a little too quickly, like a hamster's squeak, “He's grounded. You know, from burning a hole in the pillow that day.”

You cinched a flash of fur between your brows in a funny way, breaking a curious little smirk at the corner of your lips.

“He's grounded,” it was echoed slowly, as if to get your bearings, “But he left...?”

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugged into her plain blouse, “My mom took the afternoon shift at the diner and Lorna went out to play at her friend's house, and he's been bugging me for ages about setting up a date with Monica... and she agreed to go out with him today, so… he went out with her.”

“Huh,” you mumbled thoughtfully, “That's cool, I guess. I mean, he talks about her all the damn time… it’s kinda annoying actually. Even if it’s cute.”

“Yeah,” she half-chuckled, not moving her lips that much, “I know.”

There was a silence that bordered the two of you for a few more seconds as in an intangible fence made of mutual discomposure, a view a bit awkward to witness from afar, almost like a lighthearted conversation taken disinterestedly between two strangers inside a crowded bus or in a long bank line just to pass the time.

Wanda was still fidgeting with her own fingers, soundless in a dull quietness as if a lump stuck in her throat forbade her to speak words to you, and you just unpretentiously shoved the palms of both your hands into the back pockets of your baggy jeans, your side teeth nibbling the flesh on the inside of your cheeks as you did.

“I,” you muttered under your breath, nodding your head at an unasked question, filling the gap of silence between you and Wanda, “I think I'm gonna go home then—”

“You–you can wait for him here if you want!”

You blinked for a second, lifting your eyebrows to the middle of your forehead, almost touching your hairline. Wanda's pink lower lip was pressed between a wall of her upper teeth, and her cheeks flushed with a remarkable heat. Cute, you thought with yourself. So goddamn cute, oh my God... you wanted to hold her in your arms just to place a warm kiss in the middle of her forehead skin.

“Fine,” was a casual agreement, “I'd like to stay, then. If that doesn't bother you, of course.”

She then shrugged, “No, being alone at home is kinda boring sometimes. And, well,” her right fingertips swept behind her ear a strand of hair that had come loose from its previous spot there, “You… you're cool, Y/n.”

Your lips tightened when, even with her head aiming halfway down the floor, Wanda looked at you in a flash of moss green that flowered between her dark, thick, heavy doll-like lashes. Into the crop top you wore over your shoulders, your chest heaved and deflated severely against your ribs.

“Right. You're cool too, Wanda.”

She smiled in a singularly kind way because you did too, before closing the door behind you as you entered your newfound hostess's house together. As you passed close to her shoulder, there was the scent of strawberry shampoo and a cheap, lightly woody perfume like cinnamon that intoxicated your bloodstream as the scent wafted through your nostrils.

There was at you core the stimulating temptation of your perceptions to stick the tip of your nose through her long locks, only to further indulge your senses with her scent, but you held back your actions before skidding into a lapse of daring to definitely do it.

“You... You want something to eat?” Wanda spoke a little tenderly, half-cumbersomely even, not sneaking a glance at your face as you followed her into the walls of the small house, “I baked a cake.”

“Wait, wait, you cook?” you turned your gaze to the girl next to your left shoulder, who let a chaste smile crack between her lips.

“Well,” she muttered, “Sometimes, yeah. Not as often as I would like to, though. It's usually only when Lorna asks me to do it.”

“Cool,” you reciprocated her small grin, “I'd like a slice, if it's not too much trouble.”

When you went to sit on the springs of the dark sofa, out of the way of Wanda, who in turn headed for the nearby kitchen, your eyes proceeded to a small square television set in the corner of the room, above a somewhat rustic wooden furniture with silver handles, which on its monochromatic screen flashed a reprised episode of some old sitcom in shades of an artificially colored image like in one of those advertising flyers from sixty years ago.

Wanda came over to you a few minutes later all filled with a corny, fun-to-watch script between a blonde actress and a tall actor wearing a suit, in rather quick strides in her converse sneakers, carrying with her, in her right hand, a glass plate that contained a generous slice of white cake that looked like a feather-flavored pastry.

“Here,” she then handed you the utensil that was gladly accepted by your hands along with a grateful smile on your face, before sitting in the sofa to your right, with her bare knees joined together like a pair of magnets.

“Thanks, really. But hey, Bewitched, huh?” With a jerk of your chin, you pointed at the television in the corner of the room, under the open glass window that let aureate glimmers of a cozy sunlight take over the room.

Wanda acquiesced with a nod that shuddered her soft, dark locks, her lips twisted into a shy little smile. The rehearsed laughter of an unseen audience cluttered the four walls of the living room.

“Yeah, my mom always liked all that old American stuff when I was a kid, so I guess it got passed on to me somehow,” she finally looked at you, sounding even a little more undisturbed when engaged in narration about her most intimate tastes.

“I mean, Pietro doesn't like it very much… he says it's boring. And Lorna is just too small to pay attention to anything that lasts longer than five minutes, so… someone had to keep my mom company when she got home late from work. But it never bothered me, really. I... I like sitcoms.”

When a chuckle escaped between your parted lips at her own revelation, Wanda soon tried to justify herself in a quick, slurred speech, like a sinner validating her confessions in the eyes of the Lord.

“I–I mean, I, I know it's silly, but–”

“Hey, who said it's silly?” you offer her a succinct, complacent look that has her reaching for a sip of oxygen, “That's actually pretty sweet of you, Wanda.”

“You… You really think so…?” she looked at you, waiting for a hesitant answer.

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “My mom used to watch these old sitcoms all the time too when I was younger. So I think it's cool. It's really nice of you, Wanda.”

“Right,” there was a blistering twinge that brushed her pale cheeks, as her lips echoed a “Cool,” rather pleased with herself.

The tines of the tip of the aluminum fork in your possession, then pressed between the face of your right index finger and thumb, made to dip and break the loose dough of the plump cake placed right on top of the small plate that was supported by your left hand, before taking a significant amount of the sweet dessert so that it could be taken all the way up to your half-open mouth.

You hummed fortunately against the softly sweet taste on the face of your tongue. It was delicious on the palate, in fact, still warm as if fresh from the oven, with a comforting touch of nostalgia for something you had never experienced before – it was as if Wanda was sharing a tiny fraction of her Sokovian childhood with you. It tasted of sunny country afternoons and homemade desserts dotted with a coat of maternal affability. Tasted like pure, simple happiness of old infantile days to the sharpest feeling of the sentence.

Realizing that you were indeed eating something she had so selflessly prepared just a few minutes earlier, an emerald spotlight with an expectant green gaze engaged your facial expressions, as in an analysis project by Wanda, whose subject matter of study was none other than yourself.

“Man, this is really, really good!” it was a cry bordered by a half-child affinity, before you went back to reaching for more of the cake with the tines of your fork.

“You liked it?” Wanda's face glowed with exultant euphoria, shimmering a veil of pale green on her pretty irises, “It’s ptichye moloko, my mom used to bake it all the time when Pietro and I were kids back in Novi Grad.”

“Right, don't tell her I said that but I'm sure yours is better.”

“What?!” Wanda smiled a little dumbfounded, as her left shoulder bumped against your right bicep in a light-hearted way, witty in her comfortable good-humor that was slowly unfolding in front of you, “You haven't even tasted hers, Y/n!”

“Yeah, sorry, but as much as I’d be willing to literally die for your mom's cooking, you baked it, so I'm automatically sure yours is better.”

The high flesh of her cheeks burned in deep shades of rosy-crimson at your utterly sincere statement.

After a few episodes of the old television series (no less than five, but certainly more than two and a half), with the walls of your stomach already satisfied in your abdomen with that generous piece of cake made with a strictly followed recipe in the traditional Sokovian style, Wanda's gaze, who was then chuckling softly at some harmless silly joke made by the main character, dropped to your right profile, burning the bone in your jaw in scheming thoughts.

“When did you start smoking?”

Sweeping your eyes away from the colorful figures on the television, you glanced at the girl sitting next to you, finding a pretty face brightening before your gaze, “Sorry, what?”

“Your cigarette,” her index finger pointed at the small cylindrical object blistered behind your ear, skimming against your silver earrings, “When did you start smoking? If... if you don't mind talking about it, of course. Sorry if I'm being invasive."

“Oh, that,” you recalled suddenly from the presence of your addiction, bringing your right fingers to pick it up between your digits.

“It’s okay, I don't mind talking about it. But... I think it's been a while, actually. When my mom left my dad started smoking again and, well... I wanted to sneak some from him to see what it was like. About two years ago or so, I guess. Something like that."

