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unholyhelbig · 3 months

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oversight part 6 ??

Title: The Oversight [Part 6/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 6237

Warnings: SMUT UNDER 18 DNI, oral (r recieving), Dom/sub dynamic, slight mommy kink if you squint, fingering (r recieving), and horrible grammar

[A/n: This took literally all day because I hadn't started it until this morning, and it's now 12am. Good thing it's -15 degrees outside and I physically cannot leave my home. I haven't written Nat smut... ever. Go easy on me.]

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Natasha Romanoff knew how to handle a gun. She tested its weight; the mix of metal and plastic was familiar to her as lungs were to breathe. As ocean was to water, as sky was to rolling thunder. Handling a gun, especially while loaded, was a delicate process. She’d stroke the trigger, ghost her fingers over the barrel and expertly tease the weapon into doing exactly what she wanted.

Natasha Romanoff was not one to do anything without calculation, not one to do something without complete control. But, the soft noises that escaped your throat as she nipped across your jawline and licked over the burning bites to soothe the smallest bit of pain made her stop thinking. Stop calculating. It threatened to take her control.

Your back was up against the cool mahogany of her bedroom door. You’d barely gotten a chance to close it before her hands were all over you, and that floral scent invaded your lungs. You were frantic to pull her as close as possible, to feel her body fully against yours. You needed Natasha Romanoff more than you needed life itself. You needed her inside of you.

She seemed just as beside herself. Her nails ran up and down your sides, brushing against the exposed skin that the slit in that beautiful emerald dress provided. You were enamored with it earlier in the night. Now you were grateful for all the exposed parts of you, the hot touches and breathless kisses.

“So needy, malyshka” Natasha whispered between kisses. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you?”

Yes. You wanted that more than you could vocalize. Instead, you let out a groan that was muffled by her lips against yours. You understood the irony, feeling so safe with a woman who was one of the most feared within the city.

She reminded you in a gentle growl “words, baby, use your words.”

“Please, I need you.”

Natasha didn’t need another green light. She hauled you into her arms in a feat of strength, backing you onto the bed. The sheets were cool against your bare legs. The last time you’d been in this bed, you were in much worse shape. You preferred this, coming undone with Natasha’s wandering hands and damp kisses.

You hungrily pushed her jacket from her shoulders, brushing the pads of your fingers over her defined muscles. She smiled against your lips, throwing the expensive garment to the floor. You made quick work of the buttons down the front of her waistcoat, barely exposing the curve of her chest before her fingers reached up and grabbed yours.

“You’re far too clothed, darling.”

The objection was soft, and you were quick to comply when she pulled the dress up to expose your thighs. You lifted your hips and she moved the dress the rest of the way over your head, tossing it to the side. Her eyes raked hungrily over your dips and curves, hands caressing your sides, watching as your pulled air in and let it out in excitement.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Natasha said with a wolfish smile as she took in the lacy bra and panties that you wore.

“Hoped, really.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Do I need one?”

Her smile widened as she expertly slid the buttons from their proper place and pulled her waistcoat off. You were met with tanned skin, with a toned stomach and breasts that you itched to palm. She started to kiss along your neckline, down your chest, and the very start of your stomach. Expertly, she unhooked your own bra, tossing it in the same direction as your dress.

Natasha bit and sucked in the right places and your back arched in eager response. It distracted you from her wandering hands. You shuddered as she pushed past the elastic of your underwear, she brushed her finger up the length of your slit, and a breath got stuck in your throat.

“So wet already, just from a little teasing.”

“Natasha,” You moaned her name.

You squirmed as her touch moved lower, she kissed along your waistline, moved your underwear down your legs until you were fully exposed to her. She let out a content breath that was hot against your center, you fought the urge to press against her.

“Zaychik, I have a few rules,”

“Anything, just… anything.”

She kissed against your thighs, ever so close to you. It was driving you nuts, and while you trusted Natasha with your life, with your sanity, it was you who was struggling with control. You craved her touch and then resented how much you relied on it. You had never wanted anything more in your life.

“You belong to me. And that means, you can only cum when I give you permission.” You whined under her soft ministrations, bucking your hips forward. She bit hard against the expanse of your skin, enough to bruise. “Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, yes. Clear. Crystal. Baby please.”

Natasha hummed against you. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks heated at the positive reinforcement and your fingers curled into the expensive sheets. A gasp escaped you when her tongue met your folds. She licked expertly across the length of your center and an entirely pornographic noise left your throat when she stopped at your clit, sucking softly.

You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, pounding against your ribs in a perfect rhythm. Natasha slid a singular finger into you. It was painfully slow, and far from enough to fill you up. You resisted the urge to grind further into her. Another finger, another soft noise.

A combination of her quick movements and attention mouth brought you close to the edge embarrassingly fast. You had thought of this moment for months, how skilled she was, how your naked body would be writhing under her touch exactly as it was now.

When Natasha added a third finger, your mind started to grow foggy. You had known for awhile that you would do anything for her. It wasn’t a feeling that you shied away from in the slightest. Excitement was building in your core, breath coming quicker, sweat slicking against every inch of your body.

“Remember your manners, baby girl.” Natasha’s words vibrated against your core, making your squirm. “Not until I say.”

Her fingers curled inside of you, your walls tightening expertly around her. It took everything in you not to give in to her. There was an impossible pressure building inside of you. You gasped in as much air as you could muster.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” the answer came without hesitation. “Only you,”

“That’s right. You’re all mine, my little toy.”

Her words only worked you up more. You wanted to take care of her, wanted to worship her. You’d do anything she commanded. The word slipped past your lips without a second thought. She was working so hard to undo you. “Natasha… mommy”

Natasha let out a moan at the title, her pace increasing. She returned her hot mouth to your clit, circled it with your tongue expertly. She mumbled against you, words vibrating. “You can cum, princess.”

She didn’t’ have to tell you twice. You tightened around her fingers, arching off the bed as pure extasy washed over you. You clenched every part of your body, groaning into the crook of your arm to muffle the noise. Pleasure rolled over you, through the pit of your stomach.

Her mouth continued to work throughout the lingering pressure of your orgasm, threatening to build to another one. Natasha pulled her fingers from you with a wet noise. She breathlessly moved herself next to you, kissing your neck, your jawline. Natasha pressed her fingers against your lips, and you were eager and ready to accept them.

You could taste yourself on her, sucking them as she nipped at your earlobe. She whispered, feeling hot against your skin. “Such a good whore, so willing and ready to suck anything. Take anything. I can’t wait to give you a strap.”

Your heart began to race at the thought, and she smiled against you, clear that she could feel the increase of the rhythm from your closeness. Natasha removed her fingers, she kissed you hard, and you kissed her back with just as much passion, pulling away slightly to stifle a yawn.

“Tired already, Zaychik?”

You chuckled “you wear me out. Though, I’m not too worn out to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you’ve already made me feel good. I think we should get some sleep.”

You wanted to fight her on it, body still trembling from the rolling orgasm she had given you. But exhaustion was fighting too and Natasha readjusted you both until you were settled gently into the crook of her neck, one arm lazily over her midsection. She was gentle and attentive with her movements. Brushing strands of your hair behind your ear. Who knew Natasha Romanoff was a cuddler?

A spring storm had taken full effect by the time you had crossed back into the city, but it seemed that nothing could dampen your mood. The clouds that formed in dark clusters and released sheets of rain were something of beauty, not despair. The day was still warm, the breeze cold to cut through the sweat that formed on your brow. You’d cracked the window, allowing stray drops to cool your skin.

You stopped by the mailbox on the bottom floor, wiggling the smallest key on your ring into the lock until it opened. You barely checked the mail and it was stuffed full of coupons, advertisements, and the occasional statement from Veronica’s after-school daycare.

You tucked the papers under your arm and started the long ascent to your floor. You avoided the nails that stuck up through cheap wood. The spots in the carpet that had been soaked through with water damage. None of it seemed to bother you.

“Good morning, Miss Baxter.” You mumbled to the older woman who always perched in front of her door in a busted lawn chair. She had a perfect view of her neighbor across the hall. Her little, crusty white dog barked in morse code at you.

“What’s so good about it? Raining buckets and everything in this godforsaken place leaks.”

“Well, I suppose that’s where the buckets would come in handy.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat but you were already a good portion of the way up the final flight of stairs. You pressed your shoulder tactfully against your apartment door pushing it open before you threw the mail on the table and flicked on the kitchen light. The air conditioning chilled you to the bone, drying the damp spots on your clothes.

There was a click in the far side of the room, one that was unfamiliar from the ticking of the air unit, or the settling of an old building. You were used to those noises. This was entirely too human for your liking, so you drew your gun in a fluid movement, much like the other night.

Without hesitation, flicking off the safety and aiming.

Darcy was sitting in the beaten recliner in the corner. There was an upturned book on the side of the chair. You weren’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but from the bags under her eyes, the way her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, you knew it had been awhile.

You instantly lowered the weapon, hands suddenly shaking. “Darcy, what are you-?”

“I… I knew that something was up these last few months. I thought you had started seeing someone, a regular at the diner, or, or God forbid the dude who works behind the grill. But when I went to the diner you weren’t even there. They said you hadn’t been there for months. And can you please put that thing away?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” your words were pinched as you rebolstered your weapon. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” She stood, closing the distance between you both now that there wasn’t a loaded gun in the middle. You straightened up, heart pounding haplessly in your chest. “Because Monica Rambeau came up to me at work the other day and told me that you were lying. She… she wouldn’t tell me what, just that you weren’t being truthful, and I defended you, y/n.

“I defended you because you’re my best friend. You have been for years. I’ve stood by you through everything. Through meeting Ronnie’s father, and getting pregnant and comforting you when he left you- because he did leave both of you!”

“Darcy,”

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish. I’ve been here for you every step of the way. Every single step and the only thing that I’ve ever expected from you is honesty. Don’t you think I deserve that? Don’t you think Ronnie deserves that?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching her carefully as she caught her breath, and her bearings. You had only seen Darcy this angry once, and it had been years ago. Sophomore year of high school when her parents decided to split, and her father tried to get her to move to Washington state with him.

She fought and fought because they waited until the last minute to tell her. They weren’t truthful, and you hadn’t been truthful either. More importantly, in both situations, she had been right.

“The y/n I know, can’t draw a gun like that, and doesn’t come home covered in bruises, and doesn’t flinch into action at every little noise. The y/n I know wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place. So, what is going on?”

“Can we… sit?”

You didn’t entirely trust the strength of your legs right now. Parts of you were sore, you had realized that as you climbed the stairs. You could feel them trembling now and fought the urge to curl up on the carpet that was right under your feet.

“I’m fine standing.”

“A drink, then? It’s uh, it’s five somewhere, right?”

“y/n.”

“Right, yes. I know.”

And you did know, but only to a certain extent. If Monica hadn’t gone to Darcy, would you have? It was a single night of drunken lovemaking followed by a less-than-graceful exit into the cold of autumn. There was a tightness to seeing her again, and the underlying fear that this would happen. But so many things were happening.

“I am sorry that I haven’t been truthful with you, but you have to believe me, it was for your own safety. For Ronnie’s safety. I would never lie without a good reason.”

“Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it?” Darcy’s breathed “You always think you know what’s best for me, what’s best to hide from me. But you don’t know what I can handle.”

Okay, you absolutely needed that drink. Darcy wasn’t going to leave now, not without answers she was pushing so hard for. Ronnie was getting too tall for her own good, so you hid the good liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.

Bourbon, warm or not, was your choice and right now you couldn’t bother with ice, just a mug that you had gotten from a thrift store. It was from Cabo and had a little white sand beach and a flamingo wearing sunglasses on the front. You’d never been to Cabo.

The first sip went down burning, and the second soothed the first. “I took a loan.”

“Like, from a bank?”

“From a shark. Technically. They don’t call them that, but that’s what they are. I didn’t realize it at the time, or else I wouldn’t have, but I was already two months behind on rent and I refused to ask you to cover me again. That’s not your responsibility. You already do so much for me and Ronnie.”

She opened her mouth to object, to rush in and say that she would have given you anything and you knew she would. But that didn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t have asked her in the first place.

“I didn’t pay them back in time and they weren’t very lenient. They took me under their custody to persuade me into coming up with the money.”

“Persuade? Their custody?”

“Kidnapped… beat within an inch of death. Whatever way you look at it, I was on their bad side.”

With horrible judgement you filled up another two fingers of whisky, only swallowing half but making eye contact with Darcy as you had done so. Simmering behind her deep blue stare was a mix of pity you were desperate to avoid. It soon dwindled back into discontent and that made you want to continue.

“I was spared on account that I wasn’t their usual clientele. Natasha, she called me… shit, what was it? An oversight? I was a blip in the system. I wasn’t supposed to happen and for that reason, and that reason alone, she offered me an ultimatum.”

Darcy sidled up to the counter that rested like a drawn line between you both. Her fingers tapped nervously on the surface but some of the tension had drained from her shoulders. “Natasha? That.. woman from the fair? The one with Clint?”

“Oh, Clint, you remember?” You smiled.

“He’s strong. Rugged.” She shrugged, frowning “That’s not the point. You’re telling me he’s a part of this sharking business? You’re telling me you let a known criminal that close to your daughter? To me?”

“I get how that sounds bad, Dee, but he’s really not a horrible guy. He’s a father himself and you’re right. You’re right. It’s not the point.” You swallowed the second half of your drink and placed the novelty mug in the sink to stop yourself from polishing off more of the bottle. “They gave me an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum?”

“I could kill myself working at the diner everyday for the rest of my life. Twelve-hour shifts with most of the funds feeding right back into their palms. It would take decades to give back the money I took from them. Or, I could work for Natasha and pay off my debts in a quarter of the time.”

Silence filled the room. The only type of silence that you knew, that was filled with the sounds of the city. Your neighbors to the left were having a fight that seemed bigger than the one you and Darcy had now. A boombox blasted reggae music across the street and certain beats bled through the thin glass windows.

You swallowed the acrid flavor on your tongue. “For the last four months instead of the diner, I have been with Natasha. With Clint. They’ve been teaching me, and at first, I hated every single second of it. I was scared for… for weeks. But, Darcy, I’m starting to enjoy it and that scares me more than anything.”

“I need to sit down,” She mumbled.

“I offered,”

“I know.”

She flopped down onto the sofa that folded out into a bed. You’d slept there for a month when Darcy’s apartment was being fumigated and you refused to make her take the couch. It was hell on your back, but Ronnie had never been happier to wake up to the both of you each morning.

It carried a familiar clean scent. Darcy pulled a blanket into her lap and ran her fingers over the bumps in stitching. You cautiously lowered yourself down next to her, starting to feel the effects of an empty stomach and too much liquor for the afternoon. You were suddenly nauseous and starving all at once.

“There’s more,” Darcy said, “What you just told me was a lot, but there’s more. I know you, y/n, and I’m giving you an opportunity here to tell me everything.”

You sighed, slumping on the couch. You could feel the bar in the center of the couch push against your spine. There was a crack in the ceiling next to a gray and brown water stain that looked like a Rorschach test.

“Natasha. I think I’m in love with her.” You could hear Darcy turn her head with a dizzying quickness. “I’m not supposed to be, it’s the last thing I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be protecting her and that’s incredibly hard to do when I’m distracted by her eyes.”

Darcy was laughing and it lightened the mood in the room. The tension was still thick enough to slice with a knife, but it was enough to get you to look at her. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“The worst.”

“You really think this is what’s best, huh? Putting yourself into the line of fire like this? Handling a gun?”

“I do. I really, really do.” You picked up her hand, relieved that she didn’t pull away so you squeezed it, just to make sure that it was real. That she hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble. “I always tell Ronnie that I’d get us out of here one day. All of us. And I never knew how to do that on $2.00 an hour.”

Darcy sighed heavily; she leaned her head on your shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But some risks you just have to take.”

The sun had broken through the clouds for the first time in days. It streamed through the windows of Natasha’s private office, nestled at the back of the large house. In the past week, you had been here twice and each time your heart thudded impossibly fast.

This time, she had summoned you before you were through the doors for your normal shift. There were no extra caveats. You weren’t meant to head down to the docks, or to one of the many storefronts that were rented from the Romanoff family. Instead, you were simply meant to be here.

The home was empty, you knew from the lack of cars that were outside. Natasha’s was the only one in the lot besides yours. There was a certain quiet to the day and the French doors that led to her private office were ajar to strengthen the airflow.

She was focused on the work in front of her, hair in a messy bun and two strands falling from her haphazard job. There were black frame glasses on her face. Her face was scrunched up in a frankly adorable expression. It softened when she glanced up and saw you, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Much to your dismay, she removed her glasses “Come in, close the doors behind you.”

You did as you were told, letting them fall with the subtle shake of the blinds. They’d been closed but a small stream of golden light was splayed across Natasha’s desk. It caught the intensity of her eyes, the sharp green color that only came out when she was surrounded by these walls.

“Sit,”

Obediently, you moved to do so, pulling one of the leather chairs out from its spot on the other side of the desk. You felt shame, despite last night. She was still your boss, still the person you were meant to protect. That’s what you were being altered for.

“Not there.”

You lifted your eyebrows, halting in your spot. Natasha pushed back in her rolling chair, ever so slightly. She gestured vaguely to her lap. She can’t be serious? This had to be some type of test? It didn’t seem like one. You certainly wouldn’t mind having her arms wrapped around you, her scent enveloping, intoxicating.

Cautiously, you did as you were told, lowering yourself onto Natasha’s lap. There was an overwhelming warmth, a destined comfort to being in her arms, so much safety in the simple gesture of her pulling you close.

She guided your chin until your lips were close to hers, not quite touching. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” You responded before closing the distance. She hummed into the kiss, her tongue running over her lips, against the roof of your mouth. You could taste her morning coffee and a hint of mint.

“I missed you.”

“It’s been two days,”

She hummed, pressing her cold nose against your throat. The weekends were reserved for relaxation, and as much as you wanted to stay with Natasha in this giant house, you had a life within the city; a daughter, friends, responsibility.

“I don’t want you work for me anymore.”

You frowned and pulled slightly away from her, your arms still circling her neck. This certainly had to be a test but there was no indication to such on her face. She had nothing but a tender expression, a quiet one that left no room for argument, but you weren’t built like that.

“What?”

“I,” Natasha dipped her gaze, pressing her forehead against your cheek. Her words were a whisper. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t get hurt if I don’t put you in the line of fire.”

There were a few moments of silence aside from the large clock on one of the bookshelves that clicked with each passing second. Natasha had never been vulnerable with you like this. There had been moments of soft expressions, but never this.

Gently, you lifted her chin, forcing her to look at you. “Natasha, I can’t do that. I can’t just stop protecting you. It’s all I’ve been training for these last months.”

“I want to offer you something more, y/n. You and Ronnie both. I want you to have a home here… with me.”

You breathed her in, your forehead against hers. Your eyes were closed, but you could feel her watching you for any kind of reaction, anything that would give your feelings away. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your shudder against her.

“I want that too. But more than anything, I want to keep you safe. I still want this. I still want to be there for you like I have been. Behind you every step of the way.” You chuckled sadly, “While being a trophy girlfriend sounds amazing, I want to earn my keep.”

Natasha smiled at you, “Girlfriend? That’s quite the title.”

“I mean it,” you played with her necklace, an equally as small gold chain. “I want to keep training. Girlfriend or not. If you’re going to keep me around.”

She moved forward, kissed against the small expanse of skin behind your ear, down the side of your neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mmhm, but I was serious about you and Ronnie.” She pulled back, brushing her thumb over your flushed cheek. “I like you, y/n. You make me happy.”

Before you could respond, her lips were against yours again, her hands tracing up your sides. You were well aware of how close the two of you were, of how easy it was to get heated in this position, of Natasha’s cold fingertips as they ghosted under the hem of your shirt.

“I brought pizza from that place on the corner that you like,” You balanced the large and greasy box on your hip. It wasn’t your favorite place, the man behind the counter was always rude and the line was out the door. But it was for good reason, you had to admit, because the food was always delicious and made you forget about all the complications.

Darcy ate pineapple on her half the pizza like a criminal. You and Veronica were content with pepperoni, but you’d have to sprinkle extra parmesan cheese on her slices, cutting them into small pieces and providing her with a fork.

There was quiet to Darcy’s apartment. One that reminded you of the many times you had pulled your weapon in preparation. Your hands were full with the box, with a plastic bag filled with off-brand soda and two-dollar movies that were on the shelf at the corner store.

You struggle to swallow your own fear at the sight that lies in front of you. The television is muted, but a cartoon continues to cast the living room in a pale, blue light. Darcy is sprawled on the couch, her chest rising and falling in what seems to be a heavy sleep.

The light above the oven is on and the kitchen table is far from unoccupied. Ronnie looks up at your entrance, content with the array of markers, colored pencils, and crayons that are scattered in front of her.

Carol Danvers sits in an adjacent chair, working on staying in the lines of her own picture. You weren’t close enough to see what she had drawn, but based on her track-record you were sure it was something ghastly.

Monica Rambeau sat in the recliner, a mug of something steaming in her hand. Her eyes were trained on the television despite the lack of sound. They didn’t flick to you when you entered. She was confident that you weren’t going to make a move. Cocky.

“Is that from Ginos?” Carol asked, capping the marker that she was using. “God, they have the best pizza.”

“Yeah, it is.” You whispered.

Cautiously, you let the door close behind you. With an almost domestic way about you, you set the box and the bags down on the counter before wiping the sweat on your jeans. You made quick eye contact with Monica. She nodded at you, regarded you quietly.

“Sit, I was just telling Veronica that she’s very good at coloring. You’ve got a real artist on your hands, Y/n.”

“So, I’ve been told.” You sat down, keeping both of your hands on the table. Kate told you that it was a sign of trust. That if you were quick enough, and she was sure that you were, it wouldn’t matter how far away your weapon was. “What did you do to Darcy?”

“Oh, she’s just so exhausted. Sometimes working a nine-to-five will just take it right out of you. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning after some much needed rest.”

You nodded; mouth incredibly dry. Carol was watching you carefully. She had scribbled something that looked like a mass of color but the more you stared, just like the stain on the ceiling in your own apartment, the more it looked like something more.

She laughed, shaking her head “I’m afraid I’m not as good of an artist as your daughter.”

Ronnie looked at you, her eyes searching your face. It was easy to read her. You had for years. There was curiosity there, but no fear. Carol had probably led with something along the lines of I’m friends with your mother.

Or maybe it had been Monica who forced her way in first. She’d wandered into the kitchen and opened the box of food. Her nose scrunched up at the prospect of fruit on pizza, but she made quick work of picking off the offensive items.

Carol pushed the sheet of paper close to you. “Tell me, y/n, what do you see?”

“I… I don’t know. It looks like a duck.” She lifted her eyebrows, looking or more, and you confidently pointed to each element. “The beak is right here, and the eye is here.”

“Right.” Carol made a swift movement and flipped the photo. “What does it look like now?”

For someone that claimed not to have a good eye for art, Carol sure had a high opinion of a diagram she’d created with a few waxy crayons. It wasn’t the best drawn creature, but you got the general idea.

“A rabbit.”

Carol beamed at you and it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Clever one, aren’t you? Do you see how the world can be viewed in more than one way? To you, this could be a duck, or a rabbit, or just a poorly drawn abstract painting.”

“It’s very well done.”

“Don’t flatter me. I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m up against. More importantly, I need you to know that sometimes, perspective can change everything.” She leaned back in her chair, rolling a crayon under her fingertips. “The Romanoff family is on the wrong side of an ongoing war, and by association, so are you.”

Veronica got out of her chair then, finally losing interest in the activity that was given to her. Monica and Carol tensed, as did you. But your daughter gave you a look that indicated television. Something else to occupy her mind. You let out a shaky breath.

“Sure, baby. Keep it low, okay?”

She nodded at you and scrambled over to the living room. There were soft noises from the cartoons afterwards. She sat patiently close to the screen to she could hear. She minded you well, hugging a throw-pillow close to her chest.

“It was very easy to track you down. Did you know that? Almost as easy to get in here, to have full access to your life. The life you had before you met Natasha Romanoff.” Carol reached into her coat pocket, she pulled out a business card. “You need to choose a side. If you’re going to stick around in this town, you need to choose a side, or get better locks.”

