#marvel wlw

wanda had you cradled against her. your back against her front as she slipped her ringed fingers in and out of your crying cunt. she spoke the dirtiest words with the sweetest fucking tone as she thrusted her fingers into you, her other hand wiping tears away from your cheek.

"i can't, i can't, please! s' too much!" you cried into her chest, thighs begging to be closed because even you came down from your third orgasm, wanda never stopped the pace.

finally, she pulls her glistening fingers out of your cunt for the first time in… god knows how long, then holds it up to your face, spreading her fingers to show you the string of wetness connecting them.

“if you wanted me to stop you wouldn’t be making such a mess, hm ?” wanda hums, her lips brushing against your ear. she pushes her fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue and making you taste yourself before thrusting the spit-soaked fingers back into your dripping cunt with a low groan. 

“your mouth is telling me to stop…” she sighs, “but your pussy,” she lightly pinches your clit, sending waves of electricity up your spine and a loud moan out of your mouth, “is telling me a different story…” 

“f-fuck !” you cry, tears brimming in your eyes, your thighs are trying their best to clamp shut but wanda keeps them open by hooking her legs around yours. 

your back arches against her front, “mommy please ! i can’t-” 

the title slips out of your mouth before it even registers in your brain. 

then your eyes widen, you realise your slip up. wanda’s fingers stop their relentless thrusting.

“i- i don’t know why i said that…” you push yourself away from wanda and quickly scramble to explain yourself, “i- i didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out, im sorry wand-”

before you can even complete your sentence, wanda reaches for your waist and flips your body around so you’re now lying on your back, she hovers over you and her fingers enter you again, “no, not wanda,” she shakes her head lightly, her face right above yours as her eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before, "i'm your mommy, isn’t that right ?” she fucks into you even harder. 

hearing wanda’s words, your pussy clenches around her fingers, a moan slips out of your lips as your hips jerk upwards against her hand, the movement presses your clit against her palm and your thighs immediately attempt to clamp shut despite the intrusion that is wanda’s body between them. 

“yeah, that’s it sweetheart,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your neck, her movements are sloppy and feral, teeth scraping against your skin and her free hand grabbing for whatever part of your body is available to her. she palms your breast before her nails dig into the soft skin, sure to leave red crescent moon shaped marks for the next few days. 

but wanda still needs more, needs more contact, so her legs straddle your thigh as she continues pumping her fingers into you, her hips grind against your thigh and you can feel the wet patch forming on her panties. 

“w-wanda what are y- too much- fuck…” you cry, her fingers pushing in and out of your pussy in a way you’ve never felt, her fingers repeatedly hit that spongey part inside of you making you let out a whorish moan at every thrust. 

then a bite against a particularly sensitive part of your neck, the pain shoots through your body sharply but then melts down into a hot achy feeling between your legs that makes you grind against wanda’s fingers. you gasp and immediately reach for wanda’s head, not exactly pushing her away but your fingers tangle in her red hair, grasping at her scalp. 

“what did i just tell you, huh ?” wanda asks you condescendingly, her lips brushing against your neck as she spoke, “just a dumb little girl…” she murmurs. 

wanda’s lips finally leave your neck so her head can come up to look you in the eye, her pupils are blown in a way you never thought possible and glued to the way your eyes are brimming with fresh tears. her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes against your lips with uncharacteristic sweetness, you lean into her touch as you let out unintelligible whines. 

“toomuchtoomuchtoomuch,” you cry, your face almost trying to burrow into wanda’s hand for some form of comfort as you squirm in her grasp, trying to escape the way she's plowing her fingers into your pussy. you were feeling so fucking sensitive after the many orgasms she gave you and she was anything but caring towards the way you were feeling right now. your hands reach between your thighs for wanda’s, grasping at her forearm to try to get her to slow down. 

“uh uh, malysh,” she tuts, removing her hand from your cheek to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, “you wanted me to be your mommy, right ?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head, a small smirk forming on her lips, “i’m just giving you what you want.” 

“maybe my ears are broken but… i don’t hear you saying your safe word, so lie there and take it like a good girl,” wanda’s voice is smooth as honey as she speaks, “you don’t want me to tie you up, do you ?” and it isn't a threat, it isn’t a question either, it’s a promise of what she’ll do to you if you deny her. 

you panickily shake your head, “no- no i dont want that.” you hiccup, already imagining how long you'll be in this position if she ties you up, body vulnerable to everything she wants to do to you and more. 

“that’s what i thought,” she smiles and then leans down to kiss your tear stained cheeks “now be a good girl for mommy, hm ? let mommy use you.”

wanda removes her grasp from your wrists, trusting that you’ll leave your arms up there and you do, hands curling up in an attempt to stop yourself from pushing wanda away from your sensitive cunt. 