You shrugged it off, because the matter had been over for longer than you cared to remember, and there wasn't much you could do if your mom just didn't want to stay anymore. But a warm grip slid across your skin as Wanda's right hand settled over the bare skin of your forearm, and there the tip of her thumb gave a cordial caress in affectionate circular motions, when her eyelids flicker so courteously into your face.

She was just a sweet girl after all, albeit under dark, torn clothes and dangling chains. Such a virtuous soul in the face of the oppressions of such an overwhelming world. When your eyes locked in midair, one trying to understand the glimmering behind the other, even the rehearsed lines coming from the television in the corner weren't enough to loosen the knot that was tied between you and Wanda.

“I… I get it, Y/n,” she mussed, leaning a little closer to your body, “I mean… it was hard when my dad left as soon as we arrived in the country. Quite hard, actually. My mom, she... she bought wine, for a while. Lots of wine bottles. I mean, she's better now, but I think that's when Pietro started doing... those things he does.”

The girl nibbled on her lower lip, and you, up close, just followed her with your eyes as she did.

“I didn't mean to bring you bad memories, it's just that...” her voice trailed off, getting smaller and smaller, as the tips of her ears reddened like two ripe peppers, “You... you look pretty when... when you smoke.”

Your heart missed a beat, and the oxygen just became unpalatable there inside that scrawny room filled with some disembodied laughter chuckled by the television set long forgotten in its sunny corner.

Setting the unsmoked cigarette aside, your right hand then dared to reach up on your forearm to search for what you've been searching for in the last few months, just snuggling your open palm against Wanda's soft cheek where, like the caresses bestowed by her finger, your own thumb tried to stroke a tiny freckle high up on her sharp cheekbone.

“Hey, look at me,” you asked in a tone bathed in tenderness, which she matched in a trace of pale green in her flickering irises, “It's okay Wanda, you didn't do anything wrong, don't worry about it. And on top of that," you half-giggled, “I think you're pretty too, you know.”

The thick dark lashes flickered out of her eyes, a half-formed mantilla of limping anguish, setting the stage for a color imbued with traces of what would be dizzying hope, flushing bright red on the pale alabaster skin of her accentuated face.

“You think I'm pretty...?”

“Of course I think so,” you nodded, your pupils dilated in close juncture with hers.

“You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Wanda. I wish I could make you laugh every day of my life just to see you smiling. Your... your smile is beautiful. And the way you sit and fiddle with your hair, or the way you care so much about everyone… everything about you is beautiful. Not a single day goes by that I don't notice how beautiful you are.”

She swallowed when you did too; an abyssal gaze that slanted magnetically down your face, to the outline of your lips as close to hers as they were.

“Can I…” she breathed beneath her ruffled voice, “Can I kiss you, Y/n? I really want to kiss you...”

What happened next, on the initiative of a Wanda who didn't even wait for half a second when you nodded in restraint, was a needy kiss that tasted like cake, cinnamon, cigarettes and, at the end, a hint of crystalline need not contained. Your upper teeth kind of clashed with each other at first, though that didn't stop you or Wanda, who just hooked her gentle fingers into the outline of the skin on your neck. Your brain needed oxygen, but your chest just needed her; her touch, her tongue, her red.

“Please,” Wanda mussed with her swollen lip against your, her eyes heavy, warm air caressing the pulp of the commission in your mouth, “Please tell me this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It is,” you muttered, going back to more of the taste of her tongue, “God, Wanda, you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this…”

The girl kissed you again with excruciating need, as if she really wanted to keep your soul tied to hers between the flicks of your tongues, as you felt the commission of her lips against yours twitch in a goofy smile, both hands roaming in search of the strands of your hair to hold them between her fingers, as if she wanted to breathe in from them the scent of cigarettes that so soothed her heart.

Wanda ran her hands down the length of your back, the roll of frigid rings feeling icy against your warm, bristly skin, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around her waist, your noses touching, mirrored smiles on your lips broken by kisses that were increasingly equipped with a mutual meaning that pointed to a need pulsing in your veins. 

“Can I...?” she understood the meaning behind your little question when your left palm brushed lightly against her enclosed breast, covered by the thin material of her dark blouse.

“Yes...” was a breathy sigh, “P–please, yes...”

There was consent in a tiny nod of the head, and a tiny groan breathed out from the back of her throat that reverberated through your bones as you pressed your palm lightly against her mound, one erect nipple protruding behind the fabric for, there, you've found her lacking the material of a bra to slip between your skin and hers, massaging the warm, soft flesh between the lengths of your cunning fingers.

“Fuck Wanda,” you groaned because she did too, “You're so beautiful…”

You just can't help but do it when your teeth came into contact with the pale sensitive skin of Wanda's throat, where you captured between your lips a pinkish lump of flesh glistening with a thin layer of sweat and buffed it with the tip of your tongue as if it were just a sweet dessert, feeling the burning saccharinity of the girl's naked skin as the caresses aimed at her breast became somewhat more continuous and erratic in the movements of your left forearm.

But you caught yourself surprised, when you felt a gentle grip on both your shoulders and saw that Wanda, with care as if handling the most fragile of flowers, was pulling you to fit over her, guiding you to the top.

She laid the length of her spine against the inconvenient length of the sofa, causing your wandering eyes to land on the piece of alabaster skin that had become exposed as the hem of her blouse rose, revealing, there, a band of abs marked by tiny dots sprinkled here and there, like a particular galaxy.

“You're so fucking beautiful, Wanda” was said between kisses and strokes of tongue over Wanda's abdomen, when you writhed inside the clothes that seemed too stuffy for her there, laying under your body.

“Y/n...” she moaned, but there was no word that could complement your own name whispered through her peachy lips.

Blood burned hot on the sharp red cheeks of Wanda's ivory face, her lids closed as if to hold back the tears of arousal that threatened to slip down her doll face. The rosebud mouth with the brief traces of your lustrous saliva was, every now and then, moaning in the form of a shy, smothered request.

Her lips were apparently forming delusional words, but your conscience no longer registered them, because you were too busy just watching her. Wanda was rosy, dusted with droplets of sweat, covered by the veil of ardor without realizing she was surrounded by a red haze of lust. Perfect, really. Your fingers hooked on the hem of her dark blouse, and in a slow flick of your wrist you pulled it over as you tucked the garment under Wanda's bared collarbones, revealing a pair of bare breasts there.

Watching with delight the flushed girl's unrestricted enjoyment of her satisfying freedom from the pieces of cloth that covered her silhouette, you propped yourself up on your elbows for a voluptuous view of full breasts partially covered by cascades of dark hair, blushing breasts in its perfect contours, of clear and erect nipples which you found yourself seized by a desire to squeeze between your lips and encircle it between your tongue.

However, as you threatened to resume the posture so that he could have those desirable breasts between your teeth, Wanda put a hand on your collarbone, preventing you before you even completed the act. You blinked at her face, lifting your head.

“Are you okay…?" you whispered, to which Wanda only looked away with her dark green gaze to the side, “Wanda, what is it…?”

“It's just that I've never,” she stifled, but at your encouraging gaze, something in her compelled to continue her speech, “I've never done… you know, that… with anyone… before.”

You bit your bottom lip. Well, fuck.

“It… It's all right. I've only done it once or twice, too, and I don't think one of them even counted properly,” and then, a hesitant half second passed, as you looked at her again, “You… do you want me to stop here? I don't mind stopping if you want me to. I want this to be pleasurable for you, not that you feel pressured to do it.”

“No, it's just that,” Wanda looked at you with two dark pools outlined in earnest green, pink eyelids and puffy lips, “Could this… not be a one time thing? I… I don't want to do it if it's just a one time thing.”

Your heart rose high in your chest as the idea dawned on you that Wanda wanted more than you did because you were willing to do what she wanted.

You just smiled small as you brought your face close to hers; you studied her carefully in a brief sunny moment (your crush, half-naked and fragile, had a lock of dark hair falling over her forehead and her brows furrowed, but her eyes were simple and sincere), drinking in her radiant red beauty like a drug addict – the feminine silhouette splashed with sun and, in a way, even with a synoptic veil of purity that accompanied your muse in the utopian world of dreams, like a poor helpless girl.

Gently, you kissed the corner of her rosy mouth.

“It was never intended for this to be a one time thing, Wanda,” you kissed her again, and then again and again, “I… I really like you, you know? I... I care about you. Much more than you can imagine, I promise.”

“I like you too, Y/n,” she mussed in a low voice, her forehead pressed against yours, “Really like you.”

But then, your touch approached the hollow of her groin.

