❛ㅤ𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗦

In the stillness of the world between,

Where breath falters but souls convene,

I found you—luminous, like a flame undimmed,

Your touch, the hymn of a life untrimmed.

Oh, how your gaze unraveled time,

Each blink a sonnet, each sigh a rhyme.

Your arms, the cradle where stars lay down,

And I, a wanderer, wore love as my crown.

Through corridors of death’s quiet shade,

We wove a promise no scythe could invade.

A vow in whispers, a kiss in the ash,

Not even the grave could make it clash.

For what is death to love, my dear,

But the breaking of flesh, the ending of fear?

We are the roots beneath the tomb,

Entwined in shadow, outlasting doom.

I’ll seek you beyond the veil’s embrace,

Where the heart knows neither time nor place.

For in that realm where the lovers meet,

Life bends knee, and death retreats.

So call me yours, beyond the sky,

Where stars go quiet and angels cry.

For love like ours, eternal and wild,

Knows no ending, just the return to the child—

The child in us who dreamed of forever,

And willed the cosmos to sever

Every chain that sought to part

This endless entwining of heart to heart.

Let tears carve rivers in your name,

Let life and death bow to our flame.

For love like ours, fierce and divine,

Transcends all ends, forever entwined.

This is just me being silly and sentimental in the wee hours of the morning. There are stories and poems that really should be shared, and well, here we are. Enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,2 K

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: As the rain falls harder, they share confessions and quiet reassurances, two fractured souls choosing each other against all odds. With poetic, bittersweet intensity, their love becomes a fragile yet indestructible force, one that neither chaos nor danger can break.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Mutual Pining, Emotional Vulnerability, Slow-Burn Intensity, Post-Mission Angst, Rain as Symbolism, Quiet Love, Soft and Dangerous.

Cause I'm dangerously in love with you

I'll never leave

Just keep loving me

The way I love you, loving me

ㅤㅤㅤ❛ㅤThe air was thick with rain, its weight pressing into the cracked pavement and the rusted edges of lampposts that flickered weakly against the endless dark. Somewhere, a distant neon sign hummed its plea to the world: OPEN, OPEN, OPEN. But the streets were empty, a ghost town swept clean by the storm. A place forgotten, much like the two souls who stood beneath the slow drizzle of water, watching each other in silence.

Natasha’s fingers twitched at her sides, her usual sharpness dulled by the woman standing across from her—the one with eyes like a crack in the world, deep red seeping into black. Wanda stood perfectly still, her crimson jacket clinging to her body, rain turning the material darker. Her hair dripped down her face, plastered against sharp cheekbones, and yet she didn’t shiver. Didn’t even blink.

— Say something. — Natasha rasped, voice scraping against the weight of the air.

Wanda tilted her head, a shadow of a smile curling her lips. — You’re afraid.

Natasha let out a sharp breath, nearly a laugh. —Of course I’m afraid.

— Of me? — Wanda pressed, though her voice was soft, careful, like she might spook the predator in front of her.

The truth Natasha never spoke aloud hung in the silence. Not of you. Of losing you.

It had always been a war between them. Not fists or bullets—though there had been plenty of that when they first crossed paths—but a war of looks, words unsaid, and the fragile moments where their carefully constructed walls would fracture just enough for the other to slip through.

Natasha remembered the first time Wanda had kissed her.

It was after a mission gone wrong, when the world had been nothing but fire and smoke, the chaos of Wanda’s power leaving everything around them a twisted mirage of reality. Natasha had been bleeding, her ribs aching from a hit she hadn’t dodged. They had hidden in a crumbling chapel, the stained glass around them shattered, fragments of light bleeding onto the floor.

Wanda had paced back and forth, her hands shaking, face streaked with ash.

— They shouldn’t have been there. — she had stammered, her accent thick, her words barely holding together. — I didn’t mean to —

—Stop. — Natasha had said firmly, though her voice softened at the edges when Wanda flinched. — Don’t spiral.

Wanda had stared at her, those eyes wide, red still flickering in their depths. — How do you do it? How do you not care?

Natasha leaned her head against the wall, wincing at the pain that shot through her shoulder. — Who said I don’t?

Wanda took one step closer, then two. Her presence filled the small space like a growing storm, and Natasha didn’t move away when Wanda knelt in front of her, their faces close enough that Natasha could feel her breath. Wanda reached out, hesitated, then placed her hand against Natasha’s cheek.

