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natsarrownecklacx · 5 months

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Cruelty Is An Art Form Pt. 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count- 4,722

Summary- Your the daughter of one of New York’s most known Mob leaders. Unfortunately, you’ve caught the attention of New York’s most feared Mob leader, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings- 18+ fic, minors DNI, Smut, Mean Mob Nat, Mentions of killing, confusing relationships dynamics/ feelings, descriptions of violence (noting too bad)

Series Masterlist

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

If a few days ago you had even a fleeting thought that you might be in this situation right now you would have admitted yourself for a voluntary seventy two hour hold. Natasha Romanoff, THE Natasha Romanoff, the mob boss, mass serial killer, ruthless, cold hearted woman that she is, just introduced you to her “babushka’ as her finance.

Eh, no. No thank you. This has been quite enough insanity for one bad dream. You’d like to wake up now. Be back in your home in your nice, warm and comfortable bed with your favorite stuffie, the one you’ve had since you were thirteen years old, tucked between your arms and your chest, holding the bear close to your heart where it belongs. Giving you every ounce of comfort you will need once you wake from this nightmare any moment now.

Seconds pass and you just stand there in shock. Unmoving. Not saying a word.

For the other two people in the room the whole thing is a little awkward. You, however, are simply waiting until your brain decides to stop having a stroke and wake you from this madness.

Any second now. Just gonna wake up. With everything but subtlety you bring your left hand to your right forearms and pinch. Hard. You wince slightly at the pain but that's it. Nothing else happens. Not waking up? Okay then.

Natasha clears her throat and snaps you from your panicked state of delusion. Damnit. Why couldn’t you be dreaming.

You look to the redhead, the question of what the fuck is going on right at the tip of your toung ready to be unleashed. Natasha only has to raise her brow at you, daring you to open your mouth, to shut you up.

You let your mouth fall closed and you instinctively swallow your words, nodding vaguely in submission before turning your sights on the other, older, women in the room. You smile at her apologetically and do your best to smooth things over. “Hi.” You say, more awkwardly then you would have hoped to. So you clear your throat again. “Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.” You mumble, whipping your now sweaty hands on your pants.

“It’s so nice to meet you, dear.” The older woman says softly and you can see in her smile that she is doing her best to reassure you. She waddles toward you, well, more to do the old woman shuffle, and although you have no reason to fear her, you have to resist the urge to take a step back.

If the older woman notices your tense posture she chooses not to act on it, which you are grateful for, because the second she puts her arms around you in a warm embrace you feel the tightness in your chest ease. You all but melt in her comforting embrace and for a slip second it

makes you forget about the situation you're in.

It's the first time since you left that bar that you feel almost completely at ease. A tear wells up in your eye as you think of it, as you let yourself have this comfort. You might have even let that tear fall, let it track its way down your face as a sign of your exhaustion with the whole situation and the fear you feel.

But Natasha is looking at you with a tilt to her head, a curious look in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips. It almost looks as if she likes that you and her grandmother are getting along. Disgusting. If there was one thing in this life that you would absolutely NOT be doing, it would be causing that evil woman to smile that way. As if something inside her cold, dead, void of a heart might actually start beating again.

You glare at the woman and turn your face away, unable to look at her stupid green eyes anymore.

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” You say, pulling away from the embrace but the older woman keeps you in her grasp, her hands holding your forearms loosely.

“Oh please.” The woman scoffs lightheartedly, as if the two of you knew each other well. “Call me Galina. We are going to be family after all, are we not.”

You let out a nervous chuckle at her words, hoping for your sake that it sounds more like a genuine laugh. “I… suppose we are.” You smile at her, not completely hating the idea of being related to the woman, but her granddaughter? You’d rather sleep on a bed with nails then tie yourself to that woman in such a way.

Galina, gives your arms a comforting squeeze, sending you another smile before pulling away and moving in the direction of the living room. She stops just as she passes Natasha and reaches out to squeeze her arm, similarly to how she did yours.

“I like her, Natalia.” She says, in an approving manner. “She’s nice and very polite.” She leans in closer then, as if telling her granddaughter a secret. “And she’s very pretty.”

You smile at the woman bashfully for her comment, your eyes drifting from her to the redhead beside her when you feel green eyes looking at you.

“Yeah.” Natasha says, her eyes locked on you and looking strangely soft as she does. “She really is, isn't she.”

You blush at Natasha’s words and try to taper down the surge of self loathing you feel at the uncontrollable reaction you have to her. You suddenly find the floor very interesting and decide to examine the tile in favor of keeping your eyes away from the woman.

Galina pats Natasha on the arm then and shuffles off to the living room as if nothing had happened. Natasha waits for her granny to be out of the room before turning to you, one brow raised and a shit eating grin on her face as she takes in the sight of your blush tinted cheeks. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t really have to. She seems to have this natural talent to annoy you without even saying a word.

She opens one arm out and gestures toward the hall Galina had disappeared down, silently commanding you to follow her. You narrow your eyes at the widow, making yourself look as annoyed with her as you can, while still trying to tamper down the red on your face. Wordlessly, you brush past her, making sure not to look at her and follow Galina into the living room.

———————

Natasha is sitting next to you on the couch, nearly on top of you with how close she is, her hand resting comfortingly, or threateningly, on your thigh. She’s leaning her side into yours, an easy, natural laugh passing her lips every so often and a permanent smile on her face.

Sometimes she runs her thumb over your thigh or squeezes the plush skin softly in her hold. You can’t help but let your eyes drift to the action each time, nor can you help it when your eyes drift to her face right after, or the immediate frustration you feel when you see that she’s already looking at you, an unfamiliar look on her face. Then, seconds later, a sly smile slides its way over her lips. Every. Single. Time.

Oh what you wouldn’t give to be able to just reach your hands up and whip that self assured, cocky look off her face. To just grab her and bash her head against the table. Harshly. Repeatedly. Until either she, or the table, breaks.

It seems as though your brain, all sides, rational and irrational, want the same thing and have decided to work against you for that common goal, because without even realizing it you’ve raised your hands to cup Natasha’s face. Her dark green eyes widen a fraction, her brows shooting up almost into her hairline.

You can see the confusion and intrigue swimming in her eyes. Dammit. You get lost in those graphic thoughts from seconds ago, staring into Natasha’s eyes. You could just tighten your hold on her and give her a good smack against the table in front of you. Or the back of the couch. Or your knee if you angled it just right. Or-

Natasha’s eyes slip closed, her head turning to nuzzle into your left hand and oh god. Why does she look so adorable right now? Without even realizing it you’d begun to rub your thumbs across her cheeks in a soothing motion. Your bodies are both turned to face each other fully, how did that happen, when did that happen.

You want to stop. You should stop. But she looks so comfortable, so content. A thought crosses your mind, when’s the last time anyones held her like this? And your heart cracks just a little, the solid ball of hatred you hold for her melting, even just slightly.

“Aww look at the two of you.” Galina, coos from her seat opposite to the one you and Natasha currently occupy. “You two truly make quite the pair.”

Thank god for this woman and her comments. The old woman's words bring you back to yourself, your hands retracting from the widow's face as though her skin and physically scorched you.

You send Galina what you hope is a polite, shy smile and lean back into the couch, brushing Natasha’s hand off your thigh inconspicuously in the process.

Natasha takes a few seconds before opening her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the tingle your touch has left on her skin. When she does open her eyes she looks slightly out of it, but she doesn’t try to touch you again. She simply sits and makes polite small talk with her babushka, and sometimes you, until the woman decides to leave.

“It was lovely to meet you, dear.” Glina says, as you all stand at the front door saying your goodbyes. The old woman leans in to give you another hug, this time giving you a light squeeze as she does so.

“It was nice to meet you, Ms. Romanoff.” You say, quickly correcting yourself when you see the playful glare the old woman sends your way. “Right, Sorry. It was nice to meet you, Galina.”

The older woman pats your back in approval and pulls away smiling, making sure to send an appreciative wink your way before turning to take her granddaughter into her arms. Natasha seems to melt against the other woman, the tension in her body all but disappears the second she’s in her arms. Maybe she just has that magic effect on everyone.

The sight is almost endearing, if it didn’t spike an odd, unwelcome feeling in your chest. It makes a daunting realization fall on your shoulders with a weight you're not sure you’ve ever felt before.

Natasha is just a woman. Just a person, like you or anyone else. She’s a daughter. A granddaughter. She isn’t evil in its purest form. Not Satan made flesh. She wasn’t just dropped on this earth one day to test humanity. Yet she still commits the most heinous crimes. Kills in the most disturbing ways. Still finds art in her cruelty.

She tried to follow the warmth of your hand when you’d pulled away from her face earlier, you didn’t want to admit to yourself that you’d seen it, convinced yourself that it was a trick your eyes played on you. Because that would mean she needed something. Needed kind and gentle touch, human interaction beyond her work, her killing. Killing she enjoys, you remind yourself and push away the borderline hurt in your chest at the idea that Natasha might be touch starved.

Natasha pulls away from her grandmother after a minute and offers to drive her home herself, to “make sure she gets there safely.” There’s a smile on her face, a kind and caring one and a look in her eyes you can’t quite place. You would have never guessed her to be an attentive person, even towards her grandmother.

You have to look away from her, turning your head to the side before you can lose yourself trying any other traces of humanity in the redhead.

Natasha notices the movement out of the corner of her eye but she chooses not to comment on it, instead keeping her attention on the older woman in front of her, who is now telling Natasha that she worries far too much for her safety and she will be perfectly fine with her driver.

————————————-

“Why did you tell your grandmother we’re engaged?” You ask the second Natasaha comes back from walking her grandmother to the car, the door barely closed fully behind her.

Natasha sighs and leans her forehead against the cool glass of the door. She takes a deep breath, counting to ten in her head and trying to stave off the irritation she feels at your question. She turns from the door toward you, her eyes catching on the way your arms have crossed protectively over your chest, causing your breasts to peek out over your top.

“Natasha?” You push, snappily and Natasha has to yet again swallow her irritation in favor of keeping on your good side. Or as close to your good side as she can get. All she really needs is for you to be compliant, to not cause a fuss or get any ideas of running away. That would cause far too much of a headache then she could handle right now. But she wants more than that, so she has to behave herself, at least as much as she can. She does still have to teach you a lesson on teasing her though.

She wants to tell you exactly that. That you should just stop talking and get on your knees. Put your mouth to better use and fix her building frustrations by burying your tongue between her legs.

But in all honesty right now she’s a little too caught up in the fact that you’ve just said her name. Just let it roll off your tongue as if it's the most natural thing in the world. God what she wouldn’t give to hear you say it in much different circumstances. Though you do look cute being all mad at her, a downward, almost pouting lilt to your lips, your brows furrowed and your arms crossed over each other in a defensive stance.

Instead she lets an easy, teasing smile slider over her face. She watches amusedly as your eyes narrow at her, as if knowing she wasn’t about to give you any form of straight answer.

“Why were you so quick to play along, Angel?” She taunts, taking a teasing step toward you. “Do you like the idea of being my wife?” You visibly gulp at her words and a hot feeling flares in her stomach as she watches you falter and take a step back.

“What? No.” You answer, a consciously added tone of disgust in your voice as you watch her continue her stalk toward you and you continue to walk blindly back.

“See, I think you're lying, pretty girl.” She says, a lilt to her voice that makes you think she’s doing more than just teasing now, she’s daring you to disagree, challenging you to prove her wrong.

Your back hits a wall and your breath catches in your throat. You watch, frozen, as a sinister smile slides onto Natasha’s face, a borderline ravenous look in her eyes as she slowly takes you in, her tongue swiping over her lips, wetting them as if preparing to press them to something, anything, in a few moments. You don’t know if you want her to or not.

“I think you love the idea of being my pretty little wife.” She’s standing in front of you now, less than a shaky breath away, her chin tilted down slightly to be able to look you in the eye.

She leans forward, her hand landing with a silent thud against the wall right next to your head, the other hand makes its way from your thigh up tp your hip, starting out as a light touch, her finger tips barley grazing your skin, only for her hold to tighter, possessively, wantingly, when she finds the dib of your hip.

“You're delusional.” You bite back, having just about enough of this woman. She doesn’t get to force you into these situations and then tell you it's what you want, nor does she get to call you a liar for denying her.

“Oh?” She taunts, moving forward more, her body now mere inches from yours, effectively changing you in. “So you wouldn’t like to be my pretty little stay at home wife.” She raises her brow questioningly, a faux skeptical look on her face. “You don’t want to have absolutely no worries? Just let me take care of everything? Take care of you?”

Natasha traces the hand on your hip back down to your thigh, hooking her fingers under your knee and pulling your leg up to rest on her hip. Your eyes widen, her actions having left you more open to her, more vulnerable.

“I could spoil you, Angel. I’d do anything for you, get anything for you. Whatever your heart desires. Say it and it's yours.”

You should look away from her, you should WANT to look away from her. Avert your eyes from her dark green eyes and her full lips, the ends of them curled into a smirk. Something in your chest screams at you to look away, take your eyes off this demoness before she swallows you whole. She has too much power already, you don’t want to give her anymore. You won’t.

But with her standing this close you can feel the heat radiating off of her, see a look in her eyes that seems something scary like genuine. She steps closer, closing the gap between you, your heart now thudding so hard in your chest you're sure she must feel it against her own.

You watch as her eyes drop to your lips for a full three seconds, her tongue swiping at her own again, before her eyes flick back to yours. She removes her hand from the wall and brings it to cup your cheek, the warmth and gentleness of it taking you by surprise. She tilts her head down more, drawing her lips closer to yours, her eyes almost pleading as she whispers, her breath fanning across your face as she does. “Let me take care of you, Angel.”

You take a sharp intake of air and the following sound that passes your lips is entirely involuntary, only you're far too swept up in her to care. You see something pass through her eyes, there and go faster then you can decipher what it is or what it means. Then again, do you really care? With her standing so close, touching you so gently, holding you like this and saying all the right things.

“Please.” You whisper back, hoping she doesn't know how much you mean it. Hoping she doesn’t catch the hint of longing and submission in your voice.

Natasha smiles and leans in to let her lips hover over your, she barely lets them touch, just grazing them before moving to trace them over the skin of your cheek, over to your ear. She smirks to herself at the noise of protest you let out, wanting her lips on yours in a more forceful way.

“What's wrong, Angel?” She asks, knowing damn well what she's doing. She moves her kisses down your neck, smirking against your skin when she feels you tilt your head back, giving her more room to work. She feels your leg held on her hip tighten against her, one of your arms up around her neck, holding her close to you and a quiet moan falls past your lips when she nips at your pulse point. She doesn’t think this can get any better for her right now.

“Natasha.” You say breathly, a hint of neediness laced through her name. “Please.”

Jesus Christ. How is she meant to go through with this now? How is she meant to pull away when she knows that's just a taste of what she’ll get if she carries on. Fuck it. She can indulge herself a little longer.

“You want it, Angel?” You nod fervently, a whine bubbling up in your throat as you push your body more against hers.

Natasha pulls away, finding a sinister satisfaction in the desperate look on your face. “Say it.” She says, already catching the hesitation in your eyes. “Say you want me to fuck you.” You swallow at her words and finally find it in you to look away from her.

Natasha however only wants your eyes on her. In one fluid motion she has her leg slotted between yours, a delicious pressure hitting your core. You moan lowly and press yourself against her, giving your hips one greedy thrust against her.

She stops you with a hand on your hips and your eyes snap back to her. “Tell me or I’ll stop.” She says firmly.

“I- I want…” You manage to say but seem to lose your voice and find yourself unable to finish your sentence.

“You want what Angel? You want me to make you come?” Natasha says, moving down to place open mouth kisses on your neck, marking you as hers. “With my fingers?” She says between kisses. “My mouth?” Another kiss. “You’d feel so good coming apart on my tongue.” You groan at her words and try to grate your hips against her.

“Would you take my strap if I asked, Angel? Let me fill you like the good girl I know you want to be for me.” Your breath hitches at her words and Natasha makes a mental note to use your apparent praise kink against you whenever she can.

“Or maybe you're happy to come as you are. Riding my thigh just like a desperate little thing. You gonna make a mess on my new pants, angel?”

“Yes.” You gasp, the pressure between your legs becoming borderline unbearable. “Please let me ride your thigh Mo- Natasha. Please let me come.”

A sinister smile slides onto Natasha’s face, her hold on your hips loosening, allowing you to move a little. “Go ahead Angel. Make yourself feel good on mommy’s thigh.”

You moan loudly at her words, wasting absolutely no time before rolling your hips against her. Natasha watches in awe as you grind yourself against her, the need between her own legs building at the sight.

She tries to move her hand from your hip but your eyes snap to her with a pleading look and your hand grabs her wrist keeping it in place. “Guide me.” You say, no trace of embarrassment at voicing your needs and Natasha can’t help the hot arousal she feels. “Please.”

“Well when you ask so politely, Angel, how am I supposed to say no.” Natasha moves both her hands to your hips, grabbing at them greedily, guiding you against her thigh. The reaction it draws from you is immediate. You push yourself harder against her, a lewd moan falling past your lip when you feel her tense her thigh beneath you.

Your hands fly to her shoulders, using her to anchor you, to pull her closer. “Feels good.” You murmur, dropping your head into the crook of her neck, face down in her shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” She answers and even though you can’t see her you know her brow is raised and a smirk rests on her face. “Is mommy making you feel good, angel.” She teases, tensing her thigh and lifting it against you while pressing you down with her hands.

You nod against her shoulder and turn your face against her neck, your hot breath hitting her sensitive skin. You whine, your left hand coming up to weave into the hair at the back of her head. You're so close. You can feel it. Natasha can feel it.

You let out a shuddering breath and Natasha knows she either has to pull herself away now or let her plan fly out the window, and with it, her vantage point. She has to teach you a lesson, she has to show you how it feels, to know that you're at least half as sexually frustrated as she is.

Her body is hot against yours, her all consuming presence both grounding and drowning you at the same time, and you're ready to let yourself fall into her completely.

She pulls away, rips herself from you and the startling cold of the now empty space where she was is altogether too sudden. You whine and reach out for her, wanting her to come back, wanting her warmth, wanting her to finish what she stated.

You look up at her through tearful eyes, the knowing, smug look on her face hitting you just as hard as the wave of cold moments ago. “Now you know how it feels.” She says, her arms hanging lazily by her sides, as though she is completely unbothered by any of this.

You don't say anything in response. You don’t even want to look at her. You turn away from her, silently and make your way toward your room, eyes trained straight ahead of you until you close and lock the door once you are inside.

You don’t see the way Natasha’s face drops. Or the way she moves to reach out to you but ultimately decides against it.

You need a shower, a warm one. You walk toward what looks like a bathroom door, removing your close as you go, uncaring of what you'll do with yourself afterward. You open the door and just as you thought a nice, decent sized bathroom is revealed. You don’t even take the time to look it over, simply make your way toward the shower, turn the water to hot and step inside.

You need that warmth back. She took it from you too soon, you were too comfortable, too close. How could you have believed what she was saying, that she would take care of you? That she wanted to? How stupid could you be?

It feels wrong, everything does, you do. Having been that willing feels wrong. Missing her arms around you feels wrong. The lack of her heat feels wrong. The fact that she’s not here feels wrong.

You close your eyes and sigh. This has all gotten so confusing. You hate her, there that’s it, not so confusing. But you wanted to believe what she said. You wanted to believe that she touched you the way she did, whispered in your ear the way she did, for a reason beyond just lust or amusement.

You want her. No. Yes. You can’t. You huff, annoyed with yourself and your dumb confused brain.

You think about her, trying to make ssense of it all. You remember the way she held you, the feeling of her lips on your skin. The way you felt when she touched you, when she told you she wanted to take care of you. That she wanted you to be her wife.

You remember her hands guiding you, you remember asking her to. You remember letting yourself call her mommy, in a way you’ve never been compelled to do with anyone before. You remember the way she looked when you said it, the way she called herself it right after.

Your hands trail over your wet skin and drop between your legs, your fingers roaming warm skin until they find what they are desperate to touch.