“Y/n...” Wanda's tone softened, as if she was slightly embarrassed, “Y/n, please...”

“You touched yourself before, Wanda?”

The middle of her legs fluttered as it was that, even if in a partially measured way, Wanda just nodded shyly, her warm forehead still touching yours.

“Damn, you're so hot… so hot, pretty girl…”

Mouth wide and swollen, you let out a knowing smile, and gently lowered your head in a languid, lingering action, a withdrawn ecstasy making you feel compelled to bring your full lips to Wanda's soft mouth, who returned you in a wavering and sloppy kiss.

Making yourself helpful, you dipped your fingers towards the legs not completely closed under the hem of the other girl's skirt, locating between them, shrouded by the thin silk of an underwear, the fragile and swollen aroused clit, inciting a delicious moan that popped out of the girl's mouth to crash into your parted lips.

Your mouth throbbed at the sight of her like this, the gloomy, empty pupils doubling in size at the work of art that was born out of Wanda's orgasmic experience – her dark hair swept back in a purely sensual gesture, the tight mouth swallowing desperately sucking in a hiss of air, the length of her pale neck completely exposed. Her round, perfect breasts with erect nipples of a strong rosy hue, her eyelids closed and her dark brows furrowed. So desirable. So intoxicating.

You wanted to have her right there, on that little couch that would be the witness of your willingness to give her everything you had in you. You increased the pressure on Wanda's little bundle of nerves through the rising damp garment, almost even torturing her at your whim, only to see her writhe beneath your own body and groan indecently and disconnected.

A yelp was raised as your mouth closed around her right nipple, which you pampered for a while, still lingering in your low caresses, until you migrated to the other to lick and suck it into the hollow of flesh inside your cheeks. But something in you wanted more; you wanted to taste her, feel her run down your throat. And she shivered in anticipation as your mouth sailed south of her body, fitting your nose beneath her dark skirt.

“Red, huh,” you thought aloud, at the tiny wet wedge of clothing that was the only barrier erected between you and Wanda's source of pleasure; a thin lacy panty of crimson fabric, whose middle gained wet tones that made it darker at that specific point, “It suits you.”

Fingers tightened in a firm grip on the ridge of your scalp as you placed a chaste kiss on Wanda's clit, albeit over the fabric of her panties, who choked on a sudden loud yelp.

“Y/n, fuck–!”

“I don't think I've ever heard you curse like this before,” you mussed, licking the skin of your own lips, “This is new. I'll take them off, okay? Wanna taste you.”

You threaded your fingers around the inside of Wanda's black skirt, and bringing the straps of the red underwear to you, you had the girl completely naked, exposed, desirable, as soon as you moved your elbows and made your way towards what you were looking for.

From that intimate region flowed a honey of pleasure, exhaling a bittersweet odor, pink as the inside of a strawberry, bringing water to your predatory mouth. Wanda's fidgety pale legs were spread apart, and her partially shaved pussy was on display. You took your index and middle fingers to the sensitive area, and dragging the tip against the entire pink and wet extension of the inside of Wanda's labias, you collected the viscous liquid with strong flavor, drawing a strangled moan from the other girl.

You brought your smeared middle finger to your lips, fervently sucking Wanda's nectar, tasting just as you supposed it would be on the tip of your tongue; as addictive as the nicotine in your cigarette. You took them out of your mouth with a violent pop, only to then unroll your tongue to slide it into the other girl's untouched hole, which pulsed and throbbed, rubbing against the purest nothingness.

Wanda moaned, dripping against your chin. Your pace was slow at first, but you searched for more of her, and Wanda gave you what you wanted. She squirmed and grunted and squeezed your hair between her fisted hands, tangling them in the circulation of her silver rings. And your tongue wasn't very experienced indeed, but you knew what to do. The tip of your right index finger pressed against the rosy entrance as your head came out from under her skirt.

“Can I put in…?”

You felt her cunt pulse against your digit.

“Y-yes,” she yelped, “Please–!”

You kissed the inside of her thigh before carefully dipping your finger into that warm grip. And there was some resistance at first, her furrowed brow glistening in a layer of sweat, and you kept your wrist steady when it was when you again got on top of Wanda, who buried her head in your chest as you did.

“It hurts?” you asked against her ear, and she just shook her head in a hesitant move.

“N–no, but it's... it's weird,” she sighed, “I never... when–when I did, I never...”

“It's okay, pretty girl” you kissed her hair, “Gonna move now, okay? Let me know if it hurts or if you want me to stop.”

A cunning finger reached across Wanda's intimate region, reaching for what you begged to be reached, making its way towards what it sought, and, as an inevitable consequence, penetrated her through her point of entry.

In the face of the action, Wanda arched her entire spine, splitting a visceral groan from her vocal cords – for she had barely become familiar with the finger when the movement began, giving her something new to feel.

You skimmed her, filled her and understood her as nothing more than a girl with needs (needs that only yours could supply). Then Wanda squeaked; the hungry hands for something to keep within themselves searched for your shoulder blades tucked inside your crop top, and there, over your back muscles, the nails dyed in black dug breaking into the skin. Your foreheads supported each other, because during the carnal act, each other was just what you both had and what you both were.

Your forearm pumped down Wanda's skirt towards a hot, dripping grip, and as you hooked your single finger inside her tight walls, there was a moan from the other girl as you kissed it back down the inside of her throat. You kissed her sweaty forehead, then the prominent cheekbone of her flushed cheek, and a sliver of skin down the tip of her jawbone.

“Here?” touching her on a specific spot that caused a dizzying reaction, that's what you asked.

“Y–yes, please don't stop Y/n, please don't stop, please... I–I, I'll–”

“Fuck, come for me, pretty girl.”

“Y/n!”

Her velvety walls squeezed your finger before Wanda came in a loud weeping moan against your ear, pressing you against her body as if this were the last day on Earth, and she would never see you again. Silently, you just held her back, inhaling her scent from the shirt balled up over her exposed chest. You just stayed there, drinking from the moment, because you belonged to her.

The serenity that came from the unspoken heartbeats coming from Wanda's breastplate was enough to establish, at your core, the most complete and genuine feeling of latent rest that you could bear.

With your eyes closed, the room immersed in a pool of accentuated silence, you were able to hear her breathing for much longer than you could count, as she brought you unparalleled peace and immeasurable calm as nothing else had done before. She was there, and she was yours.

With your head resting on the girl's chest, lying on top of Wanda was like basking in a ray of sunlight – tender and cordial like coming home after a long journey.

The unclothed skin superimposed over the open palms of both your hands was warm and sunny, as smooth as the finest silk, and your hips were hitched in a precise, if not perfect fit—the remnants of the apex ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of her thighs, like a ghost of what had once been the height of the carnal act in which you were so vividly engaged minutes before.

The austere digits of your fingers amused themselves with ruffling the ends of her dark hair, cradling them around your index and middle fingers, until finally Wanda descended from her apex, her chest heavy beneath your face.

“Y/n,” she called out to you, as the seconds ticked by and the minutes settled in, “I think I wanna date you.”

Because you couldn't help but smile at such a modest return, bordering the ethereal innocence of a legitimate child, you brought your mouths together so that you could press, to the pearly lips of Wanda, a long, tongueless kiss. You ended it only to laugh, the tip of your own nose brushing the other girl's.

“You think?”

“I-I’m sure of it,” she blushed.

“I wanna date you too, Wanda,” you confessed, even though it wasn't a secret, “Is that okay with you?”

 “Yeah...” she smiled – weakly and languorously when in a wave of post-orgasm fatigue, but still a genuine and sincere smile, “Yeah, it is. You’re cute.”

“Nah, pretty girl,” you shrugged, “You’re cute. I’m… something else. I’m a freak.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen, Y/n,” she whispered, “And I wanna kiss you again.”

“Well, then,” you smiled towards her jadish irises, “Let me do the honors, pretty girl.”

In such a way, you approached Wanda so that you could kiss her jaw, while your hands, clasped between the sofa and the shoulder blades of your beloved, held her in a soft and pleasant embrace. Then you kissed Wanda on the patch of skin that joined her neck to her shoulder, her collarbone and her throat. And on her lips, over and over again.

And neither of you, in that newly found little bubble of love in each other's arms, even heard the front door open.

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda maximoff imagine #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 #agnes wandavision #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff #quicksilver #darcy lewis #monica rambeau #pepper potts #tony stark #wanda maximoff x reader

[fakeagatha]

Could you do a cute one shot or headcannon of reader and Agatha baking together?

Like maybe one of then isn't the best so the other has to help?