She left it on the table along with the smattering of art supplies and her crudely drawn photo that was supposed to teach you about perspective. Though, you were certain you knew all you needed to. There wasn’t even a question.

Carol stood and gestured for Monica to follow. She clapped you on the shoulder before she left, her words just the quietest of whispers. “I understand her allure, y/n. But there’s more than one force to deal with in this city.”

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wmarximoff · 2 years

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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.

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wheredafandomat · 9 months

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Shrink | P4 - The heart wants what it wants

Avenger! Loki x Therapist! Reader

18+ | same warnings. Please don’t take this too seriously, it’s just a little fun 😁

Previous Next

The following day, Loki was beyond excited for his date with Darcy considering that she was down to fun. He had a couple of small errands to run first including chasing up the forensic team who still hadn’t found any matches with the bullet. After speaking with Jane who was picking up Thor, she confirmed that Darcy would be meeting Loki at the compound and that she was excited. This excitement made Loki excited, barely able to contain his grin as he left the compound to pick up a bouquet of flowers for Darcy but not before asking if you wanted to go with him for the walk.

“Loki I-I don’t think that’d be appropriate.” You answered, almost frowning at him from your door.

“Of course not,” he tried to laugh, “my apologies.”

“No, don’t be sorry” you quickly spoke, not wanting him to feel guilty over the fact that his boyish charm and musky cologne were driving you insane and you were definitely not ovulating “the sooner I’m gone, the sooner we can return to our usual routine.” You smiled, knowing that things would return to normal once you weren’t practically living with him. This was just a temporary glitch, the chemicals in your body reacting positively to the man that saved your life.

“Yes.” He agreed, turning to leave.

“Loki wait” you called him back “enjoy your date.”

Loki replied with a curt nod and a small smile before continuing on his way to the florist where he picked up some flowers before heading back to the compound to wait for Darcy. Surprisingly, she was early.

“Loki.” She greeted sultrily, practically pushing him into his room.

“Hello Darcy” he replied, handing her the flowers “for you.”

“Thanks.” She answered, narrowing her gaze suspiciously at them for a moment before placing them on his dressing table and stepping towards him, a primal look in her eye as Loki stepped backwards, his demeanor nervous.

“There’s something I need you to know” he stopped, pausing her movements too “I’m down to fun as well.” He grinned, her brows knitting.

“What?”

“Message received, I’m down to fun too. I like fun.” He spoke gleefully.

“Loki, what do you mean? What message about fun?” She queried.

“You told Jane who told Thor you were DTF.” Loki explained.

“Thanks Jane, making me look like a damn whore” she spoke to herself, rolling her eyes “down to fuck Loki, yeah, I was, but only because Thor told Jane who told me you were too.”

“Oh.” Loki gulped, he wasn’t expecting this to be so straightforward. He was nearing the end of the road to recovery.

“Well, are you?” She asked, her sultry voice returning. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, Loki nodded before Darcy pounced, pushing him down onto the bed as she straddled him. She pressed her lips to his, claiming them in a messy kiss that Loki returned. Grabbing his hands, she placed them against her hips as they continued to kiss before she lifted her top off. Pushing him further down so that he was laying now, she stood up, pulling her skirt down causing Loki to swallow thickly as she walked towards the door, ensuring it was locked. He watched her as she walked, it felt wrong. She was sexy, he couldn’t deny that but there was something missing. He found himself realising that he didn’t feel the same now, watching her walk as he felt before, before when he watched—you?

Almost choking at the realisation, Loki sat up as Darcy approached him again.

“What’s the matter baby?” She spoke against his lips.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think I” he cleared his throat, searching for the words to say “I don’t want this with you.”

“What?” She gasped, covering her chest.

“I’m sorry Darcy” he apologised, grabbing her top and handing it to her “it’s not you it’s me, you’re perfect” he rambled causing Darcy to scoff, same old excuses “I just—I’m going through something right now.” He finished causing realisation to flood Darcy as she turned to Loki.

“Loki” she began, placing her hand against his cheek “it’s okay.” She smiled.

“I’m so glad you understand—” he began happily before he was cut off.

“Want me to set you up with some hot guy friends?” She offered.

“Would they be interested in fun?”

“Ye—”

“Preferably poker or pranks.”

“GOODBYE LOKI!” Darcy yelled before storming out of Loki’s bedroom and bumping into you as you made your way to Natasha’s room after hearing she was back.

“Oh my god hunny, I heard what happened to you.” Natasha exclaimed, wrapping her arms around you as soon as you stepped into her room.

“Natasha” you spoke into the crook of her neck as she continued to squeeze you “there’s something strange happening to me.”

“What do you mean?” She asked worriedly, letting you go.

“Loki, he—he removed a spider from my office.” You answered anxiously.

“What do you mean?” Natasha snorted, confused before her eyes rounded, remembering the conversation you both previously had “OMG!”

“I knowww” you exasperated “I can’t stop thinking about him, I’m driving myself insane and I’m the one who told him he needs to get laid to try and relieve some of that tension he’s got and I’ve just seen a beautiful half naked woman leaving his room and I’m not sure howI feel. Half of me is proud, the professional side of me but the other side, the other fifty percent is burning Nat.” You sighed.

“When did this start?” She asked, sitting on her bed.

“I thought it was that day he saved me. He took out the spider and it instantly reminded me of our conversation and then he was on top of me and—”

“Spare me the details.” She interrupted.

“I think I’ve liked him for a while Nat” you exhaled hopelessly “which is awful because he’s my patient and I’m supposed to be helping him and—” you began to rant.

“Y/n, you can’t beat yourself up, the heart wants what it wants.” Natasha assured.

“Why does it have to want himmm?” You complained.

“Maybe it doesn’t want him, maybe it just wants a man and he’s the closest you’ve got to—”

“Do not therapize me, I’m the therapist.” You cut in playfully.

“Yeah, not a very good one.” She giggled.

“Nattt.”

“I’m telling you y/n, you can’t beat yourself up. You’re both two adults, maybe you should just tell him.” She suggested.

“WHAT?” You almost wheezed “casually tell my client that I want to sleep with him? Yeah Nat, not happening.”

“Then what are you going to do?” She sighed.

“I’m going to have to end this” you decided “but first, let me patch up that gash on your forehead.”

Who even knows what’s going on at this point 😂 at least this mess is drawing to a close

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @vickie5546 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #tom hiddelston loki #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x avengers #loki imagine #darcy lewis #loki au fics #loki au

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stonemags · 10 months

Text

SUGAR BABY AU

Ch.6 Mishandle

Characters in this series: Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Carol Danvers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, Kate Bishop, Pepper Potts, Valkyrie, Shuri

Summary:How much can you trust people that are the closest to you? Can you put any trust into strangers? After being tricked so many times, you can be sure to trust one person ... yourself. You should have left it that way, to bad you give second chances like fliers on the street.

Warnings: age gap relationships, sugar mommy/sugar baby relationships, swearing, mensplaning, all story is gonna be +18, you are responsible for your own ass.

Word count: 8915

A/N: This one is coming out faster this time, to make up for the wait ive put you all on. I hope you will enjoy it. Feedback is always walcome! Previous chapter

Your desk is covered in papers, the screen too bright for your liking, your eyes are stinging after hours of sharp focus on the monitor, but this old computer is not really cooperating with you. Loud noises are distracting, making it hard for you to finish your tasks, and you have a lot of them. Your boss, Loki, has put on you a first adult-ish assignment. It's your chance to no longer make coffee, kind of work, even more that fresh inters came in so they are at the bottom of the chain right now. That's how it works. The amount of work stresses you out but you are not going to let the opportunity slide. You can finally edit a text that will end up in one of the less popular magazines, but it's still going to be out. Doesn't matter how insignificant it will be, your name will be on this work and you need to give a 100% out of you.

It's been 2 weeks since Carol's party, you haven't seen her or any of her friends since that night and to be completely honest you thought about Natasha and Wanda …. not more than once. When you came home and changed the bandaid on your hand the next day, you reminded yourself of how caring and worried they were, but also very smug and self indulgent, after that… nothing. You had school, work, shifts at the bar and your friends to care about. Not mentioning your phone caller issue that you will have to address and take care of at some point. Your life fell back into place after that night, gym, school, work, repeat. You have to keep the flow going or it's really easy to get lost in this kind of lifestyle. It's like running at full speed, you can't trip. The faster you go the harder you are going to hit.

“You better do it right yn.” That low voice scared you coming from behind your shoulder. Loki was always creepy, not in a perverted way but still creepy.

“Yes boss, on it.” Short and sweet, don't discuss with him, you have learned it the hard way. It's for the best to make him feel validated. You assume that he had a rough childhood by the way he treats other people and by the not so quiet conversations he has with his brother in the office. You can't help but hear them, all the workers do, and you learned to have some understanding towards him.

You are at your last working hour, the phone is thrown into the drawer so it won't occupy you but your smart watch is vibrating with the amount of messages you are getting. You ignore every single one of them even when the vibration is traveling up your arm, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Last ten minutes you spend on cleaning your desk and putting your stuff into the bag. As you run down two flights of stairs you think about your plan for the rest of the day. You are done with work for now, you have spent half of the night doing extra work for school to get a little bit ahead and it worked amazingly on your anxiety, or the lack of it. You decide on visiting Steve on your way home, even if you don't have a shift at the bar, you enjoy spending time with him. As someone opens the door in front of you to let you exit first, with a short “thanks” you are outside, changing your plans immediately after you feel the warm sun. At this time of the year it is rare and you are planning on using that antidepressant window. The skin on your face feels like it is covered in a thin layer of warmth getting deeper inside of you, embracing your brain in an endorphin hug. You will visit Steve later, for now you are going to grab a nice coffee from the bike/coffee stand near the park and have a walk with your headphones on, ignoring the whole world.

“Can you start picking up your goddamn phone!” You turn around just in time to stop an angry Darcy right in front of you. Her face seems worried just as she is angry. Right behind her there is Carol clearly having a laugh at her girlfriend's tantrum. When you see her smile you can help but join and embrace Darcy in a hug.

“Sorry Darcy, work stuff. What’s up, what's so important that you came here?” It's unusual for any of your friends to arrive at any of your work places, from your work friends they know only Steve as they hang out at the bar sometimes, but they dont push to get to know everybody around you and you are grateful for that. Darcy points at the car that her girlfriend is already entering and with a big sigh you throw behind you all the warm sunny plans you had and follow along. The car always smells new and you are wondering if Carol is actually exchanging her car for the same one, just new, from time to time. Seems like something she would do. Leather seats squeak under your touch and you take your place in the backseat and you hate every second of it. It's like wearing leather pants, for you it feels like biting a cotton towel, or having your sleeves getting wet, when you wash your hands. Uncomfortable at least.

Carol starts driving and Darcy looks at you with a really excited expression on her face.

“No.” You say to her, making her confused right away.

“I didn't even say anything.”

“But you are going to, and you are excited, which means i have to do stuff, and you could text me what’s all this is about, but you didn't, so kidnapping me is the only way for me to participate in whatever evil plan you made.” She seems almost offended but it lasts three seconds before she starts laughing.

“You know me so well.” She is slouching over the back of her sweet so she can face you and it makes Carol uncomfortable, worrying that if anything happens the seat belt would work correctly. With one hand on the wheel, Carol puts the other on Darcy's thigh and turns her around. She turns off music and with a steer voice starts talking.

“Yn can hear your love, don't do that please.” Darcy takes Carol hand into hers not taking off her thigh, just to confirm that she understood and she is sorry.

“Yes daddy, I'm sorry.” Carol is rarely mad at Darcy, she doesn't really have a reason to, they made for each other, at least in your opinion, but when she is Darcy will use any pet name she can to melt her girlfriends heart and get on her good side again, and it's clearly working wonders.

“You are having a date Yn.” Carol informs you and you know this is a way of hers to mess with Darcy, the fact that she wasn't the one to share the news infuriates her.

“I was supposed to, ugh…. I have an outfit for you at Carol's house and we will give you a ride to the restaurant.”

“That's amazing, thank you very much… but I have work. My shift at the bar starts in-”

“In two days Yn, I have access to your calendar, don't try anything with me.” Feeling defeated, you slouch back a little bit and let your eyes follow the world outside of the car. Carol turns on the radio again after a minute of silence, assuming that everything was said and it won't be irritating for anyone. For a second you even let yourself sink into music and the outside world. Sun is peeking through the small alleys between the buildings, falling on your face in a pattern. You remember briefly that when you weren't able to fall asleep as a child your parents, or someone, you can't really remember, was taking you into the car and driving a couple of times around the block. Street Lamps or the sun flashing from time to time on your face was making you feel good, safe, comfortable, like there is something so bigger then you and everything around you. You found comfort in unlimitless nothingness and even now as an adult you feel safe. You are able to fight the sleepy state, well maybe you drifted away a little bit, and as you see Carol's house you are fully conscious again, anxiety of what's coming slowly creeping in.

You enter the house, talk with Carol and Darcy about the last party and upcoming events, work stuff, your studies and Darcy's new projects at her school. You can never fully understand what she is talking about, too much chemical talk but you are so proud of her and happy that she can feel fulfilled with where she is. You are always interested in Carol's work and life, maybe that's why you are the closest to her among all your friends. She appreciates the way you treat her as her, not as Darcy's girlfriend or treat both of them as one, because as close as they are, they are still themself. They help you prepare, get your hair fixed, put a nice outfit together, and Carol even let you borrow some of her perfume. In no time you are back in the car going to the unknown location, to meet with a stranger. You are reminding Darcy that you agreed for half an hour of this show and then you are going to be even. She tries to extend it for an hour, using arguments like “ you can't get to know a person in half hour”, or “ you won't be even able to eat”. As you pull in front of the restaurant you see three Michelin stars in the front of it and you almost choke.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IN HERE I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO GET A GLASS OF WATER WITH MY BUDGET!” It was louder than you anticipated and the doorman put his focus on the car in front of him. He started going into your direction but Darcy opened the window at the right time.

“Everything is okay, we just need a second.” He smiled and without any words pointed at the parking spot a little bit further from the main door. Carol took a clue and parked there. Darcy took her seat belt off and turned to you, making you jump.

“Darcy this is too much, and why do I even have to get so dressed up for someone I will turn down in the first two minutes?” You don't want to do this, and you can't be more clear than that. As bad as it sounds you are planning on being just as honest with your date.

“Give them a chance, Jesus, why are you so negative, they're gonna pay for you.” She got out of the car and opened your door rushing you outside. The restaurant is far enough from your house to have a real struggle with coming back, so you have to rely on Darcy and you are not enjoying this feeling. Just when you stepped outside it came to you what she said.

“They!? What do you mean by They ?! Darcy is that -'' You can't even finish, Darcy closes your door, jumps back into her seat and as in a getaway car tells Carol to drive. You can only hear a faint have fun coming from her window. You run your hand down your face, taking a deep breath in and decide to get through it as ripping off a bandaid, fast but painfully. You straighten out your outfit, little crevices created by the short ride are easy to clean up and the cleaned up outfit helps you a lot with your confidence. You feel like you will need a lot of it during that dinner. Constant tag and pull with the redheads is exhausting and staying afloat as they try to drown you down feels like a survival chore. You can't help but be angry at Darcy, you know she wants good, you know you promised but you feel a little bit betrayed. You can't really pinpoint why but the feeling spreads uncomfortable through your body, or maybe it's just the cold that went back with the sun setting down. Beautiful purple color of the sunset lets you grab the last bits of energy, hope and the feeling of rest. You know it will end as soon as you turn around to enter the restaurant or when the sun will finally set. It's sad that you can't wait for the latter.

“Half hour Yn, just half hour.” You talk to yourself hoping it will help you feel the back bone of your character and get through it smoothly enough. What 30 minutes can do right?

You enter the building, or rather you are led by the doorman through two sets of doors. After the second one you are met with a man in a suit, he looks important, you are wondering if that's the owner, maybe a menager, they are always around right? He looks so elegant that his status needs to be at a high level. Little lost in your head you hear him speak when the doors are closing behind you.

“May I take your coat miss?” Miss? Coat? You thought that this man is… and he is just…. It's going to be long, thirty minutes.. This is not something you enjoy, not something that is a part of your world. You just need to survive this. You are wondering how the man will know which coat is yours. He didn't give you a number nor did he take your name. It's all strange and the coat belongs to Carol, you are worrying now about getting it back later.

Restaurant seems much bigger from the outside. The building is huge but the dining area pleasantly small. The kitchen must take a lot of space, you think to yourself approaching a Host of the restaurant. Small wooden desk in front of him looks amazing. Golden leaves decorating the legs as a vine. The whole place is in darker colors but it gives a more elegant and fancy look to it. Smell is not overwhelming which is usually a problem for you in the restaurants, not in this. You can hear a light chatter around,

“Welcome, do you have a reservation?” He asks you with his back straight, his tie carefully secured around his neck. Do you have a reservation? This whole thing feels so out of blue, catching you off guard in every single step, it seems.

“Um… I….” You can't recall their last name, why can't you recall their last name? You fall back into the memory, you follow the steps of the day you meet them. You went to work, bus ride, Wanda opened the door for you, she had her suit on, her shirt was open, she had a messy bun on top, she had this nice perfume on her, the same she used last time you saw her at the Carols party. You could feel it clearly when she was tending your wound. Darcy introduced them to you. She said their names, they are both lawyers or Wanda is a lawyer and Natasha is in finances, yes that seems correct. Did she say their last name ? You remember now, she didn't but they gave you their card…. which you didn't even look at, before throwing it away. Then it comes to you, you were supposed to text them last time after the accident, they gave you a new card and you actually have it on you at the back of your phone case. It is very embarrassing trying to get your phone out of its case but also necessary. Host is waiting for you patiently, his face emotionless, he was definitely well trained for his job.

“It should be on the name-” You finally take out a card and look at the last name. “-Romanoff, or Maximoff. One of those.” It's strange to see that they are married, but they still use separate last names, it might be just for business and you decide on asking them if you will have to speak at all. At least it's going to be something to talk about. You smoothly follow the host to your table, moving between the tables you can see all the food prepared for other guests and your stomach lets you know about its empty state. Smell coming from each of the tables will not be very helpful in the next 30 minutes, because there is no way that you are going to let them pay for anything, not with these prices. At the far left corner of the restaurant you can see Wanda and Natasha chatting between each other, their hands together on the table, Natasha is lightly smoothing her wifes hand with her thumb, laughing at something she said. It's the first time they don't seem like big, scary rich assholes, more human than before. You are afraid, or maybe you are sure it's going to drop as soon as they are going to see you. First to notice you is Natasha, she lets go of Wandas hand and stands up to greet you. You don't want to make a scene in the restaurant, so you kiss her cheek as her hand lingers on your waist and you do the same with Wanda. Looking at them, seeing how dressed up they are, you are glad that Darcy made you wear the clothes she prepared, if you would dress yourself, you would for sure stand out, not in a good way. You take your place on an empty chair when Wanda starts speaking to you.

“I hope you didn't have any problems finding us?” She sounds soft, soft enough for you to find it degrading.

“Except not knowing your last names it was pretty easy.” You say in a rough voice and that makes Natasha look back to the man that brought you to the table.

“You didn't have you, I gave him clear instructions. It's not that hard to do the only thing you are here for. I'm going to talk to him.” She drops the napkin on an empty table and stands up. You are not sure how you find your voice, maybe it's the nervous atmosphere that Natasha is adding to, or maybe your empathy for a fellow customer service worker, but you speak up.

“Sit down!” To your surprise, she does with a shocked face, while her wife laughs a little.

“Can we just order and get this over with? It feels like work.” You ask and that makes Wanda look at you quizzingly.

“What do you mean baby? Get it over with?” You put down the menu that you were reading and look her in the eyes.

“I promised Darcy that I will be here for at least half an hour. It started five minutes ago and I'm counting the time. I didn't want to be here and I found out just when she dropped me off that I'm meeting with you both.” She looks hurt and you need to address that before it gets more messy, even more that Natasha looks angry. You look between them and continue.

“Look-” You run your hand on your face, as it is supposed to take off the worry. “-I’m sorry, but i'm not looking for dates, or relationships. Any kind of relationship.” You say pointing your finger between them.

“Can we just spend this 25 minutes talking or whatever and I promise you won’t have to waste any more time on me.” That makes Wanda's face soften. She looks like she is about to say something but Natasha cuts in.

“Sure, let's just order something.” In the next three minutes you placed an order and as much as they pursued you to get something to eat you didn't get anything. You got a coffee which cost twenty five dollars. You regret that decision, thinking that you would be okay with the tap water. Your stomach starts to hurt with how empty it is and all the smells are affecting it in a horrible way. Wanda and Natasha placed their orders and food came in faster then it took to order it. They are really at the top in this restaurant. They start eating while you enjoy your coffee. Wanda tries to start a light conversation, to make it a little bit less awkward for all of you.

“So Yn, Darcy told us you were working today, was it a good shift?”

“Decent, I got my first article to do a final edit to.” You say and take a sip of coffee, looking at Wanda enjoying her pasta alfredo. You feel yourself salivating and you probably look too long at her food, because it makes her wonder if you actually want anything.

“Yn, are you sure you are not hungry?” Wanda says and her wife finally joins the conversation.

“We know we picked an expensive restaurant, let us get you something to eat sugar.” She is about to call the waiter to the table again.

“No. No, Natasha no, I'm really okay. Please don’t.” She looks at you, deeply studying your eyes, knowing that you are doing that because you are uncomfortable with the prices, but still she doesn't want to go against you, as much as she wishes she could. With each passing time she spends with you, she realizes that you can be destructive for yourself, and she would gladly take that away from you. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket but you decide to keep it there for the next fifteen minutes. Time feels like it stretches itself, making you feel like it has been over an hour. You keep your fingers on the brim of your coffee mug, trying to make your legs stop shaking, and your muscles twitching. It's not that you are nervous, you are past that, but your medication is wearing off and you can feel it. At this time you would either take a second dose if you were at work, or with your friends, or just people in general, or you would take some actions to make yourself comfortable. Caffeine doesn't help, and it was a bad idea as it just makes you more and more sleepy with every second. Your left hand is laying on the table and the tablecloth feels awful against your fingertips. Material feels like it lingers on your skin even after you pick your hand up, it's too soft and too harsh at the same time, like a used sandpaper sheet. You wish you could pick your hand up but you can't. It feels embarrassing to do so, not because of the action but because of the reason to do so, so you force yourself to keep it that way. Only fifteen minutes longer. It feels like you said it to yourself an hour ago but with the time speed in your brain, it was only a minute. You are physically restraining yourself from counting seconds, numbers help you stay sane but you can't do that right now, if you would, everything that two woman in front of you are speaking about would go into the void, and as a center of entertainment for them right now you can’t allow yourself to drift off, they would notice. Clutter of silverware feels like it's happening at the front part of your skull, Lady at the table on your right has some good insights about new generations of doctors, she is a doctor too, she has her id clipped to her bag. Man to whom she is speaking is sweating a lot, he is nervous and it seems like they are on a date. One girl, a waiter, has had enough of today, she stands at the corner next to the bar, nobody can see her, or maybe nobody just pays attention, except you. Sometimes putting on a work uniform equals disappearing. She is running her hands on her thighs, looking up to the ceiling, she tries to stop crying. That makes you look around the room, a man in a big suit is red on his face, he was just yelling, or arguing since you didn't hear anything before. He shoves food into his mouth like it's going to calm his nerves.

“Are you even listening?” Natasha calls out and just then her voice breaks through all the loud noise around you.

“Hm? I'm sorry I just-”

“Wasn't listening. Look, I understand you don't want to be here, but a little decency wouldn't hurt you. We are trying hard to get to know you, not use you, not sponsor you, not even embarrass you, just get to know you. I don't understand what's so awful about it.” She throws a napkin at the table and stands up.

“I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back.” She looks at her wife when she speaks, she is mad, you didn't mean to make her mad, or disappointed, you really do appreciate the interest.

“Nat, I really didn't mean to- '' You are trying to defend yourself but she is already gone, you lie your head low and massage your traps with your hands, it's painful but helpful. You get this uneasy feeling inside your stomach and you can't say if that's the lack of food or the nerves. Just then you realize that you picked your hand up from uncomfortable table cloth and you make a mental note not to put it down at the same place.