You drop two fingers to circle your clit, letting a moan fall past your lips. You slip one finger inside, then another. You come with one hand covering your mouth, head leaning back against the cool tiled wall and two fingers buried deep inside you.

If only one thing was going to come out of it today, it would be the fact that you were now significantly less frustrated. The same couldn't be said for Natasha, who heard your moan as she was on her way to speak to you.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

A/n- this took ages because I’ve genuinely been up the walls and barely been able to write 😭 hope ye like it tho

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff smut

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ravenromanova · 7 months

Text

Too close

Pairings: Ghostface Bucky x Female reader (I got this idea from a tiktok i saw of someone that made a scream poster of bucky as ghostface and i died and i also read a natasha ghostface fic and it was so good and i thought why not make one of bucky!) This is the fic that inspired this, by @abbyromanoff you can run but you cant hide

Warnings: Mentions of killing, blood, SMUT 18+!!!!! Mask kink, knife play, Blood kink, Daddy kink, Breeding kink, unprotected sex (Bucky and the reader have sex in another room from an unalived person) (My darkest fantasies are coming out to play here sue me) DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!!!!!!!!

Summary- Bucky doesn’t like it when people get too close to his girl. What happens when you figure out why everyone you talk to suddenly dies. Will you run?

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“This just in another the mysterious serial killer known as ghostface has claimed another victim. 22 year old Jordan Rodriguez was found in her new york apartment with 50 stab wounds. She was found by her roommate Janice after she came home from work. Officers haven’t given many details as to if they are any leads into who this killer could be. But they have advised everyone within the brooklyn area to be inside by 8pm to limit any risks.” The nightly news reporters vice echos through your apartment as you watch through hooded eyes.

This was the fifth person this week to die a brutal death and not to mention you seem to have had an interaction with everyone that has died. Fear floods your veins as your head runs a thousand miles and hour and what this could mean. Is someone out to hurt you? Do you have a stalker who is killing everyone you know to get you alone? Are you next? That’s all you can think about before your thoughts are cut off by the front door opening.

You shriek and jump off the couch and run to the kitchen to grab whatever knife you can. You decide to duck behind your island with the knife as you hear footsteps walk in. The footsteps are heavy yet soft as the approach you. It’s not until the figure comes closer to you that you jump in front of them and attempt to stab them but they catch your hand.

“Woah they’re tiger” The voice says and you drop the knife once you realize who it is. You flick on the kitchen light before walking over to him and throwing your arms around his shoulders and hugging him.

“I’m sorry jamie” You apologize to your boyfriend and he just chuckles in response.

“It’s okay babydoll, but what has you so freaked out?” He asks looking at your with eyes of concern.

You sigh as you look at him before you decide to tell him what’s wrong. “The news- They said another person has been killed…A-And i knew the person who was killed, Ive known all the people who’ve died this week! What-what if someone is out to hurt me? What i-if i- die?” Your voice breaks as you speak your fears. He looks at you and brings you in for another hug.

“Oh babydoll it’s going to be okay im sure it’s nothing” He said calmly as she stroked your back and kissing the top of your head.

You sighed as you looked at him while you nodded your head. Maybe you were just being paranoid you thought, maybe this is just one big coincidence and you’ll be fine. Yea… you’ll be fine.

“Yea maybe you’re right” You didn’t sound too convinced with your own words but you try to shake off the feeling that something bad is happening.

“Come on babydoll lets get you into bed so you stop overthinking in that pretty little head of yours” His voice is so soft and sweet as he takes your hand in his and walks you two to the bedroom. When the both of you enter the room he tells you to lay down and then goes to get something. Thirty seconds later he comes back with your favorite blanket and stuffed animal and slides in bed next to you.

That night the two of you cuddle and have cute little conversations that help ease your overthinking. You fell asleep with him whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky was panicking since he stepped foot into the apartment. He thought he had been caught when you attempted to stab him but luckily for him you were as clueless as ever.

~one week later~

You sighed as you watched the news and they reported the 8th murder in two weeks. And very unfortunately for you, you had known the persons who died…just like the rest of them. That really didn’t help with the overthinking that’s for sure.

It was around 4am when you decided to turn off the tv and head to bed. Your brows furrowed when you realized Bucky wasnt home yet. You thought maybe he had gotten an overnight shift at the garage but normally he tells you that. You decided to check ‘find my friends’ since it kinda worried you that he wasnt home.

When his location showed that he was at an apartment complex your heart sank. A thousand possibilities were running through your head as you threw some sweats on, grabbed your keys and headed out the door to find your boyfriend.

The whole car ride you were full of anxiety and your brain wouldn’t shut up. Once you pulled up to the complex you quickly ran to the car not in the mood to play around if he was fucking someone else. You followed the gps and walked right up to the front door but you noticed it was open slightly. So what did you do? You walked right into the dark apartment despite not knowing who or what you’d find.

But what you did find sent bile to your throat. There was a figure dressed in all black standing over who you thought was your boyfriend with a knife in their hand.

“BUCKY!” You screamed as you ran over to the body on the floor. It wasnt until you got up close that you realized that the person wasnt Bucky…It was the barista that served you your coffee this morning. Your thoughts ran wild as you mumbled incoherent words under your breath.

But those were quickly cut off once your heard the masked figured laughing. You whipped your head around and stared at the figure in horror.

“Oh Kotenok you’re so precious” The masked figured said as he slowly removed his mask. Your eyes widened as you saw who was under the mask… It was Bucky. You quickly stood up and backed away from him as you started to hyperventilate.

“W-What the hell?” You finally said after you finally slowed your breathing down. Bucky chuckled as he came closer to you and wiped some sweat off his forehead.

“I guess it’s finally time to tell you-“ He said as she took off the costume and dropped the knife. You stared at him as his hand come up to caress your cheek. “You see kotenok i never meant for any of this to happen- But these people-t-they flirt with you and get too close to you. And i cant have that, i cant have people wanting to take what’s mine. And see i wouldn’t mind so much that people mindlessly flirt with you… if you didn’t flirt back” He seethed as he grabbed your face.

You were speechless at his confession never in a million years did you think he’d do this. But the idea that you’re his motive, that he just wants to keep you to his self is intoxicating. You look up at him with doe eyes before you finally find the words to say.

“You do all of this to make sure that i stay yours” Your voice heightens in excitement as you wait for his response.

His grip tightens on your face as he speaks. “Yes kotenok i do- i cant stand the thought of someone else having you the way i do” He confess as his eyes darken at the way you smirk.

“That’s- the hottest thing i think you’ve ever said to me” Bucky smiles devilishly at your words and suddenly picks you up and pushes you against the wall. His lips are on yours within a seconds time and the kiss is the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done.

“Put the mask back on” The words come out breathless as your chest rises due to the lack of air. He smirks as he walks you over to the couch and lays you down before grabbing the mask and knife again. He put the mask back on and then slowly stalks towards you and he twirls the knife in his hand.

“Oh fuck” You whisper under your breath when he climbs on top of you. Even though you cant see his face you know for a fact he’s smirking. He wastes no time in ripping off your shirt along with your sweats leaving you in just your panties.

“So pretty” His voice comes out a little muffled as he speaks due to the mask but it made it so much hotter. He then takes the knife that he wiped off and drags it across your bare chest. Your breath hitches in your throat as the cool metal hits your skin. Bucky then drags the knife down your torso and slices your panties off and drags it across your bare pussy.

“Please” You beg as you grab the hand with the knife and place it on your stomach. He places the blade on your skin and digs it in just a little, “Mark me” Bucky wastes no time in carving his initials into your skin he leaves a little ‘J.B.B’ on your stomach, before wiping the blood away with his thumb. Your grab his thumb and slowly bring it to your mouth before you clean his thumb off.

“Fucking hell kotenok” He groans at your actions. Bucky grows impatient as he throws the knife across the room making note to pick it back up later. He then spreads your pussy and starts to play with your clit and your back arches in reaction.

“Please daddy” You beg and then he adds two fingers into you in a swift motion and chooses a relentless pace. This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever done but right now, in this moment you dont give a flying fuck.

The pleasure you feel is beyond intense as Bucky curls his fingers and hits your g-spot just right. You let out a screaming moan as your first orgasm bursts through you. “Oh fuck” You breathe out the best you can as you slowly takes off his pants and boxers exposing his hard cock standing at attention for you.

“I want you so bad please daddy” He doesn’t need much motivation after you give him the go ahead. Bucky slams his cock into you hard and fast and you scream in response to his movement.

“Yes yes yes” You chant as you sit up and wrap your arms around him as Bucky slams into you. The room is filled with the filthy noises of your pussy and his balls slapping your skin.

“Gonna fucking breed you kotenok” He grunts and picks up his speed chasing his high. You can feel your second orgasm build up as he talks about breeding you.

“Oh please breed me daddy- fuck- wanna be full of your babies” You plead as you grind your hips down on his cock earning a guttural moan from him.

“Yea? You want that your little slut? You wanna have my kids?” He asks even though he already knows the answer. You dont find the words to respond and just opt for nodding your head. And in turn Bucky changes the position so he’s back on top and he thrusts into you like never before. Your moans become louder and his pace gets rougher. The both of you end up finishing within a matter of minutes and once you do you take the mask off him and just stare at him.

You take a moment and rub your thumb over his bottom lip before you bring him into a passionate kiss. Bucky grunts into the kiss and wraps his arms around your waist lovingly. After you break the kiss you look into his blue eyes and smile softly.

“I love you” You whisper and put your forehead against his. In this moment you love him more than you ever thought possible. Did he murder someone? Yes. Did he kill almost a dozen people just for you? Yes. But he also did it because he loves you and that just makes your heart swell. You get an idea after a minute of just looking at him.

“Let’s clean this place up and then run away, Lets go some where else where it can be just us” You say with a pleading looking in your eyes. Bucky agrees and nods before getting you both dressed again.

The two of you clean up the mess and decide of what to do with the body before heading back home to pack your things. That night while in a way tragic was also the start of the rest of your lives together and you couldn’t be happier.

~the end~

i do not give permission for my work to me translated or copied on other websites

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anyaeras · 7 months

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Fucked up day || Wandnat

Paring Wanda x Natasha x Reader

Summary || Wanda and Natasha got a little carried away this Friday the 13th, but they did it in the name of love hmm?

Warnings || smut ,, AFAB!reader (They/them pronouns) ,, dom!wanda ,, dom!GP!Natasha ,, sub!reader ,, cunnalingus ,, d!v sex ,, light bondage ,, murder mentions ,, dark!plot ideas ,, slight mommy!kink ,, (a little degrading, if you squint) ,, manipulation concepts

Twitter Masterlist

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Friday the 13th Was all a joke to you, a stupid day that everybody wanted to act absurd, especially this Friday the 13th as it was in October approaching Halloween, you on the other hand had decided to have a quiet evening, until the news came on.

Reporting that multiple suspicious murders have taken place in your nearby city, no idea who the suspected killer is and it seems that they were still loose.

Clearly that's a little unsettling as a serial killer on the loose nearby isn't the most comforting feeling, yet it must be a whole Nother Friday the 13th prank that has gone way too far.

Now around 8:30 at night long after the sun had set, the cold brisk of the fall evening had settled, in the kitchen y/n was preparing a late dinner, simple really cutting up a few vegetables for the dish just than their phone with off.

'Unknown caller ID' the name read thinking nothing of it y/n let it go to voice mail, yet moments after the number called again.

Curiosity, overpowered ignorance, with that y/n picked up their cell.

"Do you like scary movies?" A strange male sounding voice asked over the line, leaving y/n with a shiver.

"Umm not really, I don't watch them a lot" y/n replied not thinking to much about it as none of this seemed familiar.

"What a shame, I wanted to know what's your favorite scary movie?" The raspy voice asked and that's when it hit her, the movies with the stabbing, that's what the line was from.

"Haha very funny, trying to prank me with a line from a movie" y/n said clearly not impressed before hanging up, a huge horror movie mistake.

Then again it was just a joke, going on continuing, making their meal, the sound of the front door opening, caught them off guard.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Y/n voice shouted threw the house.

"Yes sure you can y/n." The same raspy voice from over the phone now was heard throughout their house.

"This isn't funny what is this a sick joke to you?!" Y/n shouted now finally a bit uneasy with the whole situation, especially because I had no idea who would come into their house.

Y/n felt something or should they say someone quickly grab them pulling them backwards, kicking and screaming to get loose yet someone in a ghost face mask also now stood in front of them.

"every good screen movie always has two killers" the ghost face in front said.

Y/n was manhandled into a chair tied down in merely seconds.

"See y/n all these killing tonight were for you, we did it for you." The ghostface behind y/n explained

"What do you mean you did this for me? You killed innocent people?!" Y/n shouted out now confused and disgusted.

A phone was pulled from the front ghostfaces pocket, showing y/n each person who was killed, each one in someway had a relationship to y/n and they knew it.

"Y-you kill my friends? W-why?" Managing to stutter out words, almost frozen in a form of shock.

"They weren't your friends, especially not him!" the first ghost face was clearly becoming impatient as they should the photo of y/n's boyfriends slashed body, causing y/n to gasp, a few tears falling down their face.

"You're sick!"

"We aren't sick, we are protecting you, he would've just hurt you honey, we will protect you" at that point the slasher in front took off their mask, revealing themself

"Natasha?" Y/n gasped seeing the fiery redhead under the mask

"W-who's that-" now asking referring to the other masked murderer confused if one of them was Natasha, then who could the other one be?

Removing the mask, a shimmering Burnett was revealed

"Wanda? Why? Why me? Are you both going to kill me now?" They asked the two once masked murders who giggled in response to said question.

"Of course not silly, we did it all to save you, we wouldn't want to hurt you dear" Wanda spoke softly her knife touching y/n face gently.

"S-so what exactly do you want with me" clearly y/n was still confused on why their friends caused all these killings when the only reasoning they gave y/n was they killed them was to 'save you'

Natasha took her turn moving closer so that she could grab y/n's jaw forcing them to look up at her.

"Y/n, Wanda and I want all of you детка. You are ours" Natasha spoke soft words in a harsh tone

"SO YOU KILLED A BUNCH OF PEOPLE, ARE YOU GUYS DUMB WHAT IF YOU GET CAUGHT?" Y/n shouted finding the whole situation absolutely absurd.

"Are you going to turn us in?" Natasha's face held the same signature smirk, each word was taunting to the person tied in the chair.

"No they wouldn't turn us in, they don't wanna lose us" Wanda joined in on the teasing, giving y/n a quick kiss

Y/n couldn't help but enjoy the kiss, as much as they didn't want to due to the circumstances, y/n did have a tiny crush on the two women.

"That's pathetic y/n, you didn't even pull away" Wanda laughed clearly y/n wanted them even after they killed, and tied them up, and both older women knew that would be the outcome, that's why they did it.

"Guys I- umm" y/n being flustered made Natasha laugh, now taking a kiss herself from the tied up y/n.

"It's okay to want us детка" Wanda spoke softly brushing some of y/n's loose hair out of their face.

"But I shouldn't-" quickly y/n's words were hushed by the two other women who wanted to ruin the innocent one who was tied to a chair.

Natasha was getting fed up with y/n going back and forth and finally took things into her own hands. Swiftly moving to kiss now down y/n's neck, making them gasp at the feeling.

"T-Tasha" y/n's words were breathy as the redhead kept kissing on them

"Darling it seems you're a little trapped, would you like us to stop?" Wanda asked softly yet she was serious, for being a bit crazy, she was still caring and didn't want to do anything to harm y/n. Natasha also pulled away for a moment looking up at y/n for their consent yet when y/n whined for them to keep going the knew it was free game.

Natasha moved back into sucking non y/n's neck while Wanda dropped to her knees between y/n's legs.

"Can mommy taste you honey?" The name caught y/n off guard yet they still nodded giving Wanda the go, now as the witch moved y/n's pants to the floor, along with their panties she almost went feral just at the site.

"Fuck" the one tied to the chair huffed out biting their lip as Wanda got to work, having fun working y/n up

"Look at you, all tied up for us" Natasha teased as Wanda was a bit busy.

Natasha moved to grope y/n's body even more, slowly bringing them over the edge.

"Let go for us моя ангел" the redhead coaxed them over the edge, forcing y/n into their first orgasm.

Wanda lifted her head to forcefully kiss y/n, making them taste themself on her cherry colored lips. As Wanda held the kids her hands moved behind the chair, untying y/n's arms, so that the Burnett could reposition the once tied up y/n, now pushing them onto all fours, Natasha stood behind, while Wanda moved to stand in front.

"Can we use you pretty one?" Wanda bent down asking softly, yet her words were far from innocent, yet with y/n's brain already being fuzzy they were quick to nod along.

Natasha undid her jeans, pulling out her dick, finding a way to line up with y/n's cunt, slowly sliding into them making y/n moan out loudly, which Wanda countered by forcing y/n's mouth onto her cunt, giving the Burnett pleasure each time y/n moaned, Tasha on the other hand was railing y/n from behind as her dick was covered now in y/n's slick juices, making it easier for her to move in and out, which was causing y/n to scream moving closer to their second climax's.

"F-fuck I-I'm close" y/n groaned out, making Natasha thrust harder, as she herself was rather close.

"Make mommy cum and you can cum y/n" Wanda ordered making y/n work even harder at eating out Wanda, focusing on her clit more than before until the women's legs were shaking as she let go her orgasm left, prominent on y/n's face.

"Go on дорогой let go" Wanda whispered as Natasha also let her seed fill y/n, which was the finally push, making y/n shake as she orgasmed loudly.

"You did so good baby" Natasha whispered pulling out slowly, still using her arms to help support y/n, as it was clear they couldn't stand on their own.

"So so good for us, but детка, we have got to get out of here" Wanda explained now lifting y/n, supporting their weight, as Natasha grabbed keys, they were ready to skip town due to the early nights activities but as well as taking y/n far far away from this fucked up town, on the fucked up day....

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wmarximoff · 2 years

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(don't fear) the reaper | w. maximoff

|spooktober collection|

summary: Wanda Maximoff is a troubled young woman, and she knows it very well. she can't help but to want you so badly, in such a sick way, even though you don't even know she exists. driven by curiosity, she decides to enter your house while you are away. but there, she finds something that was not what she expected from someone like you.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, stalker!Wanda, graphic depiction of dead body, mentions of dismemberment, smoking, choking, graphic depiction of blood, gun play, knife kink, skin carving, strap-on sex, heavy degradation, manipulation, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: okay, this one is purely sinful, but it was particularly interesting to write because i'm a bit of a weirdo and i enjoy good psychological horror as much as anyone. i hope you guys like this weird thing as much as i do.

A/N²: turned it into a series!

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The warm sun shone high in the blue sky as the humid dawn began, continuing on until midday at lunchtime. It was a thaw out day, without any cloud to be pointed out in the emergence of the celestial vault, holder of a pure air carried straight from the newly sown vegetation, mild and quite pleasant to the lungs that inspired it. An ideal end to a tranquil morning.

Along that wide space, the less discerning ear might still be able to pick up the vibrating hums that the sets of hundreds of young college students parroted in the midst of their own conversations all held at the end of the university cafeteria, echoing in their own encapsulated lives around you, each one being the protagonist of their own story as the conversations outside the table where you were accompanied by your friends were stimulated, like flies in an impetuous back-and-forth.

Just people, several of them, from all sides, sinking you into an endless hole. People. Lots and lots of people. And then there was you, just sitting there, like a small island lacking in vegetation floating dry in the midst of a sea of people, hovering above them, never sinking below the tide. You, always hovering on high. Looking at them, looking down. Existing on top of them, alongside them, but never on their level. Scrutinizing the huddle of people that didn't even reach your knees.

“And then Natasha just fell, can you believe it? Like, right there! She fell flat on her face and everything in front of everyone like a sack of potatoes, I don't know. It was a pretty bad fall, I swear!”

The blonde girl’s tone, Yelena, had been loud and amused, lively, which prompted a wave of laughter that rippled through the table like a television show—you and her and two more girls and a boy. Laughing like them, mimicking their quip in a rehearsed performance, intricating yourself within the group like a slithering snake.