— You’re bleeding. — she murmured.

Natasha smirked faintly. — I’ve had worse.

Wanda’s brow furrowed. — You say that like it’s normal.

— It is for people like us.

Wanda didn’t argue, but something shifted in her gaze—softened, like candlelight pooling through broken glass. Before Natasha could say something sarcastic to break the moment, Wanda leaned forward and kissed her.

The world outside the chapel was still burning, but inside, Natasha felt something else catch fire.

— Do you remember the first time you kissed me? — Natasha asked now, her voice quieter, the rain filling the spaces between them.

Wanda stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until they were nearly chest-to-chest. Her gaze dropped to Natasha’s lips before rising again, her voice equally soft. — Of course I remember. It’s one of the few good memories I let myself keep.

Natasha’s heart clenched in her chest at that, though her face betrayed nothing. — You act like it was lifetimes ago.

Wanda blinked, and for a split second, Natasha saw the girl who had lost everything—the one who had fallen apart only to stitch herself back together with threads of grief and rage. — It feels like it.

Natasha wanted to say something, but Wanda touched her hand, fingers cold and trembling against her skin.

—Why are you still here? — Wanda asked.

Natasha frowned. — What do you mean?

— You’ve seen what I can do, — Wanda whispered. — What I’ve done. You’ve seen me lose control. You should have walked away long before now.

Natasha exhaled, her breath mingling with Wanda’s. She reached up and cradled Wanda’s face in her hands, brushing her thumbs over the hollows beneath her eyes. — You think I scare that easily?

— This isn’t a game.

— It never was.

Wanda searched her face for something—doubt, fear, uncertainty—but found none.

— I love you, Natasha. — she said, the words a confession and a surrender.

Natasha’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away. — I know.

The rain fell harder, drumming against the pavement like a thousand quiet prayers, but neither woman noticed. Natasha pulled Wanda closer, their foreheads pressing together, their breaths hitching in unison.

—You’re dangerous, — Natasha murmured. — But I don’t care. I’m in this with you, whatever it looks like.

Wanda’s fingers curled around Natasha’s wrists, as if afraid she might disappear. — You don’t know what you’re saying.

Natasha smiled faintly, though there was nothing playful about it. — I’m saying I’ve been in wars my whole life, Wanda. And if loving you is dangerous, then so be it. I’ll take my chances.

Wanda closed her eyes, tears mixing with the rain that streaked down her face. For a moment, Natasha thought she might shatter entirely, her walls crumbling beyond repair, but instead Wanda kissed her—slowly at first, like the first time in the chapel, before the kiss deepened. Desperation mingled with devotion, and Natasha held her like she was something precious, something real.

When they finally broke apart, Wanda rested her head against Natasha’s shoulder, her breath ragged.

— Don’t leave me. — Wanda whispered.

Natasha pressed a kiss into her hair, her voice a murmur against the storm. — I’m not going anywhere.

The storm began to die, its fury spent, and the neon sign in the distance finally flickered out. But Wanda and Natasha remained where they stood, holding each other as if the world could disappear at any moment.

And maybe it would.

But for now, they were dangerously in love—two fractured souls who had found each other in the ruin of everything else.

And in the quiet after the storm, that was enough.

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1K

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: On a quiet night in the compound, Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff find themselves tangled in a dance of power and tension. What begins as unspoken challenges escalates into a collision of desire, as Wanda's raw magic and Natasha's unwavering dominance blur the lines of control. Their connection ignites like fire, a charged game where neither fully yields, and both surrender to something greater.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Suggestive content involving romantic and sexual tension. Power play dynamics. Light domination/submission themes. Emotional and sensual tension throughout the story.

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Taking into account that I can't be less than organized with the content and I demand more from myself than I should, I created this account to post stories and poems that I think are not good enough.Well, that's basically it, enjoy! The other profile is @dummiebrat.

ㅤㅤㅤ❛ㅤThere were nights in the compound when the world outside went still. Even heroes hung their capes, bruised and breathless from saving strangers, yearning for a different kind of salvation. On such nights, Wanda found herself drawn to the way shadows draped across red-tinted hair, to the curve of a smirk that always knew too much. Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow—carried gravity, a woman stitched from danger and silk.