Icing | Agatha Harkness x Reader

A/N: Hey anon! So firstly I want to apologize profusely for taking almost a year to get this done for you, I've been distant from Tumblr, and even though I had the fic as a WIP, I couldn't find the time to complete it, but it's finally done!

Summary: Agatha wants to start baking again, and requests your help. The only problem is that you have no idea how.

Word Count: 864

TW: Minor swearing?

Ever since you and Agatha started portraying your roles in Westview, it gave you and your wife a chance to take up new hobbies and activities, since you had to pretend to be held captive in the fantasy as well.

Agatha was next door, and Wanda was baking some sort of Sokovian pastry for the twins.

Being a 300 year old witch, Agatha has a lot of experience in almost everything, of course. One of them being baking, since she has generally done a lot of that in her life. She hasn't baked in years, and she was inspired by the redhead.

So that's why you found her in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets as you came home from your walk.

You approached her, looking around at all the open cabinets. "So, what's up with all this?" You chuckled.

"It's all Wanda's fault. I want to bake again, I haven't done it in years!" She exclaimed, "We need to go shopping." She added.

You raised an eyebrow at her "Why not just... Use your magic?"

She simply glared at you, shaking her head. "I want the full experience." She grinned, and grabbed your arm as you walked to the car.

You looked at her in amusement, not protesting whatsoever as you entered the passengers seat.

Not even a minute on the road, and she was singing "Sweet Child of Mine" at the top of her lungs as it blasted on the radio. You do regret your life decisions sometimes, but you wouldn't change it for the world.

Westview's local grocery store only has specific things in stock at certain times. Thankfully, since you had decided to go at the time you did, there were baking products.

It was frustrating when Agatha wanted to make a meal, but Wanda hadn't stocked the shop with the ingredients she needed, just because her so called best friend didn't currently need them.

Your luck was fine, so that's when you found yourselves picking up a lot of supplies, a bit too much, just in case it took a while for the next stock.

Your wife had picked up some bags of flour, sugar, baking powder, some cake mixes, and pretty much anything that was baking related.

"Your total comes to 376 dollars."

Agatha looked at the cashier for a moment, "Sure..." She smirked.

Let's just say you only paid 10 dollars, after she used her powers to manipulate the woman behind the cash register.

As you arrived home, the witch placed the five shopping bags, which you weren't allowed to carry, onto the table, and grinned.

"This is perfect!" She exclaimed.

You kissed her on the cheek, and helped her unpack everything.

You smirked, "Of course."

She sighed after everything was put in its place, before thinking for a moment.

"Do you like cupcakes and cookies?" She suddenly asked.

You blushed slightly, "I actually have no idea how to bake..." You admitted, shrugging.

She beamed, and used her powers to bring over the ingredients, along with some cooking essentials.

"Right, we're making strawberry and chocolate cupcakes with cookie toppings and sprinkles, as well as some red velvet cookies, and you're going to help me." She demanded, grinning.

Agatha's smile grew, and took you by the hand over to the counter next to her. "There's a first time for everything!"

The purple witch pulled out a baking tray, inspecting it slightly before placing it on the counter. You handed her the dough, which the two of you had made together, attempting to make various shapes.

You shaped out a cat for a cookie, you think, it could've been a cow, or even a lizard. You weren't quite sure about the answer. Agatha on the other hand, had somehow managed to perfectly sculpt a rose.

Agatha then turned to you, grinning, "Now we get to make the icing!" You smiled back at her, allowing her to guide you.

She handed you a bag of flour, and you carefully took it, and attempting to pour it into the bowl Agatha had set out in front of you.

Most of what you were supposed to put in had fallen out or ended up on you and Agatha's face.

"Oops..." You looked at Agatha, who was completely covered in flour.

Half an hour later, after adding the toppings and finishing up, you finally put the cupcakes into the oven, as Agatha took off her messy apron and smirked. "Most of this mess is your fault," She chuckled, and you rolled your eyes while smiling.

"You know I'm crap at baking!" You whined, and she laughed again, "I know, I know. But I'm so happy that you tried for me anyway!" She beamed at you, and you kissed her cheek as you smirked.

When you heard the alarm of the oven going off, you quickly turned it off, taking the tray out and placing it on the counter top to cool down. "They look great!" You exclaimed, and your wife nodded in agreement. "I'm quite surprised that the shapes turned out so good." She replied.

You both took a cupcake, admiring the mini cookies and sprinkles that you had added, and took a bite. You weren't sure what to expect, but they tasted just as good as they looked, and the same went with the cookies.

Agatha then smirked, "Next time, we're making a cake!" 

#agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #wandavision #kathryn hahn x reader #marvel #mcu

[delulu-with-wandanat]

How does feel like to live in your little delulu echo chamber bubble of shipping 2 characters who had less 3 seconds of screentime together. How does it feel like to be part of a nonexistent community (this ship has fans you can count on your fingers) how does feel like to be the blackest sheep to ever black among the mcu shipping fandom. Because I do also live in that delulu land and sometimes reality hits me and I realize how pathetic I am, I even double it down and made this ship the source of my sanity and stability, how laughable, pitiful I am

What are u talking about anon?

Are you telling me Wanda and Natasha haven’t been dating since Civil War? Didn’t they kissed and protect each other in the midst of battle fighting thanos?? Are you saying they’re not married and have two kids and are living a simple life in a tiny town called westview?!!

(I sure do love my little delulu wandanat island)

#vlake answers #wandanat #wandanat delulu #why are we like this

[randomshyperson]

69 with Carol, Wanda and Natasha

Hey anon, horny hours is here huh?

69: time for the one(1) naughty question for the naughty number: What are some of their kinks?

Wanda - Okay I have a controversial medium for Wanda, but I would say voyeurism. BUT I HAVE REASONS!! She was broadcasting Westview (and her nights with her husband) to anyone who had a television. And I'll leave it here. And well, Wanda definitely uses magic in sex. And if we're thinking about Dom! Wanda, she likes to mark your body. Bottom! Wanda is a little devil who loves teasing.

Natasha - You know those people who look tough and are big softies? I feel like Natasha is like that. Of course, she knows how to fuck well, but she also knows how to make intense, passionate love and for someone who craves intimacy and real relationships like her, I feel heavy praising would completely melt her.

Carol - Exhibitionism, restriction, definitely power dynamics (Carol dom). I'm sorry if this is short, I don't write Carol very often.

--//--

Questions Game

#ask box #ask games #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel imagines #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff headcanons #natasha romanoff headcanons

[wandaslullaby]

navigation

my blog is a safe space for everyone but this blog is 100% going to have nsfw material in the text posts !! minors pls don't interact and if ur age is not in your bio, i'll block :) + this is a 18+ blog where i’ll be writing most smut so please don’t interact if you are underage.

anon's are always welcome, even if it's the smallest thing i'm always lerking in my ask box so please don't be shy :")

i am always up for nsfw talk but there are so things that i don't partially like:

feet

piss and scat play

watersports

age gap

body fluids

raceplay

some things to know: 

what i don’t write: racism, scat, beastiality. If I am uncomfortable with anything else, i’ll let you guys know! 

what i do write: smut (kinks/fetishes except piss kink or anything like that) angst, fluff, humour, dark fics etc. feel free to send in requests, you can also y feel free to ask anything specific, i am open to most things and no judgement <3 

who i write for: wanda maximoff, natasha romanoff, carol danvers and GN/Fem!Reader. i’m still open to write for the other mcu women!! 

a03

key: * (smut) ** (fluff) *** (angst) ****

WANDA MAXIMOFF

carousel of progress: wanda made sure that you were properly taken care off. *

night feeds: wanda proposes a deal *

rotten to the core: wanda needs a stress relief, and you were the perfect match. *

great, big beautiful tomorrow: wanda’s plan gets the green light. (part two of cop) *

a simple stroke: you decided to put your art skills to good use. **

build a bear: you happened to get a little carried away with scarlett the bear *

expedition everest: not really understanding why you and wanda broke up, you didn’t expect her to make a visit. **

bunny/wanda series: snapshots of westview’s virgin bachelorette getting sucked into the perverted life of professor maximoff. **

sleepy head: wanda just couldn't wait to give you her surpise. **

WANDNAT 

herbology choas: wanda and natasha takes quite a liking to one particular student. **

NATASHA ROMANOFF

typhoon lagoon: you could say there’s perks of being yelena’s friend. **

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #navigation

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

omg that would be so great if u did like wanda dsmom whump

HI Anon! Great idea! For this piece it’s Mom!Wanda x Teen!Reader (platonic).