Wanda swallows the food she just finished, your time is almost up and you are grateful for it, even more that since the moment you went into the restaurant you were doing nothing more but disappointing everybody, including yourself. You decide to speak to her, maybe try to explain yourself a little why you are acting that way.

“Im sorry Wanda.”

“I know.” A moment of silence lingers between you when she grabs her wine glass, not taking her back off of her chair, stretching her arm out.

“I'm sorry about her, I’ m not saying she is not right yn, i feel the same way, but my wife is just very frustrated by you.” You hang your head low, like a child being scolded, you tell yourself that you shouldn't care about their opinion, but it matters, everybody's opinion matters and you hate that about yourself.

“I wasn't aware that I was that irritating for her. That's just an additional reason for why you shouldn't waste your time on me Wanda.” She smiles at you and shakes her head.

“Sexually frustrated Yn, emotionally frustrated. She really wants to get to know you, and she is being on her best behavior holding back every second we are spending with you.” That makes you even more confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You are a precious one aren't you?” This time you can be sure it was degrading.You straighten up your posture.

“That little stunt you did at the party?” She leans in, making you once again lost in the smell of her perfumes. You don't say anything but she can see on your face how oblivious you are.

“You remember that moment when Natasha went to you to simply try and devour you? That little stunt you pulled with her belt? Please you had to see her reaction, she has the same look every time she looks at you, and to be honest i don't blame her. I had a fun night thanks to you baby, it's a shame you weren't there.” She finishes the sentence and then her wine. You feel like you have finished all the air, it's hard to breathe and it's too warm, and you don't understand those feelings, they put you in a fight or flight state, but at the same time you are glued to the chair, not able to move. Wanda puts her hand on yours and interlocks your fingers, you are not able to stop her or yourself.

“Yn, breath.” She looks a little worried but at the same time highly entertained.

“What's going on?” Natasha comes back to the table and her voice brings you back and makes you let go of Wanda’s hand like it's burning you.

“Oh nothing love, I just told Yn how much fun I had because of her after the party.”

“Wanda-” Natasha says in a scolding way, seeing the state Wanda put you in. “- I apologize for my wife's sugar. Sometimes she can't keep her mouth shut.” Their holding hands and being so tender with each other, it makes you feel like an intruder.

“I thought you like it wide open.” Wanda's comment makes you choke on your coffee and it goes down the wrong pipe, sending you into a coughing spree. A girl, the waiter you saw before comes right in to check on you. You assure her that everything is okay, but she still leaves a glass of water for you on the side, sending you a warm smile. Wanda and Natasha cut the topic seeing in what way it's affecting you and you fall into light conversation for the last couple of minutes. You ask them about work and they can't say much other than it’s classified sounding like from csi miami series, but either way you are very much interested in stories they encounter while being at work.

Your phone vibrates a couple of more times and at the fifth time you can’t not pick it up. You assume who is trying to reach you but as you pull your phone out of the inside pocket in your jacket you can see that you were very wrong. You have ten messages and five missed calls, all from Shuri, and she never calls you. You immediately get this worried look and they can see it.

“What's going on Yn?”

“Is everything okay?” You don't even pick your head up to look at them.

“I'm sorry I need to call back. I'm sorry.” You dial Shuri on your phone and call her back without getting up from the table. You just turn your body side to them to get a little bit more private. She pics up after two dial tones.

“Shuri!? Is everything okay? What's going on?” You are holding your phone with your right hand and playing with the rings on your left hand. Your voice is low trying not to disturb anybody's dinner or conversations, fortunately your table is far enough from others. Natasha and Wanda pay close attention to you, their hands together in a caring manner.

“Now?” You ask and look at your watch.

“I'm really far away from the city-” You pinch your nose with your fingers.

“- I can try to call a cab-” A moment of silence from your side let's Wanda slip a fast question.

“Is something wrong?” She whispers to you laying her hand on the table close to you. You look at her apologetically.

“-it's not about the money Shuri. I'm just limited right now. How much time do I have? An hour? Okay, yeah I'm going to figure something out, don't worry about it I got you, just send me the location.” With that you hang up the phone and start looking around to collect your things, which you don't have because everything is in your coat. You look at them and you don't know what to say, you are just about to cut short a 30 minute meeting in which you already disappointed them so much. They are both worried that much you can say but Natsaha is definitely clenching her jaw, it's not a good sign. You try to find in yourself the right words to turn them down one last time, but you can't, not with this level of stress.

“I need to go.” You stand up looking between both of them. You take thirty dollars from your pocket and put it under your coffee mug.

“I'm sorry.” With that you leave them and don't provide them any explanation, to be honest they didn't ask. You move into the exit and wait a second for the man to give you your, actually Carol’s coat. You thank him and go outside trying to figure out what you are going to do.

Natasha and Wanda, a little disappointed with how things went, decided to finish dinner and head home. Fifteen minutes after you left they exit the restaurant and wait for their car to be brought. Just as they receive keys from the worker they hear a loud conversation on the side of the building. Natasha looks around the corner and sees you packing around with your phone in your ear, for a second she thinks about leaving you but her wife walks past her towards you.

“I understand but I don't have enough cash! You know how far it is, i can cash app the money whats the problem?! No don’t- . Ugh!” Clearly someone hung up on you. You are looking at your phone typing aggressively, you seem worried out of your mind.

“Okay Yn what's going on?” Wanda asks when her wife joins her and you are surprised to see them. You take a second before you reply.

“I can’t find a cab, it's nothing really. Again sorry it turned out this way.” Your phone rings again and you pick it up so fast that the second ring tone doesnt come.

“Yes, yes I called. I need a cab to the city center-” You pace around not being able to stay in place, even more that you just got this feeling in your legs that you can't describe. Each night before sleep, when your medicine wears off completely your legs have this tingly feeling, like slight electric shocking waves going through your muscles. It's nothing pleasant. Usually a hot shower helps but the alternative is just to keep moving, so that's what you do.

“- HOW MUCH? Okay yeah, yeah you too.” You sit down, cross legged at the curb, your left palm is open while your right is holding the phone, lightly tapping it on your left. Natasha crouches in front of you and tries to catch eye contact. You don't look up so she snatches the phone from your palm.

“Hey!” You reach to grab it back but she already gave it to Wanda that stands behind her.

“Tell us what's wrong, sugar?” You look between them, they look at you gently, worried, trying to read your expressions while you are breathing heavily with stress, your upper back is tense and you would love to shake it off of you. Without giving them too much information you speak up.

“I need to pick up someone from the city center and I should be there-'' You look at your watch trying to figure out how much time passed from your conversation with Shuri. “- in forty minutes. I called a couple of companies but they either don't have anybody in the area, or they don't have a cash app and I don't have that much cash on me.” You explain carefully, trying hard not to sound crazy or overemotional, even if you feel your body shaking. Natasha is standing up, it makes you feel like she is hovering above you, and you don't have energy to fight for your phone. To your surprise she stretches her hand towards you and helps you stand up. You follow, and the feeling of her skin on yours is very different from Wandas. It's hard to tell if that's a good or a bad thing. With both of them your whole relationship, if you can even call seeing them three times, a relationship, you had an off feeling but at the same time some connection that wanted to be made.

“Come on, we’re gonna drive you.” Natasha says with her face straight, she takes the space leaving no room for you to decline. You are in the tight spot, Shuri is counting on you and you are needed, there is a big possibility you won't be able to do this without their help, and oh god how much you hate it.

“No, i'm going to- i will-” Wanda interrupts your protest already opening the front passenger door for you.

“You will do what? You are out of options, Yn. Get in.” And you do, with her hand on the small of your back you take the space next to Natasha. For a second you are confused about why you are sitting in the front seat.

“ Tell me where to go.” Natsaha doesn't even take a look at you, she seems pissed and you don't blame her, you would probably hate yourself in their position. ruining the date, making them do something for you, ruining their day schedule. They both probably have a thousand better places to be right now, and they are stuck with you. Awkwardness of the situation doesn't help the anxiety you have about the passing time, you are scared of running late, always, but in this situation even more. After giving them the address and helping with directions from time to time you are 5 minutes away from your destination.

“So who is Shuri?” Wanda asks from the back seat, taking your focus off of the road in front of you.

“Oh she studies at the university with me, she is Tony Stark’s best student.” You explain briefly.

“That Stark? What a small world.” Natasha comments taking a fast look at her wife in the back mirror.

“ That's nice, baby, but I meant who is she to you.” Are you imagining things or does she sound jealous? You can't help but wonder. You are not sure what makes you open up in front of them in any way, but you do.

“She is my-” you make a little pause, wondering what words you should use. “-friend, a really good friend.”

“Hm a really good one you say?” Wanda is pushing you a little bit trying to bring some more information out of you.

“Yeah, we were together for two years, she is like family to me. Actually her whole family kind of took me in, as a part of them.” Too much Yn, too much, You bite your tongue, probably a little too late, you are mad at yourself for revealing that much about your past, to total strangers. That was always an issue for you, if someone was willing to listen you were eager to talk. That's unfortunately not a safe thing to do, at least usually.

“So we went out to pick up your ex?” Natasha is straight forward, and strangely you respect that. At that moment you arrive in front of elementary school.

“Actually no.” You answer quickly and get out of the car, looking straight at the little boy waiting with his teacher near the gate. You walk in their direction.

“JUNIOR!” You yell out for him and the moment he sees you, his backpack is on the ground and he runs into your direction. You catch him into your arms and spin him around as he hugs himself close to your neck, securing his legs around your torso. You walk still holding him up to pick up his backpack. You didn't realize that both Natasha and Wanda got out of the car and were approaching you.

“It's been a while since we saw you miss Yn. Have a nice day.” Teacher sends Junior T’Challa a wave and goes back into the building. You are written down on the list to pick up Shuri’s nephew. It's not the first time for you to do that, but it's true that it's been a while. Boy refuses to let you go as you try to pick up his backpack. Before you can do it, struggling a little bit Natasha snatches it from the ground looking down at you.

“Yn? Who is that?” Junior asks you and to be honest you hoped that they would already leave.

“This is Natasha and Wanda, they drove me here, which I'm very thankful for, but now they have to go. Right?” You hope that the hint is not too small.

“Actually we have the whole day reserved for you Yn. You and this little boy now.”

“Im T'Challa Junior.” He says proudly, getting out of your arms at the same time.

“It's Shuris nephew.” You kneel down, fixing his jacket. The water proof material got stuck in the zipper. You take the piece out and zip it all the way up, trying to keep him nice and warm.

“She got stuck with Profesor Stark.” Boy gets visibly sad after that information. You are thinking for a second if you should do something with him, or just get him home and take care of your responsibilities, which to be honest are piling up. You got three texts about essays that are needed for tomorrow. All for the same class and the same topic, which is the worst case scenario for you.

“Don't worry, Yn here is actually taking you to the theme park. We are going to have a lot of fun.” Natasha throws information out of nowhere, without asking you, giving you any heads up, and taking full control over the situation, and you thought for a split second to get violent with her. How dare she use a little boy's emotions against you? Yes, sure, it's a nice thing to do, but you told them specifically that you don't have too much time, that you have half an hour for them and that's it, that you don't want to be near them or do more than necessary to keep your promise. Which part of that she didn't get? Wanda notices how angry you got after her wife’s idea, and as much as she thinks about resolving this issue, this also might be a good idea to show you that they are not so bad. She kneels down next to you to get to the boys and your eye level, her eyes are soft, apologetic almost.

“It's going to be fun, Yn. You’ll see.” Junior gets excited and follows Natasha to the car, you are right behind them with wanda. How are you supposed to take happiness out of his hands? You are not a monster.

“Cheer up Yn.” Wanda is walking on a very thin line.

“Cheer down Wanda, this is hopefully the last time I have to see you both.” Leaving shocked Wanda behind, you get into the place with Junior on the back and let Natasha decide where to go. Make him happy, and survive. That's all that matters right now. You would give your life for this boy, what's one day, even if it means you staying up all night to catch up with your work, because of course you agreed to take those additional papers for tomorrow. You need money, lots of it, so you need to work… a lot. Just as you were getting nervous about it and your bank account your phone started going off with text messages. One after another, drilling a hole in your calmness. You don't even read them, you decide to call right away and you can't be bothered enough that you are not alone.

“What do you want?” Wanda looks at you worried, but smiles at the little boy to keep him calm.

“No.” Some arguing can be heard through the phone on the other side of the call. Even when you put it on the lowest volume, it's so loud that they can hear.

“You do want me to starve, don't you?... At the end of the week, that's all I have to say to you. Leave me alone.” You finish your call and mute your phone, of course after filing Darcy and Shuri up on what's happening and where are you going. Wanda and Natasha didn't ask, hoping you will explain what the call was about, it didn't sound good.

The rest of the day passed good but horrible slowly. Junior had so much fun, riding with Natasha and playing games with Wanda, or sitting down and eating corn dogs with you. Seeing him happy makes you happy, but the mental load that you are carrying with you is heavy enough that you can't relax or enjoy this for even a second. Going through stuff in your head is a normal thing for you, but at the end of the day, when you're actually sitting down to do what you have to do you feel like you went through the same task five times already. It's simply dreadful, not mentioning the lack of any satisfaction when you are actually done.

Shuri tells you that she is already home, Junior is tired, and you are also so ready to go home. You asked Natasha and Wanda, who were trying so, so, so hard to get to you in any way, that it was irritating at some point, to give T'Challa a ride. Normally you would feel bad about it but it was their idea in the first place.

Shuris home is a little bit outside of the city, not far from the subway thankfully. When Natasha parks her car at the side of the street, you collect your bag and get out of the car. Walking to the other side of it you zip your jacket up, goosebumps all over your body, reminding you physically how cold it is at this time of year. Street lights give off your favorite time of the day vibe, even if it's far till three am. You open the door on the right side and slowly unbuckle Junior from the seat.

“Don’t.” You tell Wanda, seeing her undoing her seatbelt, also to go out and help you. Surprisingly she listens to you. You take the boy into your arms and let him hug you half asleep, you hold him up with your right hand and take his backpack with your left. It's heavier than it looks. Actually they both are, or maybe you are just really tired, it's been a long day. you go to the gate with him and Wanda and Natasha are watching your every move. You ring the bell at the gate and later the main doors are open. Two people go out of the house, the older woman takes the boy from your hands and the younger takes the back pack. Redheads can't hear a thing but they can see you talking with the younger woman.

“I don't know how to thank you. He texted me half way throughout the day, how much he missed you and how much fun he is having.” Shuri is so genuine with you, she always was, pretty tough sometimes, but always real, and you respect that.

“You know I love this boy, he is family.”

“And you are ours Yn. You have always been, and you will always be a part of this family.” These cheesy moments between you two is not something any of you are used to, even when you were together,” i love you” sounded more like a, “bye i see you later”, rather than “my heart is with you every second when we are apart”. Romanticizing your life much? Maybe, but how can you not, when you want to survive in this world, with your heart intact. Shuri hugs you for a goodbye, and gives you a light kiss on the cheek, which does not go unnoticed by your dates.

“I don't like it, Wanda.”

“Would you calm down Nat? You did everything today to push her away, and each moment I've been trying to fix the situation that YOU created, you were shutting me up.” That accusation is shocking for Natasha, and she will not back down from defending herself, even if it's coming from her wife. She almost starts talking again, giving her piece of thoughts on the topic, but she sees you walk away and that takes priority at this second.

“We are going to talk about it at home.” She points her finger at Wanda, her voice sounds like flowing out through clenched teeth, and she is definitely not agreeing with Wanda. She doesn't even point out to her wife what's happening, she just goes out of the car and walks fast after you, Wanda confused but right at her heels.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The force with which you turn around makes Natsaha stop immediately. Your eyes are dark, your jaw is clenched, as well as your fists.

“Natasha, calm down!” Wanda joins you at the side of the road, it's really quiet in this neighborhood, the only sound slicing the silence is the roaring of the car that was left with the engine running. You pinch the bridge of your nose, irritation, exhaustion, this feeling of wasted day get to you, overstretching your patience to the fucking limits. You don’t care, you can’t find in yourself to care, and your promise was fulfilled. You respect and love Carol, but it doesn't mean that you have to feel the same way about her friends.

“What are you, five?” This is definitely not something they expected of you. Even everything they have heard about you, always patient, collected, good, the view in front of them doesn't fit any of this.

“How dare you deciding about my day, my plans, and using feelings of a little boy to get me to do something, just because your fucking ego is bruised?” Natasha makes a step to your direction, bringing her finger up to defend herself and her wife.

“No! I'm not done!” Taken aback she doesn't interrupt you. As horrible Wanda feels about making you feel this way it's really interesting for her to see someone putting her wife into place.

“For the whole day you are talking so much, about wanting to get to know me, getting close to me, but you did absolutely nothing to make me feel comfortable in your presence. When you gave me the ride, seeing the position i was in, i though, just for a second, this can be good, we can try this out, and then…then you took your fucking place and made me feel like i have no say in my life.”

“You are being so dramatic Yn! We gave you and this boy a great day, you should be grateful!” Natasha had enough.

“I have a test tomorrow, an article to edit, and three essays to write, that should be done by now. And no, I don't have a second deadline, I don't have more time, and I will have to stay up all night, without sleep to get everything done on time. In the morning I have work, then a test at university and then my shift at the bar! You thought I had thirty minutes with you for fun? If that means that im being dramatic then fucking yes, I am dramatic!”

“You are working too much.” Wanda comments with this horribly soft voice of her, condescending reasoning, like it's so simple for her, like she can solve all your issues, if you are just willing to give them all control over your life. You scoff at her like she said something funny. Natasha takes out her wallet, and takes out two thousand in cash, you never saw this amount of money in cash, well maybe once when you were working in black.

“Is this enough to buy your time? Your pride? Is that enough for you to get over yourself and let someone take care of you or at least fucking try?” She steps close to you, so close that you feel warmth coming from her body, creating too much of a contrast with the weather, you feel sick. Wanda grabbed her wife's hand, but it wasn't enough to stop her from speaking a couple words too much. You look at the money in Nat’s hand. Couple of papers that would solve your issues for at least two months, something that means nothing to her, that she has too much of, something that would save you. The control that it has over you is not fair, but life isn’t fair, it never was, it never will be, and you are highly aware of it. You look her in the eyes, and you grab at the last bits of your control, pride you have for yourself, those bits of respect that you are trying to save.

“You ignorant fuck, you really dont get any of this do you? Fuck you Natasha.” You leave them and start your long way home, this was a mistake, and you are glad that it's over, finally you can focus on yourself again. All they did since the day you met them is make your life fall apart with every way imaginable. It's good that it's over Yn, you tell yourself and enter the subway, already starting writing your first essay on your phone, the topic power laughing at you, as the universe decided that you are its best comedy.

Next chapter

tag list : @autorasexy @lizziejolsen @natashaswife4125 @sayah13 @romanoffskisser @lijo-8 @jjiiuuisssagcebrcw @natashaswife4125 @dumbassbitchwithnotits @teenybean, @marvelwomen-simp, @ripofflizzie

#stonemags #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #marvel #shuri x reader #darcy lewis #darcy lewis x carol danvers #carol danvers #wandanat fic #sugar baby au #sugar mommy

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sycamorelibrary754 · 2 months

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Guardian Angel

Chapter 9: When in Rome

Summary: I have no idea how to summarize this chapter besides saying buckle up. 🫣

Warnings: Danger, angst, claustrophobia.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: My apologies for how long it took to get this chapter posted. I wanted to take my time on it because it’s essential to the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it!

Guardian Angel Masterlist

You walked into your room, anxiously shutting the door behind you. Your mind races as you pace back and forth. Running your fingers through your hair, you struggle to comprehend why Onyx Petroleum would be interested in Sokovian land. Your mental spiral is interrupted by a knock on your door, followed by Tony's voice asking if you're okay. You open the door, and the billionaire walks in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

"I can't believe I didn't clock it before," Tony said, holding up the newspaper. "Those con artists from Onyx Petroleum are your parents - sorry."

You force a smile and respond, "It's okay. They deserve the title, trust me."

"I know firsthand," Tony muttered.

“You know my parents?”

“Your father was a regular visitor of the Stark Expo in the old days.” You're taken aback, wondering how you never knew that. “Dear old dad rarely spoke to me growing up, but I remember he once said that Y/F/N Y/L/N was the only person who made him believe that humanity was doomed to extinction.”

“Sounds about right,” you said.

“Oh, and then," he recounted, "A few years ago at a September Foundation grant presentation at Cal Tech. Your mother, as usual, was doing her thing - schmoozing with everyone. She cornered Pepper and started rambling about how a partnership between Onyx Petroleum and Stark Industries could transform the global oil exploration and production industry. Pepper kindly reminded her that Stark Industries no longer partners with companies or individuals that harm the environment or the population. So your mother called Pepper a fraud and threw her drink in her face! Can you believe that?"

You sigh as you sit down on the edge of the bed, “Unfortunately, yes.”

"Any idea what this is about?" Tony asked, holding up the paper again.

You shake your head, saying, "No clue. They've never shown any interest in foreign oil.”

"Do you have access to anything that would give us insights into their business dealings?" Tony inquired.

You shake your head again, feeling helpless. "Not anymore. My parents removed me from all of their bank accounts and company mainframes when they kicked me out," you say with a huff, throwing yourself back onto the bed. “I don’t get it. Sokovia was destroyed. What’s left for them to find.”

“Vibranium.”

“What?” You said as you sat up. “That doesn't make sense. Sokovia was a war zone.”

“What do you think they were fighting over?” the billionaire asked rhetorically.

“How do you know this, Tony?”

“After Ultron's attack on Sokovia and the subsequent sinking of Navi Grad, FRIDAY performed an extensive deep-sea mapping of the ocean—every square centimeter. Seven hundred thousand images were captured at a depth of almost 4,000 meters,” Tony explained, tapping the screen on his watch. “The mapping exercise was aimed at locating the submerged remnants of the destroyed city and ensuring the safety of any underwater vehicles or divers exploring the area. Doing so would provide insights into the underwater topography of the region and assist in the reconstruction efforts.”

You rise to your feet as a hologram of the 3D map materializes before your eyes.

“Instead, FRIDAY found something else,” Tony explained, shifting pieces back and forth through the air. “Outside of Wakanda, Sokovia has the largest natural vein of Vibranium anywhere in the world, but no one has been able to mine it yet because…,” zooming in on the composite. “It’s underwater.”

You studied the 3D image carefully, trying to comprehend how Onyx Petroleum would go about mining the most potent substance on Earth.

“This much Vibranium in anyone’s hands is frightening,” Tony said. “In the hands of a company notorious for unethical business practices, it’s perilous.”

“Does Wanda know?” Your mind was racing with concern for your girlfriend.

“No, and I don’t think we should tell her,” closing the hologram.

“What? Why not? She has a right to know! It was her home. We can’t just—“

"Easy, Willy Wonka," Tony said. "I know she needs to know, but we need more information before we can act. I need to do some more research and figure out the next steps. In the meantime, tell the rest of the team what we know. Wanda is running point on a full-team, large-scale mission the day after tomorrow, and it benefits no one for her to be distracted, right?"

You nod hesitantly in agreement, still processing everything. "Trust me, Y/N. If we take our eyes off the ball, bad things happen. We need to be strategic and focused if we're going to keep everyone safe."

After a moment of silence, you let out a heavy sigh. "Okay, you're right," you concede, looking down at your hands. "I just don't feel good about keeping this from Wanda. We've always been honest with each other, and I don't want to ruin that."

Tony places a reassuring hand on your back. "You're not lying to her. You're just postponing the truth to protect her," he explains calmly.

You slowly nod, taking in his words. It made sense, in a way. But the guilt still lingered in your mind, gnawing at you. You knew that, eventually, you'd have to come clean.

*^~^*

You stirred from your sleep two days later, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach lingered. Your conversation with Tony was still vivid in your mind. You peered outside and saw SHIELD agents hustling and bustling around the grounds. You felt lost, unsure of what to do or where to be, so you did your best to keep a low profile and stay out of everyone's way. This was your first time seeing a mission play out before you. Sure, team members had come and gone before in the three months you had been living at the Avengers Compound, but being so focused on your recovery, you hadn’t paid that close attention.