“what’s my name ?” she asks, her eyes scanning your face for every tremor of your lips and flutter of your eyelashes, she wants to make sure you give her the right answer, the answer you were giving her just now before getting so embarrassed.

you know what she wants to hear but that embarrassment adorning your cheeks doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t let you say what she wants to hear or what you, deep down, want to say. you open your mouth nervously, lips trembling as you give her your answer.

“wan-” 

wrong answer. 

suddenly there’s a red hot sting between your legs. wanda’s hand comes down on your clit, smacking it with precision, your thighs immediately try to clamp shut but wanda’s knee between your legs pushes outwards and makes sure that you can’t. 

“no mommy, no !” you cry, hands immediately leaving their position above their head to try to push her hand away, “i’m sorry mommy ! please mommy !” you sob, immediately giving in to what she wants to hear, you didn’t need anymore convincing. 

wanda hums, a little sound of satisfaction. 

“hands back up.” wanda gives you a look, a reminder of her previous promise. her hand hovers above your clit as well, prepared to smack you again if you didn’t listen. 

you agonisingly slowly put your hands back up above your head with a whine, a small protest of your own that wanda chooses not to do anything about. your legs are trembling, prepared to clamp shut again if she tries to smack you again.

“good girl.” she praises, her finger delve back into the velvety walls of your pussy with a small smile on her lips.

as wanda settles back into her rhythm, the pace is no longer just frantic, it’s relentless and methodical, every thrust of her fingers aim to draw a noise out of you, a whimper, a moan, a whine, it’s all music to wanda’s ears. her pussy continues grinding against your thigh, her arousal spreading across the expanse of your skin as she angles herself so that her clit hits against you perfectly every time, when she finally finds that spot her eyes roll back and she bites her lip, she lets out shallow breaths and small grunts as her hips grind against your thigh with the same rhythm that her fingers are fucking into you. her fingers hook deep in your cunt finding that sensitive, swollen spot and your hips buck upwards involuntarily. 

“for someone who wanted me to stop, you seem awfully desperate…” wanda mutters, her voice dropping into that register that makes your stomach fill with jittery butterflies. 

your cheeks grow into an even darker shade of red if possible from hearing her words. your hips grind against her hand as she fucks you, everything that happened, the way she smacked your  pussy, her fingers in your cunt, the humiliation from accidentally calling her mommy, her lower register, it all melted together into a hot tingly knot in your lower stomach. 

“fuck…” wanda groans, her hips pushing against your thigh with her head keeled back. she looks down at her fingers disappearing in and out of your pussy and almost has to stop herself from letting out a moan. 

“gonna cum all pretty on mommy’s fingers like a good girl ?” wanda watches you get closer, watches that feeling build up again despite the overstimulation, all while knowing that you know she’s not gonna stop. 

“i can’t, mommy… its too much…” you whine. 

“yes you can, malysh. you’re gonna cum for me one last time, just- fuck- one more and we’re all done,” wanda bites her lip, rubbing your clit even harder, her hips starting to grind against your hips sloppier, her breaths get shallower, clear that she was also close. 

your back arches violently with the way her fingers curl into you and your walls clench around her fingers, practically sucking her in. 

“just one more lyubov, i know my good girl can do it.” her voice feels like a hot chill running down your spine. her voice trembles as she speaks, she’s almost there too. 

every muscle in your body locks tight, your back bowing off the mattress as a loud combination of a moan and whine gets torn out of your lungs. it’s all too much and too everything and all you can do is ride the sensation that wanda is making you endure. 

before you know it, your legs shake and you cover wanda’s hand with your release. wanda’s hips press particularly hard against your thigh and she cums not too long after, her fingers in your cunt stopping their motions as her pussy squirts all over your thigh. 

“good girl- good fucking girl- god- mommy’s dirty little girl” wanda gasps, she leans forward and trails kisses against your neck, moving up until her lips meet yours. 

“mommy don’t stop, mommy please-” you cry against her lips, hips wiggling, clearly wanting her fingers in you again. wanda lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers, it feels all too much and you were clearly too sensitive down there right now but it just felt so fucking good you couldn’t get enough. 

“thank you mommy- thank you thank you thank you” you mumble as you come down from your orgasm, “thank you mommy.” 

your head gets fuzzy and goes to that floaty headspace wanda loves you in, you feel like you’re floating, held in place and still on earth only by the weight of wanda’s body and the heavy intoxicating pull of her presence. 

when the aftershocks begin to subside, leaving you heavy limbed and too tired to move, you feel wanda’s fingers leave you and you whine, not enjoying the fullness that was taken away from you. then you feel a kiss against your forehead, wanda says a few words that didn’t register in your brain and her presence falls away. 

a few seconds after she leaves is only when you truly realise that she’s left. your eyes blink against the lights that look way harsher than usual and you bite your lip anxiously. 