“Yeah, and like,” went on yet another girl with sun-colored hair cropped short above her ears, a militaristic haircut that accentuated her strong jaw – it was Carol Danvers who was standing right in front of the seat taken over by Yelena, sitting next to you as she always would.

“I didn't even have time to hold her before she fell to the ground. The ball came too fast and she just lost her balance. It was like a cannonball, really.”

Your chin was supplanted by your own right hand, the crook of your elbow then braced on the table, your face bent at an angle of laconic interest to whatever it was that Yelena Belova narrated in Carol's company so impetuously to the audience of their friends sitting around their own dark plastic trays, munching on bits of preservative-infested reheated food.

Maybe it was some childhood story, or maybe even the practice of the softball program that she, the Danvers girl, and Yelena's older sister, Natasha, a student in her final year, all participated together. Just people around you. Faces of people articulating authentic empathies – and you laughed because it was funny, a sign popping up in your brain with the command “laugh”. It should be funny, as funny as a court jester engaging in acts of naughty mischief just to avoid being beheaded at the behest of a pompous medieval king.

“Nebula has a real problem working as a team, man,” Yelena gestured with her own right hand, “Like, she just had to play for Nat–”

“Hey, did you guys hear?” It was, however, Kate Bishop's voice that approached from behind her shoulder, as she placed her tray next to hers on the surface of the long rectangular table, not bothering to get in the way of the golden-haired young lady's speech.

“Heard about what, huh?” Then questioned the other young woman, turning to Kate with an air of irritation, “I was telling a story here you know–”

“Christine is missing.”

Yelena instantly quieted, like a radio unplugged. Both of your eyebrows, however, curled up between your forehead at the profusely dark-haired girl who snuggled close to your left elbow, she nibbling on a withered potato chip, you squinting with your eyes towards your friend's face, turning your face to hers in a quick jerk of your neck that only expressed concern smoldering in your well-behaved body language.

“Wait, what do you mean? Christine? Christine Palmer? That Christine?”

“Yeah,” mussed Kate then, who had drawn the others' attention to herself with her new information brought to the conversation, “That Christine. She disappeared.”

The whiteness of a frosty blanket of snow, which had once made it uniformly carpet the intermittences of the streets of the great city on an excellently smoothed white surface, had liquefied into puddles of itself; the flowers all bloomed to the addition of an avid polychromatic panorama, highlighting the vast green of the Central Park trees encompassed by the expanse of the extensive buildings and the slender poles that protruded from the New York City underground subway.

It was time, then, for the firstfruits of the start of another semester of a particularly boisterous spring, time for sporting events and fundraisers, fraternities organizing reception parties for freshmen.

The sun, gleaming, shimmered in the middle of the clear sky, and, therefore, that was the germination of resplendent spring times, leaning over the glass and concrete that made up the structures of the city – thus, even at dawn, the vast streets of cement and asphalt that were structured in endless chains of cobblestone at the ends of the metropolis were already buzzing with the commercial actions of their energetic residents, true characters moving the machinery of the city that never sleeps.

It was as if the climate of fullness was incapable of suffering any misfortune whatsoever, as if nothing could shake the good mood of a hot season that compelled a daily wear of lighter and shorter clothes, the purchase of popsicles on a stick and cans of sweetened, soft drinks; yet there was Kate serving as a harbinger of doom, announcing to everyone that a classmate of yours had disappeared. A gloomy cloud stooped over the sunniness of that day.

Michelle Jones-Watson, informally nicknamed as just MJ, locked eyes with the young woman who had just arrived at the table in a lavender shirt and dark jeans. You hadn't exchanged many words with her, but like everyone else, keeping her around was just critical to the existence of your public persona.

“Is Christine that senior redhead?” then MJ's gaze fell on your figure across the table, “Isn't she in med class with you, Y/n?”

“She is, yes,” you nodded with a stiff nod, your upper lip jutting out to the damp commission of your lower lip, “She’s one of the best students in our class.”

“But she's not as good as you, I'll bet,” Carol half offered you a gallant smirk, but your eyes rolled slowly enough to allow time for a comical air to bloom in their sockets in a dignified modesty of a cartoon maiden. She was courting you, of course, and you knew that very well – but sometimes ignorance, performative or otherwise, could be a bliss.

“Stop it, she really is one of the best students there! Like, really. The teachers actually like her, you know.”

“But hey, weren't you, like, going out with her?” Peter Parker added back to the initial train of thought, MJ's boyfriend, both of whom held the position of being the youngest in your circle of friends, “You guys kissed at Tony's New Year's party, we all saw that.”

“We've only met a few times at parties last semester," you shrugged like it was nothing, as if this information was nothing more than a stray lint on the collar of your shirt.

“And… well, we slept together once or twice, yeah… but we weren't dating or anything. She's just not really into that sort of thing, I guess.”

“But wait, wait,” Yelena interjected as she furrowed her thick dark brows, then turned them to Kate, “Is Christine that redhead dressed as a nurse who downed those tequila shots with Darcy? How... how’s she missing? Like, she’s just... gone? Just like that, out of the blue?”

“Yeah, what do you mean?” your eyes followed the same path the blonde girl had, turning to your other friend with a big question curling your lips. Your concern was like raising a baby lion in your backyard – feed it, care for it, have fun with it. Pretend that one day it won't grow up and rip your arm off in a vicious bite.

“Where did you hear that? I mean, I've noticed that Christine hasn't been showing up to a few classes lately, but,” and then an incredulous chuckle escaped the back of your throat as you shrugged in a rather confused way.

“Damn, missing? Man, that's kind of... extreme, isn't it? Like there's a crime or some shit like that.”

“Well, that's what I hear,” Kate took another potato chip from the pile strewn across her tray.

“Darcy said she overheard Miss Foster saying something about it during her internship. Apparently Christine has been missing for a week and the dean is really worried about her, but they aren't willing to bring it up until her parents approve of them doing so. I think even the police are involved and everything, there's a whole investigation going on and stuff. The girl disappeared, like, really. Out of nowhere. She’s just… just gone.”

Although the cafeteria was just an amalgamation of alien conversations that mingled in midair, between your friends there was a wintry silence, pairs of eyes exchanging uncertain glances like playing cards; no one knew the joker was in your possession. It was as if there was a dome enclosing all of you inside it – Kate had dictated the rules of an imaginary game, and whoever broke them first would lose. Tension could be felt thickening the air curling inside your throat.

“Nobody disappears out of nowhere,” whispered Peter when no one else did, “You don't think that anyone... that anyone has done anything to her, do you?”

“Damn, so this is serious,” mussed Yelena under her breath, “What the fuck, man...”

“Didn't you talk to her before that, Y/n?” Michelle questioned you, to which you just shook your head in denial.

“No, I didn't talk to her anymore...” and then a sigh of blistering indignant air left both of your nostrils, “Dammit, but can't we do anything? A search party or something? I can't believe the dean is trying to hush up the case – for Christ's sake, a girl is missing and they're not going to do anything about it?! This is so fucked up!”

“Hey, hey, easy there, knight on the white horse,” the palm of Carol's robust right hand, an accomplished jock with an athletic nature, rested on the bone of your left shoulder. She would always be the first to try to soothe your nerves because she hoped to also nurse the unease between your thighs someday.

“Just let the police handle this, okay? Don't go out trying to play vigilante by going around trying to take justice into your own hands, you'll only get in trouble. Plus the girl is a senior, she probably just had an existential crisis and left everything behind or some shit like that. Or even she's just wasted at someone's house around. A lot could have happened to her.”

“Or maybe she just decided to jump off a bridge,” snapped MJ's sardonic humor, her elbows resting against the face of the table at which she received a sharp, chastising look from you, “What?”

“That's not funny, man, she's missing. This is serious.”

But the failed attempt to bring a veil of humor to lighten the mood on the blonde girl's part, even more when interspersed with Michelle's bad joke, did nothing to calm your spirits in front of your other friends, “And no, not her. Not Christine, she wouldn't have done any of that. No… it's not like her to do that kind of thing.”

“You,” called Peter with his bunny brown eyes, “You and her… are you sure you guys weren't dating, Y/n?”

“Yeah, man,” Yelena’s amber gaze then flicked up to your face, emulating a pitiful benevolence that would be solemnly reserved for a widowed person, “Looks like you care a lot about her.”

“No, we're not together, I just…” you pressed your lips together in a long line, “She's missing, and I know her and I'm just worried. Come on guys, any normal person would react like that, what the hell.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” Carol offered you the most indulgent of sweet smiles, “It's totally understandable that you're worried. Fuck, I think at this point we are all a little bit too.”

“Yes,” alleged Kate's voice then, “We're all worried here.”

But in front of the crowd of other discrepant faces, so many students who came and went in their daily lives, being just extras for your main story, there was no way your senses could capture the piercing gaze that religiously looked at you like an eagle does so with a small rabbit in the woods, only seconds before it dives in to sink its claws into its promised prey.

So there would be no way for you to know that as much as you loathed the idea of Carol touching you on the shoulder like that (your smile clearly said don't fucking touch me), someone else in the same room repulsed the sight as much as you did – her head tilted at a broken angle toward the left, jaw clenched tight, both dark brows furrowed over the bridge of her scrunched nose, the knuckles of her fingers turning pale as she presses her fists against the table edges. Don't fucking touch her. If you touch her again I'll rip your hand off, you fucking bitch.

In fact, as far away from her seat in the cafeteria as you were, you were not even aware of the miserable existence of that vibrating need that throbbed within the dark abyss of a pair of emerald irises that accompanied you through the labyrinthine corridors of that university, like a faithful following the commandments of their god.

As if you'd sucked out all the dilated emptiness inside her chest, crammed her back in with a warm sense of stoic belonging, a volcanic beatified devotion to you that even bordered on sick idolatry of a warped mind. Love. A twisted definition of what one could define as love. After all, what would love be if not the most devout of idolatries? She had to know everything about you. She had to take care of what was hers.

Someone always lurking like a shadow that on its own chose to project itself before the light that irradiated around you. That started tingling for you, wanting you so much that there was no turning back. In the sea of people around you, she was the one who was aware that she was beneath you and wanted it to stay that way.

Because once you'd made the gravest of mistakes handing a dropped book to a stranger in the library hallway, offering her the kindliest of welcoming smiles a person could bestow on someone else, and then the crook of your forefinger brushed lightly against the smooth white skin of her hand and suddenly “Wuthering Heights” became her favorite book to read – because you had touched it on its cover when you gave it to Wanda.

“Hey,” your voice had rumbled from behind her shoulders, a girl with long hair of the color of tree bark, and a handful of silver rings spread across the lengths of her slim, slender fingers. Your fingertips marginally touched the fabric of a dark coat that covered her shoulders.

“Hey, excuse me, but you... you dropped this.”

“Oh,” Wanda muted under her breath, her hands slipping in exchange for possession of the book, her fate consolidating into a vibrating red haze smoldering under her skin, “Th-thank you, I… I didn’t notice that I had dropped it.”

“You're welcome,” and then you did it with the corner of your lips, the muscles in your face smoothing into a stunning sobriety, and it was done, it was set in stone; she belonged to you, “But Wuthering Heights, huh. This is a very good read, you know?”

“Is that so?” her attention was caught in a thread of thought – she could hear you elucidating about everything that you could, hours and hours with you in a narrow library hallway, “I never read it before.”

“Yeah,” you stated, always in the figure of such a kind and helpful young woman, “It’s a classic for a reason, right? It's definitely the kind of book I would recommend to someone if they asked me what they should read to feel different emotions at the same time. It's totally a top five actually. I mean, at least it's one of mine.”

And then you blinked carelessly, as appealing and as rehearsed as a Hollywood actress would do so. Wanda wasn't used to getting this much attention from strangers – and for her, that felt good.

“I'm Y/n, by the way,” it was said casually, like bait for a fish in a river. Little did you know that, in fact, what you had captured was a creature as venomous as yourself, “Y/n Y/l/n”.

“I’m Wanda,” she smiled back, a harbinger of the coming end of the world, “Wanda Maximoff.”

“Wanda Maximoff,” you repeated, her name never sounding so beautiful before as turned by your tone of voice, “That's… that’s a really nice name. It suits you.”

Your smile made Wanda's heart pound in a rush of adrenaline against her ribcage, orgasmic and sensual, blistering against her thighs, yet perhaps also romantic and sentimental, affable against her stomach. She fell in love with your so tempting charms – she didn't feel the butterflies, just the voracity of a dizzying urge to completely consume you, to tear you to pieces and feel the heat of your insides. Something about you smothered the hollow void inside Wanda’s chest, made her feel alive again – as long as her life was entirely committed to revolve around you.

You, so oblivious and so ignorant to that predator lurking in the corner, had no idea who Wanda Maximoff would be; you didn't even realize that creature you had awakened from a long hibernation all dormant in her bowels, how many years of hard work from a committed therapist you had brought to the ground, her mental well-being tower collapsing into ruins worthy of a Greek tragedy, burying her down one brick at a time.

But Wanda Maximoff, she did know of your existence. After all, her soul was devoted to you (saliva pooling on the tip of her tongue like a skinny stray dog at a butcher's house). She was just a dreamy little girl who became an immoderate romantic, who only loved pathologically, maybe a little too much. But an unmeasured dose of intensity could always be remedied.

You didn't remember at all about that meeting of realities at the beginning of last semester, when you created the genesis of that persistent germ of a pathetically one-sided symbiotic relationship entwined between the two extremes that were you and Wanda, respectively. But your smile carved an open and exposed fissure inside the lungs of that girl who could only breathe if it was the oxygen that had previously been filtered through your own bronchi. You've given a new meaning to her quiet psychology student life.

After all, you've given her the book she might as well have left behind and forgotten, just another banal event, something virtuously commonplace and unimportant. But it was the best book Wanda had ever had the pleasure of reading in her life (Cathy and Heathcliff hopelessly being a couple of degenerates viscerally obsessed with each other to the grave), and all of that because of you. That was undeniable proof that she just needed you.

She didn't need her father who confined her to a psych ward when she was younger (when she was accused of loving too much another young lady in high school who kind of didn't want her around), or the twin brother whom she no longer exchanged a word with after that said incident. In Wanda's life, since that cataclysmic day branded on her skin like a hot iron, the only gap left was the hole she'd dug in the shape of you to fill in her own chest.

ᗢ

A slow zephyr of warm air shimmered through the strands of Wanda's dark hair, swinging her locks behind her ears like flags on a long pole. That long Manhattan street in a late afternoon, interspersed with a stone landscape of tall townhouses, carried with it a blissful aspect in its structures and, certainly, even a little threatening to the glances of the less fortunate. Everything there screamed refinement, pomposity, latent ostentation – the smell of rich people in the air (woody perfumes with a scent of gold).

It was a handful of long houses that encompassed the entire residential block, which were slightly tapered from the street in openings in round, heavy, asymmetrical arches, in a residential style whose architecture alluded to the revival of the English Romantic movement; buildings clad in red brick trimmed with rough stone and smooth terracotta, with rustic wood accents and slate tiles.

The house that Wanda's eyes gazed at with exciting fervor was your dwelling – a faithful one about to force her way onto the hallowed ground of the temple of salutation to her god, an estate acquired by the vast capital of your parents who were a couple of retired surgeons (Wanda dig up this on your social media that she fervently rummaged through each post and comment, sifting through every picture, until she discovered that your family was particularly wealthy and that you attended boarding school in upper state until you get your high school diploma, always doing it with great mastery).

Two floors that looked out with three rows of windows flattened on the inside by the thick fabric of long pastel-toned curtains, which appeared like a waterfall over the panes arranged towards the sidewalk, to the life outside. A house with an imposing facade, but not enough to be frightening. It was kind of left on the edge of the seat, as if the really scary part was the unknown that was imminent inside those walls.

Your home, where you went to rest and take your time before the start of another new day—two or three days of quietly tracking you down, like a silent disease, were enough for Wanda to carve your address into her memory, and never allow herself to forget it. She might as well tattoo it on her own pale forearm if need be, and she wouldn't even have a problem doing it at all. She did for love, after all. She did it for you.

A silver car passed with its wheels skidding on the asphalt. Wanda's palms sweated as she moved the kneecap of her right knee, hidden inside a tall dark sock, so that she was crossing the street with her chin turning left and right, swinging with her hands long strands of rich coffee color that slipped down the line of her pale pretty face.

And then green eyes looked up to the windows of your house that grew above her head, stopping the footsteps of heavy boots strapped to her ankles in the front door. Wanda snorted, her chest rising and falling heavily, a smile tugging at the corner of her rosy lips against the dark wood. She might as well break down in tears right there. So close – so treacherously, lusciously close. She's never been this close. Wanda knew you weren't home because she knew all about you.

“Hiya, hon! What are you doing there?” called a ringing voice from behind her shoulders, a high-pitched tone that icy climbed the length of her spine.

Startled was the muscle in her right forearm that had crept into her cross-strap messenger bag diagonally across her chest, shrewd fingertips searching for silver tweezers and an aluminum clip.

Turning slowly with the curve of her chin over her right shoulder as if in a horror movie scene where one is faced with a lurking beast, Wanda was greeted by a wide pearly-white smile from a thin-nosed woman already bordering on her in her late forties, dressed in running gear with thick brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swung back from her head. Wanda blinked once at her.

“Who are you?” she tilted her head a little to the side, eyes wide and dark like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on a dim road. Ice-cold sweat pooled Wanda's palms, which drooped close to the hem of her black miniskirt.

“Who are you?” returned the older woman standing on the sidewalk, just a few steps away from her. She had a superfluously high, saucy voice, a bit like a macaw, maybe like a enchantingly hot witch.

The tone had been a little sharper than her grin seemed to plan it to be, which is why the woman soon tried to narrow her blue eyes, as if to assuage her onslaught.

“I'm Miss Harkness, dear, but you can call me Agatha. I live right next door – to my left, not yours,” and then there was a long, loud laugh that Wanda, still so ecstatic, didn't follow at all, “I've known the young woman who's lived here since she moved in, but I never saw you around here...?”

“Oh, L-Liz,” the feign name slipped like water out of Wanda's lips pressed together in a rough, uncertain lie, almost even a high-pitched question, “It's Liz. Lizzie.”

“Lizzie,” Agatha repeated, as if to savor the veracity of the information inside her own mouth, “Well, what are you doing there, Lizzie? Do you have a problem? Need some help, sweetie?”

“I–I,” Wanda swallowed the spittle that pooled on the back of her tongue with a hard jerk, like a ball of concrete scraping down the inside of a plastic pipe, “I—I'm Y/n's friend from college. She asked me to... to come get something for her while she's at her tennis practice.”

A second of silence tore the tension between the green gaze that was pinned from afar by the blue gaze. The other woman's sharp eyebrows rose in practical acknowledgment – after all, you were indeed a casual racquet sporter, and you always told your neighbor that you did it to keep your own body fit and healthy. Wanda only wished that nosy neighbor was swayable enough to buckle under her scattering, but Miss Harkness didn't seem like an easy egg to crack.

“Oh, I see…” Agatha muttered under her breath, in a tone that seemed intrinsic to a hunch that prompted a brief frown on Wanda's part.

“Y/n is always having the company of some, um, friends... of hers around. I mean, a young stud like that, attending med school in her prime... she strikes me as the very popular college type, huh. Geez, I wish I had studied with her back in my day, I won't lie to you, hon. If you know what I mean.”

Again the older woman laughed, throwing her head back, her ponytail swinging – and again Wanda didn't follow, a smoldering repugnance seeping into her bones, scarlet vapor rising its way to her larynx, the veins bristling, the tree of possessiveness branching off from a bad seed planted inside her chest (don't you dare talk about Y/n like that, you old fucking rag).

“Oh, but don't let me hold you back, Lizzie dear, I bet you need to get ready for tonight,” Agatha smiled with an odd glow, “Well, I'll be right next door if you need me for anything. Have fun, honey. Some of us have to, don't we?”

“Right…”

If Wanda could, she would have split Agatha's head open with a sharp axe; bits of brain mass and cracked bone littering your front door.