FRIDAY interrupted your train of thought as you stood by the window. “Ms. Y/L/N,” she said, “Ms. Maximoff requests your presence in The Overwatch.”

You were confused. “The Overwatch? Where’s that, FRIDAY?”

“I’ll escort you there, Ms. Y/L/N,” FRIDAY said, opening the elevator doors.

As you stepped into the elevator, you noticed it was going down. The compartment sprang to life, and you counted at least three floors before it finally stopped. The door opened, revealing a futuristic virtual command center. Wanda stood with her back to you, looking up at a wall of monitors.

You couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow!"

Wanda turned at the sound of your voice, and her smile was enough to melt you into a puddle. "Impressive, isn't it?" she said.

You nodded, still in awe of the sight. "What is this place?"

"This is The Overwatch," Wanda explained. "It's a command center that allows Fury or other Avengers who aren't on a mission to provide support in real-time."

You walked over to where Wanda was standing. "It's only used when everyone gets called away or on big-scale operations," she added.

You looked up at the bank of monitors, each displaying a name in the corner. Your eyes quickly found Natasha's, labeled N. Romanoff. Next to her, you spotted T. Stark, S. Rogers, B. Banner, T. Odinson, C. Barton, B. Barnes, S. Wilson, K. Bishop, Y. Belova, P. Parker, and C. Danvers.

"Am I even allowed to be in here?” You asked.

"Technically, no," Wanda replied with a smirk, "but this is my first time running point on a mission, and I could use the company."

Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "Who are they after?"

"Unfortunately, that information is classified," Wanda replied, typing away on the keyboard and pulling up a map, "but I can tell you they are in Europe."

"Well, that narrows it down," you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wanda sighed and sat before the command module, motioning for you to join her. "I wish I could tell you more," she said, "it's so much more stressful sitting in here than being out in the field with the team."

You tried encouraging her, saying, "Hey, at least you're safe here."

“Yes, but I feel so helpless," Wanda admitted while monitoring the team's vital signs. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to Fury for agreeing to let me ease back into the swing of things, but the loss of control scares me.”

The tense atmosphere was palpable in the comms as Steve's voice cut through, "Wanda, we're on our final approach. ETA, 30 seconds."

Natasha's raspy voice chimed in, "How are we looking?"

"The approach is clear—five guards in the courtyard outside the building.

"I got it," Tony interjected. You heard muffled groans on the other end of the comms as Tony dismantled the threat in a matter of seconds. "We're clear outside."

Everyone, turn on your body cameras," Wanda commanded as the monitors rose to life, giving you a first-person point of view of what everyone on the team was seeing.

"Nat, the security office is two doors down on your left," Wanda directed.

"Noted, I'm on my way," Natasha confirmed.

"When do I go in?" Peter's voice sounded eager on the comms.

"Hold your position, Spider-Boy," Yelena said. "Patience is key."

"Yeah, Peter. You're too eager. Just slow your roll and wait for the signal," Kate Bishop said.

"So is being quiet, Kate Bishop." Yelena cut in again.

I can't believe this is happening," you said involuntarily.

"Shh," Wanda whispers.

"Who is that?" Thor asks as he catches his hammer flying towards his monitor screen.

"Is that Y/N?" Carol asked between shots.

"No, it's not," Wanda lied to protect you.

"It is Y/N! What are you doing in The Overwatch, Willy Wonka?" Tony asked.

“Aww, they’re having a date night,” Clint joked sarcastically as you watched an arrow fly away from his camera and out of sight.

"Everyone, please be quiet. You're clogging the comms," Bucky demands irritably.

"Let's all be civil," Sam adds.

“I concur,” Bruce agreed.

"How are we doing, Nat?" Steve asked as he knocked out another security guard.

"I'm bypassing the firewall, Natahsa replied, typing away on the keyboard. “There. The Iris Detectors are down.”

"On my signal," Wanda spoke calmly. "Disabling the dome cameras in 3, 2, 1. Go.”

Sitting in front of the bank of monitors, you found yourself momentarily bewildered. You weren't sure which of the screens to focus on as the team moved in unison. Each one displayed a different angle of the action, and you didn't want to miss a single moment of what was unfolding before you. You watched with bated breath as they efficiently made their way through the building, their movements purposeful and precise. It was a sight to behold - you had never seen such determination and skill in your entire life.

Despite seeing footage of the Avengers on the news over the years, watching them firsthand was an entirely different experience. You felt incredibly fortunate to be able to call them your friends. As they worked towards the second level, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over you. These were some of the most powerful beings on the planet, and yet they were risking their lives to protect others. It was a humbling and inspiring sight to behold.

As the team entered the building, you watched Bucky effortlessly kick in a door. "I'm in the lab," he announced, his voice calm and collected.

Tony's voice crackled through the comms, "Do you see the mainframe?"

"There's two, which one is it?" Bucky replied, scanning the room.

"Open the silver panel," Tony instructed.

With a few hard pulls, Bucky managed to pry off the front of the mainframe. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass filled the air as Carol crashed through a nearby window with a guard's arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Without hesitation, Bucky turned to assist her. "Keep going! I got this," Carol shouted, her voice slightly strained.

Tony's voice cut through the chaos, "You should see the mainframe HiperSockets that provide high-speed TCP/IP connectivity within the central processor complex."

"For fuck's sake, in English, Tony!" Bucky shouted, his frustration palpable.

"Language,” Steve reprimanded.

An alarm began to blare as red lights flashed, signaling the imminent arrival of more guards.

"Bucky and Carol, eight more guards are heading your way," Wanda's voice sounded over the comms. "Thor, you're the closest."

"I'll be right there," Thor answered.

You watched as The God of Thunder bounded down the stairs and into the lab. In a thunderous flash, he took out all eight guards, leaving the room eerily silent.

"Cut the blue cable!" Tony finally shouted.

Bucky pulled out a pocket knife and quickly sliced through the blue cable.

The rest of the team arrived on the scene, and the lights inside the mainframe went out, plunging the room into darkness.

"How do we know for sure it's down?" Kate asked, her voice laced with concern.

Natasha fired three gunshots into the mainframe, causing the container to smoke.

"That ought to do it," she said, lowering her gun.

"Well done, everyone," Wanda praised. "I'm no longer seeing a heat signature from your location, which means the building is offline."

"Thanks, Wanda. Nice job on the point," Steve said. "We'll reconvene at 1800 hours to go over Phase Two."

Wanda looked exhausted as she removed her earpiece. The monitors had gone dark again; she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to calm herself down. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and looked at you.

"Wow, sweetheart. That was amazing! I've never seen anything like that in my life. You were great,” you said, touching her shoulder.

Wanda smiled weakly, feeling a sense of satisfaction mixed with exhaustion. "Thanks," she said, "it was touch and go. But I'm glad they were able to get the job done."

You nodded in agreement. "Are all the missions that intense?"

Wanda thought for a moment before answering. "Not all of them," she said, "but this is one of the most challenging ones we've had in a while. But that's what we're trained for, right?"

“Do you miss it? Being out there, I mean,” you asked hesitantly.

Wanda’s expression was pensive as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the ground. "It's a complicated situation," she began slowly. "On the one hand, I don't want to leave my boys. After we lost their father, I made a promise to Billy and Tommy that I would always be there for them, no matter what." She paused for a moment as if lost in thought. "But on the other hand," she continued, her voice growing softer, "sometimes I feel like I'm denying who I am. Like my magic knows, I’m turning away from that part of myself.”

As you sat beside Wanda, you suddenly realized something that had never occurred to you before – you had never seen her use her powers. You searched your memory for any instance where you had witnessed her abilities in action, but you drew a blank. The only thing you could recall was being in her arms after the accident before you passed out, but even then, you couldn't remember if she had used her magic to keep you safe.

You took a deep breath and reached out to hold her hand. "I know we've never talked about this, but is there a reason you've never used your magic in front of me?" you asked, your voice gentle and curious. You hoped she wouldn't take offense to your question, but you couldn't help feeling a little curious about this aspect of her life that she had kept hidden from you.

"I was wondering when you would finally ask me about this,” Wanda sighed softly. “Since Westview, I have had difficulty trusting myself to use my powers safely. I lost control in a way that I never have before, Y/N, and the thought of putting anyone through that again is unbearable." Her voice was tinged with remorse and sadness as she continued, "I don't want to be a danger to those around me or myself. I’m afraid to use my magic again, and I don't know how to overcome that fear."

As you stroked her hand, you spoke reassuringly to Wanda. "I know you're feeling guilty about what happened in Westview, but that was only one aspect of your powers. You've done so much more good in the world than bad, and the magic that courses through you is a testament to that. Remember all the times you used your abilities to save lives, protect innocent people, and bring hope to those in need. That is the true measure of who you are, Wanda. Don't let a single mistake define you or your legacy."

Wanda nodded as she looked at you. “Thank you, Y/N,” wiping the tears away that threatened to fall. “I know I can’t avoid using them forever,” she looked around the room, “I also know I can’t hide down here for the rest of my life.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

“What?”

“Show me your powers. Come on, let’s see what you got, sweetheart. It’s just us, and we’re three floors underground. Nothing can go wrong, I promise.”

She looked at you hesitantly before she finally agreed, “Okay.”

Wanda rose from her seat and walked to the middle of the room. She took a deep, cleansing breath, held out her left palm, and began slowly circling it with her right hand. You watched as an orb of red energy materialized in her palm. Pointing her hand in your direction, you felt the chair you were sitting in move underneath you as you quickly rolled across the room and stopped on a dime in front of the redhead.

“Woah,” you said in amazement.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she smirked.

Slowly but surely, she rose above you, her body glowing with a vibrant, otherworldly red magic that seemed to envelop you completely. Despite your shock, you felt a sense of calm wash over you as you basked in the warmth and comfort of the magic surrounding you. It was as if Wanda had wrapped you in a cocoon of pure energy, and you felt safe and protected in her presence. Her eyes were fixed on you, glowing like twin stars in the night sky. For the first time, you knew without a doubt that you were in the presence of a powerful being beyond your understanding. Yet, despite her immense power, she was your Wanda—gentle and kind.

The redhead reached down and gently touched your cheek. For a moment, you closed your eyes and basked in the warmth of her touch. You couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same sense of warmth and safety with you that you felt with her.

I do, Y/N," Wanda said with nothing but adoration in her eyes.

You were confused and asked, "Do what?"

"Feel the same warmth and safety you feel with me," she replied.

You wondered, "I, did I - I don't think I said that out loud, did I?"

"I heard your thoughts, love," she answered.

You repeated, "You heard me - you can hear my thoughts? Oh, God."

Wanda reassured you, "Oh no, no, Y/N. It's okay. This was the first time I've ever listened to your thoughts. Outside of work, I never invade anyone's privacy that way and never would with you without your permission or unless it was an emergency."

The redhead reached for you as she floated down. The red magic swirling around your joined hands.

"That was incredible, sweetheart. I know it will take some time, but don't hide this part of yourself away. It's wonderful.”

The sudden sound of the elevator whirring through the walls startled Wanda, breaking her concentration and causing her to dismiss her red magic hastily. "Shit! Quick, hide in that storage cabinet," she urgently whispered, pushing you towards the stainless steel structure.

"What?! Why?" You asked, confused and alarmed.

"I told you, you're not technically supposed to be here. The security clearance is off the charts," Wanda explained as she urged you towards the cabinet.

You sprinted towards the cabinet and quickly shut the door just as Maria exited the elevator. "Hey, Wanda. Great job on Phase One. Everything looks good on our end," she said, scrolling through her tablet.

“Thanks,” Wanda said, nervously tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear as Maria continued.

"I'm going to go brief Fury, but I'll be back for the check-in call at 6 pm to discuss Phase Two."

"Okay, see you in a bit," Wanda replied, relieved she hadn't noticed you.

As Maria stepped back into the elevator, she teasingly called, "Oh, and Wanda? If Y/N is going to be down here with you, at least give her a key card."

Wanda blushed at being caught. "I don't know what you're talking about," she fibbed.

"Of course, you don't," The Deputy Director chuckled. "Ask her to bring some Candy Bar chocolate for us later when she comes out from the storage cabinet," she added with a giggle as the doors closed.

You cautiously opened the door to the cabinet and stepped out, your cheeks reddening as you met Wanda's embarrassed gaze. She fished a blank white key card out of her pocket and handed it to you. "Here, now you can legally be down here with me."

You took the card and turned it over in your hands.

"Thanks," you said softly. “Tell Maria I'll bring some chocolate truffles later," you winked.

"Hmm, sounds good," Wanda smiled, leaning in to give you a gentle peck on the lips.

*^~^*

You arrived back at The Overwatch a few hours later, your white key card and a bag of truffles in hand. Maria was sitting next to Wanda in front of the wall of monitors. You sat down next to the redhead, passing the bag of chocolates to Maria.

"Aww, Y/N. How did you know? This is exactly what I wanted."

"Shut up,” you smirked. “So, what's happening here?" As you pointed toward the dark screens.

"We had the check-in call about forty-five minutes ago, and Steve should be reporting in any minute to confirm they've reached the target,” Wanda explained.

As if on cue, Steve's camera turned on, followed by the rest of the team. "Speak of the devil!” Maria exclaimed.

You could tell immediately that the team was in an underground passage, evidenced by the rough stone masonry surrounding them. Their footsteps echoed through the tunnel, adding an eerie quality to the tense atmosphere.

"Hey, Cap, you ready to go?" Maria asked, glancing up at the screen.

"Affirmative," Steve replied. “Although some of us are feeling a bit claustrophobic."

"Speak for yourself,” Clint chimed in.

"Tony, you want to take that one?" Wanda asked, typing away on her keyboard.

"Sure thing, Red," Tony replied. "Everyone, reach inside your suit pockets. You should find an object the size of one of Morgan's Legos."

Yelena, ever the skeptic, held up the miniature object Tony had referred to. "What the fuck is this?" she asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

"Language," Steve admonished.

"Oh, tell it to someone who cares," Yelena retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Sestra," Nat scolded, her voice echoing through the tunnels.

"It's a bit of technology I borrowed from our friendly neighborhood ant, and subsequently made even better,” Tony smirked. "Press the button on the top."

As one, the team pressed the button, and a small oxygen mask grew to fit in their hands.

"And we couldn't have worn these on the walk down here because?" Sam asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Because they only have a 24-hour oxygen supply," Tony explained. "We need to conserve as much as possible."

"Do I have to wear this?" Carol asked. "I can breathe in space. I'm pretty sure I'm fine down here."

"The vacuum of space is very different from underground," Maria said. "We don't want to take any chances. Put it on, please, Danvers."

“Why doesn’t the billionaire genius have to wear an oxygen mask?” She asked.

“There’s an oxygen supply built into the suit,” Tony smirked.

With a resigned sigh, Carol donned the mask, and the rest of the team followed suit. Wanda went over the topography of the catacomb, identifying key landmarks and intricacies that could help them navigate the maze-like structure safely.

In a hushed tone, you turned to Maria and asked, "Have they ever had an underground mission before?"

Maria shook her head and replied, "No, not like this. This is completely uncharted territory for them.”

"Okay, as we discussed," Steve said, pointing to the left. "Group one with me down the left tunnel; group two with Tony down the right tunnel."

As you observed intently, you saw each group setting off towards their designated directions, down the ancient corridors. The walls were adorned with intricate archways, illuminated by sporadic pockets of light that added to the mystique of the surroundings.

“Mr. Stark, this is amazing! Have you looked at these carvings and art? Easily third century—” Peter started.

“This isn’t a history field trip,” Natasha interrupted. “Pay attention to your surroundings.”

The group had been walking through a tunnel for some time when, without warning, felt the ground beneath their feet shake. A low and ominous grumbling noise echoed through the air, and everyone was thrown into the tunnel walls.

"FRIDAY, what's happening?" Tony asked urgently.

"Accessing the wave radar and enhancing the thermogenic signature," FRIDAY responded.

“Do you feel that too, Steve?” Wanda asked

Steve grunted as he struggled to regain his balance. "Yeah, is it an earthquake?" he asked.

"It's an energy surge, Boss," FRIDAY replied to Tony. "A core reactor holds together the primary stabilization of the tunnel structure."

"That's not first-century tech," Peter mumbled, face down on the ground.

Kate helped him up. "Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock."

Just as the group was getting back on their feet, Sam's voice cut through the tense silence.

"Hey! Hold it!" he shouted.

"What is it, Wilson?" Tony asked.

"Someone is watching us at the end of this tunnel," Sam exclaimed as he ran ahead of the group.

"Sam, wait!” Steve shouted.

"Lock onto Wilson," Maria said, standing up.

Wanda quickly shifted to Sam's primary camera and enlarged the visual. The mystery figure took two quick turns to the left as if they knew exactly where they were going. A third turn to the right, and Sam lost sight of the man for a split second. Looking around quickly, but to no avail, he said, "I lost them."

"How will he get back to the rest of the group?" You asked.

"Good question, Y/N," Sam replied.

Maria glared over at you. "Sorry, I keep forgetting they can hear me too."

"Sam, you're closer to Tony than Steve," Wanda said. "I'm pinging his tracker right now. Two lefts and a right should do it. And Steve and company, follow your tunnel about a half a mile down and then take a right, and you should meet up with everyone else."

The team wandered through the catacomb tunnel in silence, only the sound of their breathing and the stone under their feet breaking the stillness. When they were finally reunited, Tony broke the silence, "Okay, new plan. We're staying together."

Peter quickly agreed, "I'm with Tony on this one."

Yelena, standing nearby, murmured to Kate, "Color me surprised."

“Oxygen masks stay on, Nat,” Maria said pointedly.

"Yes, detka,” Natasha replied.

Yelena couldn't resist mocking her sister, "Yes, detka," she repeated sarcastically. But before she could carry on, Natasha pinched her arm, causing her to yelp in pain.

Thor shouted, "Knock it off, Lady Widows!"

Wanda added, "Thor is right. The catacomb can be disorienting, but you need to keep moving. Tony, I'm reviewing the National Geophysical Data Center records to assess your declination value and sending them to FRIDAY. Keep true north."

You turned to Maria, puzzled, "What did she say?" Having no clue what your girlfriend was talking about.

"They should turn right," Maria whispered.

You watched as everyone walked in a single-file line to the right, trying their best to keep their footing on the uneven stone. Suddenly, a second energy surge echoed loudly through the comms, causing everyone to turn their cameras downwards. Your heart raced as you gasped at the sight of cracks quickly forming between everyone's legs. Before anyone could react, the ground gave way beneath them, accompanied by screams and the sound of broken gravel.

Maria gasped, and Wanda put her hands over her mouth in shock.

"Oh my God!" You exclaimed. "What the hell just happened?"

Wanda asked urgently, "Steve? Tony? Can you hear me?"

Maria followed with a shaky voice, "Natasha? Come in! Anyone?"

"Shit," she said anxiously, picking up the phone in front of her. "All SHIELD agents, Romeo, Echo, Delta."

"FRIDAY, Code Red. Initiate Emergency Protocol 3000," Wanda ordered, running back towards the elevator and flipping a red switch under a glass cover.

"Compound shutdown initiated. Director Fury and Mrs. Stark have been notified and are en route to The Overwatch," FRIDAY responded.

You stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do with yourself. The shock of what you had just witnessed was so intense that your vision started to blur, and you felt as though you were about to pass out. Suddenly, you felt someone's arms on your shoulders, and you jumped slightly.

"Y/N? Y/N, love, stay with me, okay?" Wanda said, her voice soothing.

You looked up at her and then back at the monitors, pointing at them with a shaking hand. "They... it..." you stammered, struggling to form coherent sentences.

Wanda nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I know," she said, rubbing her hands up and down your arms in a gesture of comfort.

She slowly led you back to your seat, still holding onto your shoulders, and conjured a glass of water out of thin air. Taking it in your hand, you felt the coolness of the glass against your skin, which helped ground you and bring you back to the present moment.

*^~^*

Fury furrowed his brows and asked Maria, "When was your last point of contact?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Maximoff was running point?"

You didn't appreciate the way Director Fury was speaking about Wanda as if she wasn't in the room, but as an outsider, you chose to hold your tongue.

Wanda stepped forward before Maria could respond, "Yes, sir."

"What happened?"

“Two energy surges of unknown origin, but we didn’t have time to assess the cause before-." Wanda’s voice trailed off as she struggled to continue.

“Before you lost them,” Fury finished the sentence for her. Wanda nodded silently, unable to look the Director in the eyes.

“She didn’t lose them! It was an accident,” You suddenly heard yourself shout.

Pepper placed a hand on your shoulder as Fury’s gaze shifted over to you.

“Who is this?” Fury asked, pointing at you.

“I'm Y/N Y/L/N, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you,” you said, slowly reaching out your hand to shake his, but the gesture went unreciprocated.

"The car accident victim," looking you up and down. "She looks fine, why is she still here?"

You wondered why you were still here yourself, but Maria jumped in before you could respond, "She’s still recovering, Sir."

"Do you have clearance to be down here?"

You fumbled in your pocket for the white card Wanda had given you earlier. Fury looked at the card but gave you no response before turning back to Wanda.

“Are we still picking up pings from their trackers?”

“Yes, faintly,” Wanda said.

"Do we know how deep the catacomb goes?" He continued.

“Roughly 65 feet, but the fall could have taken them another 50 feet at least," Wanda stated.

“They were wearing oxygen masks?” Fury asked.

“Yes, but they only have a 24-hour oxygen supply if they haven’t been damaged,” Wanda explained.

Fury turned back to Maria, “How fast can we have a team of agents on the ground in Rome?”

Your ears perked up at finally knowing where everyone was.

“Four hours,” Maria responded.

“Make it three,” The Director said.

“Yes, sir,” Maria replied as she started to walk away.

Wanda interrupted calmly, "No. I’m going."

“Out of the question, Maximoff. You haven’t been back in the field since your return, save for her accident," Fury pointed at you. "I’m not sending you out there by yourself in the most dire moment in the history of SHIELD. You don’t know what you’ll find down there, and you’re still too unreliable."

“Unreliable,” Wanda repeated. “With all due respect, Director Fury, no one is more reliable than me. There is no one more powerful than me, and you and I both know that it will take someone who can move heaven and Earth, literally, to bring everyone home!”

Fury looked over at Pepper, who had yet to say a word—doing her best to keep her calm.

"Wanda can do it," Pepper declared, fidgeting with her wedding ring. "I have faith in her."

"You leave in 20 minutes,” Fury said, turning to Wanda. “But you're not going alone.”

“I’ll get changed right away, sir,” Maria assumed.

“No, you’re staying here, Hill. You’re too close to the situation with Romanoff.”

“Nick, I-“

“No, you’ll run co-point from here. That is final."

“Co-point? Who is-“

“I need to make a couple of phone calls. In the meantime, Maximoff, you get suited up. We’ll meet you in the hangar,” Fury ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Wanda acknowledged.

You followed Wanda out of the elevator and into the locker room, feeling nervous and determined. Wanda suited up with a look of solemn determination on her face. You didn't want to show your nervousness; Wanda had enough on her plate. She took out her phone, frowned at the screen, and then turned to you with a serious look.

“I need you to do something for me,” the redhead said.

“Of course, anything,” you replied, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

“I need you to pick up Billy and Tommy and stay with them at my house. I know you have only met them once, but they liked you,” she started to ramble, her voice tinged with anxiety. “Pepper offered to take them, but I just can’t let her do that while Tony is…” she paused, her voice breaking with sadness.

You nodded understandingly, realizing the gravity of the situation. “I’ll do it,” you said, grabbing both sides of her face. “The boys will be okay, I promise. You bring everyone home.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I I already called the school to let them know you’ll be picking them up. I know I can trust you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. Your lips met in a kiss—one of comfort and reassurance.

The word trust was all it took for Onyx Petroleum and Sokovia to rush back to the front of your mind. But then you remembered Tony’s words. “If we take our eyes off the ball, bad things happen.” Wanda needed to focus. But God, it was killing you to keep this from her, even under the most dire circumstances.

You walked with Wanda to the hangar, an area of the compound you had yet to visit. The mood was a stark contrast from this morning. SHIELD Agents moved about the space with the same purpose and direction, but the energy differed. It was anxious.

You caught sight of Director Fury standing next to one of the Quinjets with two women you didn’t recognize, but it was clear Wanda knew both of them. She ran a few steps ahead of you and wrapped her arms around both of them in an emotional embrace.