It began as a dance, unspoken but choreographed. Wanda moved through the common room barefoot, wearing a loose sweater that grazed her thighs, while Natasha leaned against the wall—half in shadow, arms crossed and assessing. The air was charged, the kind of stillness before a storm, except Wanda knew storms. She was storms.

— You’ve been watching me, — Natasha murmured, her voice velvet and edged with a bite. The corners of her lips curled when Wanda stilled mid-step. Scarlet mist flickered faintly at the tips of Wanda’s fingers.

— And you’ve been waiting for me to notice, — Wanda countered softly, tilting her chin up. The words were careful, but the hunger was unmistakable.

Natasha pushed off the wall, her boots muffled against the floor. Every step forward was calculated, predatory in its weight. Wanda’s heart hammered to the rhythm of footsteps—thud, pause, thud.

— You’re dangerous when you think you’re in control, — Natasha said, circling her now like a quiet fire. Wanda shivered at the proximity. A gloved hand trailed a path over the back of a chair, over nothing, and yet Wanda felt the caress against her skin as though she’d been touched.

— And you? — Wanda breathed, her voice betraying the ache between words. — You’re dangerous when you know you are.

For a moment, Natasha said nothing. Her expression remained still, but her eyes… oh, her eyes smoldered like coals, daring Wanda to look deeper.

— Is that how you want me? — Natasha finally whispered, lips just brushing against Wanda’s ear. —In control?

Wanda’s breath hitched. Scarlet cracked faintly at her fingertips, betraying her composure. Natasha didn’t flinch when red ribbons curled through the air like serpents, slithering, weaving, surrounding them both.

— You’ll have to earn it, — Wanda challenged, voice darkening, low and simmering.

— Oh, I plan to.

With a snap of her gloved fingers, Natasha grabbed Wanda’s wrist—slow, deliberate, testing the boundary. A hum passed between them, not of fear, but tension—raw and electric. The scarlet magic that flared against Natasha’s skin should have burned. Instead, it twined around her hand, shimmering like shackles. It was a beautiful illusion of power, and Wanda knew it.

— Are you cuffing me or freeing me? — Natasha asked, watching as the crimson chains wound tighter, curling like smoke. Her voice was still steady, though Wanda could hear the crackling edge beneath.

— Both. — Wanda replied, breathless, as Natasha pulled her closer.

The moment fractured and ignited. Natasha’s hand gripped Wanda’s hip, drawing her flush against her body, forcing her to feel the heat, the solid weight of her control. Wanda’s magic flickered wildly now, responding to every press of fingers, every sly murmur.

— You think you can pin me down? — Natasha teased, her mouth a whisper away from Wanda’s.

Wanda answered in scarlet—wrapping Natasha’s wrist in light and pulling her forward, crashing their lips together. It was less a kiss than a collision, all fire and wild teeth, a war fought between breaths. Natasha laughed against Wanda’s mouth, a sound rough with delight, and shoved her backward onto the plush couch.

— Careful. — Wanda warned, though her voice trembled deliciously.

— Make me. — Natasha shot back, straddling her with perfect poise, an assassin’s grace.

Wanda’s hands flared at her sides, red tendrils snaking upward to coil around Natasha’s waist like a possessive lover. And still, Natasha smiled down at her, steady as a heartbeat. Wanda could level cities, but Natasha Romanoff was not so easily undone.

And wasn’t that what Wanda wanted? Someone to stand in the fire, to tempt the inferno and command it.

— Tell me, — Natasha whispered, dragging her thumb along Wanda’s jaw. — Does it thrill you? Not knowing who’s really in control?

Wanda didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Natasha had already stolen the words from her lips, leaving only the delicious thrum of want in their place.

Outside, the compound remained silent, oblivious to the storm erupting within. Wanda felt herself unravel under Natasha’s touch, under the weight of those knowing eyes that dared her to lose herself. Scarlet ribbons curled and fractured as fingers ghosted beneath fabric, every tug and press a claim—one Wanda surrendered to willingly.

In the shadows of the night, they tangled and teased, a dance of power where neither yielded and neither won. Wanda was the storm, and Natasha was the woman who didn’t flinch when it broke around her.

And somewhere between kisses that bruised and touches that branded, Wanda realized:

She wasn’t cuffing Natasha.