ᗢ

“Y/n...”

Wanda lay languid, transverse in your king size bed. White sheets touched her skin just below her back. Emerald irises were hidden behind closed eyelids, lashes closed, mouth half-open where moans trickled down like raindrops. The shrewd walls of your bedroom were the witnesses of that body, naked and of abandoned modesty, far from any prying eyes she was aware of, away from every judicious mind bent on condemning her actions.

Finding your bedroom on the top floor had not been at all a difficult activity after a tourist-oriented excursion unrolled through the walls of your home, Wanda's fingertips slithering lethargically over the surface of the exquisite furniture – your wardrobe filled with neatly folded clothes and pressed shirts, your bathroom with your favorite perfume whose Wanda promptly slipped the bottle into her bag, your dirty clothes discarded into an open-lid basket. She couldn't contain her sharp nerves at the sight of one of your worn panties.

Wanda then found herself free of all shame, but adorned by the secrecy of an unbuttoned soft silk shirt of yours that wore her body, smelling like you. Your sheets, your pillowcase, your shirt – everything smelled like you. It was as if a flood of yours had swamped Wanda's senses, submerging her in a bubble of you. As if you were on top of her, inside her, everywhere around her. Her hands skimmed over her pearly body, advancing slyly along the line of her belly, teasing herself at what traced the elastic of her panties.

The nerve bundles of her muscles were taut and dense as curious fingers ventured along the edge of her stomach, staying in the body band where her torso ended, gliding along the slit that determined the start of her smooth thighs.

A thin moan escaped the pulps of her lips as Wanda's hand finally touched the length of her pleasure, finding a wet meeting to lean on. She fantasized that it would be you there, the cheek of your thumbs pressing against the sensitive skin of her thighs as you spread them apart so that you could cup the bridge of your nose there and sip what she had to offer you.

“Y/n, please... p-please...”

A finger, shy and cautious, exploring avidly, ran the length of her moist lips, pouring into them in a long descent, capturing some of her sap that had escaped around it, returning to a slow rise in search of her center in flames. Bending to her own will, a victim of her own actions, she found herself stretching out her slender, alabaster-skinned thighs. Touch me, Y/n. Make me yours.

Her silken back arched eagerly at the mercy of the flooding pleasure that spread in quivering waves through her limbs. The hand, which until that moment had not dared to make a move, approached boldly the pale mounds that were her breasts, seeking the nipples that, like petunias, had opened in swellings from the redundant heat that enveloped them.

The delicate tip of her own finger slid over the soft skin of the areola, inching toward the turgid nipple, capturing it in a gentle grip, stimulating the senses, heightening the pleasure. Wanda's upper teeth dug into the outline of her lower lip.

“Fuck…”

A second finger took its place inside her, reaching for the heat of the skin in relief, and she moved boldly back and forth, still testing, experiencing the paroxysm that only the apogee of climax could provide. It was then that the green eyes opened, revealing the button-dark pupils, deep as a river, dilated with the specter of lust.

“F-fuck, fuck! Fuck me, Y/n, fuck me! Fuck me harder! Ah-!”

The splendor of orgasm peaked at its epicenter. Her back was arched, her legs closed around her own hand, pressing insistently to the center of her spread body, enclosing the crook of her own wrist between the hollow of her groin. The inner walls of her intimacy opened and closed in a symbiosis synchronous with the bursts of pleasure that bombarded her internal organs. Just a few seconds, a few glorious seconds of pure pleasure dissolved around her own fingers. One of several orgasms wrested from her in honor of you.

Wanda felt her body melt under the action of a terribly agonizing act; her heart pounding against her ribcage, clouding her mind, descending to her stomach in a trail of fire. Her breath hitched for a few moments, coming in harder as the orgasm ceased, causing her chest to rise and fall frantically.

On her lips, a name that she ended up whispering to the one that escaped her control (as so much more besides this one had done during the peak of her orgasm), while her tense body eased against the mattress extensions.

“I love you, Y/n... I love you... I fucking love you...”

But it was at the latest, however, with her curious eyes scrutinizing and dissecting every measly element that made up the layout of your bedroom arrangements—the books crammed in long rows on the shelves of your bookshelf (the sight of an edition of Wuthering Heights had made her beam delightfully like a child in a candy store, as in an inside joke between you and her), the notes on sticky note paper on your desk in exquisite cursive handwriting, the thin television screwed to the pale wall erected directly in front of your bed—that Wanda’s attention was magnetized to a tiny silhouette on a shelf at the top of your wardrobe.

Wanda looked the box up and down and curiosity got the better of her. A small, polished, dark wooden box, perfectly square, that the tips of her right fingers skidded for after she stretched out her shins and elbow to grope blindly up there, standing on tiptoe to do so.

Something in Wanda cried out in interested inquisitiveness when it was that she deposited the little box on the floor just in front of the wardrobe and, sinking down on her bare knees (since all that covered her slender body was a pair of dark panties and your silk shirt unbuttoned across her chest), she curved her spine in front of the quadrilateral container, elbows bent so her fingertips brushed and lifted the lid. Her brow creased in an irresolutely astonished manner.

“Oh…”

Driver's licenses. Wanda blinked, trying to figure out what it was that lay before her like unearthed treasure. You had a box full of driver's licenses tucked at the top of your wardrobe, slipped away from the eyes of other visitants who wouldn't be as wary as Wanda's – a veritable gathering of names and faces, all dealing with other female figures, like a gallery with tiny souvenirs that alluded to encounters that have already passed through your lifetime.

The frivolous lace effigies of young women approaching her age gazed at her with excruciating stares, their busts ridged in dozens of small laminated cards like the cards in a boardgame. It was like you collected young college girls – she knew all about your gathering nature, after all. Wanda needed to see them up close; she desired to comprehend them, to know who they were, and what they did in your room, so close to you. The reason you wanted them there with you.

The first one whose jadish eyes evaluated, the fingertips of her right hand slipping a lock of dark-brown hair behind the shell of her ear while the other hand held the small card near the tip of her nose, was Jennifer Walters's document followed by Hope Van Dyne’s, Maria Hill and Laura Barton and then Elizabeth Ross, Virginia Potts, Daisy Johnson, Karolina Dean and Christine Palmer, and then a dozen more names and faces that Wanda didn't bother to distinguish from the rest of them.

Some of the young girls there sounded familiar to Wanda's remembered cognitions, others could never be more than just foreign figures. The count would be no more than a stipulated enumeration of around forty-five names, but it wouldn't be an inferior calculation to the number thirty either. Wanda counted to the number thirty-seven before closing the lid of the box again, and even then there were still a few more names missing to complete the whole.

She blinked once, looking down at the wood box placed between her spread thighs, just trying to understand. And then she wondered why her name wasn't inside that box too. Was she not interesting enough? Did she not meet your parameters? Maybe you didn't want her name there with the others for a reason. Maybe it had to do with Christine Palmer's decapitated head that she found inside your fridge a few hours ago.

ᗢ

The late afternoon sun had set for its idleness set behind the concrete buildings in the distance, making for a bright cease to that particularly warm evening. White glow from the streetlights streamed in through the high paneled windows of the townhouses down the block, casting pale artificial stains on the affluent fullness of the prosperous Upper Manhattan.

Your biceps muscles were fatigued from a long afternoon hitting and bouncing rubber balls when you turned off your car's ignition and unbuckled your seat belt, pushing it away with your elbow.

A line of pale windows contributed with its share of mystery to the casual observer who passed through the streets that little by little fell into the spills in pools of synthetic light, the pale facades gleamed like light bronze, giving the mansions an air of wealth and of pride; and you always wondered, looking up and fantasizing, what went on behind those windows. One would unquestionably be surprised to know what was going on behind your own curtains, anyway.

However, it was in front of your own residence as you got out of the parked car – your right digits searching inside the cross bag in the middle of your chest for your set of keys – that Miss Harkness, your nosey neighbor, opened the bright door of her own house to greet you with a plastic smile on her long face, wearing the skimpy-length clothes that she always tended to tuck in when being around you (particularly on late Wednesday afternoons like that, when you showed up in your tennis clothes and Agatha tried to take advantage of your bare legs).

“Good afternoon, cupcake,” smiled your luscious, chocolate-colored hair neighbor dressed in very short white shorts, “Or would it be good night already? I'm never sure, this time of day is always so vague...”

“I think it's good night by now, Miss Harkness,” was your reply in an almost machine-friendly, rehearsed tone that might well be controversial if it came from someone lacking a smile as captivating as your own.

“Oh yes, good night,” Agatha's right shoulder slumped over her own doorframe, her breasts tucked into a teenage-type tank top, her thin lips covered in a slim layer of glossy chapstick, “So, hot stuff, how is that little friend of yours doing?”

“My… little friend...?” your hand flinched from searching the inside of your bag, your brow creasing at the figure of the older woman with piercing sapphire eyes, hungry like a wolf for new information she could glean from your own personal life.

“Yeah, that pretty girl with those big green eyes, kinda dressed like an edgy teenager, um, Liz… Lizzie, isn't it? Yes, Lizzie,” Agatha's lips pursed into an embellished, deceitfully thoughtful pout, “The one who came to drop you something earlier. Or to grab something for you, I don't know. You know, honey, your... friend from college.”

You frowned even more at the figure of your neighbor, your lips curled in an intemperate way, your countenance almost distorting so that your social mask would eject from the folds of your facial muscles, revealing to Agatha a portion of a feature she wouldn't need to see. A shiver running down your spine from the back of your neck alerted you that something was wrong.

Your friends weren't regulars at your house and you, in fact, didn't know any girl named Lizzie (or any derivative that was of that name just so strange to your ears when mixed with physical characteristics which you couldn't assimilate with the description of a girl unknown, offered to you by Agatha).

“She… L-Lizzie,” a hesitant, thoughtful second passed, “She… was she here? Did she enter my house? Has she been inside?” You shrugged, on an impulse of marine fearlessness that went somewhat unnoticed by Miss Harkness's unshakable smile.

“Yeah, but I haven't actually seen her leave yet,” your neighbor singsong, and then offered you a peculiar smirk imbued with a meaning you played ignorant to, “Maybe she's waiting for you, huh, heartbreaker? Tonight will be a long one, right?”

Saliva choked in your mouth. The blood coursing through your veins cooled – terror climbing the length of your esophagus, hands trembling along the length of the single strap of your bag, and “Fuck” was what you swore under your breath, your mind already in a far cry from the exaggerated figure of Agatha standing there, next door to yours. It only took a few seconds for you to slip your key into the metal lock.

“Well, honey, if you girls need anything—” but the front door to your house closed before the over-the-top Miss Harkness could even finish her own rehearsed sentence.

The entrance hall was sinisterly dim after the door closed behind you. The room was a little appalling, and in such a way, it also had a watery atmosphere that gave birth to an opalescent darkness, swamped by a deluge of empty, sharp silence.

You could well hear your own breath rising and falling if you took the trouble to do so; it was like hunting in the dusky depths of a forest, your senses heightened within your own home, into the profundities of your own sanctuary where you should once have felt at peace and at ease.

The ghostly atmosphere inside the room was lazy, cloudy, and perhaps partially dead. The simple mirror right next to the entrance door was frosted over because of a layer of light that had ended up beguiling its translucent face, and in it, amorphous and weird images that led nowhere were created.

Walking around in leisurely strides in your athletic shoes, the opaque structure of the house was lit only by the silvery light of the leafy moon that had just risen to the top of the cinertian sky outside the two-story house, which affected the furniture set back by the hulking panes of glass constricted, pale light sneaking through the always closed curtains (no one would need to know what was happening behind them), causing, in the environment, an adventitious platinum-blue coloration somewhat withered, which there was no way to be something common and ordinary.

Nothing seemed out of place, but you could tell it felt outlandish, atypical even, as if someone had broken through the sacred layer of peace of mind that used to wash over your home. Your privacy had been invaded.

Rounding the kitchen island, you went to the tall fridge and opened it with a quick flick of your right elbow, a pale shaft of light breaking through the eerie darkness that tapered the spacious room. And then you allowed yourself to lift the air out of your constricted lungs. She was still there, well preserved by the ice that wouldn't melt. A warm sigh escaped between your parted lips – icy sweat starting to form a thin layer on the back of your neck.

The vacant eyes of Christine Palmer's dead head stared back at you as if begging you to give her a dignified end; only to say that your last capture was still where you'd left it, half lying on its side on the last shelf, close by a set of sweaty water bottles, so far from the rest of her other severed limbs, you just reassured yourself of the fact that she still belonged to you.

But above your own head, a tiny sound of movement piqued your sharp ears, immediately drawing your sharp attention because you soon realized that some unexpected visitor was still in the house. Then your gaze dropped to that piece of dead flesh with hair dyed a vivid red like crayons. It was certain that Christine would soon have a companion for her icy storage.

Your predatory instincts lashed into her temples, and a rush of adrenaline coursing through your despondent system, as both of your shrewd hands plunged once more into your crossbody bag, in a silent warm grip on the part of your nimble fingers, you searched for something metallic cool to the touch, whereupon you drew out a small, heavy, iron-fuse revolver with a short barrel.

The gun has always been around since your clueless parents came to believe faithfully that a young girl should defend herself from the predators of the far reaches of the world in the alleys of the big city, and even though you never actually fired a projectile, the miserable threat of doing so used to be enough to get what you wanted. After all, if there was going to be a predator, that degenerate figure would have to be you.

You followed, then, with the lightest and most silent studious strides, down a small corridor of bare and soiled floors, up the red oak steps of the straight stairs that led to another compendious rectangular corridor carrying very little furniture, the last door being the one at the entrance to your large bedroom. You couldn't ignore the ominous tension that seemed to hang through the air, mixed with oxygen, like a heavy fog.

Being high above the kitchen, the hallway was provided with a flickering luminescence from the lights outside the house that did not lighten the walls or ceiling either, with a wooden door at its front end, and two smoky windows separated by diameter of a head on your left.

Between the door and the floor, a crack the thickness of a pen was formed, and from there, a beam of white light was regurgitated, announcing the existence of someone inside the private room that was your bedroom. Adrenaline throbbed through your ruffled veins as the extensions of your left fingers then touched the frigid silver doorknob. You took a deep breath before opening the door, holding the barrel of the gun right in front of your torso.

“Don't fucking move.”

There was something lurid in the speech that came from behind her shoulder – something ominous, something from the depths of another world, a parallel reality. Gone was all the tenderness of your existence, for you, at that moment, were nothing more than a parody of that fake social persona of yours; appearances were turned to dust, and there was no longer any need to emulate the benevolence of the human creature you could never be.

A shiver made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck curl as she sat on the floor in front of the box, an icy breath spraying from her nostrils.

The silver material of a revolver flashed a beam of artificial light toward the emerald eyes as it was when Wanda turned and you harpooned, with a flick of your wrist, the weapon in front of the open door to the bedroom, the fierce barrel aimed straight ahead the middle of her forehead. Wanda blinked once in your direction, her jadish eyes acquiescing to the situation, understanding what was happening there, what it was that unfolded before her.

It was you. In front of her, in the same room as her, addressing her directly as you had in the library last semester. You. You.

You looked different with that hideous darkness corrupting the ever-present indulgence in your gaze, but either way it was you – the real vision of what you would be, that wild animal she would gladly let devour her completely, from the inside out, consuming her insides in splashes of warm blood. The creature had crept out of the cracks of your good girl performance, and only violence could be aimed at the void of your pupils.

“Y/n...” Wanda whimpered almost into a sweet sigh, her chest heaving with fiery contentment, dropped to her knees and as submissive as she was there in your room, “Y/n, you're here... you're here...”

“Who the fuck are you?” Your tone had been impassive, and something in Wanda had sunk completely, a painful twinge brushing the middle of her chest, “Are you–are you wearing my shirt…?”

“Y/n,” she half-cried on her knees in front of you, dark brows furrowing, “Don't you remember me? From the library...? We– we met last semester. You told me to read Wuthering Heights, it was one of your favorites–”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Wanda blinked once in mistrust with her dark-green eyes, completely disbelieving in her spirit at the words she had heard leave her lover's lips that hit her like clenched fists in the stomach and ribs. She remembered you, so you would have to remember her too; there would be reciprocity in fantasy, there would be love in unilateralism, there would have to be love and love in particular would have to be mutual.

Even though Wanda knew that physiologically a creature like you was lacking in the ability to love – as a good psychology student she had diagnosed you, she knew your pathologies, and like a good maniac, she just knew everything about the person that she treasured so dearly. But there would be no science that could explain Wanda's need for more and more of you. After all, you were Cathy and Heathclilff, not Elizabeth and Darcy.

The calloused emptiness of the barrel of the revolver was like a vortex that dispossessed her soul from her body, but Wanda couldn't care less about the gun pointed at her mideyebrow as her heartstrings tightened—the pain of lack of recognition in your eyes before her supplanted the idea that a flick of your finger would be enough for the insides of her skull to stick to the floor of your bedroom.

“I saw you in the library, Y/n,” she tried again, exasperated by the unrequited love, “Last semester...you smiled at me and said that was a great book...”

But then there was a glimmer of hope to warm the kneeling young woman's spirits – your gaze raked over Wanda's sharp, pretty features, and after a good long minute had at her chest area (her pale breasts partially exposed in front of her skimpy white silk shirt unbuttoned, the gap between them descending to a milky abdomen just as appetizing to the touch), a string tugged at your memory and a shrewd realization slipped behind your brain, bringing back the day you decided not to murder that library girl because it was fun to play with the idea that her life hung by a thread, and she never knew that.

Like a puppeteer operating the strings of life around you, Wanda was only there, on her knees in your bedroom, because you wanted to revel in the idea that her life was in the palm of your hands and, as a deity (or least holding the power of such), you resolved to spare her for only a base and simple whim of yours.

“Oh, wait… wait, I remember you…” slipped out of your lips, the gun still gripped tightly in your right hand, “W… Wanda, yeah. Your name is Wanda.”

“Yes,” the answer was immediate, almost a high-pitched, smiling yelp, emerald green shimmering into her lepidopteran lashes, “Wanda Maximoff. You remembered me...”

“Wanda Maximoff, the library girl, huh… fuck, what are you doing here? It's been so long...” you muttered to yourself, “Wait, don't tell me you're a goddamn stalker or something like that. Home invasion is a crime, did you know that? You can go to jail if I call the police. Is that what you want, Wanda? That I call the police?”

She looked down at you with a predatory gaze, as if she was going to rip your jugular apart with her own teeth. It caught you off guard, in fact, for you had never seen this emptiness darken someone else's gaze before.

“There's a girl's head in your fridge, Y/n,” Wanda countered, an amused smile then breaking at the corners of her rosy lips, doe eyes looking you up and down, two animals of similar species recognizing each other in an uninterrupted cadence of sickly stares, “You're not going to call the police.”

It was a challenge thrown up in the air, because she was bold and could just push your buttons until she knew you fully, unfolded you beneath her fingertips; Wanda relished the moment because she just knew that no one alive knew you like that – that side of you, that butcher look of yours. It was the only connection she had with you slowly growing stronger.

“Pff, of course I'm not going to call the fucking police, I'm not an idiot,” and you took a step closer to her, invading her personal space, the barrel of the gun so cold against the pale skin of her forehead.

“But I could just pull that trigger, couldn't I? Or maybe rip your pretty neck off and put your head next to hers and the matter would be over, wouldn't it? I can do many things with you, Wanda. I can hurt you. I can break you. I can kill you.”

“You,” Wanda snorted, pupils dark and dilated into an abyss of greenish doom, “Do you really think my neck is pretty?”

A lame chuckle escaped in disbelief between your nostrils – she was practically salivating like a dog (a beautiful bitch in heat, the insides of her thighs sticky), and something about you liked that. Really liked that.

“Fuck, you've got to be kidding me. Was that all you understood from what I told you? I literally threatened to kill you, Wanda. Shit, pretty girl… you're a sick bitch, you know that? There's something very wrong going on inside your head.”

“No,” Wanda muttered, her gaze misting into her excited irises, her nerves fraying at the compliment that couldn't be missed, “I… I love you, Y/n. I just… I just love you so much.”