“Y/N, this is Dr. Darcy Lewis and Captain Monica Rambeau,” Wanda said, motioning to each woman. “This Y/N Y/L/N, she said, touching your back.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you both,” you said as you shook their hands, trying to keep your composure.

“Hi, nice to meet you too, Y/N,” Darcy replied warmly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Monica said, giving you a small smile.

"Captain Rambeau will be accompanying Ms. Maximoff to Rome, and Dr. Lewis will be running point with Deputy Director Hill from The Overwatch," Fury explained before glancing at his watch. "It's time to go."

Wanda looked at you with a mixture of anxiety and determination in her eyes. You tried to hide your nervousness, not wanting to add to her stress.

After a deep breath, Wanda spoke, "Billy and Tommy will be off from school in a couple of hours," she said, handing you her house keys. "Let them know that I'm working with the rest of the team, but don't give them any details. I’ll try to check in if I can.”

"Okay, sweetheart," you replied, taking the keys and putting them in your pocket. "Just make sure everyone comes home safe."

"I will," Wanda said with a nod, her eyes shining with determination.

As you leaned in to kiss the beautiful redhead, you felt a rush of emotion wash over you. Her soft lips met yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. When you pulled away, you wrapped her in a tight embrace, holding her close to your chest. You watched as she walked towards the Quinjet, accompanied by Monica. Darcy and Fury were waiting by the side of the hangar, their faces solemn. You couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as the jet's engines came to life and slowly lifted off the ground. You stood there, watching as it climbed higher and higher into the sky until it was nothing more than a speck in the distance. As it disappeared from view, you felt a pang in your chest, as if a piece of your heart was flying away with it.

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nyxlaufeyson · 5 months

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Winter Wonderland Masterlist

Find my main masterlist here

This is a collection of oneshots/drabbles that revolve around a December prompt list I made for myself. A lot of them involve winter elements, but a select few will mention Christmas, and those will say in the beginning as I understand not everyone celebrates. They will mostly be Loki/reader, but who knows what else that might end up in here! Happy Holidays!

❤️= Fluff

🖤= Angst (not necessarily heavy... I can't write sad endings guys. If I do, I will warn you, I swear.)

Loki x Reader

Day 1 "Snowball Fight": Snowball Fight ❤️❄️

Day 2 "Fire": Fire is a Beautiful Thing ❤️❄️

Day 3 "Ice Skating": Quite Alright ❤️❄️

Day 7 "I Hate Christmas": I Hate Christmas ❤️🖤❄️

Loki x Amora

Day 4 "Stars": A Moment Away ❤️❄️

Loki x Darcy

Day 10 "Tape": Sticky Tape ❤️❄️

#loki #loki fanfic #marvel #loki fluff #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki oneshot #loki x reader #fanfic #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x y/n #loki/reader #loki fanfiction #loki/you #enchantricks #loki x amora #tasertricks #darcy lewis

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evanivox · 9 months

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darcy lewis sits on your lap just to review her mathematical proofs and theorems, and when you ask her why she just goes,

“because the principles of thermal conduction makes my brain work better,” mumbling about said partial differential equation under her breath.

when you look at her puzzled, she stops the frantic pace of her pencil to hold your face in her hands.

“you equal hot. darcy equal cold. brain no work when darcy cold. you plus me, equals equilibrium. it’s simple science really, well if you disregard the heat lost in the environment and how different materials absorb heat—you know what i mean!”

you chuckle at her response and plant a soft kiss on her nose.

you love your doctor in astrophysics, especially when she’s cuddled up in your lap rambling about math.

#darcy lewis x reader #darcy lewis imagine #darcy lewis #i love her #i dont want to do my differential equations practice exams #if darcy was real id want her to tutor while she sits on me #i dont think we’d get anything done tho #marvel imagines #marvel wlw #darcy thinks about math way too much #she cant wait to watch oppenheimer with you #darcy cant pick between her love for science or you

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yespumpkindoodlesthings · 9 months

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Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Thor (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow Characters: Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster, Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins Additional Tags: Christmas fic, sorta fake dating, Triple Agent Rumlow, Fake/Pretend Relationship Series: Part 8 of Merry Christmas, Baby Summary:

Things are pretty casual between her and Brock--and Darcy's fine with that. So, she's mildly disappointed when her sometime-hookup wants to have The Talk.

Only it's a completely different talk than she anticipated: he needs her to come home with him for the holidays.

#taserbones #darcy x brock #in case you need some Christmas in July #older fics #brock rumlow #darcy lewis

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lesbesapphic · 2 years

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Heeyyyy i am in absolute love with the illict affairs au (i hope i spelled that right lmao)And i wanted to ask what wanda would do if would call her, completely drunk and high, while at a party which wanda strictly forbid her to go. Like would she use that paddle again or smth? And can i be on your tag list? Because i am overall in love with your writing. <3 submission by @smuttynattyfanfics

Hey! I am happy that you seemed to love the au. It is called illicit affairs like the song by Taylor Swift. Yes ofcourse. Please comment on the last chapter of Illicit affairs so i can tag you the next time i update.

Edit 1- Had to repost this because of some issue.

Warning - heavy manipulation, dark Wanda, spanking, paddle, crying, punishment.

Punishment

A sorority leader! Wanda au (dark)

If Wanda has told you to not do something she expects to be obeyed. She doesn't even think that you had it in you to disobey her.

When she tells you to jump, she expects knows that you would ask how high not why. She has made you believe that you were incapable of any decisions for yourself.

She decides what you do in your free time. She decides what extra class you would take, she decides who you hang out with when you aren't with Darcy.

She always makes sure you know how right her decision is, manipulating you into seeing her side and believing that is the ultimate truth. She had you worshipping her.

So if Wanda has told you to not go to the party, she expects you to follow by her decision.

She was aware that how easy it is to keep people from her own group away from you but she couldn't deal with everyone. She knew she had her limits.

She didn't have complete control over fraternity groups and their friends and friends who would be there with the booze and drugs.

A part of her didn't even trust you completely when high or drunk. She wanted to always be two steps ahead of everything. No risk.

So imagine her surprise when she gets a call from a drunken you, laughing and giggling while you tell her how much you missed her.

First thing Wanda thought of was you being in the party but she brushed the thought away, giving you the benefit of doubt knowing how much you feared her. And her punishments.

So she decided to ask where you were.

What she heard was enough to set her jaw, she could hear the music behind you more clearly now. She was in her bed , reading with her glasses on.

She had sent you away tonight. Despite the pouting and whining you did at being denied of the pleasure of sleeping with her, curled up in her arms as she played with your hair while reading. You loved such intimacy with her.

She was aware of how much you cherished these moments so she would occasionally give you taste of sleeping with her for few days before again going back to keeping you a little distant. Leaving you wanting.

So you were begging to stay with her tonight, eyes wide and a little teary, "Please, Wanda. I will be good. I promise." You swore as you clutched her hand, which was caressing your cheek looking down at you, entertaining your pleading while having set her answer in stones. Just enjoying your begging.

"I will sleep at once. I will stay quiet when you would.." You stopped and could feel yourself burning in embarassment and what you were going to say. Wanda sensing your discomfort, grinned as she squeezed your cheeks.

"When i would what, darling?"

"Play with me." You whispered and looked away, slowly your eyes meeting Wanda again with hope in them as you thought she would let you sleep with her but she only gave a soft laugh that you could feel yourself melting in.

"Aww. Thank you, kitten but no." With a slap on your ass Wanda had send you scurrying away, sulking at your predicament.

She swallowed her words of threats, telling herself that she would get enough time with you later to remind you of who was in-charge and who hold the reign. Whose game you were playing.

"Send me your location." This was the only thing she said before hanging up on you.

You had panic instantly and rushed to Darcy, scared out of your mind. "What the fuck?! Why did you call her, dumbass?" Darcy asked, her eyes wide in fear.

Mind frantically thinking about what she would face with Natasha if Wanda sees her here and tell Natasha about it.

"Did you send her the location?"

"No"

"What the fuck? You seriously want to keep her waiting? Send it." Darcy rushed and you quickly send Wanda the location knowing by making her wait you had sent yourself in a deeper trouble.

You could see Darcy panicking as well and now you didn't care because she was the devil in disguise who convinced you to get to party.

"What if she kills me?" You wondered out loud and Darcy scoffed pushing you in the corner,

"Kill you? She would kill me! If not, she would get Natasha to kill me!" Darcy exclaimed before frustration filled her features, "Because i don't know why my girlfriend has to obey everything yours say."

You felt your heart ache when Darcy called Wanda your girlfriend but you didn't think much of it as your mind was filled with dread.

"Don't tell her i brought you here." Darcy said but even she knew the first thing Wanda would want to know was who decided to sway your desire to please her.

She would want to torment someone else as well as you.

Hopefully Natasha would enjoy what she would have to do with Darcy.

It wasn't long when you saw the front door open and Wanda's beautiful face walking in, she hadn't bothered dressing up but she looked gorgeous in just a black top and icy blue shorts, the sleeves reached her palm emphasizing her hands.

Her eyes instantly sought you out in the room, narrowing when she noticed you chewing on your nails, a habit she had gotten rid off for you.

You instantly dropped your hand and sat up straighter, jumping up and following her when she motioned.

The car ride was silent half-way down the path until Wanda finally spoke up, "Who did you went to the party with?"

Your stomach set with dread, you didn't want to snitch on Darcy as you chewed on your bottom lip, "No..No one. Alone." You answered and gasped when Wanda abruptly stopped the car and turned to look at you,

Her eyes were flashing with fury, before she took a deep breath, "This would be the last time I am asking. Next you would be answering the paddle."

Your eyes widen in fear, you didn't really think of what punishment Wanda would choose for your transgression, this was the first time she was actually speaking of a punishment for you after you had accepted to be with her. A dirty secret.

Maybe in these changing days you had forgotten that it was the same Wanda who had spank you till you were a crying and blubbering mess begging for her to stop on your first meet.

You were conflicted between being a good friend and saving your ass. Quite literally.

You knew she would break you after two smacks but you wanted to hold onto for Darcy as long as you could.

Wanda turned back around when you weren't fast enough for her. When you both reached the house, Wanda dragged you out. You were staggering on your feet to maintain balance being drunk and high.

Most of the seniors were awake when Wanda pulled in. They watched as Wanda dragged you in, her hand painfully clutching your arm. Natasha gave a lazy look at the commotion, sighing when she figured she would have to deal with Darcy later.

Jane on the other hand looked concerned but the drunken state you were in, she knew you had went to the party even she forbidden you to go to and Darcy as well.

If Wanda hadn't punish you, Jane would have taken the liberty on it. She trusted Wanda on this.

She sent Darcy a quick where are you text. She was ready to go pick her up though a part of her wished that the raven was in her room

Wanda dragged you straight to her shower, pulling you under the stream of cold jet as you squealed and tried to move away, whimpering and begging for her to stop. It was her way of getting you sober..

After that Wanda dragged you, grabbing her paddle and getting straight to business. She had you bend over her lap, painting your ass red and blue while you whimpered and moan.

Begging and screaming for her to stop as sob wreck your body but you couldn't help but leave a wet spot on wanda's thighs, already feeling the humiliation when she would make you lick her thigh clean of your mess.

You didn't understand why Wanda wasn't stopping until you realised her last words to you, "It was Darcy!" You cried out hands reaching back to hide your ass from the continuous blows which stopped immediately.

You felt Wanda's hand taking yours in and locking them to your back while her other hand went up and down your ass cheeks feeling the heated flesh.

"I knew that my baby would not dare to go against me unless someone else is there." Wanda squeezed your abused flesh and you whimpered, feeling her fingers gather your wetness, playing with your soaked cunt.

"I am sorry, Mistress.." you moaned out and Wanda smirked to herself seeing your attempt to use a title and get her to forgive you sooner

"You would be when i am done with your punishment." Your eyes widen when you heard her and felt her grab your wrist and lock your legs, picking up the dreaded paddle again

You realised that till now she was just making her paddle get the answer of her question and your real punishment begins now.

Needless to say you weren't able to sit for a long time afterwards and stayed glued to Wanda being oh so submissive that she almost felt like spanking you every night.

---

Hope you all enjoyed it. 💖

#wanda maximoff #reader #mcufic #wanda x reader #sorority wanda au #dark wanda au #illicit affairs au #lesbesapphicwrites #natasha romanoff #darcy lewis #jane foster #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff x femreader

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praiseharkness · 2 years

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Honeyblooded — Part 2

(Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

part 1.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: A few weeks after Agatha Harkness started lecturing as the professor for the History course at the University of Westview, you get to know her mysterious yet alluring assistant, Wanda Maximoff. Tension starts to arise when the woman stands between you and Agatha, and your strange, evolving relationship.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 9k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: minors DNI, NSFW, blood, dom!agatha, sub!reader, dream smut, mouth fuck, blood kink, mentions of violence, vampire!Agatha, vampire!Wanda (as of this chapter).

𝗮/𝗻: hello! i'm terribly sorry that it took such a long time for me to update again, but mental illnesses happened. and still are happening. this semester in general hasn't been easy, and i can't really say that i'm in a great place right now, mentally speaking. i've been clinically diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety, adhd, and autism this past month, and am seeking professional help since then. i'm managing to get by, and this chapter is the result of my will to write no matter what :') unfortunately, i will be taking an official break after this to focus on a wanda/agatha project and my studies for an indefinite time. thanks so much to my beta and partner-in-crime @scarlets-maximoff, and thanks to anyone who's still reading this <3

You never imagined how fast your body would adapt to Agatha’s lectures, not when each of them provided a fresh sensory overload, a remembrance— that you were as sensitive as a livewire to the smell of lavender in full bloom, the sight of gold soaking in pools of light, the sharp coolness of a voice. Your senses seemed to take it all in, learn every reaction spurred on by Agatha, whether through gestures or words. It felt familiar and unfamiliar at once, though unnerving at times— when shivers would run down your spine under the diligence of a stare; your skin would burn to carve the ghost of a faint touch. You couldn’t name— whatever those were.

And then again, you were reminded of how rare it was to sense warmth spread across the span of your body, or for anticipation to crest more than once in the swell of your chest on monday evenings. The fact that you scarcely knew how to articulate the various forms that your heart would pinwheel forward at the mere sight of Agatha did little to nothing to ease off your conscience, but you could live with it. You thought so, at least.

Until bloom turned into flame, until— the existence of Wanda Maximoff was added to a mental list of worries as the peak priority. The woman was Agatha’s assistant, no more than in her late twenties, or it seemed so. And with a strong preference for dressing in all-black, silk-clad, sterling silver encircling most of her digits, embracing the bone of her wrist.

She, too, bore the same coolness as Agatha— though Wanda resembled a blade of sorts, sharp, regal and ceremonial, like the ones that a monarch would keep at their hip. Crueler, in a sense, than Agatha; also less open, as if the woman felt nothing except a level of amusement whenever Agatha cornered a student, demanding as ever for an answer.

You expected a certain rebellion to crack from underneath that static surface, not the pliancy that often accompanied most of her actions whenever Agatha was around. Wanda did not seem to love all the praise as well, for she remained silent for most of the lectures she assisted in, just handing papers and notes to Agatha when the woman needed, answering a question or two. Then, there was the sensation of being a mere observer of whatever existed between Wanda and Agatha; an unspoken understanding, a synergy that made you wonder how one was without the presence of the other, and that intrigued you. The haunting impression that their bond was as old as the blade Wanda was a dead ringer of.

There was tension, too. Wanda seemed high-strung all the time, and some nagging part inside of your mind loved to feed the idea that it had to do with you somehow, as far-fetched as it could be. Yet that never ceased to intimidate you whenever you paid close attention to the woman. It was puzzling, really, the swiftness that her shoulders would square up at the briefest of mentions of your name on the attendance list; the stern diligence that she would stare at you, sometimes as if you were made of transparent glass, or pure concrete. Her edges glowed warmly from the golden streaks that the sun cast into the classroom— it bathed Wanda vermeil, and conferred on her a softness she did not seem to possess otherwise.

“The deadline for the essay on Osborne’s Greece in the Making is due next Tuesday, just a reminder”, Agatha said, unfazed when met just with the rushed swish of papers and students eager to get out as fast as possible, fearing another two-hour-long lecture. “Love to see that your disposition to submit a paper is near as high as to leave class.”

A lock of hair fell into her face while Agatha packed up most of her belongings in her purse, sans a slick-black, glossy binder loaded with papers, that seemed heavier than the rest of Agatha’s materials altogether— she never forgot to shove this one at Wanda so she would carry it herself.

Then, Agatha cocked her head, lucent gaze— had her eyes always been this blue? You tried to draw memories from previous encounters, but could not remember —glinting in your direction, and she seemed pensive for a brief moment. Like she had to decide to be pulled or not by the gravity around you, that consisted of nothing but the desire to be near her, for her to spin around your orbit even though stars dripped down Agatha’s eyes, sheen and translucent. You felt something shift inside your core under the pressure of Agatha’s attention, heavy and heady, and the woman leaned on her desk, waiting. It became some sort of ritual between the both of you, in which Agatha lent history books that would end up being scrounged later— she passionately refused each of your attempts to return them.

Yet Wanda was already pliant and waiting beside Agatha’s desk, hands outstretched to take her binder, and the woman broke eye contact; decided to not give in to your flimsy gravity, spinning in an orbit of her own. The weight on your lap has never been lighter and has never felt heavier— you were trying to return Halls’s History of the Archaic Greek World for two weeks now, but golden-assistant Wanda, stick-up-my-ass Wanda never let it; since her first lecture assisting Agatha, she would rush her, urge that the both of them left to catch up with grading assignments and god-knows-what.

“Please, don’t flirt with this one”, you deadpanned, leveling a look at Darcy. She started to present a spark of interest in Wanda after discovering that she also had a masters in Russian History, and the last thing you wanted was to acquiesce to her phantom, lingering presence that waxed more and more throughout the weeks.

Darcy bore her teeth at you, pearly and warm, thin-liner pen still clasped between the fingers of her right hand. You scoffed at the casual confidence that rose from her. “Dunno what goes on inside that head of yours, but I won’t, overbearing love of mine. She’s too socially awkward, even for me”, she replied, nonchalant as ever, then finished writing. Agatha’s boards were indeed oppressive.

“Really? ‘Cause I think you said the same about me.” You smiled with a hint of mischief, a playful glint in your eyes. Darcy groaned, faking a bothered expression as she slung her backpack on one shoulder. “The time we spent together meant nothing to you? You’re so cold-hearted.”

“Ugh, stop! You’re making me regret that fling more than I already do”, Darcy said in a teasing tone, a squared smile on her soft pink lips as she lightly nudged your sides with an elbow. You chuckled after pretending you were hurt, the fling you had in the summer of junior year had become an internal joke since then— how could it not be? the older girl would say whenever the topic was brought into the conversation, because, despite having a lot of interests in common, both of you were too distinct to function in a romantic relationship.

There was a small window— of half an hour or so —between Agatha’s lecture and the next period, and it became a habit to wind down near one of the campus’ coffee shops, located in a large square, also close to the commons hall and the largest library of the university. Groves of oaks and tulip trees creaked in the gusty evening, most bare of leaves; the heavy smell of wood filled the crisp air, thrumming with chattering as other students idled along grass and cobblestoned pavement. The clock tower rose in the hazy distance, a white spire with a bright-red dome, contrasting with the rest of the rusty-colored, old buildings on campus.

You sat down under the long shade of a black oak, chuckling when Darcy let out a relieved sigh as she laid down on the grass, thanking the gods for the well-deserved break, and you agreed. Two hours of lecture was enough time to short-circuit your brain, especially if ministered by Agatha— you could sense calluses roughening the tips of your fingers from churning out one essay after another, but the woman seemed impossible to sate, ever so demanding. Wanda had also been decent enough to provide the class help and example questions from Agatha’s old tests, since mid-terms were just around the corner, but as the thought crossed your mind, you immediately brushed it off.

“Don’t Professor Harkness and Wanda seem fairly chummy to you?” You mumbled, words almost carried away by the breezy wind, and Darcy’s shut-eyed face parted into a lopsided grin. “Never mind. Forget I asked it.” Not that the older girl did not have logical and down-to-earth theories, which she did, but after a moment of consideration, you were unsure of what Darcy would come up with. And if you could handle it, whatever it would be.

You leaned against the tree trunk, shutting your eyes to the pale sky ahead. Then, you filled in the emptiness of black with a couple, unperturbed and with their backs turned against you. Filled with Wanda and Agatha, and their low whispers, occasional touches, unbearable closeness. Your chest swelled with a dawning interest in both women, and it was shameful how easily you could picture the two of them together in their own sandbox universe, free from the shackles of normality, rule-bending, and non-conforming. Independent elements co-existing on their own, unaware of their audience as if nothing else mattered besides themselves. Somewhere in your heart tightened.

“For your information, I do think they are chummy. But I guess that’s what professors and their assistants do? Didn’t watch enough movies about college life to have a theory about them”, Darcy said from her spot on the grass beside you. “Why, do you want me to be chummy with you? I can do that.” You opened your eyes and were surprised to see Darcy smiling, traces of softness underneath her teasing tone, and something inside you changed, spurred on by the warmth that trickled from the girl’s words and gestures, and you wanted to just bask in it a little longer, so her tenderness would soothe a bleeding wound. So her tenderness would close the emptied cut, black-stained and aching in your chest.

Lighthearted laughter escaped your lips at the girl’s question. “You’re the absolute worst. People think we’re dating to this day, y’know? ‘Tis all your fault!” You could not be more grateful to have Darcy around, and, regardless of the usual banters, you hoped that the message came across through your open, beaming expression.

“And you still hang out with me because? Ah! ‘Cause you obviously love me.” The pink curve in her lips was merciless and full of teasing until her smile softened and she moved closer, tender hands outstretched to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “But seriously, don’t let Agatha have a chokehold on you—”, and before you could even protest, Darcy shushed you, “— I’m serious! We don’t know a single thing about her at all. What if she’s hiding, like, a super weird kink?”

Although the girl was right about most— if not all —of what she said regarding Agatha, a screaming voice urged you to contradict Darcy, even if you indeed knew nothing about her. And was it possible to pass the superficial level of Agatha’s persona? To cut her clean down her center, and have the rest of herself bleeding through each side of a knife? You wondered what would bleed from Agatha if she was halved. The woman seemed like a force of nature, the embodiment of night itself: dark and cool like a ghost, disordered and wild. Impossible to hold in one’s hands, to possess. To know Agatha’s contents and discover if violence and tenderness would bleed in equal measure or not.

Swallowing hard, the thought forcefully disappeared from your mind. “Yes, ‘cause I’m super worried about her kinks when I dated you after all people”, you retorted, prompting Darcy to cover your mouth with the palm of her hand.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re insufferable! Your crush on her is more than obvious by now, but, please, be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt by some shady milf, and I say that very seriously.” Graveness permeated the older girl’s lineaments as she stared at you, clear irises melting within the horizon. A mirror to one’s own countenance. “And if she tries any funny business, I swear I’ll hunt her down, ok?”

“She’s not some shady milf!” Darcy just rolled her eyes in response to your exasperation. “And she’s not interested in me anyway, but I pinky promise I’ll take care. Worst case scenario you give Agatha your I know how to make a murder look like suicide look”, you added, eager to end the uncomfortable topic. And to stop Darcy from almost committing a homicide in plain sight.

“Which is very effective, and my ultimate weapon”, the girl stated before lying back down on the grass, using her backpack as a makeshift pillow. Waving a languid hand in the direction of the coffee shop, she closed her eyes again. “Now go get us some coffee before the next class. It’s your turn after all this headache you put me through.”

—

A pristine, somewhat tall figure stood in the center of Woo’s coffee shop, poised with a cup of coffee at hand, pale and thick steam caressing her face in gentle blows. You were inexplicably drawn to Agatha, and trying to spot her presence in crowds became a habit of yours even if it often led to nowhere.

She did not seem to notice your presence at first— why would she, you realized, all the lightheartedness from before waning, especially after Darcy’s warning—, loitering by the wooden bar off to the side, devoid of technological devices to loot her attention; an alien sight if compared to the rest of the coffee shop, brimming with undergrads on their laptops or smartphones. You flashed a brief smile at it because that was so classic of Agatha.