Wanda had always treated Y/N like one of her own children. When her children disappeared, Y/N was all she had left. And she would do anything to make sure Y/N didn’t leave, too. Y/N was currently staying at an apartment in New York, and when Wanda offered for her to come visit her in the country, Y/N couldn’t refuse the chance to get away from the city for a little while. If only Y/N had known about what had happened at Westview.

“Please, make yourself at home, Y/N,” Wanda said, opening the door to the cabin, “your room’s right next to mine.”

Y/N followed Wanda through the house to a small bedroom. Wanda had decorated it with things she knew Y/N liked. For instance, the bedspread was in her favorite color, and there were posters up of Y/N’s favorite TV shows.

“Wanda,” Y/N said, “I’m only staying for a week. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to, Y/N,” Wanda replied, “now get settled. Dinner will be ready in an hour or two.”

Y/N watched Wanda leave. She started unpacking, unaware that the witch was opening up a forbidden tome just one room over.

…

Y/N was almost done unpacking when she saw a wisp of red flow into her room.

“Wanda?” Y/N asked.

Y/N followed the red wisp until she reached Wanda’s room. She knocked on the door, but no answer came.

“Wanda, are you okay in there?” Y/N asked nervously.

When still no answer came, Y/N cautiously pushed open the door and peeked inside. What she saw made her gasp. Wanda was in the center of the room, surrounded by candles, hovering in midair, reading a sinister-looking book. She was dressed in all red and black, with a red crown to match.

“W-Wanda?” Y/N approached Wanda slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Shhh, Y/N, I’m concentrating,” Wanda answered.

“On what?”

Wanda looked up and smiled.

“On you.”

Y/N cried out as red energy swirled around her and attached itself to her limbs. Y/N struggled against the magic restraints, but they wouldn’t budge.

“Calm down, Y/N,” Wanda said softly, “this will all be over in a minute.”

‘Wanda, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

Wanda strode closer until she was standing inches away from Y/N. She brought a hand filled with red magic up to Y/N’s temple. Immediately, Y/N stopped struggling as her expression grew vacant and her eyes glazed over.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wanda said, “my mind control only reaches so far, Y/N. I don’t want you fighting me internally, so I’ve consulted the Darkhold for a stronger spell. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Y/N was only faintly aware of what Wanda was saying before dark red spots danced across her vision and everything faded away.

…

Y/N woke up to sunlight filtering in through her window. She sat up in bed and stretched.

“Y/N,” Wanda called, “breakfast is ready!”

“Coming, Mom!” Y/N answered.

Y/N threw off the covers and headed down the hall to the kitchen, where Wanda was currently making her favorite breakfast. Y/N sat down at the table as Wanda slid waffles onto a plate.

“Did you sleep well?” Wanda asked, setting the plate in front of Y/N.

“For the most part,” Y/N answered, “I had a really weird dream though…”

“I wouldn’t think on it,” Wanda said quickly, “oftentimes dreams don’t mean anything. Eat your breakfast.”

Y/N picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of waffle. The flavors danced in her mouth as she bit into it. Wanda had always been the best cook since as long as Y/N could remember. A knock at the front door caused Y/N to look up from her plate.

“Who’s that?” Y/N asked.

“Stay here, Y/N,” Wanda said, “I’ll be right back.”

Wanda left the kitchen and headed to the front door. Y/N set her fork down as she listened closely.

“Wanda,” a voice said, “what have you done with Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Wanda answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s been missing for a month, Wanda, and the trail leads to you.”

Missing? Y/N wasn’t missing, she was home. What was going on? Y/N quietly got up and crept over to the front door. There was a man in the doorway dressed in blue robes and a red cloak that seemed to move of its own accord. Something about the man seemed awfully familiar, but Y/N couldn’t place it.

“Mom?” Y/N asked, “what’s going on?”

“’Mom’?” the stranger asked, “Wanda, are you kidding me? First you brainwash an entire town, and now this?”

“Y/N, go to your room, please,” Wanda said, her voice strained, “I’ll take care of this.”

“No, stay right where you are,” the stranger countered, “your ‘mother’ and I need to talk to you.”

Y/N stood frozen to the spot. She couldn’t figure out what to do. The strange man sighed and released a glowing, yellow string from his hand. The string wrapped around Y/N’s middle and dragged her forward until she was right in front of the strange man.

“What are you doing!?” Y/N yelled, “who are you!?”

“You don’t remember me, that’s just great,” the man said, “don’t worry, I’m gonna fix this.”

A red blast of energy threw the man backwards into the front yard. The glowing string wrapped around Y/N’s middle dissipated and the door slammed shut of its own accord.

“And stay out!” Wanda shouted.

Wanda quickly turned to Y/N and cupped her face. She turned her head from one side to the other.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Wanda asked, her face etched with worry.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Y/N asked, “who was that?”

“No one you need to worry about.” Wanda replied, “let’s just say he’s a very bad man who wants to take you away from me. I’m not going to let him or anyone else take you away from me, Y/N, I promise.”

Wanda hugged Y/N close as Y/n’s head swam with several thoughts. Why was someone trying to take her away from her mom? Why did that man say she had been missing for a month? Something wasn’t right, and Y/N had a feeling Wanda knew something she didn’t. Before she could ask, Wanda let go of Y/N and let streams of red energy circle around her. Y/N watched as the house transformed before her eyes. Sharp bars grew up in front of the window panes, and several locks materialized in front of the door. Y/N stumbled as the house seemed to grow up out of its foundation. Y/N looked out the barred window to see that they were several stories above the ground.

“There,” Wanda said, “I’d like to see someone try to break through this fortress.”

Wanda turned to Y/N and her expression softened. Y/N, however, looked very uneasy.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Wanda asked.

“Mom,” Y/N started, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Y/N,” Wanda replied, “why don’t you head to your room? I have some things I need to take care of.”

“…okay,”

Y/N turned and headed to her room. Still, something didn’t feel right. Y/N didn’t know how, but she was going to get to the bottom of this.

Meanwhile, the Scarlet Witch flew into her own bedroom. She opened the Darkhold and flipped through several pages until she landed on just the right spell.

“I’m not going to lose you, Y/N,” Wanda said, “I’m not going to lose anyone ever again.”

part 2

#brainwashing #mind control #whump #hurt/comfort #dsmom #writeblr #writing #creative writing #as requested #kidnapping #wanda maximoff #dr strange #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #reader whump #teen reader #multiverse of madness

[bonniebird]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Requested by Anon​

Halloween event

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“It won't work.” You said as you followed Wanda. She chuckled and glanced at you, stopping near a large tree that had several branches reaching out and twisting.

“Won't it?” She asked. You nodded and looked around, seeing if there was some way to escape. Though you weren’t in a rush to escape from Wanda. Many people who discovered just how powerful you were tried to harness your power. But so far, Wanda had simply wanted you to hear her out and listen to her plan.

"People have been after me for a thousand years, but I'm always one step ahead." You said quickly. She laughed, loudly, musically. Her world rippled and rolled around her as if her delight at your comment vibrated the air around her.

“You weren’t one step ahead of me.  Found you in a week.” She reminded you. She continued to walk and her cabin slowly came into view as you followed.

“You knew about my powers.” You pointed out as she stopped and sat on the steps of her home. You watched her. She smiled and patted the step beside her the way she’d do when you came back from a mission, weary and exhausted. 

“I could restore the ones people stole from you. I could remove the limitations that Stark put in you.” Wanda offered. Looking at her, up close, you could still see Wanda. There was a strange air around her as if her grief had snatched away a part of her, the part that was calmness and stability. Now she seemed to be always in movement even when still. 

“No one would be able to stop me.” You said with concern.

“Exactly.” Wanda smiled at you and you frowned.

“What exactly would you want me to do with my power?” You asked her and she smiled even wider.

“You could fix everything. My boys. Vis. Pietro. You could bring them all to me.” her eyes glazed and the smile changed. She had changed. You’d tried to help at Westview but you’d lost track of her. She hadn’t seemed this different then and it wasn’t so long ago.

“Strange said if I did any of that I could fold the universe in on itself.” You reminded her quietly. Wanda rolled her eyes and stood up abruptly.

“What does Strange know? We could do it together. I could stop anything bad from happening and you could bring them back. We’re all we need. Think about the power you would have.” Wanda was angrily pleading now as if she had expected you to agree right away.

“(Y/N)!” You heard me calling out from somewhere. You couldn’t see them and ignored what they said. Getting up you tried to take a step toward Wanda.