“mommy ? mommy where are you…” you mumble, curling in on yourself, missing her warmth. 

her voice comes from afar, “i’m coming malysh, mommy’s right here, she just went to grab something to make you feel better, okay baby ?” 

it all went in one ear and out the other for you, just a string of words pieced together that didn’t make any sense. 

just as you were about to call for her again, she appears in front of you, you smile and your arms weakly reach out for her.

“want you.” 

wanda lets out a happy sigh, “we gotta clean you up moya lyubov, afterwards we can cuddle okay ?” 

you nod sleepily, feeling wanda press the warm towel against your skin. you wiggle a little when wanda softly rubs the towel against your sticky inner thighs, they still felt sensitive and the towel felt rough against your skin. 

“shhh it’s okay baby, we’re almost done,” wanda reassures you, making quick work with cleaning your thighs before moving on. it was probably only 5 minutes but it already felt like hours to you. 

when wanda was finally done, she leaves you again for a moment, but this time she gives you a pillow to cuddle while you waited. 

she took her time away to put the towel in the laundry basket and clean herself up but before you knew it, you felt a dip in the bed and slender arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to wanda. 

she pulls you close and guides your head to rest against her chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“you did so good for me today malysh, i love you so much,” she mutters praises between kisses against your head. all the while, your eyes slowly flutter shut as you drift away, listening to the sound of wanda’s voic as you fall asleep.

– a/n can u guys tell idk how to write orgasms and aftercare idk. i like lowkey need to start reading more orgasm and (especially) aftercare writing this is embarrassing 💔 like i want everyone to know that this fic was delayed by a day bc i didn’t like how i wrote the aftercare, i still don’t and cringed at it but i gave up 🥲🥲🥲

The professors tried giving you some one-to-one attention, but it only made the bullying worse, going from just being in class to also the dorms.

There’s nowhere you feel safe in the school, apart from Professor’s Xavier’s office and study, but you can’t stay in there all the time like a nerd.

Plus, he’s always eager to peer into your mind to research more about your type of abilities; especially the ones you yourself understand least.

It feels too invasive and vulnerable.

You’re dealing with enough as it is without also becoming a lab rat. So, every time he suggests connecting you to some machine of his, you run.

Instead of telling him what’s happening with the other students, you begin cutting certain classes to avoid looking like a complete mess.

It’s not so much the academic side, you don’t have a problem with that. It’s the physical side; the gruelling training of both mind and body.

You can’t seem to focus long enough to master any power, let alone make a decent friend. As if you’re too strange even for other mutants.

And of course, not everyone at this school is mean, but neither are they running to talk to you.

Perhaps if you cared more to fit in they’d give you a chance; especially the science nerds. You can acknowledge that to some degree, it’s not one-sided. However, it’s just too much effort.

After a year of being mostly alone, you’ve figured out three particular areas holding you back most.

Your awkward social skills, followed by your ever present anxiety and finally the gay thing.

You’ve always like girls, developing crushes on other mutants, female professors, even normies.

There’s actually a surprising amount of queer students at this school, with their own lgbtq+ support group, pride events and meet up club.

Your bullies haven’t been openly homophobic towards you, yet you just seem to struggle with this aspect of yourself too, on top of everything.

So, you left.

Then came back, left again, came back for a second time and left once more.

At this point you’ve stopped counting, but your runaway tally is definitely in the double digits.

Professor Xavier checks in on you telepathically nowadays, rather than sending other mutants to bring you back; expressing this method defeats the purpose of his initial invite to join his ‘family’.

You’re what they call a Class 5, or Omega-level mutant, which means they have to keep tabs on your whereabouts, as a potential hazard to others.

As long as you at least try to learn more about your powers, you’re free to come and go as you please, that’s your latest agreement with Charles.

At first the idea of running away was exhilarating.

Not knowing which state you’d end up in, the constant people watching, trying new cuisines, sleeping in hotels, and going to the actual movies.

Theme parks became some of your favourite places to spend your days in. So really, it’s pretty much all the stuff you missed out on as a kid.

Yet these days, it’s rather lonely, especially doing it alone. There’s a sort of unavoidable void in you, constantly seeking something or someone.

Being on long haul buses is one of the only things that seem to soothe this problem at the moment.

You’ve guessed it might be due to the feeling of ‘freedom in motion’, as long train journeys have the same effect, although a rare occurrence.

Greyhounds just suit you better.

Most times they’re pretty empty, you can listen to your favourite playlists on your beat up iPod; a gift your older brother left you with, alongside his old wired earphones. One of the earliest models.

He loved 90’s-2000’s tech, and now so do you by association. The idea of going completely analog actually appeals to you the more ‘ai’ develops.