Though, despite the softness that glimpse of her brought to you, there was no trace of it on Agatha’s expression. The lines around her eyes were harsh; her brows were knitted, a small crease in between them; her plump lips were pursed the entire time. You could almost sense the tension that weighed upon her shoulders. Thus, regarding it all, you decided to not approach the woman after leaving the queue.

Yet, Agatha’s presence had loomed over you, and— a cold hand pressed to the small of your back. The woman was right beside you.

It was a surprising feat that Agatha was even able to spot you among the multitude of liberal arts and social studies students that lounged around Woo’s in-between periods or after classes were over, given the proximity of the coffee shop with one of the largest libraries inside the campus— nevertheless, there was Agatha, broad shoulders less than an inch apart and almost brushing against yours as she stepped further to avoid bumping into a pink-haired girl. You resisted the urge to chuckle upon seeing the scowl that had formed on the woman’s face, now close to muttering something on the lines of kids these days.

Then, just then, Agatha settled her cool stare on you, and her profile seemed a little sharper, a little paler underneath the fluorescent light— the shop window served as the single source of daylight, allowing only so much sunbeam to stream in through; to spill flecks of gold over Agatha’s entire complexion, to create bronze lines on sea-stained irises, making it even easier to pinpoint the borders between lucent blue and endless black.

“Fancy seeing you, dear”, Agatha finally said, soft mouth set into a curve, though the smile didn’t come across the rest of her face, unperturbed as ever. You had grown familiar with Agatha’s aloof, sharp edges, which would crack enough to leak off warmth at rare moments. After what seemed a long pause, Agatha continued, “What brings you here?”

If she meant here as in that coffee shop or here as in beside her, you couldn’t tell.

“Just coffee, I guess.” You shrugged, hands busied with two cups of cappuccinos. The steam that blazed across your skin seemed to soothe you; it eased most of your scattered thoughts, all to focus your sole attention on the keen burn your hot palms bore and Agatha’s presence. “I’m grabbing something to drink before the next period. It’ll be very much needed.”

Awkwardness coiled on your chest. Agatha was somewhat familiar, that encounter was anything but. Even though a casual, brief meeting in a café on campus was expected when both people were student and professor, something artificial lingered over the atmosphere. Nothing abnormal happened, still, still. Something tightened around the column of your neck— at this point, you could taste steam burning on the back of your throat.

“So is that friend of yours around?” Agatha’s sudden, grave expression did not match the tone of her voice at all, emptied of interest, while she peered over your head— a reminder of how taller the woman was with heeled boots. It became both easier and harder to read Agatha, despite how open-faced she could be, as if the woman was talking to a ghost instead, gaze never falling upon you. As if you were talking to a suit-clad ghost. An expensive all-black vulture.

You raised an inquiring brow. “What friend— you mean Darcy? She’s not, we often take turns to get coffee between classes. It happens to be my turn this time.” The question was odd, whatsoever, especially facing Agatha’s clear disinterest. “How do you know I was with her though?” The burn started to numb the palm of your hands, as well as the rest of your senses.

“Well, just happen to see you two together a lot on campus”, Agatha dismissed, and her razor-sharp timbre thickened the metallic rims of her words, causing you to flinch at the unexpected coldness. But before you even had the chance to find enough arguments to counter the woman, Agatha’s hands flew to your waist, light and gentle, touch ghosting over the dip of it. The woman maneuvered you out of the way of a rushed undergrad in one smooth motion. Then, much to your surprise, you noticed just how crammed Woo’s had become in minutes. “Why don’t we go to a quieter corner, dear?” She suggested, points of fingers flattened into one straight line that started on your last rib and ended above your hip bone. Without waiting for confirmation, Agatha guided you to the end of the wooden bar, leaning back against one of the industrial-gray walls.

“Ah—”, although Agatha had spared a single moment of her attention, the sole object of your recent desires, it was enough to make you desperate to change topics, faint red already springing across your cheeks and ears, “—is Wanda going to meet you here or something?” Suddenly, Agatha’s curiosity was placed entirely upon you.

You were rendered see-through under Agatha’s scrutiny; about to drown in the astral-blue of her two lakes. At each dissolving second her gaze remained rooted at you, a step further to the eager, boundless mouth of a blue caldera, impatient to engulf you whole— and if Agatha stared at you an instant longer, seawater would start to fill your lungs, trails of blue salt already caressing your lips as you submerged into her charms.

“Oh, darling, Wanda isn’t here at the moment, I’m afraid”, Agatha answered a few beats later, and her voice had dropped a half-octave lower, at knifepoint, and its candor was still cool, light, but its air had changed. For a split second, the light cast askew, strange shadows on Agatha’s face, a subtle amber glint shadowing the blue of her irises and accenting pupils that looked much like two narrow slits. The woman slid closer, and pristine nails, polished in glossy black, scraped the surface. “Why, am I not entertaining you enough?”

“N-No, this isn’t— I didn’t mean that, professor”, you denied immediately, gapping at her curt retort. You would almost laugh embarrassedly if it wasn’t for Agatha’s sardonic, verging-on-serious tone. She was too blunt to fake anything.

Agatha has never been that expressive, her lineaments holding intricate threads of discontent. Ghost fingers hovered over your waist, as her fine lines held a foreign harshness, lips pursed in a straight line, and you felt utterly small before the woman’s presence. “What did I say about calling me that, dear?”

The most noticeable sound— the only sound, as if the café was noiseless —you could pick on was Agatha’s nails tapping the surface in a rhythm that mirrored the one inside your own rib cage, like the woman could sense your pulse from afar, a clock ticking; the seconds were passing, and you had yet to answer— am I not entertaining enough? —, and every dreadful beat was a reminder of words that you couldn’t find. You swallowed, trying not to quiver beneath Agatha’s phantom touch.

“I’m sorry, profe— Agatha.” It was then that heat creeped up your skin, and the woman let out a hum of approval, voice low and curling at the edges. Agatha had almost closed the distance between your bodies, now towering over you. “And you are entertaining, i-it’s just— You and Wanda seem very close, I just thought you could be meeting here to work together.” You didn’t understand why you sounded a little breathless, words anxious-lilt. It was unusual to see Agatha so up close, and it felt like the woman would disappear if she stepped any further. Her floral scent, lavender notes on top, was even more intoxicating than when it just whistled past and gone in the classroom.

“We’ve known each other for quite a while, yes, but we’re not attached by the hip, hon. Wanda’s just been nagging about some work we have to finish— a high-strung type if you will”, Agatha said, deadpan, while she hastily scanned the place, as if searching for someone, before setting her attention upon you again. Something in your chest pinwheeled forward, for Agatha’s effect on you was capable of making you forget your birth name, sweet and bewildering like a spell; however, the slow burn smoldering at your core made you want to run away from the woman, her presence a lighter itself.

“I see. But I guess you two get along alright.” You were adamant to move to another topic again. Cold welled up at the merest of mentions of Wanda and her vermeil shadow that haunted you wherever you went. “Ah, about the book I borrowed, can I return it to you now?”

At that, Agatha’s expression softened a bit, and her mouth set into a gentle curve. She shifted, still close enough to stare at you. “Nonsense, dear, we still need to discuss it, don’t we? I’m sorry we couldn’t do it earlier.” Because of Wanda, you wanted to include but remained quiet. It was rare to see such softness tinting Agatha’s lineaments; to listen to words softspoken, honeytoned. You did not want to spoil what caused shivers on your spine, what made you wonder what a much more amiable version of her would look like. “Meet me at my office tomorrow, darling, I’ll stay in the department for basically the entire day, anyway”, Agatha said, squeezing your shoulder with moderate strength, murmuring a quick got to go now. She whisked past you and soon disappeared into a sea of people.

The universe died down, and all that had left was the ghost of where her touch once rested upon, the rapid beats of your heart, and a glimpse of Wanda standing outside Woo’s. And a pair of cappuccinos, cold and bitter.

—

In the lectures that followed that heart-stirring encounter, you could not focus at all— your mind wandered over the remembrance of Wanda outside the café, in a long stroll to collect shards of memories muddled together, linked by faint strings that made it impossible to distinguish which was real and which was not, their edges blurred; each reminiscence was part of a tableau, now burnt and molded behind your eyelids. Wanda: pliant as a hound, hidden in the shadows, bearing a manicured smirk that revealed nothing past her pristine facade. It was Wanda the sole person that monopolized your thoughts, even more than Agatha.

Therefore, mechanical steps led you to your safe place, a little corner unfrequented and forgotten by most students, where not a single soul, except for Darcy, would intrude. After classes were over, it became a habit to hide in the smallest of the trio of libraries— and even if the world was falling, one could spot you at the all-night study room, though you never spent the night there —, far from the History and Sociology Department. Far from Agatha and Wanda, and the unrequited reverie of feelings often associated with them both.

The library was an inconspicuous, three-store building on the edge of the campus: old, tanned-red bricks covered with pine-green ivy as to be almost indistinguishable from the landscape, and haunted at certain angles. In the winter, most flowers were buried under a thin coat of snow, just a few had thrived— late bloomers, honeysuckles, primroses, and so forth —, and the dried lawn was peppered with shady patches, such as the woods and their white-laced branches; an uneven path of footsteps pockmarked the snow in the wake of your passage. The place would resemble a vault of sorts, had it not been for its large, dark windowpanes, that let golden beams trickle down walled bookshelves and old furniture, and a marble fireplace as monumental as a sepulcher keeping the rooms drowsily warm. You were greeted by the scent of vellum, tangy and rich, while wondering if a coffin would be as comforting.

For a moment, stepping into the library felt like a homecoming to a world bound in leather and ink, the world of a buried past, long forgotten. Emptier than usual, even the librarian— an unusually strong woman named Peggy, who developed the habit to check in on you while being borderline intimidating —was nowhere to be seen on the ground floor, and the place was akin to a tomb in its silence. A shiver ran through your spine as you headed to your study spot on the second floor; regardless of the late-afternoon sun that glittered through the windows and turned the bookcases and furniture into glowing bonfires, the fluorescent light made the room seem much colder.

You loved the solitude that often accompanied humanities majors. There was nothing more pleasant than seeing no farther than the books before you, the silent thrum of streams of historical facts filling the gaps in a puzzle, resurrecting figments of the past and trapping them in their own microcosm, all to track the stains that bled through the present. It was something as meticulous as the work of an artisan, and you worked with care to unveil the threads of events between past and present. Agatha indirectly followed you through that process, like she was the ghost of Midas herself; the woman spun gold out of vellum, and that became even more evident in the thorough notations she left on the textbooks on Ancient Greece entrusted to you, a selection of Agatha’s copies she carefully curated.

Brushing the glossy, light-cream coated paper, flecked with purple post-its and lilac highlighted words— Agatha’s fixation with the color purple never ceased to amaze you —, underlined sentences in black ink, and a slew of remarks that occupied each blank space in the pages, sometimes overlapping the text itself, it felt like Agatha had never left. Rather than that, you rewrote history. You met in front of the department after running at each other in Woo’s and walked alongside through tree-lined, large sidewalks, disappeared in a secluded pathway that led to the library. And Agatha hummed between each softspoken phrase, listening to all you had to say with utter diligence— just to chime in in the next second to tell you about the latest former top student that she had on the verge of tears in the middle of a lecture. Her long, ink-stained fingers caressed the back of your hand in delicate motions as if asking for permission, and Agatha’s squared hand enveloped yours in the very way a pyre engulfed whatever is closest to its hot mouth. Rosebud lips brushed against the shell of your ear to whisper that you were Agatha’s favorite student, her only one.

No Wanda Maximoff could demand the attention of this ghost-Agatha or claim her, no Wanda Maximoff could bother you in your little play-pretend universe, no Wanda Maximoff could interrupt—

A phantom, steel-cool touch on your shoulder startled you, and your fantasies dissolved at once, “Ah, I see Agatha really made a new victim.” You could discern a hoarse voice, awash with an eastern-European accent, over the heavy instrumentation playing in your earphones.

Something in your chest sunk— it could as well be your whole heart. After spending countless amounts of time being chased by the ghost of Wanda, you thought, you finally willed the woman into your life; your ears rang with the loud, high-pitched timbre of Darcy’s voice already listing all the supernatural reasons for said chance encounter. An omen, she would probably say. In the instant Wanda’s hand grazed your skin, she metamorphosed into a creature of flesh and blood, not a hallucination, a heedless vulture stalking down the corridors behind Agatha’s shadows in a swish of black silk and sterling silver. Her wintry fingers were just more give to the knife; under Wanda’s attention, her touch felt like a laceration, and if it lingered for just a minute, just a second longer, a wound would easily open in your flesh.

You had tried to ignore Wanda in the hopes of her noticing you did not want to be bothered and leaving minutes after, resuming her rounds heedless of the living as ghosts often were. However, it seemed to prompt the woman to have the opposite reaction, much to your despair. Wanda took the seat before you, and her skin was so fair she glimmered almost pearl-white under the languid sunshine, looking like an old, wrinkled marble statue of a minor goddess, perhaps Achlys or Asteria. Despite not possessing the same sovereignty Agatha’s ocean-stained gaze had, Wanda’s springtime-green irises also carried within them the very remembrance that you responded like a livewire to both women’s preternatural existence, elicited the desire to just glance at their owner for a moment, so riveting was Wanda’s aura— it stirred instincts unbeknownst to you, concealed at the innermost part of your mind. Finally, you were compelled to acknowledge Wanda, who beamed a satisfied grin, eyes flickering to a faint golden shade.

“It’s truly addicting, isn’t it? History, I mean.” Wanda’s surprisingly softspoken words were imbued with ancientness, although it seemed uncanny for an individual in their mid-to-late twenties to have a whiff of the ancient world as Wanda did; but then, you wondered if a certain level of intimacy with Agatha would be the culprit for that. In the face of deafening silence after you had simply nodded in agreement, Wanda inquired, “Did Agatha actually lend you her copy of Hall’s Archaic Greek World?”

“Yeah. She wanted me to take a look at her notes while reading, because ‘an undergrad could never comprehend his work fully without help’, or something in those lines.” You blinked slowly, still getting used to the sight of one Wanda Maximoff putting into the effort to make small talk to you, of all people. Darcy, for once, was right when she said the woman was in a different league of social awkwardness.

Wanda chuckled, an earnest timbre to it. “Right. This sounds just like Agatha.” Then, she leaned a few inches closer, gaze perusing upon a mess of sticky notes and terrible handwriting. “I’m just impressed she just didn’t order you to borrow a copy from the library. Agatha only let me use her own textbooks nearly a year after she hired me”, she disclosed, fondness tinging rigid lineaments that became more open for a brief instant.

“For how long have you been Agatha’s assistant?” You surrendered to the waxing voice in an obscured corner of your mind, where a single desire remained untouched in its cracked shell. To indulge the blooming, warm sensation of being scrutinized under the diligence of Wanda’s glare, glinting askew and sharp. Then, you could as well have a slumber party with your foe, as to explore the mysterious trail of secrets that lay underneath Wanda and Agatha’s relationship.

Your interest for them grew under sheer masochism and morbid curiosity, for bodies of possibilities accompanied the very idea of Wanda and Agatha; regardless of the pressure settling at the base of your chest. The dichotomy between wanting to know more— everything —and protecting little patches of your heart that somehow remained untouched weighted the same as the world Atlas had to carry on his shoulders. Also, Wanda seemed to beckon you for more— attention, time, anything that you could give —, though it was a detail implicit in her cool demeanor, in the tone of her husky voice, that almost crumbled with need raised to its highest power. And, as such, you were somewhat satisfied to oblige.

Closing the textbook with a gel pen in the middle of its pages, you signaled to the woman your interest to learn more. About Wanda herself, about Agatha, about what carried both women that appeared to be much older than Westview to that little, stranded town. The glossiness of discoveries tinted your expression, and you grinned, a little more open-faced.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time I can barely remember, darling”, Wanda replied, accent curling at the edges of each pronounced syllable, like she was a foreigner to the human world itself. Words hung on her melting lips for a couple of seconds before she decided on a conclusive answer. “I think we’ve known each other for almost a decade now.”

The grin your lips carried rotted, sprouted into something much sour while Wanda’s honeyed voice echoed inside your head, memories that you could not pinpoint, coated with affection and sweetened with the gentle passage of time, screamed into your heart, now tore out. You could almost put together a timeline of Wanda and Agatha’s time together with the remembrances that floated in the air if they were more palpable.

“I wasn’t expecting this at all”, still stunned, you pushed yourself to say anything that contained words. Flushing at the immediate surge of sheer curiosity that flooded you, the question escaped your lips before you noted, “Wait. How old are you?” You were ready to apologize more than once, to tell the woman she did not need to answer, but Wanda interrupted your mini-crisis with a delicate giggle.

“That's no problem, dear, I’ve overcome my early midlife crisis already. I’m 33”, she replied, lineaments settled into a softer, understanding look as you had to produce some conscious effort not to gape at Wanda’s astonishing statement; to wrap your malfunctioning mind around the idea that Wanda was not a person forever captured in sepia film and encapsulated in a fleeting instant. Meanwhile, the woman leaned forward, a teasing upturn on her lips, and asked, “Why does it seem that I’ve scared you off now?”

In that instant, you wanted to argue that you had all the reasons to be scared. Wanda bore an immortal type of beauty as if she had been bound to a particular period of time until the centuries, tired to wait, outgrew her. Yet Wanda carried a preternatural freshness one born hundreds of years ago would not; held within her chest a long-living girlhood. Her body was the budding flower of her own flesh, and Wanda’s petal-pink lips fell into a neutral line under your silent examination, late-springtime orbs, peppered with copper spots, shimmering. She stared straight ahead, and her kohl-lined, half-lidded eyes physically pinned you against your seat, as bewildering and mesmerizing as their owner— you could spend hours mapping all the microconstellations of gold and green around Wanda’s pupils, that, for brief seconds, resembled those of a cat, thin and infinite-black. Wanda’s genuine beauty was terrorizing: eerie in its roots, inexplicable like a nature’s phenomenon. Such were her eyes, her hands, her looks.

The woman absent-mindedly nibbled on her bottom lip, carding her fingers through her hair, a cascade of dark-brown falling over her shoulders— before that, Wanda’s locks used to veil her in scarlet, fiery strands dyed in a shade of bright orange; then, faded to subdued strawberry-blonde, that made her look like real gold, alluring and intoxicating.

Then, you remembered that Wanda was still waiting for an answer. “It’s not that. It’s just— I imagined you’d be fairly younger.”

“A lot of people do, so don’t stress over this. Agatha, too, is a lot older than she seems”, Wanda reassured, nectar-like voice coated with hints of aloofness as she waved an uninterested hand in the air. “But pretend you didn’t hear a peep from me, or she’ll cut my head off. Or not write a recommendation letter for my doctorate’s program.”

“I don’t know what is worse.” A solemn silence saturated the room, and the underlying threat posed by Agatha and her seemingly widespread influence did nothing to ease your nerves.

A few beats later, Wanda pulled a thick brochure out of her leather messenger bag, shuffled some papers out of a large batch, and started to work on something you had no idea of. Noting your prolonged stare, the woman smiled, polite and aimed at nowhere in particular, as if she was just looking through a looking glass. Devoid of Wanda’s sole attention, it felt like you were no longer a sunstone with the entire sun to show for it, and, slowly, you became painfully aware of your surroundings once overflowing golden streaks ceased to blind you. The music had never stopped playing in your earphones; you never had to even take one of the sides of your earphones off to listen to Wanda, whose voice resonated loud and clear inside your skull— like the whole conversation happened in a universe alien to the one you were standing in. Like no time had passed at all, and your dialogue with Wanda was cut out from the timeline of History and inserted in a little frame of its own, guarded in a museum built off of your thoughts, where no one could access but you.

The minutes crawled on the clock unhurriedly, and see-through panels made of glass closed around you, hourglass-shaped, while your concentration trickled like thin sand, first, through your fingers, then, over your body, until you were buried underneath a pile of alarming thoughts. Until the base of the hourglass was full of sand. Until there was sand inside your mouth, and all you could not breathe at all—

As if she sensed your crescent restlessness, Wanda stretched against the chair, letting a relatively loud hum as she did so, that echoed like a gunshot in the empty library.

“Anyway, I don’t suppose there is a place one could grab something to eat nearby, right?” Wanda questioned, rustling through her papers again and placing them in the middle of her brochure, before packing it all inside her bag. A glimpse of Agatha’s ever-infamous, slick-black binder inside it piqued your attention, and you wondered if Wanda had yet to return the woman her precious treasure.

Cold welled up. In that span of seconds, an anxious tremor washed over you, like an earthquake, or the parting of the seas, and the wish to leave the room and Wanda altogether begged you to be fulfilled.

Suddenly standing up, you motioned the woman to do the same. “There actually is a vending machine at the end of the hallway. I can show you”, you offered, deciding to leave most of your belongings on the desk to pack them up later, for the library had never been that emptier. Wanda’s shoulders almost brushed against yours more than once as she walked beside you, an inch or two taller. “It’s just so hidden by the staircase no one bats an eye on it at first”, you didn’t resist the urge to add it after sensing a burning, wary stare setting fire onto your flesh.

“Really.” It was all Wanda said, curt and distant, when both of you stopped before an old vending machine, with aged edges because of rust and some creases on the steel of its sides. At least, the snacks were far from being expired.

“Yeah. Peggy— the librarian —told me about it once, or I’d starve every time I came here.” You were amused— and grateful to have such an opportunity —to watch Wanda glancing at the machine with a grave countenance for some instants before figuring out what she had to do, fumbling to insert a dollar note inside it, pressing some faded black-and-white buttons, and taking a while to confirm the snack code showing on the tiny display. A small part inside your chest softened at that sight, since, not even in your most far-fetched thoughts, you imagined that Wanda would have such difficulties dealing with technology.

Then, in the seconds that followed the mechanical buzz of the machine amidst its own ritual, Wanda did not reply at all, staring, with profound curiosity, through tempered and scratched glass. A single granola bar fell in the pickup box and was promptly examined by a very unimpressed Wanda Maximoff as if she had put her object of study under the lens of a microscope only to come to disappointing conclusions. “Hmm”, she said after a long while, turning her body to you and continuing, “This Peggy woman seems like a good person, darling.” A nameless something blemished the center of her words, which, regardless of the softened edges, the polished and well-controlled manner that tinged Wanda’s statements, felt as automatic as the loud hum of the snack machine dropping its order.

The low, smoldering sun splayed red over Wanda’s lineaments— over deep-forest-green eyes, lit by a foreign, blown fire —, outlined the woman the color of violence, of warning. Streaks of red built patches of flame atop her skin, making Wanda eternal even if for a fading moment, A cool grin cut through bud-red lips, and the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop a few degrees, either due to the crisp air of winter in its dawn or the glittering white of long canines.

“I’ll be going then, kotik”, she said, and the foreign word rolled on her tongue, languid and voluptuous, nectar seeping from each syllable. It caressed your skin with a freshness akin to plump and ripe fruits, burnt it tenderly as you flew straight to the woman’s orbit; a simple insect landing on the crimson mouth of a starved venus flytrap. Wanda seemed pensive, perhaps considering her next meticulous move, searching for the most precise reaction, all the while she leveled a soul-piercing gaze in your direction that made you hold all your instincts to hide from her. Her grin bloomed into a satisfied smile on her lips as she whispered, “I hope to see you around again.”

Wanda looked like a goddess mouthing a set of magical words, a mythical being made of burnished gold, unperturbed and ephemeral. Contrarily to other days, where the mere sight of the older woman would cause an undesired heaviness at the base of your stomach, on that particular evening, it caused a maelstrom of lukewarm feelings, like the sun itself had descended to meet you. Although Wanda had always been beautiful, for you were not blind to acknowledge it, she looked especially graceful, blissful under shafts of shimmering-orange. After she disappeared from your peripherals in a pristine mess of blood-red, you thought breathing would become second nature again. Instead, your core ached, plush and red.