“I don’t want the power to destroy the world.” You said quietly and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m offering you the power to make our own. You’re going to need it.” She vanished as she spoke. Her eyes were the last thing you saw before you were suddenly falling off the side of a building in the city. You yelled until a portal opened in front of you. The city was charred and shattered. People fled away from you as you softly landed on the ground.

“(Y/N).” Wong said as he hurried over.

“I’m ok… what happened?” You asked.

“Something or someone took over your body.” Strange said as he landed beside you.

“Wanda?” You said quietly.

“No. This was something else.” Wong assured you. Swallowing you turned, feeling something watching you. Off in the distance, you saw a red smudge vanish from a rooftop with a clear view of the street.

Wanda tags:

@stellasblog @DeanWinchestersgirl87 @thekayarlene @linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @phasma-trash @bluebear142077 @daughterofthenight117 @multi-fandom5 @rafecameronswhore @favmeyou @imsimpforpoppy @skinny-bitch-juice @salemsnothere @supernatural-wolfie @devilslilbabysblog @sentimentalweasley @why-am-I-here-01 @babygrinchsblog @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny @littlefreakingfangirl @jayyeahthatsme @gillybear17 @bluejaysaysstuff @Kaitieskidmore1 @stupendousbelieverzombie @thebaileybugle @bluejaysaysstuff @im-ilvn @slxthxrxn-sxmp @writerfulltime

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #bonniebird #halloween2022

[spideystark]

“It’s alright. You’re just in time for dinner!” Wanda exclaimed. “Your father will be home soon.” She adjusted her robe before using her magic to open the door for Peter. “Agnes helped me prepare it all!” She led him inside, where the house was set for the dinner. “How’s Mary Jane? She’s always welcome to join us for dinner, you know.”

"Great, I'm starving! Is Agnes going to be staying for dinner? What are we having?" Something about just talking about the woman made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he pushed the feeling away in favor of the part of him that remembered her being his Mom's close friend.

"Oh, Mj's..." He tried to think for a second about where she was, almost like the information was missing and something was trying to fill it in. "Still in New York, she's staying an extra week at her cousin's to visit the art galleries before coming home."

#;;Wanda Anon [Westview]

[chal-latte]

A/N: pt 2 of this fic LFG (j bc yalls cute @chalametsimp @xoxoloverb @timmymyluv @ohmysw33 @idk27131277) hope this is alright ✨ sry for the formatting 

y/i/n

Liked by tchalamet, enews, chloegmoretz and 3.302.594 others

y/i/n toodle loo🥯🍳🫒🥑🧁

tagged: @tchalamet

See all comments

↪️ y/i/n baebygirl

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage22 bagel is his brand

fanpage92 ARE YOU GUYS BACK TOGETHER??

chloegmoretz <3

↪️ y/i/n my angel <3

fanpage85 SPARE US THE CONFUSION

enews could this, too, be a pr stunt situation?

↪️ fanpage33 this is a sign for you to stfu

fanpage42 dude wtf 

juliafox huh

↪️ y/i/n i swear catch up soon

↪️ juliafox call me at least god

↪️ y/i/n @juliafox in a minute mom

fanpage77 lol him choosing the bagels while y/n waits for him 

fanpage20 we gonna act like him n lily actually didnt happen?

fanpage58 move tf on y/n he’s clearly still in contact w lily

deuxmoi

Liked by 428.004 others

deuxmoi so, what happens 15 hours after the met gala after party is timothee chalamet leaving y/n l/n’s apartment complex holding his neatly folded costume, dressed casually in his day-to-day attire. while y/n follows suit 20 minutes later looking fresh and chic. an anon said: “on the way, timothee was calling someone, saying ‘it’s over, i dont give a f*ck about her. i would never do that again.” did they sleep on the problem and continue their day like nothing happened or has it been solved? 

See all comments

fanpage47 lol wack agent

fanpage76 i’d fucking sue him idk 

fanpage45 the press and media is breaking them they dont deserve this

fanpage89 i hope everything’s alright :(

fanpage64 i swear this isnt easier for lily too 

fanpage57 the amount of hate lily’s getting is crazy pls stop 

fanpage78 L man she’s better with me 

fanpage33 kiss and make up ig 

fanpage80 hope this is for the better :( 

tchalamet mentioned @y/i/n in a story!

tchalamet my little dove

tchalamet 

Liked by y/i/n, dunemovie, officialrebeccaferguson and 5.021.582 others

tchalamet DUNE AVAILABLE ON HBOMAX

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zendaya real cozy up there huh

↪️ tchalamet we good

fanpage37 WE GOOD. WE GOOD.

fanpage84 i need to see tomdaya and y/ntimothee on a double date again

joshbrolin you guys want to come to my watch party?

↪️ prideofgypsies hell yeah

↪️ zendaya @joshbrolin time and date and i’ll be there

↪️ tchalamet @zendaya @prideofgypsies he only invited me but okay 

↪️ joshbrolin @tchalamet @zendaya @prideofgypsies only the younglings dude

↪️ zendaya @joshbrolin who the hell is the younglings?

↪️ joshbrolin @zendaya​ timothee and y/n 

↪️ y/i/n @joshbroliln AW we’ll be there josh <3

↪️ prideofgypsies @joshbrolin old man playing father figure. lame. 

fanpage47 THEY RLY HAD TO FIGHT ON THE COMMENTS SECTION DONT THEY

fanpage24 pls invite my daddy oscar @joshbrolin 

fanpage98 OH YEAH ITS Y/N ITS OFFICIAL GUYS THEYRE BACK

fanpage90 its y/n’s hands

fanpage21 it’s ab time i said it all along it was a misunderstanding

fanpage75 remember that one interview where tim said things about how theyre meant to be with each other in this lifetime? yeah no one can separate them 

fanpage23 it can only be her’s

y/i/n

Liked by juliafox, tchalamet and 2.301.943 others

y/i/n it’s probably just a case of the mondays.. am i right?

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tchalamet right baby

↪️ y/i/n 🥰

fanpage11 theyre not through but theyre back!!! we’re alive again

wandavision you’d be perfect in westview

↪️ y/i/n OMG YES i’d be a good girl for wanda 

↪️ y/i/n i mean- nvm i’d love to be a westviewer :)

↪️ tomholland2013 @y/i/n HAHAH will you look at that

↪️ y/i/n @tomholland2013 throw me a welcome party then 🤨

fanpage83 SAY WHAT

fanpage92 SHES BACK W TIM AND WILL BE JOINING THE MCU?

fanpage22 GOD THIS WILL BE CRAZY

katdenningsss you are always right

↪️ y/i/n QUEEN 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

fanpage31 queen acknowledging queen so true

fanpage44 @katdenningsss​ y/n loves physics fyi

fanpage31 today is my happy day

fanpage89 my it couple 

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #paul atreides #paul atreides imagine #instagram au #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet au #imagine

[wmarximoff]

Wanda x reader sharing a cigarette pls

dirtbag baby | w. maximoff

(the gif is not mine, all credits go to the author)

summary: Wanda Maximoff, the transfer student who always caught your eye, approaches you with an unusual request.

warnings: underage smoking.

pairings: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 1k

A/N: there you go anon, hope you like it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

You, with a cigarette dangling from the corner of your mouth like a cowboy in one of those old west gunslinger movies that flickered at its scorched end, thought that maybe you shouldn't be anywhere but in the classroom on a full Thursday morning. But it was customary in your routine to sneak out of the teachers' sight to enjoy the fumes of your addiction – professor Harkness once promised not to report you to principal Carter if you gave her a hidden cigarette, something you promptly did.

But even more so on that particular Thursday, at least, when you found yourself tucked under the steps of the bleachers on the field that was practice area for the soccer team and the cheerleading girls, lonely as an animal too tired to deal with the nuances of living in a pack with your peers, nothing about you compelled you to give up a moment of inner peace to accompany your colleagues in a period of biology.

But Westview was a rather small, subdued little town, another one of those typical American suburbs with fenced-in neighbors who would smile so forgivingly when they went to mow the lawn or gossip in the sun, yet befitting the sharp, arbitrary glances turned away at your sight (a city that could be pinpointed somewhere high on the map of the state of New Jersey), and from there you met more people than you really wanted to meet – even though no one bothered to get to know you very well.

It was a bright April morning, backed by a pleasant temperature (an affable warmth to the skin, encouraging the use of clothes of light constitution and shorter length), coming from the mild spring currents which bordered the country's Mid-Atlantic; the vegetation became flowery, set in vibrant shades of green and brown when against the usual cinereous panorama of the month, and the blazing sun warmed the roots of people's heads in the street.