Somedays you imagine things would be less shitty and complicated if you still had a place or person to call home. You could run to them.

Your brother was that for most of your childhood; your mother, father and sister rolled up in one.

He’s the one who nudged you in the direction of the X-Men, and saved you from a life of otherwise dark experimentation, even as he had no special abilities to protect himself in the end.

If he hadn’t stepped in to help you, well, he’d probably still be here. Perhaps now in college, definitely with a boyfriend, he was always dating, and for sure he’d be creating beautiful artwork.

This, above all else, weighs you down the most.

He sacrificed his life, so you can have a chance at yours; without twisted people traumatising you.

You’ve never known a greater love than this.

After searching through your mind when you first met, Professor Xavier advised you not to allow the constant feeling of guilt hinder your progress, and to accept that somethings just can’t be reversed once they’re out of our grip.

It’s easier said than done though, because you’d rather try reverse it, than regret having powers strong enough to bring back a loved one.

You respectfully disagree with him on this matter.

Otherwise he’s truly is a wonderful teacher, the type who cares about the wellbeing of his students both by his actions and his words.

He’s probably the reason you keep going back, while everything else makes you want to runaway.

Being a frequent nomad has its perks too, for example in these last few months, you’ve started a little game with yourself to liven things up.

You pick a random coach, take the journey to a new city and pretend to be local. For at least a week, you live a completely different life to yours.

That’s how you ended up in New York this time.

And true to what they say, it has so much energy compared to other quieter cities. It may be the most culturally diverse place you’ve had the pleasure of temporarily settling in.

The people seem open to things that are different and unusual, which makes total sense when you consider the amount of supers settled here.

The Avengers, Fantastic 4 and Spiderman being among some of the most well known heroes.

It’s your longest stay yet in any city, but soon that gnawing familiar void begins to creep up on you.

So, what do you do?

You take yourself to the nearest station, close your eyes and pick a new journey at random.

A quick fix to a much deeper issue.

There’s a buzz among the crowds as you queue for the bus, overhearing people still debating about the recent super power incident that immobilised half of Manhattan recently.

It definitely caught your eye, but nothing more.

These things happen so often, that it can be hard to keep up with all the new and old heroes from different cities. So, you don’t, you choose to keep to yourself instead while travelling.

Sometimes, you do bump into the occasional mutant, who usually can’t tell you’re one too.

Sometimes you just sense them, like right now.

You can feel eyes on you as you’re waiting to get on your bus, although you can’t focus with everyone else around to single out the individual.

They’re definitely trying to access you.

You double your shield just in case, pulling out your MP3 player to listen to your music.

MCR recently dropped their remastered album Danger Days, and this newest version of the track ‘Summertime’, has been on repeat all summer.

The driver checks your ticket, before letting you on a coach that’s already filling up, compared to most days where there’s usually more free seats.

This is New York though.

You quickly scan the bus, choosing to sit beside a girl with auburn red hair, after briefly locking eyes, before she turns her gaze towards the window.

Her hoodie is up. She doesn’t really seem like the talkative type, which is perfect as you don’t wish to strike up conversations with random strangers.

However, you do notice one particular thing straight away, before even nearing the seat.

One of your abilities clocks it for you.

Her energy levels are insane from your point of view; above the average levels of peers at school.

She has to be a mutant, there’s no way, perhaps even Omega-level. Her powers are definitely rare.

You can’t tell what she has exactly, not wanting to be invasive and intentionally scan her body.

Charles Xavier would encourage you to if he knew just how much power she’s holding. You’re even tempted to lift your block to tell him, but change your mind when you ask yourself; what right do you have to expose her to the X-Men?

Not every mutant wants to been found.

She shifts closer to the window, turning from you the moment you slide next to her, tucking your bag pack under the seat. Her aura is very strong.

You glance around the bus in case there’s another empty seat you’ve missed, but no.

You’ll have to try your best not to flare up, as she might trigger you into it with her own abilities.

Her scent is extremely overwhelming, in an attractive way. You increase the volume on your bright pink iPod to focus on auditory activity.

Literally anything else to distract you from her.

These random surges of heightened senses tend to neutralise as your nervous system calms, so you wait for this to happen. It’s so annoying.

You pull out your notebook from Charles Xavier’s class to let your mind focus on biophysics, your favourite subject right now, turning slightly to the aisle to breathe from that direction instead.

It’s easy to fall into recalling his lectures on the complexities of mutations in society. You’re actually working on your own theory, hoping to show him once you decide to go back to school.

This is the stuff you nerd out with him all the time, debating certain theories on why this occurred selectively, not to all humans.

The rest of the bus disappears when you zone in.

After an hour, you assume the girl sitting next to you is asleep with her head against the window.