“Oh, you love me, do you?" It was then that you sort of chuckled in derision, shaking your head in sardonic disdain – an act laced with haughtiness and condescension that made Wanda's heart flutter against her rib cage.

“I love you,” she nodded in an almost desperate, justified affirmation, “I really love you so much, I love you so much, Y/n, I just need you. I don't care about the rest or what you did to them, I... I just need you. I really need you. Your real self.”

“Damn,” you knelt before her, the gun still pointed firmly at Wanda's forehead, the sweet scent of her dry shampoo soothing against your nostrils, her firm features even more stunning when viewed up close, “You're crazy. Like, really crazy. Totally insane.”

“It takes a madman to recognize the other,” she mussed back, enjoying this game of cat and mouse as much as you, the distance between you less than a foot, “And you killed those girls.”

“And yet you're begging me to fuck you with your eyes even though you know I killed those girls. Which one of us is the worst, huh?”

“Well,” Wanda smirked like a broken doll, “I'm not the one who dismembers my classmates here. I’m just in love. I just… I just fell in love with you, Y/n. But... it makes no difference to me how bad you can be sometimes, or what you do to other people. You're everything to me. I love you just the way you are.”

“No, Wanda, you don’t,” you whispered, “Really, you have no idea who I really am, and… I don't think you'd like what you might find.”

“Try me,” her chin tilted to the left, towards her collarbone. You frowned for a while; she was not afraid. She was uniquely interested.

Your gazes swallowed each other in midair, one striving to comprehend, to unwrap the other, to make the other give in to the oppression of their own wills. You wanted to break her, but she was already broken, and she longed for you to break herself even more; the two of you on the edge, waiting for the last push for one to fall and take the other with them to the bottom of that precipice. You haven't had this much fun in a while.

“Fuck, at least I'm not a desperate mutt like you, though... you're a perv, Wanda. A fucking weirdo, a stalker who broke into my house, found out about my, um, hobby, and yet you still stayed here until I arrived... and all while wearing my shirt? Look at you, I bet you were touching yourself like a bitch in heat before I arrived.”

Your gaze dropped to her pale, exposed thighs.

“You're such a creep, pretty girl. Honestly, if anything, it's kinda pathetic. But, hey,” the barrel of the revolver then lowered until it skimmed the pulp of Wanda's lips, and a devilishly smile broke into the corner of your mouth, “I had a great idea just now. If you do really love me as much as you say you do… how about you prove to me how much you need me, huh, Wanda? Prove your love to me. Open your pretty mouth.”

And then she stuck her tongue out of her pearly lips, as receptive as she could be. Wanda smeared the icy metal of the revolver's short barrel with a string of thick spit, a circle of vulpine pink tongue licking the outline of the gun wedged between the thumb and bent forefinger of your right hand.

Moving with your wrist, you soon proceeded to shove the gun deep into Wanda's open mouth, translucent spittle running from the corner of her lips to the contour of her lovely chin when it was that gagging whines coiled from the back of her throat.

“Look at you...” you mussed, your eyes never leaving the drooling figure of the girl in front of you, “Give me a show, slut. Breathe through your nose, just like that.”

Wanda moaned softly as she screwed her plump puffy lips onto the barrel of the revolver that only went down her throat until you decided to pull it out, puckering the length of her mouth as if she were planting a kiss on the cheek of a lollipop, releasing it with a hollow sound, a loud and purposefully audible metal-flavored pop, droplets of saliva pouring up her pale, bare thighs.

“I,” she sighed, her jaw tightening, the saliva pooling in bubbles at the corners of her mouth, “Did I… did I do well?”

“Oh, you did great, Wanda. You did it like the little bitch that I know that you are.”

With sly hooded eyes clouded by tears pooling in her dark lashes, Wanda saw you stare at her with obscure eyes of desire and mouth aflame with craving, and she smirked, sideways, like a prize girl with lust on her slobbered lips, addicted to something rotten inside you.

“I bet you're wet as fuck right now. You're loving every second of it, aren't you? You really are sick. But hold still, you whore,” you decreed to her in a harsh, bestial voice, “Or I fucking kill you.”

You then touched the barrel soaked in glistening saliva against the hard bone of Wanda's sternum, through the valley of firm, rosy breasts, in a poignantly lethargic motion pouring through the bristling skin toward the south of her body, leaving a trail behind of icy drool that made shiver the baby hairs from the back of her neck. Her rib cage rose and fell heavily, her nails adorned with matte black nail polish digging like razors into her shaggy skin, just waiting, just hoping for more.

The pit of Wanda's stomach constricted inside her abdomen when, after circling her navel cavity, you lowered the gun to the waistband of her dark panties, stopping dangerously close to the place where she craved your touch, the slackening of her thirsts that only you were the only one able to heal. You could even hear her instable breath echoing through the walls of the silent bedroom.

“Do you want me to touch you here, Wanda?” you snorted, her cheeks taking on sickly scarlet crimson intonations, “You want this, don't you? It's what you've been wanting all this time – for me to ruin that slutty cunt of yours. God, you're so predictable...”

“P-please,” Wanda whimpered in a needy gasp, her chin wet with an amalgamation of pale tears with thick saliva, her brows twitching so that a pained look settled on her heaving features, “P-please, Y/n, please touch me, touch me there, please– argh!”

The palm of your left hand closed against the outline of Wanda's pulsing jugular damp in sticking hot sweat, five fingers screwing tight into the pale skin as in a hard jolt you brought her face closer to yours – purposefully brushing the gun against the wetness of the garment of the other girl that only grew between her legs, pushing her throbbing clit against the barrel of the revolver, a very heavy change in the rhythm of her breathing.

She was just a sweaty, drooling mess, moaning aloud, and you found yourself to be a great appreciator of the pathetic state of mind in which Wanda was apt to submit to you and your sadistic whims.

“You're perfect,” something vile in you snatched from her tears, the ever-fast movement between Wanda's hips, the insides of her sticky thighs swallowing your wrist, “You're perfect for me, Wanda. You’re my perfect girl. I knew there had to be some reason I hadn't gutted you that day.”

“I am,” she whimpered back, her hips tense, “I'm your perfect girl, Y/n. I can be anything you want me to be.”

“Well, I think I know what I want you to be,” you hissed in lewd intonation, the tip of your nose almost touching her crimson-tinged cheekbone, “I want you to be my whore.”

Wanda gasped against your chronic staining grip on her neck. It was like you wanted to kill her and eat her right there. And then, the distastefulness of the metal darted through your lips as you took her saliva for yourself to taste, pressing your strangled tongue against the gap between Wanda's teeth, discharging into your mouth a metallic, foul, jarring taste when the two of you shared a needy kiss, almost as if you were a ravenous beast devouring a still-warm carcass.

The metallic taste stemmed by blood from her split lip was no longer just something from the gun you made Wanda suck on. And her tears of pleasure gave way to tears of genuine, unhinged exhilaration in a frightened and frantic ecstasy, for you were kissing her, you were consummating her.

You, however, between mutters and yelps, increased the pressure on her little bundle of nerves through Wanda’s damned garment in a speedy torture, only to see her writhe above your revolver and groan in uncertain verbiage, libertines and so stupidly discordant with each other.

“I owe you now. You’re mine. You’re mine to break, Wanda. You're mine to do whatever I want to, and I bet you don't even care if I do. Seriously, you're just pathetic.”

“I love you, Y/n,” tussled Wanda then in a tiny, drooling yelp, snorting against your parted mouth, “I–I love you, I love you, I love you, I–I love you, I love you, I love you–”

It didn't take long for the emerald-eyed girl's body to stiffen in front of you, splintering intoxicatingly as her eyes squeezed into tearful lines and Wanda's brow furrowed into a painful scrunch of skin. She squeaked in a funneled scream, low in pitch and melting.

And, feeling the characteristic sting of orgasm poke her lower belly, Wanda went down and up against the barrel of the gun for a few seconds until, in total frenzy, she felt the world around her go out, spewing through her throbbing entrance a wet trickle of warm cum that covered the entire length of the revolver, even though she was still wearing a thin underwear to cover her rosy, puffy cunt.

With her head weighing more than the rest of her body, Wanda fell forward, falling gasping with her forehead against the bone of your right shoulder, her chest heaving in and out with impressive weight. And then she snuggled against you, against your neck, as if you were a couple who had just fallen in love with each other, and not a duo of animals drawing blood from your flesh. But you held her. For a moment, you just held like you've known her for longer than you could count.

You then took a good look at her, the sweaty girl slumped against your very white polo shirt, wearing in her figure a silky shirt that she had stolen from within your wardrobe. Her silhouette, the perfect nose, the round, rosy lips, the firm cheekbone, the thick eyelashes – Wanda Maximoff was a beautiful young woman indeed. A nice prize, like a puppy, a pet. Something worth keeping around for a while.

“I love you, Y/n,” Wanda exhaled tenderly against the collar of your shirt, her warm breath brushing the bare skin of your neck, “I really love you…”

You licked the tip of your tongue at the metallic layer of Wanda's blood pooling at the pulp of your lips, “You're mine now, pretty girl,” was a murmur against her dark hair, “And I won't let you get away anytime soon.”

ᗢ

The world moved in an ecstatic frenzy when you were around her, spiraling into a frantic, dizzying cataclysm, dangerous as a dynamite fuse in a short flame; Wanda would soon put you on fire. It was as if something sick in her needed you to explode and for the blast's radius to consume her along with you, turning the two of you to dust together. It took about less than a full month for Wanda to become, then, your permanent companion within the walls of your home. You two were living together.

Normalcy was mostly covert (her toothbrush next to yours suddenly felt like a tremendous breach of privacy, as if she hadn't previously invaded your house), a self-righteous sobriety, because watching her cook European dishes humming through your kitchen while there was a severed human head in the fridge instilled a kind of fascination in you.

“You need to eat better, Y/n,” she'd said on one particular night, her hips nestled against your hips on the cream-colored sofa in the living room, a fork with a fresh strawberry on a skewer being offered to you, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

The world seen in the light of Wanda's gaze could be of a bizarre appreciation that urged you to keep her close to you.

Navigating through the ups and downs like any other official couple you could find walking hand in hand in the world out there, in the meantime you've noticed her as much as you could in such a narrow window of time; even though Wanda's wardrobe mostly consisted of darker colors and countercultural embellishments, her favorite color was red and she was terribly allergic to felines. Her fondness for old sitcoms could be traced to an attachment to a fond childhood memory.

She ate her breakfast cereal laughably in an awkward wrist fold, and had a twin brother who was studying abroad on an athletic scholarship; her father, an uncompromising man of German descent, was a major political figure in her hometown somewhere in New Jersey, and her mother was a Slovak immigrant who had passed away (in situations she didn't bother to clarify) when Wanda and her brother were just too young to be able to digest the nuances of such a sudden loss, their first abandonment in life. Both husband and wife were a non-practicing Jewish couple.

Wanda got what she wanted by sharing a warm bed with you on sleepless nights, and you, a tormentor possessing an ever so solemnly sadistic nature, merely kept her tamed on an emotional leash, since that meant it was in your domain whether her heart would stop beating or not. Before anyone else, however, the two of you were just a couple of two shy girlfriends who had been together since last semester, only having made public the relationship that came imperiously to the surface with the blossoming of the fastidious zenith of spring.

“Man, I still don't quite get this,” Yelena grumbled, then, once you accompanied her along with Darcy Lewis and Kate Bishop on a walk over the university campus, “You two were dating, like, this whole time, and you never bothered to tell us? You know, your best fucking friends?”

“It’s not like that, dude, it’s just—”

Your speech was abruptly cut short before the end, however, when, in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone trembled off the track, immediately catching your attention. Eyes turned to you.

You reached down to your pocket, where you grabbed your smartphone – on which the word “Wanda” flashed on the flat screen and, after realizing that it was your girlfriend who was contacting you, something in you had to restrain yourself before your eyes swiveled in their sockets. You slid your thumb horizontally across the screen glass and reclined the call, taking the plastic and carbide device back into your pocket.

“Was it her again?” it was Kate who questioned, to which you offered her a tiny nod in confirmation mode, a corroborating buzz of “mhmm” choking out of your throat, “Dude, okay, don't get me wrong but don't you think Wanda is kinda… um, you know, kinda…”

“Obsessed with you,” Darcy, the girl with the round glasses and dark hair, mussed in a smooth tone, frankly clarifying something Kate might have said, even if she didn't want to sound so impertinent when she said it.

“This is like, the tenth time she's called you in half an hour. Not to mention that now she lives on top of you all the time like a fucking eagle. We can't even have time with you alone anymore, she's there, like, the whole damn time.”

“It's not like that, c’mon,” you mussed in a bad way, still walking in the warm sun next to the other three girls, “Wanda is just, well… she's a worried person, that's all. She likes to make sure the people she cares about are okay.”

“It's one thing to be a worrier,” countered Yelena then, the three of them in tune in a train of thought that obviously pointed to the fact that your new girlfriend was a walking red flag.

“It's another thing to be obsessed with someone else. Like, borderline obsessed. Dude, Y/n, I know you're the kind of person who sees the good in everyone and is so altruistic that you get sick and all that nice girl shit, but... your girlfriend is weird. That's it, I said it. Wanda is weird. She gives me creeps, man, I swear.”

“Don't say my girlfriend is weird,” you frowned into the amber eyes of the blonde girl walking to your left, “That's offensive, you know? You can't just–”

But then the ringing of your phone was present again, and your hand went to your pocket again to pick up the device. You had never formally given your phone number to Wanda, but of course she already knew what it would be without even having to ask you. Your three friends crossed each other in tacit glances imbued with a mutual sense when a smothered sigh escaped through a half-open gap in the pulp of your lips.

"Look, I... I promised to have a study session with Wanda and I'm late, okay?" you hissed, your tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth, “I catch up with you guys latter.”

Turning on your heels, you set off in the opposite direction the rest of the group was walking. The silence was broken only when you were far away, out of reach of Darcy's brooding voice, who spoke first of the other two girls in her company – three pairs of eyes following your silhouette dwindling onto the well-cut grass puddled by a hot midday sun.

“Guys,” the bespectacled girl had said, “I might be sounding crazy, I know, but… don’t you think Wanda could have… kinda gotten rid of Christine so she wouldn’t have anything to stop her from being with Y/n...?”

Yelena blinked once at Darcy.

“I think your obsession with true crime media is starting to get a little weird”

ᗢ

“F-fuck, right there—!”

Wanda's voice gasped, strangled inside your ear, needing to take you fully inside her. The sounds of skin hitting skin muffled the dripping water from a poorly turned off faucet. The cramped bathroom stall at the back of the library could be one of the most discourteous and defamatory places you've ever had the misfortune of sneaking in to have sex with someone.

If you weren't too busy moaning into the crook of Wanda's sweaty neck, brows furrowed inside a public restroom where anyone could walk in at any second, you'd most likely have already teased your dear, disheveled lover for making your crawl in in that narrow place just to fuck her – but with the thirsty girl desperately splaying her hands over the bulge in your pants in an arduous search for the long scarlet silicone toy Wanda had bought for the two of you, yearning for the physical contact to alleviate her desire to be satiated, you just couldn't deny her altogether.

“You,” your speech was airy, somewhat disconnected from reality, the material of the strap delighting you as much as it did her, “You really couldn't wait, huh? Such a needy whore… I was busy, you know?”

You groaned, encouraging her with a mischievous half-smile as you felt the girl purposefully tighten around your entire wet length, which practically slid straight in and out of her.

“Y-you weren't busy,” Wanda moaned too, practically cried in performative innocence into the shell of your ear, purposely stoking you so you'd get rougher and increase the speed at which you thrust her, “You- ugh, fuck! – y-you were just walking—walking around with your… y-your stupid friends...”

“Stupid friends? That's bold.”

You stared at the familiar contorted face of pleasure your girlfriend expressed, popping in and out of Wanda fast and hard, with the green-eyed girl with pale legs curled around your waist, one hand buried in your tangle hair, scraping her splintered black-painted fingernails across your scalp. The hem of her red and gray plaid skirt bunched up over her damp thighs.

And indeed, something in you loved having her so primitively. As raw and animalistic as it could be; Wanda delivered, a mess completely at your mercy. The back of her head rested on the laminate on the wall, her wet red mouth half-open. Her forehead tensed, her white skin gleaming with sweat, pleading, begging for more.

It was like a real red rose blooming before your malevolent eyes. And that adrenaline aroused you, scarlet running scorching through your bristling veins. Anyone listening outside the bathroom would assume that the two of you were competing to see who was making the most of the situation.

“Damn, you look so pretty with my cock inside you,” you gasped in a breath in front of Wanda's face, “It makes me want to rip you in half.”

“Please Y/n! I'm almost- almost-! A-ah!” The girl gasped for air when she felt that you suddenly pressed her swollen clit between your rough and atrocious middle and index fingers, digging her dark nails into the skin of your neck where there was your hairline.

In a muffled cry, Wanda reached the peak of her orgasm around the false length that was stretching her deliciously inside. And you continued to burrow into her sensitive walls for a few more long seconds, filling her beyond acceptable, letting out cavernous whines until you too came with the strap being nestled inside her walls. The two of you, panting and tired, your chests rising and falling, stared at each other with sharp, floppy eyes. A brief smirk was mirrored on your mischievous faces.

“You don't need any of your friends anymore, baby,” Wanda mussed, panting, placing her pale hand on the warm skin of your flushed cheek, “You've got me now.”

It was a fact that she was in possession of a restless invidious nature, and the dependency could gnaw at her spirits so that an imperative need for control over you would well up in her core. Wanda might just be too possessive for your own good or even hers, and so the fastige of your relationship soon degenerated into a volatile debacle.

By the latest of the same week, then, with both of you already in the shelter of your residence on the outskirts of Manhattan, you could see yourself instituting dinner preparations, peeling potatoes and slicing carrots, when was it that hurried passes could be picked up by your ears upstairs, then down the stairs, to finally implode into the kitchen walls.

“What do you mean,” snarled Wanda in a frivolous tone of voice, exasperating behind your shoulder blades, “What do you mean you're going out with those bitches this fucking weekend?! I thought we were going out on a date, Y/n, what the fuck! You said you were going out with me!”

“Kate invited me to go to a bar with them,” you retorted in a sounding bordering on monotone, slicing a carrot, not giving much thought to Wanda's annoyances, “If you want, you can go too. But wait, how do you...?” the knife edge pressed against the plastic board, “You were looking through my phone again?!”

“These bitches are trying to take you away from me!” snapped Wanda immediately, her dark brows furrowing, “They hate me and you fucking know it!”

“They don't hate you Wanda, stop being dramatic, that's irritating,” you grumbled in a bad way, “I swear, sometimes I feel like getting rid of them all just so I don't have to listen to you bitching about them all the goddamn time.”

“Then get rid of them all,” she spat behind you, “Kill them all if you want, damn it, I don't give a shit about that! I just want them to know that you're mine!”

There was a momentary silence to behold, and Wanda peered up at you with a troubled, obsessed gaze in half a second when your chin reoriented itself over the bone of your right shoulder—jade eyes staring back at you, green soaked in the darkness, a gloom from which you were no longer able to hide from that psychoneurosis that so unnerved you when Wanda engaged in a bratty attitude.

She took her lower lip in her mouth and opened and closed her eyes, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils when, abandoning the shredded vegetables on the counter, you walked up to her face wielding that sharp knife in an ominous way.

“It's very bold of you to throw a tantrum and tell me to kill someone when I have a knife in my hand,” you blurted out the words slowly, not even fully mobilizing your pursed lips.

“You've been pissing me off a lot lately, you know that? Acting like a spoiled fucking brat who needs attention all the time because you're terrified I'll leave you when I feel like it. You're terrified of me rejecting you, aren't you, Wanda?”

“You wouldn't do that,” she muttered under her breath, the tips of your noses almost brushing through the air.

“Wouldn’t I?” The blade of the curvy, ravenous knife then pressed icy against the sharp right cheekbone of Wanda's pale face, still not cutting right into her skin, “Do you really think I wouldn't do that?”