Still, the throbbing in your heart did not become easier to ignore, even as you entered a series of numbers on the snack machine’s display, peering at one of the large windows to stare straight ahead at the sullen evening, the sun so low in the horizon that the darkened sky started to melt over it, and stars sprung like wallflowers from behind a canopy of clouds and shadowed buildings. But then— your eyes widened when you spotted a miniature version of Agatha, sitting at a cobblestoned bench near the library’s entrance, like she was just a trick of light, a byproduct of shades, and not a real person. Smoke curled up like a thin curtain that veiled her face, cigarette clasped between rough knuckles and a book on the other hand. That made you briefly contemplate how one could read in the semi-penumbra, until the full view of Agatha pushed you into a blazing abyss, fire-warming your entire body.

A lump formed in your throat whilst you observed Wanda approach the other woman, back-turned, so you could only imagine what her expression looked like. Not good, you thought, almost out loud; Agatha did not seem pleased, an evident frown imprinted on her face as she gesticulated with fervor, her lack of composure crushing the calm breeze of winter. Regardless of what could be happening, they started to walk side by side together, and Agatha placed a firm hand over Wanda’s nape before both cast a glance at the building, towards the specific direction of the window you stood behind— as if it was possible for them to recognize where you were under a veil of dim-light.

Then, a strident clang coming from the machine force-pulled you out of a trance with a start, and the reality was much quieter, much lonelier. The whole floor appeared to be empty except for you, filled with specters of the dead silence that loomed over the hallway as well as the rest of the place, which would be a perfect liminal space, a bright and muted void, if it were not for metallic thuds of cart wheels moving around downstairs. Thus, you put on your earphones again, unpausing a song you were not even aware of when it started playing in the first place. In the black emptiness that suffused outside, you could see Agatha and Wanda’s shapes, outlined in purple and red— technicolor in contrast to the usual monochromatic tones that colored the campus during winter —, growing smaller in the distance.

Your chest swelled with a dawning interest, with a thrill of adrenaline, whenever you sensed Wanda or Agatha’s presence close to you, whenever you saw them together. It also swelled with heat, with sensitivity, under the barest of gestures from both women. Yet a quiver insisted on destabilizing you each time you thought of them.

As you decided to leave, you came across a missing person’s pamphlet, bound with staples, a grainy picture of an unknown girl on the cover, Missing Person printed beneath it with a series of information: full name, age, contacts, address, the date of the disappearance— a week ago —and last seen location— the square near to the English and Literature Department. An immediate shudder ran through your spine when you left the library, feeling the moistness of the first hours of the night, the reminiscences of the bad omens Darcy was so fond of explaining— it all weighed heavier on your girl-heart.

In your earphones, a mournful voice sang atop the languid, sandy beats of a drum:

“Something bad is ‘bout to happen to me. I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.”

—

During the witching hours of dawn, Agatha visited you, soft-eyed, in all her dream-state splendor.

Under a heavy blanket of liquid darkness, which bathed your entire room in black ink, streaks of moonshine leaked through, conferring to the furniture a sheen, silver glow. It also delineated a humanoid shape, knelt near the foot of your bed, and silhouetted against the twilight glow; a mass of shadows much darker than darkness itself looming over your peripheral vision. Though unconsciously pinned against the mattress— for you seemed to have reached another level of lucid dreaming, where you could only watch the events unfold before your eyes —you were not scared, not at all. Not even when the empty side of the bed weighed with a presence unknown, or when the sheets rustled with something, someone, crawling towards you. Not even when a shape, veiled in shades, covered your entire body.

It was all Agatha, and you could recognize the woman by smell alone, the rich scent of lavender more intoxicating than ever now that you could bury your nose against the wicked curve of her neck and breathe it all in straight from the source. You could recognize Agatha by touch, tracing the pads of your fingers over the lush skin of her back, drawing absent shapes against the bones of her shoulder blades, as if you were caressing the moon herself; sometime after the dream had started, you wondered how it was possible to touch Agatha and not have your hands stained in silver powder, a pearly ocean spreading above you. Ocean-blue lakes glittered at the merest of your caresses, oversaturated with lust and need.

Agatha pressed a soft thumb over your lips, ran it through them, and the feeling that she held something as delicate as a rosebud in her hands arose within you, trapping her finger between your teeth before the only sensation left was the ghost of her touches. Profound desire flashed through Agatha’s lucent irises as she let a low moan out, lustrous strands of brown hair tickling your cheek.

“Hmm… Hungry, aren’t we?”, she said against the pink shell of your ear, pleased when an inelegant whimper cut through your lips, voice dreamy and husky. She brought a fingertip beside your jaw bone, and drew a long line down the curve of your collarbone, resting her hand over your weaving chest.

You clung to Agatha’s back like a lifeline, girl-hand over her nape, scratching your nails on milky-white skin not-so-tenderly, for one could not keep any sort of gentle demeanor beneath the woman’s lacerating touches, the steady burn of flattened fingers dug on the dip of your waist. “Agatha, please— I need you, please—”

The velvety tip of a tongue lapping across your lips shushed you, dissolving the remnant words of your plea slipping away as soon as Agatha opened your mouth with her thumb and slithered her tongue inside it. Her delighted moans made you buck up your hips, in desperate need of friction, while Agatha licked the back of your teeth, the roof of your mouth, the seam of your lips. Two lithe fingers filled your mouth, and a sheen trail of saliva trickled down your chin. Agatha tasted sweeter than any mouthful of sugary desserts from your memory.

“Yes, yes— good girl, you’re such a good girl. Lick it all clean for me, dear.” The command melted from her swollen lips amid a little breathless, satisfied sigh. You meld at each other with quiet ferocity, the sensation heightening when you pressed your center, hot and blooming with slickness, against Agatha’s thigh, as somewhere along the way she skirted a teasing line of teeth over the column of your throat, moaning against the flush of your skin when you gathered a fistful of silky hair.

Then, a roughened hand slid underneath your shirt, following the ripples of your quivering abdomen, sweeping over your breast before Agatha fitted her large palm against your bare sternum, restraining you between her own body and the mattress. Her mouth painted half-circles on the sides of your neck, pressed on the base of your throat, and a trail of longing kisses stretched downward, each lingering longer than the previous one until Agatha could trace a map of bite marks she constructed herself on your flesh.

And you offered the arch of your back as a sacrifice, and you let Agatha take you on her mouth like a sacrament, and you whimpered devoted pleas like a prayer, all for Agatha to spit on holiness; you could tell by the heat in her gaze that she got turned on by your sacrilege, that she didn’t think twice before running her nails down your sides and whispering close to your ear how good of a little whore you were, how beautiful you were ruined like that. The moon pressed to the curl of Agatha’s back, stained her skin with silvery light— over her soft neck, down her collarbone and shoulders, and then lower and lower, more of her body.

“This will hurt a bit, darling”, Agatha warned softly. She dug her teeth on the crook of your neck, and the skin under her canines gave in tenderly before slicing open, blood welling up on the woman’s mouth like spring’s superbloom. An intricate stream of hot tears rolled down your cheekbones, a pained whimper-turned-into-scream left your throat raw as Agatha licked and sucked blood-red nectar dripping from the aching wound on your plush flesh. “Shh, you’re doing so good— you’re so good for me, baby.”

Agatha steadied her body, covered in a shimmering layer of sweat, on her elbows, leaning in to press her mouth against yours. The sickening, iron taste of your own blood made you hazy with desire; just as you tried to deepen the kiss, to taste more anti-Eden, Agatha leaned her head back slowly, licked the cut, overflowing with blood, and snaked her wet tongue between your lips. You savored the lushest of sins on your mouth— yours and Agatha’s —, irreverent in its wakening. Warmth settled at the bottom of your stomach, and the woman delved her teeth right above your breast—

You lost your consciousness sometime after it, opened beneath dream-Agatha like your own fictitious wound, sleeping serene as ever and burning with sin.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha harkness imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #darcy lewis #kathryn hahn #elizabeth olsen #smut #vampire #house of harkness #wandavision #marvel fic #adora writes

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unholyhelbig · 5 months

Note

Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place.

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room. It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Black widow #Black widow x reader #Mafia au #Mafia boss au #Mafia Natasha Romanoff #Marvel #Marvel Fanfic #Yelena Belova #darcy lewis

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glynnisi · 1 year

Text

Some Days You Just Need a Blanket Nest

“Is that the last of them?” Sam Wilson was out of breath as he shoved another grousing Hydra soldier towards the prison transport bus. “Cut your whining, man,” Sam added to the grunt.

The attack on the Upstate base had been sudden and brutal.

Some of the Avengers had returned just after the Hydra forces had stalled in their attack on the science labs. Apparently, an astrophysicist used her experimental know-how to transport attackers into the tops of various trees in the woods around the base. Few of them had found their way back down from their unwelcome perches about two hundred feet in the air. Falcon had flown over fifty of them to the ground where Steve and Natasha processed and loaded them into a prison transport.

Steve grinned, “yes, Sam. That’s the last. Nice work.”

“Nice work, my tired ass. You two need to get a way to fly so you can be more useful.” Sam rubbed one aching arm. He looked up, still scanning treetops as he chuckled to himself. “That was a pretty funny thing to come back to. When the alarms sounded, I was actually worried about our scientists. Silly me.”

Steve’s grin faded. “Me, too.” He kept his eyes on the paperwork he was finishing, avoiding Natasha’s knowing gaze.

“Why don’t you go check on her, Cap? I’m sure she’d appreciate your thanks for dealing with the bad guys for us,” Natasha’s tone was smooth, as always. And, she was right. It was the sort of thing he should do. It had nothing to do with the overwhelming, heart-racing attraction he felt for Dr. Foster’s pretty assistant, Darcy Lewis.

Steve nodded, nervously shifting in place as he finished signing the transfer papers. “Sure.” He glanced at the transport as it began to leave. Fighting bad guys? Easy. Talking to beautiful women? Terrifying.

***

Steve’s nervousness was supplanted by concern as he got closer to the astrophysics lab. There was ample evidence of violence and destruction. Base Security had put out fires, started repairing breakage, and was gathering evidence- including many bullet casings. Blood spattered walls and floors. Injured people were still being tended to and transported to the Medical bay.

A breaching ram lay on the floor, discarded after it had shattered the astrophysics lab door. Steve stepped over it and knocked on the bent door frame, looking around carefully. The computers were on. Energy rods hummed. A cushion-less couch sat, forlorn. “Hello?” Steve called, stomach tightening with anxiety that the first question he’d asked on arriving at the base had been answered incorrectly, that Darcy Lewis had been harmed after all.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft, muffled.

Steve made his way further into the lab. “Miss Lewis? Are you okay?” He stopped, brow furrowed, as he stared. He knelt and peered under the blankets and into a carefully-arranged construct of cushions, pillows, and blankets. Two sets of wide eyes blinked back at him.

“Some days you just need a blanket nest. Today’s one of those days. You can call me Darcy, if you like.” Darcy held her kitten close under her chin. “Have you met Leia?”

Steve shook his head. “Isn’t that a name out of the Star Wars movies?”

“Yeah. She’s a self-rescuing princess.” Darcy’s voice shook.

Steve nodded. “Good thing to be. Cute kitty, too.” His eyes darted from corner to corner of the blanket nest. “Is she doing okay? It must’ve gotten scary in here.” He kept his voice low, hoping to soothe.

Darcy nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty tough. But, she needed help calming down. They got too close.”

“So, you made the perfect blanket nest.” Steve grinned at her and sat on the ground. His grin widened as Darcy launched into a detailed explanation of the importance of cushions and soft blankets- all arranged ‘just so.’ She waved her hands and pushed her glasses up as she talked. The tremble in her voice got less pronounced as she warmed to her subject. He was charmed, his attraction to her increasing with every word out of her mouth. When Darcy paused her explanation to take a breath, he apologized, “I’m sorry we weren’t here to protect you. Thank you for all you did to protect the base. You were brave, resourceful.”

Darcy’s head dropped and he heard tears in her voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get them out faster. I’m sorry people got hurt.”

“You can only do so much, only be so many places at once. You did great.” Steve assured her, hand flexing as he itched to reach out and offer her more comfort.

Darcy nodded and sniffed, getting hold of herself again. “Guess you know all about that.” She wiped her eyes and looked up, forcing a grin back into place.

“I do.” Steve gave her a soft smile. “You okay, Darcy?”

“I’ll be fine.” Darcy assured him. “Thanks for checking on us, Cap. Leia’s flattered to get top-brass attention.”

Steve winced, “I’m not… Don’t like to think of myself that way.” He hesitated. “I’d prefer you call me Steve.”

“But… isn’t this just an official admin welfare check?” Darcy chuckled, rueful.

Steve shook his head and took a deep breath, admitting, “not entirely.” He shrugged, “I could’ve sent someone else. I wanted to see that you’re okay for myself, though.”

“Why’s that?” Darcy tone shifted.

“You interest me.” Steve shrugged, his voice shaking. He couldn’t meet her inquisitive gaze.

Darcy studied him, seeing the shift from confident to nervous. “Huh. You’re really cute, Steve. Adorable, actually.”

Steve’s expression shifted. “I don’t hear those words used to describe me all that much.”

“If people saw you get flustered like that you would.” She grinned.

He winced, “flustered?”

Darcy nodded. “Yeah. And… interesting. You interest me, too.”

Steve met her gaze then and grinned. “Would you be interested in getting coffee together?”

She nodded. “Yes. I would. Carpè diem and all that.”

Steve stood and reached out a hand to help her up.

fin

#glynnisi #glynnisista8 on ao3 #mine #a NEW! Rapid Imagining #would you look at that #self rescuing princess Darcy #shieldshockfanfic #shieldshock #starcy #darcy lewis x steve rogers #steve rogers #darcy lewis #darcy x steve #captain america #thor movies #avengers #mcu #non-canon otp #blanket nest post inspired

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wheredafandomat · 2 years

Text

Dr. Laufeyson

Chapter 16 - Intoxicated

Warnings etc: Loki x female reader au where Lokis a therapist, therapy, flashbacks, smut, swearing, mentions of past trauma later in the fic including abuse both physically and sexually - not explicit detail, 18+. PLEASE tell me if I ever leave anything out x

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“What are you doing?” Loki asked, walking back into the room and seeing Darcy pulling the phone from her ear as she turned to look at him.

“Your phone was ringing so I answered it.” She offered dismissively, putting the phone back down.

“You answered my phone, who do you think you are?” He scorned as he stormed towards her.

“Calm down.” She spoke cautiously.

“You think you can just waltz back into my life and now you think it’s appropriate to answer my calls. What next? When does it end with you?” He demanded, frustrated with Darcy and the fact that it was probably you who she answered the phone to. Did you both speak? Did you think that he had left you for her? He wouldn’t.

“Loki, what’s the matter. You haven’t been yourself recently.” She questioned, placing her hands on his cheeks. It was true, he hadn’t been himself, especially since that night with you. He had been far from himself since then. He felt lost, forlorn. He desperately wanted to return your calls, run to your apartment, kiss you again but it was wrong, he couldn’t.

“Nothing.” He lied, removing her hands from him. “Why are you even here?” He then asked. He hadn’t spoken to Darcy either since that night and now she had just shown up at his house.

“Because I want to speak to you, really speak to you. I think we should give us another chance.” She admitted, studying his face.

“We’ve tried us remember, it didn’t work.” He answered plainly.

“Please Loki.”

“I think you’ve forgotten that it was you that left me.” He laughed dryly.

“And it was a mistake.” She quipped “please Loki.” She continued, hands finding his cheeks again “we were good together.”

Loki considered it, of course he considered it but it wasn’t so much a relationship in itself that he desired, it was the companionship. It was the feeling he got when he held you in his arms, the way he felt when you danced together, how it felt to be kissed, truly wanted. Those were the things he yearned for, not the charade that he and Darcy previously kept up. You, he wanted you. He thought that it was purely lust but it wasn’t, there was something else. If only things were different. If only you had met somewhere else, under different circumstances, perhaps he could have had that, a life with you or at least a proper date.

“Darcy, I-I don’t love you anymore.” He confessed, removing her hands again as he took a step backwards watching her hold herself as if he had shot her, as if she wasn’t the first to fall out of love.

“You do.” She finally answered, moving towards him and pressing her lips to his before he moved back.

“Darcy.”

“If not me then who?” She interrogated.

“There isn’t anyone else.”

“Who’s y/n?” She then asked having seen the name on the phone when she answered it. That caught Loki of guard, he definitely wasn’t expecting that. Darcy made it seem as if she just absentmindedly answered the phone, not that she had studied the recipients name, enough that she could recall it and bring it up. He was silent. “It’s her isn’t it, you’re with y/n.”

“I’m not.” He finally answered “she’s just a friend.”

“A friend?” She scoffed “well then call her, let’s speak to this friend shall we?”

“Darcy you’re acting crazy.”

“Call her, I want to hear her say you’re just friends.” Loki narrowed his gaze, confused by Darcys outburst and behaviour until he spotted the open bottle of wine on the table. She was never one for being able to handle her liquor.

“This conversation is over. You can sleep in the spare bedroom tonight and then you can leave in the morning.” He decided sternly as he turned to leave the room.

“No wait.” She called after him, grabbing his phone and presenting it to him “call her.”

“Darcy I—” he began before the phone rang.

“Where are you going?” Steve shouted over the music as you began making your way outside.

“Just to make a call.” You answered before stumbling outside into the bitter cold. Getting your phone out, you called Loki, liquid courage coursing through your veins. You wanted to ask him who she was, the woman who answered last time. You wanted to ask if it was the woman from the restaurant, the woman who clearly he was in a relationship with which meant that he was a cheater as well as a bastard. You wanted to ask why. Why he felt the need to get your hopes up making you think you both could be something only to tear that all away from you and ignore you for days. You needed a friend right now, he knew that.

“Give me the phone.” Loki protested as Darcy held it tight in her clutches whilst it rang.

“Nooo.” She screeched.

When Loki didn’t answer, you decided you’d leave one last voice message and then you’d leave it. No questions, no anger. You wouldn’t return to him as a friend, a balm or a therapist. You’d leave him be. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with you and you felt as if you were embarrassing yourself by continuing to hassle him. Quickly wiping away a tear that had fallen from the cold temperature and definitely not the fact that Loki didn’t answer again and had left you with no explanation, you spoke.

“Hi Dr Laufeyson. As it’s the end and we’re finished now I thought I might as well tell you the conclusion I came to. I—I don’t enjoy meaningless sex it’s—I think it’s control.” You sniffled “I’m in control of who I sleep with and I like that as opposed to Curtis forcing me to sleep with him.” You slurred, head spinning “so if that’s what you wrote during our sessions then you were correct well done.” You laughed mirthlessly. “B-bye Loki.” You could hear a few rowdy guys catcalling you as you tried to see through your double vision to hang up the phone.

“Hey pretty.” One of them spoke, wrapping an arm around you.

“Get off me.” You spoke angrily, hanging up the phone as you pushed your way past them, making your way back inside.

When the phone stopped ringing, Darcy cursed having not answered it in time meanwhile Loki felt relieved. He knew that it was you calling him. He snatched his phone from her, cutting his eye at her.

“My offer still stands. Stay in the guest room tonight and sleep off whatever mania has shrouded you. I want you gone before I wake up.” He spat, turning on his feet and making his way towards his own bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he made his way towards his bed where he sat down before looking at his phone and noticing the voice mail you had just left him. Like all the other ones he had listened to, unable to spare his ears the melody of your voice, he played it only this one was different.

She a little crazy 😂

@howdidurhammergrowchris @lokisprettygirl22 @jaspearl31 @lucylaufeyson3 @peacope @emma-laufeyson @deathlydelusion @multifandom-world8 @lulubelle14 @ppartridgee @geekwritersworld @kats72 @123forgottherest @lokisninerealms

@michelleleewise @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @consistentreader578 @mcufan72 @lokixryss @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #tom hiddelston loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #loki angst #darcy lewis #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki au #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader

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stonemags · 10 months

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stonemags

SUGAR BABY AU

Ch.7 Fend off

Characters in this series: Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Carol Danvers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, Kate Bishop, Pepper Potts, Valkyrie, Shuri

Summary: You are trying to be a good friend, helping people that are closest to you to let go of their past. They take priority and even if you get hurt during the process, you need to keep them protected. Who will protect you? Will you let them?

Warnings: age gap relationships, sugar mommy/sugar baby relationships, swearing, fighting, blood, being hurt, arguments, mensplaning, all story is gonna be +18, you are responsible for your own ass.

Word count: 6913

A/N: This chapter is the last one before a longer break, im not sure when i will post next one, but it will come. Thank you to all for the support it wouldn't be the same without you. I hope you will enjoy this chapter.

Previous chapter

You just woke up, but you can already feel the tension in your shoulders. It was a hard week for you, work, school even Wanda and Nat made days difficult for you. Everybody expects something from you, deadlines are not being kind, and everything is piling up in the exhausting hill of responsibilities. You feel yourself sinking recently and if it wasn't for your whole future at the line, you would probably stay in bed for the next two weeks. Recently even thoughts about your future were too heavy, usually working as a motivator, now they are making you feel like you're at a gunpoint.

You didn't have to wake up with the sun today, after working till three am at the bar you needed that rest and thankfully everybody made sure not to bother you. You get up from the bed and immediately make it, so you can start your day not feeling guilty about having a mess around you or not being productive. It doesn't happen often but you actually plan on resting today. You put some music on and after meditating and giving offerings you hear a light knock at your door.

“Hey.” Darcy stands in a doorway, two coffees in her hands. She always looks out for you, even in those small ways, and to be honest you do feel special. She would never do coffee for Maria or Kate.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, everythings okay.” She sits down on your bed, and sets the coffee on the side table. You decide that freaking out about the stains right now is not a good idea. You will deal with it later. To your surprise Darcy is ahead of you and she gets up and grabs coasters and your meds, she hands them to you with your coffee.

“Thanks.” She nods and sits down at the previous spot.

“Do you want to talk about your date?” You don't, you know she cares and that's where it's coming from, there is still anger lingering at the back of your head, that she set you up like this.

“I- '' She looks puzzled, like she can't place exactly how to put into words feelings she has, but you understand.

“I know.”

“I was worried that you wouldn't agree to go. I should’ve handled it better, done it differently. To be completely honest, after we dropped you off I had been scolded by Carol already.” She laughs and you can't help but join her. You take a sip of your coffee, happily making yourself believe that it will wake your brain up more, and let her continue.

“It wasn't nice. I'm sorry, I don’t want to act that way towards you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you being honest. I was mad, yes, even now I still am a little bit, but it’s going to pass. I'm just happy to be done with this.”

“They called Carol after that night, and they didn't sound happy. She didn't tell me anything, at least not that much, but… Yn, what happened?” you don't want to get into it, but Darcy is your friend, she is on your side, and you want her to feel included.

“Shuri called me in the middle of our dinner. I had to pick up Junior, it was an emergency. There was no taxi, no uber, nothing and this restaurant was so far away.”

“Yeah, again sorry about it.” Darcy scratches the back of her head, trying to ease down the nerves.

“They gave me a ride, and then we went to the theme park with Junior.”

“It doesn't sound so bad.” She is confused, but at the same time she knows that nothing with you is just simply… simple.

“It wouldn't be if I had any say in that. Darcy I had so much work I did not sleep the night after that. I agreed on extra work, i didnt had any food other that a fucking corn dog with junior that day, and nobody asked me about my opinion.” You start pacing around the room, you always talk with your arms and the more agitated you are the more they are working.

“Did you tell them that?”

“Yes I did. After the little family trip of course, I'm not a monster. I couldn't do that to Junior.” She nods in understanding. You both spend 20 more minutes chatting about everything that happens, while you clean your room. You will always happily use a body double to make yourself more productive, and it's so much easier with someone actually next to you. After a nice morning together and more cleaning around the apartment, Darcy told you that Kate asked you to call her and that it was rather important so you called right away.

“Hey sweetie, you wanted me to call?... Yes ... mhm … no problem i got this, don't even worry about it, I’ll text you after everything … I’m always careful … Yes, I love you too.” You finished your phone call, and as you were sitting in the kitchen Maria could hear everything. She just finished cleaning the dishes after herself, knowing how much you hate, when one of them leaves something in the sink, after you cleaned the whole kitchen. They are really helpful with your hyperfixations.

“What the bitch wanted?” You roll your eyes at the name that she used for Kate.

“Be nice. She asked me if I could pick her things up from Val, she left some clothes in her godless danger zone cave.” You answer by not taking your eyes off your phone, already looking for the bus and metro schedule.