Your sensory overload has stopped, so you allow yourself to finally gaze outside for the first time.

This landscape is more scenic than other routes you’ve journeyed on. You pull out a brand new notebook, drawing what you’re seeing in detail.

It calms you further, more than science does.

For a moment you contemplate whether to add the girl beside you, since she’s in your line of sight, but decide against it in the end.

You don’t usually get involved with strangers whenever you runaway, yet something about her energy keeps drawing you in.

It’s magnetic almost.

There’s also melancholy there, a lot of rage and perhaps grief. You wonder what she’s mourning.

As you’re finishing up your small sketch, you feel her shift her position, as if she’s no longer asleep, turning to briefly glance at you, then down towards your drawing and up again, right at you.

She’s extremely beautiful, it catches you off guard for a moment, you seem to forget how to breathe.

Something about her blue eyes holds you still, causing your heart to race and your hand to stop drawing. You smile, unexpectedly, overwhelmed, but then she goes ahead and pulls an Xavier on you, trying to force herself into your mind.

So, she’s some kind of telepath. Great. As if you don’t already deal with enough of that at school.

Similarly to him, she can’t get past your block.

The audacity of mutants with this ability.

Why can’t they ever use their words?

There’s an immediate frustration and curiosity that sits behind her captivating eyes, when she realises you won’t yield to her.

Instead you send her a message; not with words, but energy alone. Your shield has always been the easiest ability to grasp. You triple it around her.

She gazes down at your notebook again, this time analysing more carefully, since she has no other access to you. Honestly, telepaths are baffling.

It’s kind of amusing watching her have to work.

Her eyes trail your hands, the bruises from your training, your chipped nail polish, your old iPod and wired earphones, your belt and your face.

So, you do the same thing, see how she likes it.

Your eyes regard her outfit, her tired but pretty face, her sad eyes, her full lips and guarded disposition. You raise a brow subconsciously.

“What?”, she asks, in an annoyed tone.

The sheer audacity when she’s the one who started analysing you first. How entitled of her.

All you did was smile and she took that as a sign to try and enter herself into you, without so much as a hello. You detest this kind of behaviour.

She mustn’t be around other mutants, otherwise she wouldn’t be so bold to assume she can access anyone she wants without push back.

Your gaze turns back to her eyes.

“I could ask the same thing”, you reply; something in you decides to challenge her.

“Why do guys force yourself into other people?”

“It’s so predictable at this point and boring”.

Her posture straightens up, as if in disbelief you’d call her out immediately after having just met.

“What do you mean ‘you guys’?”, the redhead narrows in on you, shifting her body to face yours.

She seems combative, so you lower your voice to not attract any other attention besides hers.

“People with your ability…hello? You just tried to enter my mind with zero consent, and you’re a total stranger by the way”, you turn to her.

“Don’t you find that pretty invasive and rude?”.

“Not to mention creepy”, your face growing hot.

Where was this energy when you were at school?

“If you really wanted to know who I am, you’d ask me, using your words. I’ve honestly just about had it with people like you, so if you don’t mind, don’t try to barge into me again, otherwise I won’t hold myself back. I’ll flare up on this bus”.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest.

“This is supposed to be a quiet scenic ride”.

“Don’t ruin it for others and for yourself by being a jerk”, you huff, leaning back into your seat, not quite believing you just stood up for yourself.

“Jesus, alright. I won’t try again. Just calm down will you?”, she smirks, sitting back like you.

You didn’t think the bullying at school had got to you this bad, but you feel exhausted from invasive powers, and mutants who assume can do whatever they wish to you, like this telepath.

In your peripheral vision, you can tell she’s still gazing, yet you remain turned from her, feeling the heat in your face rise inside your body as well.

‘Please don’t actually flare up’, you plead mentally with your own mind and abilities.

Your hands ball up in your lap and legs jitter to focus on another sense. You take deep breaths, like Charles recommends whenever this happens.

You go as far as humming, to shift all that built up energy towards other parts of your being.

It definitely looks weird to anyone else witnessing this, but she doesn’t make fun of you, as you expected she might.

“I’m sorry, okay?”, her eyes are intent on gaining your attention again. “Are you doing alright?”.

The tone of her voice softens, as if she recognises something akin to her in your coping mechanism.

“I’m fine”, you exhale, feeling your hot energy dissipate into a more neutral one with time.

Getting worked up in an enclosed fast moving object is definitely not a wise idea. If you’re not under control, which you aren’t on most days, people can get badly injured or worse.

The last six months at school taught you this the hard way. You don’t wish to become a monster. Or someone people avoid because they’re afraid.

Your hands palm your thighs repeatedly; your legs eventually coming to a halt, when you start to feel more stable within your body.

You shift your focus towards the other girl, who’s still watching you under enchanting eyes.