“No, you wouldn't,” she, however, was unwavering in front of you, “I'm the only person in this entire world who understands you. Who really understands you, understands who you really are and is not afraid of you. Who knows your true self.”

"Look at you, you think you’re important,” a dark chuckle skimmed the flesh of your lips, the knife point trailing along the outline of Wanda's jaw then being held against the pale, smooth skin that covered the artery throbbing through her milk-white neck.

“It’s cute. You know, your lack of self-esteem to the point where you don't even bat an eye when I hold a knife to your neck because you know it will please me. Cute. Your pathetic submission is cute.”

“See,” Wanda smiled small, her irises brimming with emerald love that shimmered in the pale light of the pearl lamps above your heads, “I know you, Y/n. I love you. I love you so much that you don't need anyone else in your life. I also don't need anyone else but you. Only you.”

“This is sad. This is really, really sad,” your wrist constrained the knife blade against her collarbone, “Don't move.”

Wanda, ever so obedient, stood still when you carved your initial into her skin – the material of her shirt soaking in a big pool of fresh blood that sprinkled in a trickle onto the laminate kitchen floor; drops the size of a coin. Watching your deed etched atop that sharp bone, she looking so pretty and receptive with hot tears pooling before her clouded emerald eyes, an intrusive thought stabbed the back of your skull like a malignant tumor; maybe you needed Wanda in your life. Maybe you were as needy for her as she was for you.

As she slept later that same night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror you carved the letter "W" against the skin of your own left ribs.

ᗢ

About a month and a few days more had passed, as slowly as the blooming of spring flowers was already leaning towards the final touches of the season, since when your acquaintances learned about your relationship with Wanda of a nature no less than how controversial. You were spiraling down an intense, one-way descent, and you liked it.

The roar of raging thunder broke through the dead of night in an eager burst, so close to the house that, through its windows, in a tiny broken second, cold beams of white light cleared the downpour that raged outside the house, before re-submersing the world in the ambiguities of the nocturnal darkness. The streetlights in the region creaked and shook like lost souls, while the stiff gale gradually swelled as the interminable minutes of the storm passed.

Wanda, however, had not been awakened by the tyrannical, punishing thunder, or by the water hitting the tiles above her head assiduously, as if they were boulders of ice. She, in fact, hadn't even been able to fall asleep to a less-than-light sleep since she'd been snuggled into your king-size bed and comfortable sheets for about a few hours before the storm broke. She had woken up because you weren't in bed with her.

Finding tribulations in her actions, lethargically and slowly, she was able to get to her feet, albeit with difficulty because of the naughty worry radiating through her agitated body. Another thunder tore through the night sky as she left the bedroom. You out of her sight might as well be like a death sentence. The light from the guest bathroom with the door open inward was the only thing illuminating the dark hallway—the warm smell of cigarettes wafted through the air. Wanda knew you used nicotine as a companion in reflective moments.

The room was dark when Wanda entered it. It was just pearly pitch lit by the silver light above the mirror, which cluttered the bathroom up to the stained-glass windows, turning everything an odd platinum blue color that wasn't natural. The atmosphere inside was cold and hazy – as it would be in an authentic cemetery during autumn, when the leaves on the trees are orange and shedding from their branches like children leaving home for the first time.

“Y/n…?”

Wanda found your poor figure hunched over in the corner of the bathtub devoid of water to fill it, hugging your bare legs, wrapping your own slender arms around your knees like an abandoned child, staring at a tile beam on the wall. Your hair was tucked behind both of your ears, soaked in water and another dark liquid, thicker and more compact, which clotted at the ends of your hair and reflected vividly in the fluorescent light. Red.

The wallpaper and the floor tile and the clothes you were wearing were all splattered with great splashes of red, as if a can of scarlet paint had imploded in there – red spilling over everything, the ceiling and the floor and the towels, running down the drain of about five centimeters in diameter.

Her eyelids heaved at the mournful gaze that formed at the edge of the thick green of her snowy irises. On the other side of the tub, just in front of you, she found the inert body of a bloodied girl – her jugular open like a grinning face vomiting clotted blood. Her blood ran thick and heavy from your face; a flickering cigarette dangling from the corner of your lips, smoke rising into the air and only being stopped by the bathroom ceiling, hanging around like a toxic fog.

In cautious strides, Wanda carefully approached the bloodied tub, “Y/n, are you okay, baby?”

“Yes, I am,” you replied in a low voice, still not looking at Wanda standing beside you, “It was raining and I couldn't sleep. So I went out for a while and… she asked me for a ride.”

Wanda glanced at the corpse before sitting on the edge of the rectangular enameled steel tub, like a rag doll full of open patches, still wearing a tube party dress soaked in the color of hemoglobin. As she did, your head dropped down the cheek of her right thigh, blood staining the material of the pajama bottoms she was wearing. She was actually surprised, because you weren't the type to express so much physical affection towards her – yet Wanda's fingers found the crown of your bloodstained head, and there her fingertips bestowed a soothing caress on your scalp.

You took another drag of the cigarette and then dropped the butt on the floor of the bathtub, between your bare feet.

“She said her name is Madison, Madisynn, whatever,” you whispered to Wanda in a low voice, “Kinda reminded me of you. Her appearance, I mean. That's why I chose her.”

“Because you think she looks like me?” The low tone echoed through the bloodied wallpaper.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mussed, “I stayed up all night thinking about how I could kill you. But then I realized that I… I don't want to kill you, Wanda,” you lifted your head, your gaze boring into the vivid green of her eyes, “And then I left and she came asking me for a ride and she looked a lot like you. So it wasn't all that satisfying... because it was kinda like killing you. And I don't think I want that.”

"You don’t want that?"

“No,” again you sunk the skin of your face against Wanda's stained cotton pants, “I think I prefer you alive. It's more fun that way. I like that you’re my girlfriend.”

Her heart rose high in Wanda's chest as soon as the idea became apparent that she would no longer have to live on secretive glances and whispers of love in dark corners, because then, you were girlfriends. You said so. And there was no one else alive in that room that you had to lie to, so it had to be true. You were together, if any unsuspecting onlookers asked you, raising their eyebrows as they did so. You were dating.

Wanda then smiled at you sight, hunched over in a pool of blood in a bathtub and lit by trickles of artificial light. Her victory, her defeat, her obsession. Her girlfriend (touched up by gut marks that crisscrossed your scrawny skin). And then, suddenly it was okay – there would be no severed head, shattered jugular or cut in her own skin (your initial pulsing in her collarbone) that would stop Wanda from loving you as much as she did.

“I also like that you’re my girlfriend, Y/n,” she whispered, her hands smeared with the blood that soaked through your hair, “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

And Wanda didn't care at all when, minutes later, you nearly choked the life out of her when you fucked her just a feet away from a dead body.

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gingiesworld · 6 months

Text

Unhinged Couple

Cannibal Wanda Maximoff x Serial Killer GN! Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: Smut. Amab! Reader. Violence. Death.

Taglist: @ginnsbaker @gb12d @lifespectator @imaginationeuphoria @louxbloom @mfd-101 @abbyromanoff @natashamaximoff-69 @wizardofstories @canvascoloredin @marvelogic @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20

Congratulations @abbyromanoff on your engagement!!!! Hope you both have all the happiness in the world!!!

18+ MINORS DNI

Y/N was sent out to the local club to find their mext victim by any means necessary. So as they sat in the prime booth that overlooked the whole club and bar, they had come across a lonely red headed woman at the bar. She had now ordered her fourth drink without even moving so it seemed as though she was alone, which was perfect in their eyes.

So they decided to approach her, leaning on the bar beside her as they ordered another drink before they turned to face her.

"It seems as though you have come to the wrong place." Y/N stated as they leaned into whisper in her ear.

"Is that so?" The red head challenged.

"Yup." They smirked as they supped on their beer. "This is place is full of people who are having fun or looking for their next fuck, and you are sat here looking as glum as the night."

"So you're a stalker?" She raised a brow as Y/N laughed.

"No, I am a very observant person." They told her as they reached for her hand. "I'm Ry." They held out their hand for her to shake.

"Nat." She shook their hand with a shy smile.

"Nat, that has to be short for Natalia right?" They pondered as Nat giggled.

"Natasha really." She corrected them.

"My apologies." They smiled as they gazed at her, causing her to blush lightly under their intense stare. "Do you want to dance and have fun or would you like stay here and wallow?" They asked her with a raised brow. Nat finished her drink before she stood up.

"Let's dance." She told them with a smile, taking their hand and leading them to the dancefloor. They both danced together, jumping up and down to the beat until Y/N decided to wrap their arm around her, pulling her closer to them as they danced. A smirk dancing on their face as she pushed her ass into them as their hand travelled lower, resting over the dress on her pubic bone.

As Nat continued to grind on their crotch, their cock hardening as her arousal pooled in her underwear. The feeling was sending Y/N almost feral as their hand reached lower, cupping her core and making her moan.

"Turn around." They whispered in her ear, which she complied as Y/N's hand snaked up the front of her dress, rubbing her clit through her underwear as she moaned into their neck. To everyone around, it seemed as though they were just dancing while Y/N thrusted their fingers in and out of her dripping cunt. "Should we get out of here?" They asked her as she nodded. Whimpering as they pulled their hand away from her and dragging her through the club towards the exit.

Y/N led her to their car, opening the passenger side door open for her before they got into the driver's seat. Their hand grazing her exposed thighs as they drove through the dark country roads to the house they shared with Wanda.

Once the two were inside, Y/N pushed her up against the wall as they ripped her under off, continuing their actions from earlier but with three fingers instead of one. The moans that escaped had signalled to Wanda that Y/N was successful in bringing home a new victim.

So she had picked up the syringe she had prepared. Walking through the dark halls quietly as she approached them, anger filling her form as she saw her Y/N so close to another woman in a sinful way. So she had decided to inject the sedative into Nat's neck as she was completely unaware. Before she could reach her climax, she collapsed against Y/N who smirked as they turned to Wanda.

"I never told you to fuck her." Wanda spoke sternly as she opened the door to the basement. Watching as Y/N picked up the unconciouss Nat and took her down the stairs, placing her on the metal table and stripping her dress and leaving her bare.

"It's almost regretful to take someone so beautiful." Y/N told Wanda as they strapped her down, not expecting Wanda to be right behind them as they turned. Gripping their hardened cock through their jeans.

"Did you enjoy fucking her tonight?" Wanda asked as she bit their ear, making them whimper at her touch. "Did you taste her?"

"No." They whispered as Wanda used her other hand to undo their belt. "I only ever used my fingers."

"Did you want to fuck her with what's mine." Wanda asked as she pushed their trousers down. "Did you want to fill her up with your cum."

"No." Y/N shook their head as Wanda started to remove her own clothes after Y/N stood there. All bare and waiting for her. "I only want to feel you wrapped around me. Just you."

"Good." Wanda removed her panties last. "Because you belong to me or you will be on that table next." She told them as she pushed them onto the sofa. "So now shut up and let me ride you."

Wanda lowered herself down onto Y/N's cock. The two moaning as Wanda moved her hips. She gripped their jaw, forcing them to look at her.

"Did you kiss her?" She questioned as she ghosted their lips.

"No." They answered her confidently. "I only ever want to kiss you."

"Good answer." She husked out before she kissed them hard, forcing her tongue into their mouth. Moaning as she tasted the beer they had been drinking.

As the hours went on, Y/N was on their knees as their head was between her thighs. Wanda's hand in their hair as they fucked her with their tongue.

Nat soom started to come around as the sound of Wanda's moans filled her ears. Her eyes looking around and trying to figure out where she was, that was when she had noticed Y/N on their knees and the smell of Wanda's arousal filled her nose.

"You're awake." She spoke followed by a loud moan as she came as Y/N lapped up every drop.

"Where am I?" Nat asked as her body ran cold, Wanda pushed Y/N away as she stood. Her naked form on show for Nat who struggled against the restraints.

"That doesn't matter sweetheart." Wanda spoke as her finger grazed the skin on her stomach. "But you won't be leaving here." Wanda gestured for Y/N to grab their favourite blade, a smirk on both of their faces as Y/N approached.

"Please." Nat pleaded as her eyes were on the knife. "Just let me go." Wanda chuckled darkly as she gripped Nat's jaw.

"I'm afraid we can't do that sweetheart." She taunted as she gazed into Nat's fearful eyes. "But you won't feel a thing soon enough." She then looked to Y/N who ran the blade from Nat's ankle and up to her inner thigh.

"It's a pity you never got to cum darling." Y/N taunted as the blade connected with her cunt.

"Please stop!!" She cried as she tried to break free from the restraints, screaming pleas of help at the top of her lungs as both Wanda and Y/N shared a look.

"That's no use sweetheart." Wanda leaned in closer, their noses brushing as she wore a sickening grin. "There is no one for miles to hear you." She slowly leaned back as Y/N started to saw through her thigh as Wanda smiled at the pain on the woman's face. Once Y/N was finished, Nat soon started to breathe rapidly as Wanda smiled at them. "There's just something about playing with your food that always fascinates me." She told them giddily as Y/N chuckled at her before continuing with the other leg.

"You know Nat, I used to do this differently before I met the love of my life." They started as Nat soon looked defeated, her skin pale as sweat formed on her forehead. "I used to just lure my old victims out like I did with you. You know, have a little fun before I would take my knife and plunge it into their stomach. Again and again as I watched the life fade from their eyes." They approached her arms as Wanda stood beside them, her hand on their arm as she started to press kisses to their skin. "But with Wanda, I do this for her too. I usually just preferred the excitement of the kill. The adrenaline that runs through your veins is just like my own personal heroin." The started on her arm, looking like this was as normal as breathing. "But now I also get the privelege of looking after my Wanda. Making sure she is well looked after."

"Well, I haven't really had to get my hands dirty in over a year now." Wanda chimed in as she started to remove the meat from the bones of the already severed limbs, wrapping them up before placing them in the freezer. "My Y/N gets the thrill and I get my food. I did used to eat like you but I was on a trip. Many years ago, in the middle of Old Russia. We ran out of food and well, the nearest town wasn't for miles and miles." Wanda looked to see Nat was almost gone. "So I done what I had to do to survive, I killed my boyfriend and I ate him. There's just something different about human meat. It's tougher like mutton but tastes just as good as pork, if not better."

"I think we're losing her love." Y/N stated as they stood by Nat's head.

"Well, just put her out of her misery." Wanda told them as they grabbed their knife, grazing her cheek with the blade.

"This will be quick darling, faster than falling asleep." They smirked as they plunged the knife into her heart, watching as the life left her eyes, a sick smile on their face.

"I think I will have plenty for a week. Maybe two." Wanda told them as started on her torso as Y/N wrapped their arms around her naked form.

"Well, whenever you need more my love, I will glady go out for more." They kissed her neck as she chuckled, licking the blood from her fingers as she finished her work. The two then taking the remaining bones to the furnace, throwing them inside before they kissed each other hungrily.

"Let's shower baby." Wanda whispered as she pushed her front flush against Y/N who only groaned as they let her lead the way for an eventful shower.

#gingie's halloween special #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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callsign-dexter · 9 months

Text

Behind Closed Doors (18+)

Request: Hey sweetie 🥰 would you do an imagine for me where you're Phoenix's best friend and share an apartment with her (you're not a pilot) but have a secret relationship with Bradley which she doesn't know. One time you think you're alone at home when he is over so you have some fun, but when you both leave your room nearly naked you find her sitting there. You try to explain but she just glares at you both, but after a while she gives in and explains how happy she is for you?

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing

First Installment- Behind Closed Doors

Second Installment- Out in the Open

Masterlist

You are a high school teacher at Miramar High School on base. You had already lived in California for some years now and were loving it but you needed a roommate, rent on a teacher's salary was hard. You debated on whether or not to get a roommate but didn't want to end up with someone strange or serial killer. You had almost given up when Natasha came to Top Gun looking for a place to stay she called you up, and you immediately said yes.

Natasha took you to the hard deck when you finally had the night off from grading papers and essays, that's when you met the handsome stranger with a mustache and a Hawaiian shirt. She said that she wanted you to meet her friends and fellow coworkers and you were all for it. You both walked into The Hard Deck on a Friday night and the first thing you see where a sea of khaki uniforms, flight suits, and civilian clothing. You weren't a stranger to The Hard Deck, not in the least bit, you had come here a lot with other teachers and friends. You were no stranger to the Navy, not the least bit either, your father being none other than Vice Admiral Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson. You had really thought about going into the Navy but decided against it since the love of teaching and helping kids won over. She dragged you over to her group of friends to say hello. They introduced themselves and you did to them but your gaze lingered on Bradley Bradshaw.

"Hey guys! This is my friend and roommate Y/N!" Natasha said over the loudness of the music and you gave them a wave.

"Hi, I'm Bob. Natasha has told us a lot about you." Bob spoke up first and you turned to look at her.

"All good things I hope." You answered but looked at her and you both smiled and she turned her head.

"Very good things. I'm Bradley." Bradley spoke up and you turned your head to meet his gaze and you could've sworn you fell in love right then and there. You both locked eyes and the rest was history. Your attention was torn away from him when another voice came through.

"I'm Jake. You can call me anytime. You’ll be remembering it when I have you screaming it later tonight. " Jake said with a smirk and you just rolled your eyes.

"I won't be calling you at all or screaming your name because I don't do cocky aviators. Just be glad Penny didn’t hear that." You told him and everyone's jaw dropped there weren't very many people that could take Jake down a peg but they found one person. Jake was silent but still had that stupid smirk on his face.

"Oh, I like her." Jake said then another voice came through.

"I like you. You got Jake to shut up for once. I'm Javy." Javy said and you smiled and said hi back. Finally the last one spoke up.

"My name is Mickey. Sorry for Jake's behavior now and in advance." Mickey said and you laughed.

"No worries. I know how to deal with over confident cocky jocks." You said and Bradley spoke up.

"Oh? What do you do?" He asked curiously and you smiled at him.

"I'm a high school teacher on base. I deal with a lot of teenage testosterone every day." You told him and somehow moved closer to him Natasha saw this and shook her head and moved to stand between you and him.

"I don't think so. You're not taking my best friend." She said and grabbed your arm dragging you away from him "You don't have a drink. We need to get you a drink." She said and dragged you to the bar. Penny came over and met you. You told her your order and Natasha ordered hers and everyone else's. While you wanted you and Bradley stole glances at each other. That's how it went on for the rest of the night. Natasha tried to keep you away from Bradley but every now and then you would make your way over to him and both of you would flirt. It was funny when Natasha noticed you weren't there and would find you and grab you and drag you away, you would smile at Bradley and wave.

By the time everyone was ready to go come most of everyone was drunk. Except you, Bob, and Bradley. Bob assured you that he would get everyone else home safely and you nodded and you told him you would take care of Natasha. Bob started to round up everyone else while you rounded up Natasha that's when Bradley came up to you.

"You need any help?" He asked you and you shook your head but spoke up before he could say anything.

"You can walk us to the car though." You said and he smiled. You would come back later and close out your tab. True to your word he walked you to your car while you put Natasha in the passenger side. She was mumbling incoherent words but you just shook your head and shut the door after making sure she was buckled in and went to the driver's side where Bradley stood. You leaned up against the door and he took your hands and held them.

"So is there a chance I'm going to see you again?" He asked you and you nodded.

"There is a very good chance." You smiled "Give me your phone." You said and he dropped your hands while he dug his phone out and you did the same you both exchanged phones and put your numbers in. He saw your lock screen and wall paper.

"Wait.... that's Cyclone on there. Why would he be on there?" He asked curiously but not mad. It was true your dad was on there it was taken when you had graduated college.

"Because he would be my dad." You said in a matter-in-fact tone. "Don't tell the others. Only you and Natasha know." You said.

"Your secret is safe with me." He said and handed your locked phone back to you and you did the same. You smiled and he opened the door to your Jeep Wrangler. You got in and rolled down the window once you turned the key.

"Have a nice night Bradley." You said with a soft smile and he smiled back.

"You too, Y/N Simpson." He said and you laughed softly and backed and headed back to the apartment. Natasha was knocked out.