From the pre-midday period, just after a quarter of an hour past nine in the morning, it even surprised you when, based on the cheering cheers from the girls on the cheerleading squad so close by, footsteps could be heard approaching from behind your shoulders, kneading the grass under the feet.

For a second you assumed that the one stalking you was professor Harkness who would come up with a joke to open the door to the main question of requesting a drag of you, but as you turned around with the burning cigarette still blistered on your lips, your eyebrows rose in the middle of your forehead because whoever was there was Wanda Maximoff, the transfer student.

“Eh, hi…?” the greeting had been intoned as a matter of course, for there was a curious tightness in the lids surrounding your confused eyes.

Wanda was not at all someone you or any of the other students knew well, not when she was just a figure dimmed by Pietro Maximoff's silver glow; the honorable eyes of the rest of the school all focused on her older twin who was the football team's newest attraction – a natural athlete, agile as lightning, the young boy had already secured a spot at a prestigious college thanks to scouts who came to witness him take the football team to the highest rankings after much time seen as just another team of losers.

But Wanda was a courteous student, a real bookworm who was always accompanied by that tall, blond-haired, starched British boy who swore to everyone that she was his girlfriend, even though she always sternly reiterated the fact that he wasn't really her boyfriend, he was just insistent and she was patient to the extreme.

She was always dressed in dark clothes, short or long, with dangling chains and pagan trinkets and stylish rips, and he was pleased by an odd combination of green clothes that made him look like a college professor dressed like an avocado.

Together, Wanda and Jarvis Stark were just an unusual duo walking the halls (he always chattering with a Shakespearean air, she always so quiet when wrapped up in her own thoughts). But there, hidden with you under the stone in the stands, she could breathe with her own lungs.

“You're Y/n, aren't you...?”

Her emerald gaze swept over your face for half a second, as if studying your facial features with a hint of curiosity glimmering behind her thick lashes. And something contained in that exotic girl was what caught your attention so firsthand, which urged you to interrupt your smoking act to just look at her as if you wanted to decipher her – because everything about Wanda was black, urging your mind to find a light within that darkness.

But even the eye shadow that circled her lids or even her eyeliner, it was all just so dark; even the pretty green shimmering in her irises as she turned to you, gracing you with the sight of her sharp face in high, well-structured cheekbones and finely chiseled brows that carried an air of mystery.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you muttered with certainty, after another drag of your cigarette and a cloud of occluded smoke, “I am, indeed. And you're Wanda Maximoff.”

Your statement seemed to melt ice in surprise under her gaze, because she put two and two together and realized that you already knew who she was.

“Can I,” she then began, opening her mouth only to then close it again, before dragging her upper teeth along the contour of her lower pink lip, “Can I get a cigarette? Please.”

The strangeness of her request was mixed with fascination and awe that took you by surprise – that's because the other young students at Westview High drank alcohol like any other reckless, partying teenagers, yes, but smoking cigarettes was a bit of a distant line, reserved only for the taciturn adults who shuffled around like faceless figures; the unhappy housewives soaked in wine or the disgruntled teachers kept awake after long doses of caffeine.

But you only made yourself reach into the back pocket of your pale baggy jeans to once again lift that pack of half-crumpled cigarettes bought with coins, which you then handed to Wanda as if you were holding a microphone in front of her face to for her to speak, as in a rehearsed interview.

“Here, make yourself comfortable.”

Her gaze dropped to the pack on offer, before the length of her fingers, adorned by a handful of stylishly distributed silver rings, gleamed in a beam of white light before the sun's rays that illuminated it, fingernails tinted in a sober, chipped black polish, grasp a small white cylinder between her index finger and thumb, pulling it out of the paper box.

“Thank you,” you watched her as she fitted it through a broken crack in her rosy mouth, before turning back to you with bright, tempting eyes, “Can you… light it for me?”

"Oh, yeah, sure. Here."

And did you notice that Wanda suppressed a smile when she saw that you stared at her for several long seconds before reaching for your lighter in the back pocket of your jeans, bringing the little red plastic tool close to her face, fetching the steady flame closer to the tip.

As you lifted your eyes to meet Wanda's gaze, something scorched inside you because the notion that you were as close as you ever were before slipped over your senses; your forehead almost flushed against hers, and the darkened green that looked into your soul was hollow like an animal's burrow that enchanted you to fall on that bottomless edge, into Wanda, who seemed open to consume you completely.

In fact, you've noticed her more than you care to admit to yourself. The way she had so expertly prose about Jane Austen's writing in a recent literature class was captivating, and the way she seemed so intent on her own notes in history class was thought-provoking. For a moment, your fingertips itched to touch her long dark hair, which was flowing in layers that adorned her breasts buttoned inside a dark blouse.

But when she moved her throat to swallow the cigarette smoke, you heard a gasp; the inexperienced drag set off a coughing fit on Wanda's part, who expelled plumes of opulent smoke from her lips and nose – a sight that incited little giggles on you, who took a step back before you lost complete control of your actions and leaned over to cover her mouth with yours.

“S-shit,” she huffed, shaking her head, “Damn…”

“Hey, chill, it's okay,” you assured her in a complacent tone of voice, flanked by a friendly smile, “Here, you have to do it like this.”

And as you gently reached out to her pale hand to take the cigarette for yourself, the skin of your fingers brushed against hers and it was like an electric current, red and throbbing in your senses.

With attentive eyes, Wanda looked at you as you took the filter towards your mouth, and there, where hers had been seconds before, your saliva mixed and you wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her after smoking a cigarette – if it would be red and electrifying or just chaste and measured, like a child's kiss slipped behind a curtain.

When you swallowed, already well acquainted with the act in a seasoned, time-honed form, and blew murky smoke between your lips, Wanda's gaze lingered for a heartbeat on the outline of your parted mouth.

“You can't pull too hard or hold it in your mouth, because then you'll just cough and, well... it sucks. You just have to be cool and let it happen.”

“Fine,” she repeated in a low voice, “I get it.”

You handed her the still-lit, half-smoked cigarette, and this time she inhaled with her eyes closed like an old Hollywood actress. When she opened her dark makeup-adorned eyelids, slowly as if to associate what was happening there, between you and her under the bleachers, it was only to find your dark, expectant gaze fixed on her pretty face.

Though she had coughed some more, Wanda now looked relaxed and light in her own dark clothes.

"Better?"

"Yeah, I guess," Wanda kind of shrugged, and without showing your teeth, you smiled at her.

“Over time you get the hang of it. Everyone coughs at first, but then it gets better.”

There was a smoky silence, just you watching her as she smoked. When, at last, the cigarette died, scorching in its ashes, Wanda looked at you again, who were still so close to her.

“Y/n,” she called.

“Do you wanna… do you wanna come over to my place after school? My mom took the afternoon shift and Pietro has practice,” and then, after half a second of hesitation, her gaze flashed a profuse green that burned the cheeks of your face, “I'll be alone. We can… we can smoke there.”

You let out a breath of humorous air between your nostrils.

“Of course I wanna go, Wanda,” and then, you took a step closer to the other girl's personal space, “But I don't just wanna go for a smoke with you.”

“Fine,” she smiled, “Because I don't wanna just do that either.”

#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 #agnes wandavision #agatha harkness

[sycamorelibrary754]

slightly unrelated question but, what would you say monica is up to in the guardian angel universe?

it just made me think, how darcy is involved, would you think monica is adjusting to her powers somewhere? do you think she’d be anti wanda or would you think of her as one of the people who’d kind of defend what she did?

again, not super related, it was just a thought i had and i love little details about people’s AUs, even the parts they don’t write :)

Hi Anon! 😊 Sorry it took me so long to answer this. Personally, I think that Monica is learning how to use and control her powers somewhere. Ultimately, I like to believe that she would defend what Wanda did in Westview in a similar way to how Nat and Maria do in Guardian Angel. Understanding of the pain she was in and knows that she wouldn't knowingly hurt anyone.

#guardian angel #wanda maximoff #wandavision #monica rambeau #sycamorelibrary754asks #anon ask #thanks anon!

[delulu-with-wandanat]

Fics recs: 1-THE ROMANOFF CHRONICLES, an astounching groundbreaking, never seen before (literally) masterpiece, 100/10. It's mainly set in those 5years post snap, it explains the development that each character presented in endgame in a way the Russos wish they did, it represents the friendship between the avengers in a way marvel never allowed them be, it respects Natasha ( skill set, humanity, personality, affiliations,..) it's nat centric, it's only flaw: it's not complete but don't worry it has 60 medium to long chaps.