“Are you like me?”, she asks, naturally leaning closer towards you; and there goes your heart.

“Yes, but not really”, you search her eyes, which are no longer holding frustration, just curiosity.

“So, how are you different?”, her delivery is a little suspicious of your certainty.

She definitely hasn’t been around many mutants.

“I’m not a telepath, neither do I have anything relating to telekinesis”, you lower your voice.

She looks at you as if waiting to hear more.

For some reason, maybe because she’s listening so intentionally, you choose to reveal yourself to someone who isn’t your brother or a professor.

There’s a protective type of energy radiating deeper within her; it feels safe enough, more than a mere gut feeling. You feel utterly drawn to her.

“Well, my mind apparently houses a lot of mutation abilities, with new ones forming all the time…so, it’s hard to explain how different…”.

“They’re not sure how many just yet, and neither am I…at best it’s a handful of known powers”.

She’s remains quiet, so you continue explaining out of nerves and perhaps because she’s so irresistible, even without her entering your mind.

“It constantly changes. I don’t have control over one particular ability, expect my shield…which is the one you sensed when you tried to, y’know…”.

You clear your throat, deciding to stop there .

“Who’s they?”, are her first words in response.

She doesn’t seem intrigued, more alarmed by it.

“Are you in danger?”, her blue eyes widen with concern, ignoring everything else you shared.

Something in the redhead is heightened, she goes silent, searching the bus with her ability, as if double checking you haven’t been followed.

Her instant worry over you moves you, and perhaps she’s also concerned for her own safety.

You’re not sure what triggered this. However, regardless of her motive, you offer a small smile, waiting for her gaze to land back on you.

It does, relaxing a little once she realises you’re not under immediate threat from anyone.

“I’m not in any danger, but umm, thank you…”.

“The professors at the school for mutants I attend are the ones studying me. They’re also mutants themselves…so it’s pretty safe. They’re just trying to help me understand myself more and how to have mastery over my powers…”.

Her face is the picture of absolute shock.

“Mutants?”, she repeats, as if it’s news.

“Yeah, people born this way, like you and me, there’s a school for the gifted by Charles Xavier and the X-Men in North Salem…right outside New York…have you never met other mutants?”.

The way her eyes change from surprised to melancholic, lets you know she has. Perhaps this is where her grieving energy comes from.

She’s silent for a while and you wait, not wanting to push answers out of her. You wouldn’t want to scare her away by appearing too eager.

However, she does open up eventually.

“My older sister Sara…and umm, I think this guy who saved my life may have been like us too”.

“Is it really what they call us?”, she adds.

You nod, suddenly very curious about her.

“In class, they explained how people with our abilities are born with a genetic trait known as the X-gene, kind of similar to previous human evolution…we assume it’s why the normies treat us badly. They’re afraid to be left behind”.

“Normies?”.

“Yeah. Non-mutated humans”.

“No fucking way”, she sits back, totally baffled.

You stare at her, letting the quiet fall over you for a few minutes. How can she not know the X-Men?

It’s a good thing you didn’t immediately expose her to Charles, because she clearly needs time to process apparently the concept of mutants, never mind an entire school dedicated to nurturing us.

Eventually the outside landscape catches your eye again, the beautiful, calming, wild greenery, complimented by the girl against its backdrop.

Your hearts starts racing, watching her quietly.

“Are you doing alright?”, you mimic her tone from earlier, breaking her out of her trance.

She smiles, a little shyly.

“I’m fine, just re-thinking my entire existence”.

You laugh.

“That’s definitely stage number one, trust me”.

When she doesn’t answer straight away, you give her time and continue finishing your sketch.

Her gaze moves from you, towards the window.

“Are you originally from New York?”, she asks without turning back.

“No, you?”.

“Yeah, from upstate”.

You’ve been there a few times.

“That’s cool”.

Something suddenly feels a bit off, not a gut feeling, similar to how you can tell she’s a safe person, her energy shifts; you prepare yourself.

“How come I’ve never heard of the X-Men or that people refer to us as mutants?”, she continues, now looking at you with more suspicion.

Your sketching hand slows down as a revelation dawns on you. Of course she wouldn’t know.

This isn’t even your universe, how can you expect it to have the same amount of mutants.

Sometimes you forget your ability to hop from world to world, since it’s quite an anticlimactic process of travelling.

“You’ve never heard of them ‘cos I should have led with how this isn’t my original dimension”.

“Sorry for the confusion…I forget it happens sometimes…”, you smile nervously, hoping she’s not totally freaked out by how unusual you are.

“Is that another mutant ability you have?”.

“I’m assuming yes…I’m still figuring it out”.

She huffs, and you close your notebook.