“Oh, that should be fun.” Maria goes around the kitchen island and leans her back on it, right next to where you sit. You found that about her pretty early, how flirty and cocky she is, once she feels comfortable with someone. It takes a while, but once she gets to know you, you would never say that she was shy at first. She is touchy, her love language always makes her try to be close to all of you. Some people find it confusing, but you learn at some point. Her smugness it's a part of your daily life and you enjoy the entertainment.

“Yeah.. you are not going.” You get off the stool and start walking into your room to grab your bag. Your backpack is something you can’t leave the house without, you have a lot of useful things in it, which some of your friends find weird. There was always this sense of journey in you, or maybe running away actually, but this feeling made you always prepare to leave. Your backpack is always ready to help you survive if there is a need for you to.. well you aren’t sure what, but whatever that feeling means, you want to be ready. You have first aid there, a knife, dry pack meals which are not the worst and saved you a couple of times, along with unused metro and bus tickets, just in case and some rope. Sounds like a serial killer pack but all of the things were useful more times than you thought they would.

You put your shoes on, take your hat and dark jacket off the hook, and as you leave the apartment Maria comes running out of her room.

“Maria you’re not going.”

“Shut up, we have a bus in 10 minutes, come on.” She put her vintage 90s style jacket on and went out leaving you to close the door. She also learned a lot about you, and how discussing anything with you and trying to convince you of something is usually a waste of time. You respect that and her, the way she talks to you makes you feel safe with her, you know what to expect, there are no games, no double meaning under any words, no malice or anger behind anything. She lays things on the table and you feel safe with honesty. You don't fight her, you close the heavy door, almost tripping over the shoes again on your way out and follow Maria to the bus stop.

Drive took both of you not more then 20 minutes, Valkyrie lives in one of her friends houses from what you know. There have been a couple of times when you were picking Kate up from there but you never went in, for Val it was an issue itself that you are even in the neighborhood. From what you noticed from the outside there is a flag in the window, which is a red flag itself, cigarette buds pretending to be flowers in the garden and broken mailbox in front. Overall a very welcoming environment. You come up to her door and knock hard on the surface, trying to make sure she will hear you over the loud techno music. You feel nauseous, and you know that will not be an easy pick up, but you would do everything for Kate, even put yourself in dangerous situations so she doesn't have to. You hear screaming coming from the inside, someone yelling over music to open the door. Maria is right behind you, she grabs the right part of your open jacket, which is exactly why you didn't want to bring her with you. In situations like that it's hard enough for you to make sure you are going to be okay, and as sad as it is, anyone coming with you as a support is just an additional responsibility to you. Doors open with unnecessary force. In front of you there is Valkyrie, drunk out of her mind, in the middle of the week, before noon. To be honest if someone would ask you to describe her that's exactly what you would say.

“The fuck you want?” Off to a great start.

“Don't make it harder for yourself, give me Kate’s things back and we will be out of here.” She scoffs at you and spits on the ground. That's a comedy behavior and if you wouldn't fear things escalating because of Maria, you would already have a good laugh. Val comes out of the doorway and invades your personal space, trying to dominate you as she is always tired when you meet with her. It was an interesting battle and you were enjoying playing this game with her, till one day when you overheard how much unnecessary shit Kate had to hear from Val after that. She was always jealous of how close you were to Kate, and since that day you tried to be … less with Kate, when her girlfriend was around. You can smell the horrible alcoholic odor coming from Val, since Kate broke up with her it seems like she fell even lower, you didn't think it was possible. You stand your ground not letting any fear get to you, but Maria takes two steps back, not really enjoying the fact that she had to let go of you.

“Tell this slut-'' keep your cool yn, don't kill her, you promised Kate to be as civil as you can “-that if she wants anything back, she needs to come for it herself. I will make sure that she will have a really nice time with me, time she will remember for a long time.Whore likes it rough, but you should know something about it right Yn?” Valkyrie pushes you to the ground taking you off guard and she closes the door behind her, laughing. You get up and straighten your clothes, you can feel your facade breaking, almost as you can hear the sounds of cracks in your patience.You can feel your heart beating in every single vain, your teeth are clenched together, tha same as your fists. You never felt so angry in your life, at least you don't think you did. You never felt so angry at someone and yourself, that you let this relationship go for so long, you recall all those moments when you thought that Kate was silently screaming for help, and you weren't listening. At least this, now, in this moment, you can and will make it right. Maria comes up to you and touches your shoulder bringing you back out of your head.

“Yn-” she grabs your clenched hand “-your knuckles are white.” That's just a second of making a decision, at this moment you knew what it's going to take to make this end, to set Kate free, and you were ready for it the moment you left your apartment.

“They’re about to get red.” The force of opening and shutting doors behind you makes Maria jump. She stands outside wondering if she should follow after you, she hears the music abruptly stop and then shouting. She takes two steps towards the door and as she is about to put her hand on the cold handle she hears the sounds of fighting, something breaks, sounds of glass shattering hurt her ears. Her eyes get teary and she doesn't know what to do. She won't be able to physically help you, and she knows for sure Val wasn't alone in the house. She stands in the yard and takes out her phone, trying to pick up Pepper's number with shaking hands. She immediately picks her eyes up at the door at the squeaky sound of opening. You come out and really slowly close the door behind you, one hand on the handle and second one holding a bag. Contrast between you entering and exiting the house is making Maria question if the first one even happened. The first thing your friend notices is that your knuckles are actually red, but so is your face and your shirt. She comes to you really fast trying to take a better look at your face.

“Jesus Christ Yn! Are you okay?” She lifts her hand and you grab her wrist stopping her. You lift your head up, letting her take a good look at you.

“Let’s go, we are walking home.” She doesn't question you, she just grabs the bag from your hand. Maria doesn't comment on your busted upper lip, or greenish bruise appearing under your left eye, or the cut on your right eyebrow that drowns your vision with blood, or even the way you hold your ribcage. She listens to you, but at the same time being so worried about the state you are in she texts Pepper what happened, hoping that she will know what to do and how to help you. You are irritated with your clothes getting dirty and splitting one of your knuckles open. You don't feel pain, you feel satisfaction that you finally got something done, that you finally stood up for someone you love, adrenaline still kicking in keeping you painless, it's a good feeling, probably too good, but that's something you will worry about later.

On your way home Maria got information from Pepper to just bring you back and everything will be taken care of. You two are one street away from your apartment complex and both of you recognise Peppers car standing on the street. Not really feeling like talking, you tell Maria that you will just head upstairs and take a bath, maybe try to get rid of this already dried out blood from your face.

“Yn, you look like hell.” You are highly aware of that and Pepper’s comment is really unnecessary.

“Kate finished her job earlier today. I picked her up. I was planning on picking up Maria too and taking those beautiful girls somewhere out to eat.”

“Cool, have a nice time.” You can’t tell if that was addressed to you or Maria, or if Pepper was asking your permission, but your face hurts and you just want to go upstairs.

“I'm sorry I can’t leave Yn alone.”

“Yes you can. Go have fun.” You send Maria a smile forgetting how painful it is for you right now to use any face muscles.

“But-”

“Precious, Yn is right, also I don't think that she wants Kate to see her this way, am I right?”

“Very, I’ll be okay, have fun.” You give your friend a short hug and leave with Kate's bag. Pepper’s comment is right, you wouldn’t want any of your friends to see you this way, that's why you didn't want Maria to go with you in the first place, but you can't help feeling slightly hurt by that. Maybe it’s better for you to be left alone right now, coming up the stairs you worry about Darcy's reaction, she will for sure yell at you for being reckless.

You enter the apartment and set Kate’s bag in the washroom to immediately wash everything that it contains. You walk around the apartment only to find out that you are alone.

“Well, for the better i guess.” Talking to yourself is a normal thing, saying out loud a plan for the day, concerns or just letting your thoughts flow outside, airing out your head is something you enjoy with your loneliness. You are happy to be alone, nobody will see you being hurt, nobody will worry, take care of you or freak out at Val. You don't need that, just you and your solitude is enough.

You go to the bathroom and start undressing, a big mirror on the side wall allows you to see all of your injuries. Bruise is purple by now, and your face is covered in red, you are not surprised that Pepper had this disgusted look on her face. You slowly take your shirt off along with your bra, and just then you can see how dark is your right rib cage. Valkyrie took advantage of this one movement when you stumbled on something and fell in her house. She managed to deliver one kick onto your chest,at least you turned to the side in time and swept her off her feet. You would be happy to say that she looks worse than you, but you can’t, you promised Kate, so you protected yourself just as necessary. It doesn't matter how much you want to see her in pain, suffering for everything she has done. Val didn't have an easy life, but that doesnt give her a right to ruin others.

You decided on taking a warm shower and then getting some numbing ointment along with some food into your system. You are not sure if you had breakfast today, and your stomach is starting to hurt. You leave the foggy bathroom, covered in your towel and go straight into the kitchen. You start looking through the cabinets for a first aid box you have in the apartment, unaware of someone sitting in the living room.

“Need help Yn?” You jump at the sound of Natashas voice and a box with medicine falls to the ground spilling everything out. You hang your head low, without even turning around to make sure your towel stays secured around your chest and take two deep breaths. You hear Nat and Wanda get up and move closer to you. You turn around and to their surprise you are in much worse condition than they imagined when Pepper called them. Your face swells a little bit around your one eye, blood luckily only slowly going out of your lips and brow, but you have to still make sure to wipe it once in a while. Wanda covers her mouth with a shocked expression on her face, while Natasha looks just.. angry, but you can't tell if thats because of how you look or if that's just her face, to be fair she is always kind of angry. You don't have energy to play their game, to discuss, talk, talking hurts, you want them gone.

“Pepper called us.” Ah that explains it.

“Great, she is not here. I'll Let you know when she will come back.” You don't even try to pick up the box, you leave the kitchen and go to your room, aware of your half naked situation. You need to put some sweats on, and take care of yourself. It takes you just a couple of minutes and you are hoping that they are gone by now. You are going back into the kitchen and to your surprise they are sitting by the island, drinking tea and right next to them there is a third mug, yours green one.

“Yn, how are you feeling?” Wanda is concerned but you don't own her nothing, so you stay silent.

“Look-” she gets up from her seat to approach you by the fridge, you need to eat something.

“-I know you are not really fond of us-” You scoff at that under your nose, and you regret it immediately, when sharp pain goes straight into your head. Adrenaline is gone and you can feel everything now. You grab the side of your head trying to keep it at bay. “-but we want to help… let us help.” You think about it, you are tired but in too much pain to go to sleep. They picked the medicine up but you still have to look through it to find the right kind and ointment. Even thinking hurts now.

“Yn, can you please sit down?” Natasha’s voice is soft, you never hear her speak in this way, maybe once, just once when at Carol's party you caught one moment when Natasha and Wanda were alone. The way they were with each other, spoke to each other, praised each other, this is the voice Natasha used. You are not really sure what's the reason, maybe you are too tired for that right now, but you listen. You drag yourself into the living room and sit down slowly on the couch. Natasha is immediately next to you with a cup of tea and Wanda on the other side holding painkillers, a sandwich and numbing ointment, almost like they read your mind.

“Darcy told us what you might need, she called and also asked us to apologize that she is not here. Carol took her on a business trip and she will be back in two days.” You nod at the information, warming up because of the tea or maybe the fact that wherever Darcy is she has your back.

You take your painkillers, eat a surprisingly good sandwich and the last thing you need to do is use the ointment.

“Thank you for your help.” You make a move to take it from Wanda's hand but she moves it out of your reach.

“Let me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Just no. Leave it okay?” You try to grab it again and in that moment Natasha puts her hand on the side of your body, just to try and get your attention, talk you out of being so stubborn, but she doesn't know about your ribcage. The moment her palm lands on your shirt, the sharp pain follows through your whole body, you scream a little not being able to contain your reaction in time. They both look scared while you bend down in half, trying to breathe normally and stop crying. You can’t hold it in, you try by biting your lip, which reminds you that it's still bleeding and the bite really didn't help. You get up, out of their reach, you stand in front of them, looking and feeling like a mess.

“Please just… leave. I'm going to be okay, I’ll handle it, just give me that and leave.” You clench your jaw like your life depends on it. Your tears are mixing with the blood coming out of your lip. Wanda makes sure to stand up slowly, treating you like you are about to break down, crumble into pieces and nothing makes you more pissed than this pity look in her eyes. She wants to say something, not really sure what, but her wife is faster.

“Lift up your shirt.”

“Pervert.”

“Yn.. this-” she points at you and moves her hand around “- all of this,as much as it's cute and admirable, it's pissing me off. You really think this is just about you?” You want to argue back, make your statement, not back down, you are just not sure if you have enough energy for that.

“No Yn, it's not. What do you think Kate will feel, after seeing her friend suffer because of her. And yes I know she didn't do it, but you fought for her, you really think she wont feel responsible for that?” You stay silent, feeling like a kid being scolded, you feel your chin getting wet with blood and tears. Your ribcage still hurts and makes it hard for you to breathe. You are ready for Natasha to start screaming at you, but she just let her wife take over.

“I'm going to lift your shirt up okay?” You don't fight them, you let her. She slowly lifts up your right side of the shirt revealing dark purple and pink bruises, covering at least three or four of your ribs.

“Oh..yn.” You look at Wanda and you see one tear falling down her cheek. You cover yourself up fast and take two steps back to put some distance between you two.

“Satisfied?” Natasha looks sad, and disappointed. You can't read them and that's the most frustrating thing for you.

“We have a personal doctor, she works for us and has a monthly payment, doesn't matter if she works or not. I called her and she will be here in thirty minutes. Will you please let her take a look at your ribs and face? I promise it won’t cost us anything” She is actually waiting for your answer, you look between them. Wanda with the ointment in her hands holding it so tightly, Natasha with a phone in her hand and this terribly worried look on her face. Another sharp pain goes straight into your head, you bend down to try and not react too much to it, but they can see.

“Yes…I…yes, please.” Natasha nods at you and you leave the room, uncomfortable with the situation, you decide to wait for the doctor in your bedroom.

It takes 40 minutes for the doctor to get to the apartment. At this point you took two more painkillers you had in your room, and you tried to just lie down in a way that hurts the least. You didn't check on Nat or Wanda, they can take care of themselves and as much as you would like to care even a little, the state you are in is hard to do so. Kate and Maria called you to check up on you. Of course Maria told everybody everything. You managed to pull some strength out of yourself to sound well, like you are doing okay ish at least. Seems like they bought it, you don't need them to worry more then they do already. Wanda came to your room to ask if the doctor could come in, you thought she would try to stay with the both of you but fortunately she left and gave you some space. Doctor said that it would be good to do xr-ay of your ribs but they don't seem broken, just really bruised. She stitched your eyebrow and said that your lip will heal on itself, you are relieved that you don't have to go to the hospital, that would probably ruin you financially.

After the meeting with the doctor you walk her out of the apartment making sure she wouldn't start talking about your state with Wanda and Natasha. Apologizing for the mess at the entrance you thank her and close the door behind her, wishing her a nice rest of her day. You are facing two issues now. First you need to get rid of both women from your apartment and get ready for your shift at the bar. You are not really sure how you will manage, but you have to somehow. You feel presence behind you and you are not ready for questioning, you are not ready for anything right now.

“What did she say?” Natasha is holding Wanda's hand tightly, trying to calm her down a bit.

“I'm healthy as a horse.” She just rolls your eyes and that somehow makes you feel bad.

“I'm sorry, first I really appreciate your help with all that, it means a lot. She said that I should be okay with my ribs, she stitched my eyebrow and lips should heal on their own.” Wanda reaches out with her hand. Very lightly she touches the area around your eyebrow, soft palm is feeling cold on your heated face. You don't know why but you let her get a closer look at your face, Natasha grabs your chin and picks it up slowly to take a better look at your lip. As she lets go her thumb touches the corner of your lips, and you feel her touch linger there even after her hands return to her side. It's hard to explain what's happening with you, pain mixing with the feeling of comfort, hurt mixing with soft touches, that's too much for today, or for the whole month, it's hard to tell, but you start crying out of nowhere. Silent tears escaping through closed eyelids, too afraid of what your eyes might be saying right now. You feel Wanda's hand touch the side of your head, lightly playing with your hair. Normally you would find it awkward. Silently standing at the entrance of the house, nobody is speaking, your eyes are closed and your fist clenched. You feel yourself lean your head in the direction of Wanda’s hand. The sound of your phone ringing brakes whatever was just happening between all of you and you open your eyes, looking scared and embarrassed.

“I need to pick it up. I'm sorry.” They follow after you into the living room. You look at your phone and the caller id makes your body shiver.

“What?” You start pacing around, you feel the eyes of both women follow your moves and you are making sure to stay extra careful with how you speak.

“No…Yes, at the end of the week.” You look at them sitting at the kitchen island, not even pretending that they are not listening.

“That's too much… I need to pay for school this month…No…Well, fuck you back… Listen, you take this or nothing at all, goodbye.” You hang up your phone and grab the side of your head, feeling the pain creeping up your lower back, coming from the tips of your fingers that hold the phone, through your spine into the top of your head. It's sharp but a little less after numbing yourself with pills. Your phone rings again and you are not having it today.

“WHAT?!” You regret not looking at your phone this time. “Shit, Steve, I'm sorry. Yeah my shift starts at six.” That makes Natasha stand up

from her chair. She is looking at you as you just said the dumbest thing she ever heard. “Yeah I understand but you know, Darcy can be dramatic. It’s not that bad… No! Listen, I need the money, okay? Don't ask Bucky, I'll be there.” He starts arguing, telling you how dangerous it can be for you, telling you that you might have concussion, or just some head trauma, that he can lend you the money for the day, he is really trying to keep you off of work. As you are about to talk back to him, Natasha takes your phone from your hand and tells Steve that you will call him back in a second. The audacity.

“You are an adult Yn, right? Then let's talk like adults.” That will be an interesting conversation. You are taking it into the living room, following Natasha with Wanda closing behind you. You sit down on the couch and they give you your mug filled with warmed up tea. It's even your favorite of the month, chamomile.Something about the smell and taste of it makes you feel calmer. You wait for one of them to start, not really knowing what they are even doing here at this point, you feel ashamed about how much you let them get close to you, maybe a little bit sick even, or maybe it's just because of your head.

“You should sue her, the girl that did this to you.” It's not a question and surprisingly it's coming from Wanda.

“No.” You know it might not make any sense to them but you have your reasons.

“I don't understand you Yn. Why? She hurt you, she did something horrible to your friend, why are you even trying to protect her.”

“I'm not protecting her.”

“You are, and you are putting Kate in danger because of it.” That makes you shut up and listen. For once you let them continue, really taking in what they are saying. The feeling of your throat closing up makes you feel like a kid again and you don't like it.

“You really think that she will be noble and won’t try to get you back, or Kate. If she would want to hurt you she has at least 3 ways of doing that.” You just look at her not really understanding what she means by that.

“Kate, Maria and Darcy. They are your soft spot Yn, you would always protect them or die trying. But sometimes you are fighting with somebody bigger than you, something bigger. How will you protect them if you are at work all the time, how will you protect Kate when she finishes her work at midnight and you are not with her. And even if you would pick her up everyday, you can't be at 3 places at the same time. You need help and we can provide it.”

“The question is will you let us?” They are looking at you in a way it's hard to describe.You feel the care they try to give but you can help but follow your thoughts and your gut feeling about the “why” of their intentions. What's in it for them? The thought of your friends getting hurt is crashing for you. It feels like the ceiling is slamming onto your chest making you unable to breathe. You hate feeling hopeless but you are not stupid, you can admit when your power or control over the situation goes thin with how serious things got. You need them and that is the worst thing that can happen to you. Needing somebody gives them control over you, your life, your decisions and it's just a matter of time when they will use it against you. You don't know when, but there will be this one moment, when one of them will cross your boundaries because you own them. They helped you, they were good and nice so it means that there is invisible space to hurt you, to make it even. You just need to trust yourself that you will be able to handle it when it comes, because it will, it always does. People prove you right, but you don't have a choice.

“I just want her out and far, can you do that? Can you help?” It comes out through your clenched teeth.

“We can” Natasha seems proud of herself, the sickening smirk on her face makes you believe that she is happy about this whole situation.

“How much will it cost me?” Everything has a price and you want to know it before you will agree on anything. Wanda tries to comfort you but you won’t fall for that.

“Yn you don't have to pay us anything.”

“I can't not pay, tell me how much.”

“Dinner, you said that it feels like work on our date. You own us dinner. “ Natasha states and you take a second weighing your options.

“Okay, deal. I'm gonna buy you dinner.” The idea is not your favorite but you are grateful for the opportunity to pay them back somehow, maybe it will lower down the feeling of guilt you have about them helping you.

“No,no. You're gonna cook us dinner, at our house, we have an amazing kitchen, wanda will gladly help you, she has amazing taste. right honey?” If Nat is trying to contain her excitement about having the upper hand she is not doing a very good job.

“Oh yes, we do.” Wanda answers by not taking her eyes off of you, especially your lips. You don’t know if she is trying to flirt with you or is looking at your cut, that's still bleeding a little, you feel the iron taste every time you run your tongue on it.

“Okay.” This is too important and you know it. Sometimes we have to admit when we lose, today you feel that way.

Next twenty minutes you spend on walking through the whole process of getting a restraining order against Valkyrie. It takes a lot of talking and paperwork but Wanda is amazing at her job so winning the case should be a matter of a couple weeks. You maily want it for Kate and your friends, you would rather not be on any record but Wanda is really stubborn about it, so you agree. After explaining and taking all the notes they have to take pictures of your injuries.You don;t want them to see you half naked but you understand the necessity of it. You ask Wanda to be the one taking the pictures, there is something about Natasha tak that makes you feel a little unsafe, you can't put your finger on it but it's there, and as hurt as she looks she doesn't argue. Evening came fast, it's getting dark pretty early at this time of year, so you made tea for all of you, as a small thank you towards two older women, that showed you a lot of kindness. You are all sitting in comfortable silence, they made you call off work which you understand, also Steve texted you he will kill you if you would come. You can feel their stare on you but you don't address it, keeping your eyes down on your green mug. The next thing that Wanda says takes you a bit off guard.

“I know you are scared, Yn... but you are doing just fine.”

“It doesn't feel that way.” You didn't catch yourself in time, you don't know where it's coming from but you feel yourself opening up.

“You are doing just fine.” Natasha joins in, your shoulders visibly stiff, mug in your hands lightly burn your palms with warmness but you can't let it go. You feel yourself slipping in some way, into the deeper part that is usually kept at bay, out of everybody, out of the outside world, inside of you, reminding you that it exists as clenched fists or stomach ache. You make yourself into a vessel that can only hold that much, each night in some controlling way you let go of some pain, stress or any hard emotions that are filling you up. Today you didn't get much time by yourself and it seems like you're overflowing, and you hate yourself for the stains you make with your sadness.

“It doesn't feel fine... why doesn't it feel fine?” It's funny how you think anyone can have an answer to that, even more, people that know nothing about you. You hate how pathetic you sound.

“It seems like everybody is making you reach unreachable standards, they expected too much so now you don't allow yourself any rest because you feel like you need to reach higher. But you are doing just fine, sugar. What you did today was heroic, maybe a little dumb, but you did it out of love and that was admirable” To your surprise what Natasha says actually makes some sense, and you feel it in your work, in your devotion to your friends, or in the ways you try to handle your struggles.

“It's true.. I think it's true.” You take your eyes from your mug and stare directly at Natasha, to make sure that the things you say flow through every single part of her, to see in her eyes that she actually understands. You swallow the pain, with the lump in your throat and as you reach for the raw part of you, knowing that you will regret it tomorrow you show both of them more true than before part of yourself .

“It is true Tasha.. and it changes nothing.” Your tone was the one ending this conversation. You see by Wanda's face that she wants to argue, tell you that you are just wrong, so, so wrong about this, but her wife grabs her hand and squeezes it two times with a light smile on her face. You stand up and put your mug into the sink. You move towards your room and they dont stop you. You hear them gather their stuff as you reach your door. You defeated them, proved one more time that nobody can save you from yourself. Good fucking job, be proud. You think to yourself while hearing the entrance door closing leaving you alone in an empty house. To be honest if you weren't stuck in your body you would do the same.

Next chapter

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