You arrived back and woke her up and helped her inside. You made sure the window was closed and the car locked. You helped her to her bedroom where she fell on the bed and went to sleep, you just shook your head and removed her shoes and socks. As you were getting ready for bed your phone buzzed with a notification.

Bradley Bradshaw: I'm really glad to have met you tonight. Any chance I can take you on a proper date?

You: Absolutely. Tomorrow night?

Bradley Bradshaw: Really? Tomorrow night is perfect. Favorite choice of food?

You: I'm not picky but love Thai.

Bradley Bradshaw: It's a date. I'll pick you at 7. I'm looking forward to it. Have a good night.

You: Sounds perfect. I'm looking forward to it too. You have a goodnight too.

You smiled and plugged your phone in and laid down. Looking forward to tomorrow night.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Saturday morning rolled around and you were the first one up. You started making coffee and breakfast when Natasha rolled into the kitchen looking hung over.

"Good morning sunshine." You said in a normal voice but she winced and you chuckled and smirked.

"Oh my gosh. I shouldn't have let Mickey talk me into tequila shots." She said and sat down at the counter and put her head down. You felt bad for you really did.

"Yea I noticed." She looked up when something warm hit her hand.

"Thank you so much." She said and took sip and practically moaned.

"Hey listen. I have a date tonight at 7 tonight. I won't be home until late." You said and that perked her up.

"Oh? With who?" She asked and you smirked.

"Someone I met at the bar last night. We really hit off." You said and she started to try and guess who it was but you denied her each time. She dropped it when you placed pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of her. "Eat up. It'll help with your hangover." You said and started to clean up.

Once you cleaned up you walked past her and pushed her a little bit and got ready for the day. You got dressed and started cleaning the house. Natasha was currently in her room curing a hangover which you didn't mind honestly. You told her that you were meeting your dad for lunch and she gave a thumbs up and you laughed and headed out to meet him.

You met him at a little cafe. It was a tradition you had every Saturday afternoon. You walked in and he got up and hugged you when you met him.

"Hi, daddy." You said to him.

"Hey, sweetheart." He replied and let you go as you both sat down. It was silent for a moment. The waiter came and took your order and they left. Then came back with your drinks.

"I have a date tonight." You told him and he looked at you from putting sugar in his coffee and you did the same.

"With who?" He asked taking a sip, you were hesitant but loved your dad.

"You know him. He's an aviator. Bradley Bradshaw." You said and he stopped drinking.

"Sweetheart-" He started but you stopped him.

"No Dad. I really like him and we're going on a date tonight. You will also not give him a hard time at work understand?" You said making it clear. Right now you sounded just like your father and he was proud of that, then again you dealt with testosterone filled teenage boys.

"I understand." He said just as your food arrived. You all ate and talked and once you were done he paid and you both left. He walked you to your car and hugged you and kissed your head. "Drive safe sweetheart. I love you" You smiled and let go of him.

"Of course Dad. I love you too." You both got in your cars and took off. You ran a couple of errands and stopped by work to grab something and then went home. When you got there Natasha was up and sitting on the couch watching TV with popcorn.

"How was your lunch with your father?" She asked and you smiled while putting away your stuff and kicking off your shoes. You walked to her and joined her on the couch and she passed you the popcorn bowl.

"It was good. Told him I had a date. He didn't get much say in it." You said taking a handful of popcorn. She laughed you were probably the only person to make Cyclone go silent. He would do anything for you. The rest of the day and leading up to 7 PM you sat on the couch with Natasha watching movies and gossiping.

When it hit 5:50 PM you started to get ready for your date with Bradley. You walked to your closest and stood there looking at it then an outfit you absolutely adored made its appearance. You grabbed it and other things and headed to the bathroom conjoined to your room. You took a shower and then applied light makeup and put on the outfit. Your outfit was a pair of jeans with a cute flowing blue short-sleeve shirt. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled you were ready. Your hair was naturally wavy so you didn't have to do anything to it.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

7 PM came around and Natasha had other plans so it all worked out. Bradley came to the apartment door and knocked, you opened the door and he had flowers in his hands and that made you smiled.

"You're so beautiful." Bradley said and you blushed.

"Thank you." You replied.

"These are for you. I hope you like them." He said and gave you the flowers.

"They're beautiful. I love them. I'm just going to put them in a vase." You said and did just that and welcomed him in. You had your back to him when he started to speak.

"I found this awesome Thai place just right outside of the base. You're going to love it." He finished as you turned around and smiled.

"I've heard some good things about it. I've always wanted to go there but never have the time." You told him and he smiled.

"Well I'm glad I'm the first one that will be taking you." He said "You ready to go?" He asked and you nodded.

"Absolutely." You said and the both of you headed out the door and to his Bronco. You got there and he opened the door for you like a true gentleman. He shut the door and got into the driver's side and started it up and started to drive toward the restaurant.

You arrived at the restaurant and he killed the engine and got out and was at your door before you could get your hand on the handle. He held out his hand and you took it letting him guide you out and into the restaurant. You were taken back to your seats and sat down.

"So how do you know Natasha?" He asked you and you smiled.

"I met her when she first came to Top Gun. We hit it off pretty well. I was going to school and helping Penny out. She moved on but we stayed in contact." You said and never nodded. "I hope my dad isn't giving you any problems." You said to him as the waiter came over and took your drink orders.

"No, he's not." He laughed slightly. The waiter came back with your drinks and you were ready to order which you both did. "Does Nat know you're on a date with me?" He asked you and you shook your head.

"No, she does not but my dad does. Don't worry he's ok with it." You said when you saw his panicked face. "What do you say we keep this to ourselves and see how long it takes people to figure out?" You asked him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Let's do it. Nat is going to flip her lid." He said and your food arrived. You ate and talked making easy conversation.

The night ended too fast in your opinion because the next thing you knew you were back at your apartment. He gave you a goodnight kiss on the cheek and you both said that you would like to do it again.

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This is how it went on for 7 months but each time it got more intimate and staying over at his apartment started, you couldn't stay at your apartment because of Natasha. You both would be sneaking around behind Natasha's back but everyone else knew. Everyone else knew because they figured it out especially when you came to give your dad something during your lunch break and waved at Bradley, who smiled and waved back. Nobody else knew you were a Simpson either but they found out that day.

You had just walked into the building where your dad worked. You saw the group of pilots, besides Natasha. They saw you walk in and then Bradley locked eyes with you, you smiled and waved which he returned. You walked off towards the offices and everyone turned to Bradley.

"What was that?" Jake spoke up just as surprised as everyone else.

"You're going to have to be more specific Jake. She waved and I waved back." Bradley said while looking back down at the work that laid in front of him.

"Oh no. That wasn't just a wave to say that was a wave like you've been together and been sleeping around." Javy spoke up and Bradley stayed quiet not wanting to give anything away.

"Wait....... are you dating her?" Javy asked but Bradley stayed quiet.

"You are!" Jake practically screamed

"Keep your voice down." Bradley said finally looking over at the pilots. He didn't get to speak much more because Cyclone came walking in with his always neutral look and you on his left side. Everyone shoots up and at attention.

"At ease." He said and everyone relaxed and sat down. "This is my daughter, Y/N. I'm dropping her off here right now before she has to go back to work and because I need to get to a meeting. Be nice to her." He said and turned to you.

"If I don't see you again after I get out of this meeting, be safe driving back and I love you." He said and kissed you on the cheek everyone was surprised.

"I will. I love you too." You said as you pulled away from kissing his cheek. He turned and walked off. Everyone was looking at you. After making sure he was truly gone you tackled Bradley in a hug and kissed him hard. Everyone was shocked.

"Oh stop your staring. We're fine with it as along as Nat doesn't know. She'll flip her lid." You told them and they all nodded. You sat on Bradley's lap and you all talked about anything and everything until you looked down at your watch. "Oh shit! I got to go!" You said and scrambled off of Bradley "I'll text you." You told him and you were out the door. As you were hurrying Natasha popped up but you didn't have time to stop and chat. "Hey, Nat. Bye, Nat. I'm late." You said and she waved as you sped down the hallway. She just laughed.

Back in the room, everyone was shocked. Jake quickly got over it and a sly smirk came on his face. "You sly dog. You're fucking her aren't you?" He said and Bradley couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe you're hooking up with the Vice Admiral's daughter." He continued "Does he know?" He asked and Bradley nodded his head.

"She told him that we were going on a date. She said that he was good with it." Bradley said looking up at him just as soon as Natasha walked in having not heard any of the conversation and it was dropped but they gave Bradley a knowing look.

Every now and then Bradley would come up to meet you in your classroom just to see you or have lunch with you. On many occasions, he was still there when students started to roll in. Many of the female students stood there gawking at the handsome male aviator, who was either in his flight suit or khaki uniform.

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Natasha did find out a week after that. It had just become your and Bradley’s 8-month anniversary of dating. You had thought she was going to be gone for most of the morning staying at the base for something she had to do that night, even though it was a Saturday night and Sunday morning. You thought you were clear and you were for the night but not the morning when she came back earlier than what was planned.

You and Bradley had just come back from dinner and sat down on the couch and turned on a random movie. You both weren't paying attention to it too busy with each other. It started with you wanting to watch the movie but then Bradley started by kissing your neck and then he was slowly turning you so that you were facing him. The kissing was slow and passionate. You could feel his one hand that wasn't holding your neck start to creep up your thigh.

"Wait wait." You said and he pulled back with a confused look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" He asked sounding hurt.

"No nothing is wrong everything is perfect. But if we're going to have hot passionate sex I want it to be in the bedroom and not on the couch." You said and watched his face relax.

"You got it, darlin." He said while effortlessly picking you up which made you let out a squeal and clung to him. He started to kiss you again and you kissed back. You could feel how hard he was getting and it only turned you on more. He stumbled his way to your room all of a sudden you felt the mattress on your back and he climbed on top of you kissing you and touching you. It was all too much but it was perfect.

"You're perfect darling." He said as he slowly took your shirt off followed by your bra. He attached to your left nipple and started sucking and gently biting it, which had you moaning and grabbing his head. Your fingers raked his scalp. He moaned and that sent vibrations through your body. He pulled off your left nipple and gave the right one the same attention.

"Bradley." You moaned his name. You could feel him smirking he suddenly pulled off and kissed down your sternum to the start of your jeans and then he started to unbutton the buttons looking up at you.

"You're amazing. You deserve everything." He said while looking up at you as he took off your jeans and underwear and you lifted up helping him.

"You're amazing too. You should be shown appreciation too." You said starting to get up but he wouldn't let you. He quickly shed his clothing and climbed on top of you. He kissed you and you kissed back then he attacked your neck which had you a moaning mess. He quickly made his way down your sternum and to where you needed him the most.

"Later but now it's all about you." He said and you could feel his breath hit your vagina. He licked a broad stripe up and you let out a photographic moan and you felt him smirk. You were wet already but this just made you wetter. He kept going and then he was suckinf on your clit which had that familiar rubber band feeling coming to you. Occasionally he would tease your opening with your tongue. What made that rubber band snap was when he gently bit your clit and your vision turned white and stars could be seen.

After a few minutes, you came down from your high and he was crawling up and kissing you letting you taste yourself. You only broke apart when you needed air. "You're amazing." You told him and he smikred.

"You are too." He replied as he moved one hand down to his now leaking pre-cum cock giving it a pump and lining up with your entrance and pushing in. You threw your head back and your hands when to his back and raked your nails down his back leaving marks, he hissed out but in pleasure. "You're always so tight. It's like you were made for me." He said through the pleasurable pain.

"Oh fuck." You moaned out "More." You said almost demanding.

"Yes, ma'am." He said loving that you were making orders. He started to thrust into you and he hit you in all the right places. He brought one hand to catch both of your wrists in his large hands and brought them up above your head. He started to attack your neck with hot passionate kisses. He used his other hand to attack your sensitive clit which had you spreading your legs further. By doing that he started thrusting deeper and hit your g-spot. You were quickly coming to your second orgasm. "I'm close darling." He said and you knew it was true by his thrusts getting sloppily.

"Cum in me." You said and he nodded. He started to pick up his speed in thrusting and on your clit until you both hit your peak. His hips stilled as his cum painted your walls rope and rope and you came on his cock.

You both came down and he gently pulled out and laid next to you and you laid your head on his chest. The room smelt of sex and all that could be heard was both of you heavy breathing. "I'm so glad to be with you. I love you." You said and he dropped a kiss on your forehead.

"Me too darling. I love you too." He replied and both of you fell asleep.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

It was the next morning and neither of you had to work since it was a Sunday. So you decided to pay Bradley a favor and show him the attention he deserved. You woke up before him and slowly kept down until you were at his flaccid cock. You slowly wrapped your hand around him and started to pump him until he was semi-hard, he started to moan but he was sleeping still. He took him in your mouth and started bobbing up and down and dipping your tongue into his slit. He started to thrust into your mouth and you hallowed your cheeks to take him further. It was a good thing that your gag reflex was almost nonexistent.

Bradley slowly opened his eyes and looked down at you. You had your eyes closed but sensed he was watching you and opened them and looked at him through your lashes. He put one hand on your head but didn't press down. He was close. He was moaning and almost panting. "Yes, Darling. I'm close." He said After a few minutes, you came up for air, but immediately went back and swirled your tongue around his tip, and that is what sent him over the edge. He came into your mouth, and you could taste his salty cum and swallowed it all. You pulled off of him when he was down and wiped the excess into your mouth. "What was that for?" He asked you.

"Well, you took such good care of me last night that I decided to repay you the favor." You said and he pulled you up to him and kissed him. He could taste himself. You pulled away for air.

"Get dressed, I'll make breakfast." He said and helped you get up. You slipped on your underwear after you found it, and on his oversized shirt, you forfeited the bra. He got up and pulled on his boxers. As he followed you out into the hallway you stopped short, because right in front of you in the kitchen was none other than your roommate, Natasha Trace. You stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

"Natasha. I thought you weren't supposed to be back until later this morning." You said and grabbed a pair of sweatpants that just so happened to be in the hamper. Bradley had gone back to the room and grabbed his pants. You were wearing his shirt so he forgot about it, it's not like she hasn't seen him thought a shirt.

"I got done early." She said slowly back "What is Bradley doing here? Why are you wearing his shirt?" She asked she had a feeling what the answer was going to be.

"I think you should sit down." Bradley said from behind you and you both walked into the kitchen and you both sat down on the barstool and she sat down at the table.

"Ok. I'm sitting." She said glaring at the two of you.

"I'm just gonna come out and say it." You said, "Bradley and I have been dating for 8 months." You finished and waited for her to blow up but she was just glaring at the two of you.

"Do the others know?" Natasha asked and you nodded.

"They found out last week when I went to drop something off to dad." You said.

"Why was I the last to know?" She asked still glaring.

"I know you wanted me to stay away from him but he's been so sweet to me. I know you were just trying to protect but Nat, I love him." You said she was still glaring but nodded and then turned her attention to Bradley.

"If you dare hurt her or break her heart. I'll be coming after you. I know where you sleep, and work, and you know how I am in the air. Not to mention I know her father." She said to him and he nodded.

"I'm not planning on doing any of those things. I love her too much." Bradley said looking at you dreamily and you looked back at him with the same look. Natasha saw this and finally stopped glaring.

"I am really happy for you guys. Still upset that I was the last to know, but that can be settled with you two buying me a drink at The Hard Deck." She said and you both looked at her and nodded.

"Deal." You and Bradley said at the same time.

"I'm gonna start making breakfast. Nat why don't you go and change?" Bradley said and she nodded and got up and headed off down the hallway. As she was walking she called over her shoulder.

"You better not have fucked anywhere in the kitchen or on the couch!"

You both laughed and shook your heads. You haven't yet but time will tell.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun fandom #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun fan fiction #top gun fic #top gun fics #beau simpson x daughter!reader #cyclone x daughter!reader

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 years

Text

A Secret Love

MAIN MASTERLIST

MARVEL MASTERLIST

Tony Stark x Writer!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,780ish

Request: Tony Stark x writer!reader where they have been in a relationship for years but the avengers don't really notice until they see her name on a book hyphenated with his? Thank you so much!

Warnings: allusions to sex

Notes: I hope this is enjoyable! (I’m actually questioning how good this actually eyes.) Please let me know thoughts/reactions!

Tony felt like his habits were rubbing off on you. Yes, he had been in the lab for almost twenty-four hours but, as he pulled up to your apartment building at two in the morning, he could see your bedroom light still on. He sighed, shaking his head as he parked his car. He slipped on the baseball cap and sunglasses he had sitting in the passenger seat before getting out of his car.

As Tony headed up to your apartment, he was reminded yet again of why he so desperately wanted to move you to the Tower. The place had no security, the elevator was constantly breaking, and he was pretty sure the neighbor across from you was a serial killer. He had tried and tried to convince you to move, even to just a nicer apartment with security if not the Tower, but you refused. He would have let it go a lot sooner if you weren’t his secret wife.

You were an author, almost ready to officially release your very first book. The two of you had met at one of his parties over a year ago. You had been dragged along by Natasha, having met her in a club a few months prior. Tony had immediately taken interest in you while you, knowing his reputation, had been wearier of him. If Tony was one thing though, he was persistent especially when he absolutely wanted something. And he wanted you more than anything he had ever wanted before.

Once you agreed to the first date, things quickly took off from there. Your relationship grew at a fast pace, though no one knew any better. You had expressed early on in your relationship that you wanted to keep it a secret until your first book was out. You wanted to do the work yourself to get it out without having people believe that Tony helped with any part of it. Tony was surprisingly understanding, really only caring if he could still be with you.

You hung out with Tony and the Team often at the Tower. Tony and you snuck kisses and other small touches here and there and were extremely careful to not get caught. You had quickly learned that, even for a group of spies and superheroes, none of them could truly keep a secret, especially from each other.

It was about two months ago when your and Tony’s relationship really shifted. He had gotten back from a mission that really shook him up and all he wanted to do was see you. So beaten, bruised, bloody, and still in his suit, Tony stumbled into your apartment. He quickly pulled you into him, kissed you with a passion you had never experienced before, and told you to marry him. You quickly responded with a yes and the two of you were secretly married at City Hall later that day.

Tony was never known as a truly patient man. He was trying for you, but he was counting down the days until your book was officially out to the public and you could move into the Tower. Opening the door to your apartment with the copy of the key he had, he quickly slipped in and took off his hat and glasses as he closed the door behind him. Tony followed the faint light emanating from your bedroom to find you hunched over at your desk, working on your laptop.

“Honey,” his voice was full of love yet was in a reprimanding tone. He came over and placed his hands on your shoulders, starting to massage out the knots. “You should be asleep.”

“In a minute,” you mumbled, focusing on the screen. “This has to be done and submitted before seven am. I can’t miss this deadline or my book will be pushed back two more weeks and I can’t have that because my lease will then be up and I can’t move into the Tower until the book is released and—“

“Okay, okay, slow down, honey. You’re starting to panic. If you don’t make this deadline, that’s okay. We will handle this. You moving into the Tower before the book comes out won’t do you any harm.”

“You don’t know that! It could ruin the entire release plan and then my publisher will throw a fit! And then I will probably be blacklisted and no one will ever want to publish another one of my books ever again and—“

“Honey, honey,” Tony turned your chair around and squatted down so that he could force you to look at him if you tried to hide your eyes from him. “You’re spiraling. You’re tired and overwhelmed. You need to sleep.”

You shook your head. “I need to finish it.”

“No. I’m using the husband card since I am unable to as often as I would like. You are going to bed.”

“But—“

“No. You are going to bed, even for just a few hours. It will help.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Let’s go.”