2-ON THE COVER - RED WHITE AND BLACK | New York Magazine | Dec. 30th, 2024, this is the most beautifully written farewell, tribute to Natasha Romanoff I have ever seen, it's written in a format that I think has never been used in fanfics, it's a soul touching poetic masterpiece

3- Ohio years, an exquisite bittersweet mini series of 1 shots that's written in a captivating style that keeps your attention, it showcases how the Russian murder family but mainly nat & Melina come to love & connect to each other.

4-FIREFLIES, it's written in such a bittersweet melancholic reminiscing way, it's just so beautiful. It's an 18 1 shots about nat encountering fireflies & being reminded of Ohio years &then others being reminded of nat by seeing them.

5- DISTURBING THE PEACE, an excellent 100/10 tear-jerker masterpiece, it's a very long 1 shot about what if post apocalyptic lonely nat , it also showcases her friendship with og avengers & nick.

6- I USED TO HAVE NOTHING, - WIDOW SISTERS AND MANY MARVELOUS MARVEL WOMEN - WE ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN THIS, it's cute well written comfort, fluff, a bit angsty 3 different series of mainly 1 shots by 3 different authors about yelena and Natasha. They're my all time favorite comfort read.

7- I LOVE YOU, GOODBYE, it's a very very long 1 shot of AU of endgame in which Wanda survives & wandanat happens that hit me so hard I needed hours to process it & get out of it, my only quell with it is that it reset nat & Wanda's relationship with each other at postAOU where they would definitely be distant to each other.

8- IT'S FUN TO LOSE AND TO PRETEND, an absolute tear-jerker, a masterpiece, a beauty, a greatness, it's a 5 parts multichaps which takes place just after Westview, before Hawkeye where nat is given another chance ending up at Wanda's door, Wanda is given the healing marvel denied her with nat, Sam &bucky not being limited by the shackles of the screen & actually interacting with the events of their universe,Clint and yel meeting with their beloved. The ending was a bit unsatisfying to me but nonetheless as martin says this is CINEMA.

9- HOW NATASHA ROMANOFF MARRIED WANDA MAXIMOFF, it's a medium paced 38 chaps retelling of "how Nancy Jackson married Kate Wilson" but with wandanat with huge changes. It's sweet & adorable, the beginning was a bit rocky to me, there parts I would wince where I didn't like it but otherwise an absolute entertainment, I wanna kiss the head of it's author irl for giving me this absolute comfort for FREE. God or whatever higher power bless this person.

10-OUR LITTLE GROUP HAS ALWAYS BEEN (AND ALWAYS WILL UNTIL THE END), it's 9 part series of mini chaps, it's very creative concept,a wild imagination, it's the biggest au to ever au as its author puts it. To me it's the truest form of fanfic, the author took majority of the plot of MCU & toyed with it &come up with their world which has everything cute adorable wandanat, yelenat, the maximoffs, yel and Pietro, loving Russian spy parents, coulson's Lola, overall it's cuteness overload. God bless this author too.

If you ever decide to read them pls leave them a comment & let me know how you feel about them, also do you have more nat centric fanfics or just good fanfics about nat and anybody else.

oh my FUCKING GODDD THANK U ANON!!!

im def gonna read all ur recs! So far i had this one fanfic i rlly like but i forgot the title. I’ll let u know when i rememberr

[multifandomfix]

To-Do List: Fics

Updated April 19th, 2024

Requests will be removed from this list when they’re finished being written and put in my queue/drafts. There’s also a possibility of them being removed due to lack/loss of inspiration for them.

📝 - Work In Progress

🤩 - Most Excited For

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍🤎

🤩I Never Promised You A Rose Garden - Regina Mills (Requested by @annalestern)

You’ve always loved Regina, but her actions as the Evil Queen finally become too much to bear. Will she see the error of her ways in time or will it be too late to make her amends?

What Is Honor Without Love - Simon Basset (Requested by @certifiedsuperduperdumbass)

Sequel of sorts to A Lady Of The Greatest Honor. You accompany Simon on a promenade and the two of you battle to understand your feelings for one another.

A Wednesday In Westview - Wanda Maximoff (Requested by Anon)

You and Wanda spend your day getting accustomed to your brand new house, both ready to start your new life together.

Leave You Wanting More - Wednesday!Morticia Addams (Requested by Anon)

After you caught her eye, Morticia pays you a less than innocent visit in your dreams.

Bed Bug - Esmé Squalor (Requested by @cerseis-fav-maiden)

When Esmé, Olaf and his troupe have to hunker down for the night, space is tight, so you and Esmé will have to share a bed.

Catch A Glimpse - Birdie Jay (Requested by Anon)

Birdie unintentionally flusters you while she changes and she decides to play it up a bit.

Arrest And Relaxation - Catherine Cawood (Requested by Anon)

After your first arrest goes sideways, Catherine is there to help you through it and provide some encouragement.

Never A Dull Morning - Barbara Howard (Requested by Anon)

Abbott has called a snow day, so you spend your newly gained time with Barbara in your favorite way, just enjoying her company.

Mother Of All Problems - Addison Montgomery (Requested by Anon)

When you’re brought in after an accident, your mother in called in as your emergency contact. Less than thrilled to see her due to the nature of your relationship with her, Addison is there to pick up the pieces when her being there starts to threaten your recovery.

Silence Speaks Volumes - Cersei Lannister (Requested by @cerseis-fav-maiden)

You’ve been quiet for as long as Cersei has known you. The other maids gossip about you. Cersei wants to get to the bottom of what keeps you so silent.

Smoke Signals - Amelia Shepherd (Requested by Anon)

You and Amelia have been secretly seeing each other for a while but her coworkers figure things out when you stop by for a visit.

Three Alarm Fire - Cristina x Teddy x Reader (Requested by Anon)

When you’re taken to the hospital after saving a young girl from the flames of a burning house, two of the doctors take a special interest in your case. What everyone can’t figure out is why.

Dark Appetites - Nellie Lovett (Requested by Anon)

When Nellie tells you the secret ingredient in her pies, it’s not fear she sees in your eyes, but something else. Something darker.

Crane Games - Niles Crane (Requested by @msiecrane)

You and Niles aren’t ready to tell people about your relationship, and you’ve gone to great lengths to keep it under wraps, but nothing can stay secret forever.

It’s Good To Be Bad - Leland Townsend (Requested by Anon)

You’ve done something you’re not proud of, but Leland hopes to wipe you of your shame and bring out the darker side of you.

The Queen’s Secret - Queen Charlotte (Requested by 🦎 Anon)

Charlotte confides in her closest friends about her growing feelings for you, a servant in her court and they advise her on matters of the heart.

Read You Like A Book - Tom Koracick (Requested by @ghostsunderstoodmysoul)

Five times you and Tom spend time together reading in some form and one time where someone else joins.

Happy Accidents - Tom Koracick (Requested by @ghostsunderstoodmysoul)

You come into Grey Sloan after a minor car accident. Your doctors want to give you an X-ray, but you refuse. Then word makes its way to Tom.

Where Work Meets Play — Tissaia de Vries (Requested by Anon)

All the stress in her life has really been weighing on Tissaia lately, so you decide to offer her a little bit of relief when you find her still in her office late one night, but you’re not expecting Triss to be paying her a visit as well.

Model Girlfriend — Elizabeth James (Requested by Anon)

When you begin modeling for wedding dress designer Elizabeth James, you don’t expect to fall in love with her, and you definitely don’t expect her to love you back, but with the help of her adorable yet meddling twin daughters, you find that being with her might just be possible.

Conditional — The Handler (Requested by Anon)

When you were growing up, you lived next door to the Hargreeves siblings and were close friends. Years later, you’ve disappeared, and they don’t even seem to notice. The Handler thought you’d lure Five and the rest of them right into her clutches, but it’s taking too long for them to find you. You’ve tried everything to get back home, but perhaps it’s time you gave up and resigned yourself to your life the way it is now.

From Bad To Worse — Louise Walker (Requested by Anon)

When you pass out from the heat and fall into one of the holes, Louise is called to get you out, but not before you’re also bit by a rattlesnake. Looks like she’s going to have you all to herself while you recover.

The Accomplice — Wadsworth (Requested by Anon)

You’re married to Wadsworth, and you’re wise to his scheme. You even go as far as aiding him in the murders, though no one else knows you’re there.

Betrayal - Uther Pendragon (Requested by Anon)

During a moment of crisis, you save Uther’s life with magic, but even so he doesn’t take kindly to you having kept it a secret from him. Will he see you executed, or have a change of heart?

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍🤎

Let me know which fics you’re most excited for!

#to do #one shots