“I kid you not, I really have no idea. Otherwise I’d still be at the school…probably with friends…”, you mumble that last part under your breath.

“I don’t know which powers stay and which are just temporarily hosted in me, apart from the handful I’ve mentioned I’m sure of…”.

Oh god, she’ll probably think you’re a total loser.

Her eyes are intense, you’re not sure how to decipher what they’re saying, but she’s reading you with an intent you’ve never experienced.

“Why do you think you can’t master the powers that are definitely permanent…like your shield?”.

The redhead’s not subtle, she’s very observant, duh. What kind of decent telepath wouldn’t be?

It’s your turn to huff.

Not so much frustrated at her; more by your lack of progress being called out by a stranger.

“I don’t know…the training they give us at school isn’t impossible, but I can’t seem to focus”.

“And I make things worse for other students”.

Gosh, this is getting vulnerable really quickly. You steer away from mentioning how you almost accidentally killed some of these students.

“Aren’t your teachers suppose to help you not make it worse…or try another method for you?”.

“They tried”.

“And?”.

You stare at her; not in disbelief at her directness, but that she’s willing to sit and listen to you.

“Hey, you’re the one who begged me to use my words. ‘People like me’…remember?”.

Her smile is charming, yet sincere.

“Alright…umm, they really tried and it didn’t work either. I’m not great with other mutants”.

You gaze into eyes still studying you, wondering what it’d be like to have her as a roommate.

She’d be instantly popular with those good looks.

“So, it’s not a nice school then?”, her voice interrupts your daydreaming.

“No, it’s a great school, honestly. Charles Xavier, the founder and principal is one of my favourite mutants ever. He’s a real nerd about our kind”.

“Most professors are dedicated”.

“It’s the other students?”, she beats you to it.

You nod, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“They give you a hard time for being different?”.

How can a stranger see you so clearly?

“Are you sure you’re not in my mind?”, you laugh nervously, trying to deflect from her directness.

“Don’t do that”, she hold you with her eyes.

It’s gentle, not at all harsh.

“Alright, yes, they do some…most times”.

Your gaze lands back to the moving landscape behind her, feeling exposed, in a good way.

You’ve never talked to someone close in age about the stuff at school.

It always feels harder with professors.

“So, how is it a good school? If they don’t help you with that kind of stuff?”.

You exhale, starting to feel perhaps too exposed.

“Because, I haven’t told any of the teachers…it’s already embarrassing enough to live through it”.

“Well, that’s dumb”.

Your mouth opens with a half choking sound.

“It is, you know it is”, she continues when you can’t form any other words.

“You’re telling me you’re from a dimension where they have a specific school just for people like us, to help us master our abilities, but you left ‘cos you couldn’t face telling your professors about the other students bullying you?”.

She leans forward towards you, not backing down from her honest observation.

“Yes”.

Should you trauma dump on her to give her the absolute truth? Right now she doesn’t get it.

“Then how is it not dumb to runaway to the “normie” world, that hates us far worse by the way, than facing your own people?”.

“Because it hurts less”.

“I came to this school with the notion that my life would be less lonely…it’s more than just facing stupid bullies…I’m not accepted anywhere”.

“And I don’t have any family or anyone in my life”.

“Not since my older brother…”.

You hold your words in your mouth, feeling your energy shifting with the memory of him and talking openly about your struggles.

Your hands balls up again in your lap, you begin to tap the floor of the bus with your heels.

You want to cry.

God, how did this girl manage to pull all this out of you with zero access to your brain?

“I see…”, she’s watching you.

When you can’t reply straight away she continues. Her voice softening with sadness.

“I’m like you…my older sister Sara. She’s the only one I had before she was…”, her posture tenses.

You nod. This is where the grieving energy you sensed when you met comes from.

“I’m sorry you lost your sister”.

“And I’m sorry you lost your brother”.

“So, you understand then?”, turning to lock eyes with her now glossy ones, as if she could cry too.

“I get it”, her voice is quieter.

It feels awkward and comforting at the same time, to be seen and immediately understood.

She leans back in her seat, to avert your gaze.

“You don’t have to be alone though…I mean, I believed for a long time that people like us don’t get to have anyone, but the fact that you exist in a timeline where we even have our own schools”.

“It’s honestly blowing my mind…”, she exhales.

“I want to believe we can have normal lives, even after learning how sick and twisted people are”.

“A friend helped me see it can be different…well, him and his aunt too; a memory of her really”.

“You mean the guy who saved you?”.

She nods, blushing.

Something clicks.

“It wasn’t Spiderman by any chance…was it?”.

Her lips press together, as if she feels guilty.

“It was, actually”.

Now it’s your turn to be surprised.

“WAIT! Manhattan? You did that shit?”, you lean closer, speaking more hushed.

Her face turns completely red, it’s adorable.