Tony was grateful that you let him pull you from your chair and guide you to your bed. He threw the covers back before you slipped in, allowing him to then tuck you in. Quickly, Tony turned off the lights and crawled into bed behind you. He pulled you into his chest only to realize that you had already fallen asleep. He smiled softly to himself before kissing the side of your head and falling asleep himself.

~~~

You would never verbally admit this, but Tony had been right. You had needed sleep. When you woke up four hours later, your mind felt a lot better than it had when Tony found you. Glancing at the clock, you figured out that you had about an hour before your deadline and felt the need to get back to work. You eased yourself out of Tony’s arms, to not wake him, and tip-toed over to your desk.

Before you knew it, you finished what you needed to on your book and submitted it. You glanced at the clock to see that you had ten minutes left to spare. Smiling triumphantly you leaned back in your chair before turning it to face Tony. Your head feel against your shoulder as you watched him sleep. Your husband rarely ever got a good night’s rest, especially one that allowed him to look as peaceful as this.

Eventually, you pushed yourself off the chair and crawled back in beside Tony. You wrapped your arms around him and pushed one of your legs between his, trying to be as close to him as possible. Tony’s body moved closer to you in response. He let out a hum as his head found its way to bury in your neck. You giggled slightly, kissing his head.

“Morning,” Tony mumbled against you, arms wrapping around you.

“Morning, sweetheart,” you replied, one of your hands coming up to comb through his hair.

“How long have you been up?”

“Only about an hour. Finished what I needed to.”

Tony looked up with a proud glee in his eyes. “I knew you would.” He pecked your lips lightly. “Should we celebrate?” A mischievous glimmer filled his eyes with a matching smirk to go with it. “I know a way that usually gets a pretty great reaction out of you.”

One of Tony’s hands began trailing down your side to the band of your leggings. You licked your lips as you began to feel the need between your legs.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Show me how proud you are of me.”

“It would be my genuine pleasure.”

~~~

“Hey Y/N!” Steve greeted you when he saw you exit the elevator. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be busy with your book coming out.”

“Oh, I am,” you responded. “Press starts in the morning. I just came by to talk to Tony real quick.”

“He’s up in the lab.” You turned to head toward the staircase that would lead to the lab on the next level. “Hey Y/N,” Steve called to stop you.

“Yeah?” You turned back to face him.

“I know it’s really none of my business. But have you and Tony ever considered a relationship? You are really good for him. He’s changed—for the better—since meeting you.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, trying not to laugh, “I’ve thought about it. I just have wanted to get my book out first.”

“Makes sense,” Steve nodded. “Sorry if I pushed too much.”

“You didn’t, Steve. Don’t worry.”

You left Steve and headed to the lab. You were thankful to find Tony in there all by himself. He was hunched over his workbench, fixing something on his suit. You came up from behind him, wrapped your arms around him, and kissed below his ear.

“Hey there, hubby,” you teased in his ear.

Tony smiled, dropping the supplies in his hands. “Hey, wifey,” he replied.

He cranked his head to be able to kiss you on your lips. As you kissed, you loosened the arms you had around him, allowing him to turn to face you.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked when the two of you finally separated. “Are you ready for the press tour?”

“I think so,” you responded.

“Are you ready for the world to finally know about us?”

You nodded. “It will be an adjustment for sure. But yes. We shouldn’t hide this any longer. The Team isn’t going to be happy that we’ve kept this from them for so long.”

“They’ll get over it.” He kissed you sweetly again. “I’m going to be by your side the entire tour. I’ve already worked it out with Pepper.”

“Does she know about us?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But it’s Pep, so probably.”

“Right,” you gave a firm nod. “Are you staying and my place tonight? I need help packing and then—“

A loud siren interrupted you, paired with red alarm lights. Tony quickly let you go, heading for one of his suits on the wall as Steve and Natasha came rushing in.

“There’s an attack in Europe!” Steve exclaimed.

“Of course, there is,” Tony muttered.

“Clint’s prepping the quinjet,” Natasha stated. “Everyone else is getting their things together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions together. You always struggled with Tony going away on missions, but today was different. Right now was big time for you. You wanted Tony—your husband—by your side. But of course, neither of you could choose when the bad guys would attack.

“Sorry for interrupting your visit, Y/N,” Steve apologized, “but we need all hands on deck for this one.”

You forced out a brief smile. “It’s no problem,” you replied. “The world needs their heroes.”

Steve nodded, still looking sorry before his eyes moved to Tony. “We’ll meet you down at the jet.” He and Natasha quickly rushed out.

You sighed, shoulders shagging as your head hung. Tony hated how he had no control over leaving you. It was doing it for you—keeping the world safe—even though he knew that it would hurt you. He came back over to you before entering his open suit. His hands rested on your arms, thumbs rubbing against you.

“I promise that I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, sorrow in his voice.

“Just… stay safe. Please,” you begged, meeting his gaze. “I can handle the tour. I just can’t handle you not coming back.”

“I will always come back as long as I have you to come back to.” He leaned in and kissed you lovingly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~~~

“So, Y/N,” the female news anchor started, “your first book is just about to release digitally in the next few moments, with it to release physically next month. Are you ready?”

You took a deep breath. That question was more of a loaded question than the anchor even knew. Where you ready to reveal the truth about your relationship? To be more than just a new author, but to be Tony Stark’s wife?

“Yes,” you finally responded with a smile. "Yes, I am.”

“Let’s do it then,” the anchor responded.

The cover of your book appeared on the screens around you. It hadn’t been revealed yet, to keep your relationship a secret, but now there it was. It was staring back at you, the cover with your name at the bottom: Y/N L/N-STARK.

“Stark?” The news anchor read aloud. Her brows furrowed as she looked at you for an answer.

“I guess it’s better late than never,” you smiled, knowingly.

~~~

The news traveled fast. Your interviews were now more focused on your relationship with Tony and how the two of you were able to keep it a secret for so long, and less on your book. You weren’t too mad though. Turns out, you really enjoy talking about your relationship, especially after not being able to.

The Team were the ones kept out of the loop. Multiple things went wrong on the mission, causing them to not have access to anything that could break the news about your and Tony’s relationship to them. They were gone, without a word, for two weeks. This caused you, unfortunately, to have to do the entire press tour yourself. You knew that Tony would quickly make it up to you though, knowing that you had wanted him there.

Happy and a few other Stark assistants helped you move your items into the Tower while the Team was still gone. This allowed you to change some things around in your new shared room before Tony came home and tried to pick a fight with you about the changes.

“Does it seem like there’s more press outside the Tower than normal?” Bucky asked, looking out the window as Clint went to land the quinjet on the Tower’s platform.

“It does,” Steve responded, noticing it as well.

Tony couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. He knew what the press was doing out there and that meant that you were in the Tower. You were finally home and he could finally tell the world that you were his.

“What did you do Stark?” Sam asked, seeing the man’s growing smile.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Tony responded.

Natasha groaned, rolling her eyes. “I am too tired to put up with your antics today,” she said.

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one.”

The quinjet landed and Tony was the first one to saunter out. He immediately went searching for you. The Team followed him, curious as to what was going on. They ended up in the main common area, where you had piles of your book on the large dining. You were sitting at the table, signing books. Your head snapped up when you heard people coming.

“Tony!” You squealed. You hopped up, rushed around the table, and launched yourself at him.

Tony chuckled, catching you easily as he stumbled back slightly. “Hey, honey.”

You brought Tony in for a long-awaited kiss, not caring who else was in the room.

“I knew it!” Clint exclaimed.

“Huh, guys,” Steve caught the group's attention, holding up a copy of your book. “Did we sleep through the wedding?”

Natasha quickly ripped the book from Steve’s hand. “What the hell?” She questioned.

You and Tony had finally stopped kissing and were standing together, holding each other close as you watched your friend's reactions. They all turned to face you, varying degrees of emotions in their eyes.

“I guess we should officially tell you that—“

“Y/N and I have been married for a little over four months now,” Tony quickly cut you off. “And we will be answering questions tomorrow or you can feel free to watch the interviews that I’m sure she has out there already answering questions.”

“But—“ Steve tried.

“Nope,” Tony shook his head. “I’ve been away from my wife for too long and need some time alone with her.”

“Sorry,” you smiled at the Team. “I’ll make sure to answer your questions in the morning.” Tony began ushering you to the elevator.

“You better!” Natasha shouted after you both. “I am owed! I introduced the two of you!”

“FRIDAY, please lock down our floor as soon as we’re there,” Tony said. “We don’t need Red storming after us.”

You laughed. “I’m sure she’ll get in if she wanted to,” you told him with a pat on his chest.

His eyes drew dark with lust as he pulled you closer to him. “Well, then I guess we should be sure to give her a show.”

#Tony Stark fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark x wife!reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark x female!reader #tony stark x f!reader #tony stark x writer!reader #iron man fanfiction #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #avengers x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers imagines #avengers imagine

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wandanatsgf · 2 months

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PSA I have a fic being posted tomorrow morning at 11am est. It is a dark, serial killer Natasha smut, which I understand is not for everyone. I’ve included a list of warnings and kinks in the post!!

#natasha x reader smut #dark!natasha x reader #serial killer!natasha #Natasha Romanoff

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archivomeow · 1 month

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fic recommendations !!

all on ao3

CRIMINAL MINDS

„careful” / spencer reid x fem!reader, you’re his ex and you’re on the list of potential future victims of a serial killer, he targets single mothers, spencer quickly realises the child could be his. [ the fic is fresh, new chapters come out every friday, as i post this there are two chapters posted ]

MARVEL

„i won’t let go of your hand” / Natasha & Yelena escape the red room together at the age of 22 and 17. [ the fic has multiple parts and honestly it’s amazingly written, it includes characters like maria, nick, carol, bobbi and more ]

!! list will be updated as i read more fics !!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #yelena belova

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riveramorylunar · 1 year

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POV- Killers Leonora, Maria, Natasha and Nemuri go to a fair with Reader

Leonora: What the hell is this crap, it's absolutely boring.

Nemuri: *Eyes light up* Let's go kill someone

*Natasha, Maria, Leonora and Y/N look at her*

Y/N: Absolutely not

*the four look at her*

Maria: Well you're not the boss of us so we can do whatever we want

Y/N: oh *laughs sarcastically* I'm your girlfriend so you have to listen to what I say

*they all go silent as they look at each other*

Natasha: Sorry detka but we haven't killed in days *she says as she picks up Y/N and slings her over her shoulder*

Y/N: PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW NATASHA

Natasha: *sets Y/N down and holds out 10 ten dollar bills* go knock yourself out while we go have fun

Y/N: *Narrows eyes before snatching the money and running off*

*the four women proceed to go kill people while Y/N plays games while ignoring all the screaming and running people around her*

A/N: I had to write this since I thought it was an interesting idea.

#Leonora Lesso x Reader #Maria Hill x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Nemuri Kayama x Reader #Leonora Lesso my Handsome Dean Of Evil 🔥🪄#Mar Mar My Baby💙🖤#Natty Bear My Love 🧸❤️🖤#Nemmie My Beloved Midnight💜☄️#Dark Serial Killer Leonora Lesso #Dark Serial Killer Maria Hill #Dark Serial Killer Natasha Romanoff #Dark Serial Killer Nemuri Kayama #Dark Leonora Lesso #Dark Maria Hill #Dark Natasha Romanoff #Dark Nemuri Kayama #Dark Variants

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riversdarkblog · 1 year

Text

Reader ↓

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natsarrownecklacx · 8 months

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Cruelty Is An Art Form

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count- 1,920

Summary- Your the daughter of one of New York’s most known Mob leaders. Unfortunately, you’ve caught the attention of New York’s most feared Mob leader, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings- Minors this fic isn’t for you, Allusion to murder, Dark Mob Natasha, Thigh riding, marking, allusion to non con.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

There is no evil known to mankind worse than Natasha Romanoff. Of this, you are almost certain.

Sure there are other terrible things that plague the world like famine, natural disasters and horrific diseases, but the difference between Natasha and all of those things is that, when it comes to how they affect people, it isn’t their fault. All of those things are more or less out of our control, and the way they impact people, out of their control.

Natasha however, is practiced with her cruelty. Each and every ounce of pain and suffering she inflicts is calculated and purposefully. She takes a pride in it that could only be measured to that of a parent towards their child or an artist towards their art.

Usually when a person contains this type of passion for cruelty it would be contained to the unfortunate few people who find themselves in the presence of the evil being who cultivates it. For example serial killers or people with an affinity for torture and their victims.

Sadly this isn’t the case with Natasha Romanoff, who has enough power and influence that her cruelty spans over hundreds if not thousands of people, even if they do not realize it. As the leader of one of the most powerful and dangerous gangs in New York City, Natasha’s control spans just over triple the city's population.

She is known throughout the underworld of gang leaders as the “black widow”, the name being given to her in recognition of the countless bodies she has left up and down the coast of many cities across the globe.

No one would dare mess with her, in any way, unless they had a death wish. Even then, unless that person wanted to die in the most slow and torturous ways even the darkest minds could not conceive, they would stay far, far away from her.

Which is something you’ve, thankfully, managed to do for all twenty years of your life, despite your fathers standing as a rival gang leader in New York. One that, for the past few months, Natasha has been taking territory from.

To Natasha anyone other than herself and the few people of her inner circle are merely ants ready to be squashed under her boot at a moments notice, even purely for her own twisted entertainment. So she did not know, nor did she care, who’s territory she was taking over, nor did she fear any backlash from the unknown ant.

Your father let her behavior slide, for the sake of peace and to avoid the possibility of innocent civilians getting harmed in the crossfire if he were to start a war between his own gang and the widows.

He has warned you to stay far away from her, away from any territory she deemed her own, in fear that she may recognise you and harm you for the sake of sending a message to not only him but the other leaders in the city.

So you did as he asked and stayed away, not wanting to cause any problems for your father or anyone else. But how were you to know that while you were on a night out with your friends that the redhead would choose the exact bar you occupied and claim it as her own, killing the previous owner where he sat in his office before strolling her way up to the bar to order herself a glass of vodka.

Natasha sits at the bar, glass in hand as she lazily surveys the room, looking for someone to sate her need for the night, getting her use out of the unwitting victim before killing them.

As she moves her gaze around the room her eyes land on you, a pretty girl on the dance floor moving her hips along to the music in a way that catches Natasha’s attention and stops her mid way raising her glass to her mouth.

She watches you for a few moments, her darkening eyes drinking in every sway and move of your body as you lose yourself to the music and atmosphere around you, dangerously unaware of the predator approaching.

Natasha is unaware of who you are and in all honesty, she doesn’t care, her plan for you remains the same. Act like the sweet gentle woman she never will be, convince you to accompany her back to her mansion, use you like a toy until the sun comes up and then discard you like the broken used thing you will be once she's finished with you.

Natasha approaches you, reaching a hand out to your waist, moving her body against yours to the beat of the music. She treads lightly, not wanting to scare you off before she can get you at least into her car. The idea of making a public scene tonight just seems like an annoying headache for the redhead.

Feeling a feminine body slid in behind you mould to your own does not bother you, even as her hands slid sensually around your waist, pulling you flush against her. You relish in the attention from the unknown woman.

Natasha drags her lips against the pulse point of your neck causing you to tilt your head back, needing to give her more room. She suctions her lips to your neck, intent on leaving a mark and branding you as hers. Her toy for the night, her slut made to proudly wear her marks.

You can’t help the moan that quietly spills from your lips at the action, leaning your head back against her shoulder and moving your left hand up to grip the hair on the back of her neck, holding her in place while she leaves her marks on your skin.

Natasha slides her arms fully around your waist, tightening her hold on you and locking you in place as she slots her thigh between your legs. Your breath catches in your throat at the action and a whimper follows soon after when the mystery woman whispers “Move your hips, baby” in your ear hotly.

You do as she says, moving your hips slowly up and down her suit clad thigh. Her warm mouth continues its attack on the delicate skin of your neck, nipping and biting every so often to ensure her marks are clear.

The whole interaction makes you want to melt against her, melt into her, succumb to the pleasure the woman is bringing you. That is, until she tenses the muscles in her leg, the hard muscle hitting your clit just right in a way that has you moaning out “fuck” and tightening your hold on the redheads hair to the point that you cause her pain.

Natasha bites down hard on your neck in retaliation, the force of her teeth strong enough to nearly draw blood.

You gasp and quickly jerk your body away from her. Natasha loosens her hold, allowing you to turn and face her but still keeps you in her grasp. You spin around quickly, determined to tell her off for such a violent act.

Your breath is stolen from your lungs the second your eyes land on the woman your father spent countless day’s warning you away from.

Your eyes fill with fear, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead, and you try to take a step back.

Natasha only tightens her grip on your waist, a smirk falling against her lips while confusion flickers behind her eyes. She can see from the look on your face that you know who she is, what she is capable of, yet she doesn’t know how. Word of the infamous black widow isn’t exactly common knowledge with the civilians in the city.

“You know me.” Natasha muses, tilting her head to the side slightly, her eyes lighting up when she feels you try to step away from her again. “And you're afraid.” She says, the smirk on her face nearly doubling in size, as she takes a step toward you.

Your eyes move frantically around the room, desperately looking for the men your father sent with you everywhere. Your body guards, as you call them, or your “protection detail” as they like to call themselves.

Natasha’s hold on your waist tightens again, pulling you flush with her front and ignoring your attempts to squirm away. Your attention turns back to her and you have to gulp down your fear at the sight of the look in her eyes. It truly feels to you as though she is a starved, deranged predator and you are her prey.

Natasha takes a moment to look you over, appraising you, while you squirm under her heavy stare, your eyes move away from her, unable to continue looking at her with the intensity of the moment.

“You're a pretty little thing aren’t you.” Natasha muses, gripping your jaw in her rough, calloused fingers and forcing you to look at her. Using her hold on your face she pulls you closer to her, until you are just a breath away.

Your mind tells you to slap her, to spit in her face, kick her between the legs and run as fast as your feet can carry you. Your survival instincts tell you otherwise, screaming at you that if you want to survive then you have to keep her as calm as possible until your fathers men realize where you are.

So you stand as still as you can, your hands making fists at your sides in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Natasha’s eyes glance down to your clenched fists, a smile sliding its way onto her face before her eyes move back to your face.

She moves her mouth next to your ear, her warm breath hitting your skin while she whispers to you. “Let me tell you a secret little dove.” You feel her lips smile against your skin, trailing a short path up and down the skin of your cheek before she speaks again. “I like it when pretty girls like you are afraid. The look you all get in your eyes when your afraid for your life…”

Natasha moves her hands to rest on the small of your back, moving your body in one swift jerk so that your thigh rests between her legs. She doesn’t waste a second before grinding down on the plush skin of your thigh, a grown falling from her lips at sensation. “... it gets me so, so wet, angel.”

Natasha feels more than hears the gasp that leaves your mouth, feels the air hit her face as she pulls back to look at you again. That annoying smirk is back on her face, her eyes dark with lust and need. You jerk your leg from between hers, narrowing your eyes at the fake pout she wears at the action.

Natasha tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her eyes never leaving your face as she whistles a tune you’d never heard before. Within the blink of an eye nearly fifty bodies hit the floor, each of them going down silently, without so much as a scream, as though someone had simply powered them off.

You look around in shock and horror, your mind running through how she could have done something like that and if you’d be next.

“Don’t worry, angel.” Natasha coos, her voice a poor imitation of someone attempting to be soothing. “I won’t kill you.” She smiles, bringing her hands up to cup your face.

“You're of no use to me dead.”

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

A/n- Currently obsessed with dark mob boss Nat, let me know what you think so far, part two will be out this day next week

Part Two

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #Dark Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Mob boss Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff smut

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novoaa1writes · 10 months

Text

day 0

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pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call.

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too.

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual.

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else.

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony.

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless.

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub.

All bark, no bite.

A far less jaded woman might have snorted.

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not.

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger.

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw.

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine.

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill.

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him.

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him.

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.”

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there.

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha…

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable.

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow.

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking.

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding.

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too.

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one.

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past.

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over.

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness.

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned.

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point.

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing.

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether.

Not again.

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed.

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before.

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English.

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty.

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you.

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear.

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve.

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well.

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr.

It was like he’d rewired your brain.

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born.

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both.

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?”

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared.

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy.

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually.

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough.

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest.

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone.

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice.

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about?

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing.

He wasn’t the only one.

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two.

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features.

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two.

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine.

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents.

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #stuff i wrote

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