“Yes, but it’s…I was sort of processing a very important revelation, it kind of just happened”.

Your moment is interrupted by the Greyhound driver on the intercom, with an announcement about the next city you’ll shortly be arriving in.

They’ll be a meal break, where all passengers can disembark to stretch their legs and get food, usually those are timed for about 30 minutes.

“Well, I want to hear about it, seeing as I, a total stranger, have told you my ass is getting bullied at school…it’s a fair exchange, don’t ya think?”.

She laughs, and it makes your stomach flip.

It’s cute, the way she tilts her head back.

“Alright, that’s pretty fair…it’s not a light topic”.

“Even better”, you grin at her, lingering on her face for the first time since meeting. You think she does too, by the way she trails your features.

“I’m starving though, do you wanna get off at the rest break?”, she switches subjects, her face still slightly pink. “They might have actual food”.

“Yeah…I wouldn’t mind”.

Butterflies fill your stomach at the idea.

How is this happening to you?

She’s gorgeous, does she even know how much.

You’re super grateful she can’t read your mind.

“What is it?”, she asks at the perfect timing.

You shake your head, feeling your own face heating up inside.

“Nothing…I’m just very thirsty, I could do with a drink, and umm…yeah definitely some food…”.

“I bet”, her eyes flash something for a moment.

“When I ‘people hop’, it’s actually a very tiring thing, so I can’t imagine dimension hopping”.

“Does it take a lot of your energy?”, she asks.

“Not really. I mean at the beginning it was so jarring. I felt weird in my body, but nowadays I don’t really feel anything…sometimes I don’t even know I’ve done it, until there’s clear signs”.

“That’s kind of…insane actually”.

“I know, I know, it’s weird”.

“Yes, but I don’t think you realise how amazing it is too…you’re just casually in another existence”.

She smiles, making you melt.

“Yeah, your existence…”, you grin at her.

The driver interrupts through the intercom again, this time announcing your arrival. He adds that the 30 minutes will turn into a one hour layover for him to complete other bus servicing tasks.

He glides the coach into the huge parking lot, coming to a complete stop.

Most people begin to queue in the aisle eager to get off, but you two wait it out, leaving at the end.

It’s the golden hour, so everything looks more beautiful and surreal in the landscape. You’re in the middle of nowhere, with the prettiest mutant girl you’ve ever met; who understands the parts you’ve been willing to share about yourself.

Now she wants to share a meal with you?

It feels like a dream, as you follow her inside the only large building in this particular area for miles.

Her hoodie is down, exposing you to her gorgeous red hair. You wonder how it would feel to run your fingers through it. How she might sound for you, before you snap out of those thoughts.

She’s a new friend, your first mutant one, excluding Charles. She’s also probably straight.

Regardless of this point, you can’t help but watch her sway in front of you. She’s confident when she walks, as if she’s in charge of everything around her. She definitely gives top energy or at least a solid power bottom, oh god, please stop.

You both enter the building thankful to find it has more amenities than most resting stations.

After wandering around for a few minutes, going back and forth on which fast food restaurant to pick, you decide on burgers and milkshakes.

Although you insist, the redhead offers to pay for your meals, emphasising it’s her dimension not yours. So, to settle it, you make plans to bring her to your original dimension, just to repay her.

And even though it’s a joke, she agrees to it.

You choose to sit by the window seats, watching the sun begin to set and digging into your food.

It’s quiet, in a way that’s not entirely awkward.

You’re not across from her, but beside her, as you were on the bus. Somehow this position seems less intimidating and now somewhat familiar.

“Can I get you girls anything else?”, the young waiter smiles at her, showing all his teeth.

Of course he likes her too.

“No, thank you”, your friend answers rather sharply, even though his energy seems sweet.

He lingers, as if building up courage to ask;

“Hey, my friend back there thinks y’all are very pretty girls, I do too…we were wondering if we can get your numbers?”, the waiter points to another guy, the one who initially took your order.

He waves shyly from across the small restaurant.

Your heart beats fast with anticipation.

“Aww, sorry, me and my girlfriend aren’t in an open relationship. But that’s very sweet of you”.

You almost choke on your food.

The waiter gazes at you, then back at her.

“Oh my bad…I didn’t know y’all were, umm…it’s cool, have a nice day, hope the food is alright”.

His heels quickly turn, walking quickly back to the counter to deliver the devastating news.

She turns her body towards you, with a big smile forming on her lips at your surprised expression.

“Trust me. You don’t wanna know what they were both thinking just before he asked all that…it was pretty gross…I had to shut it down fast”.

Oh god.

“It’s cool…thanks”, your voice comes out calmer than the racing thoughts you’re holding.

Her eyes linger on you again.

Your heart steadily pounding inside you.

She told them you were girlfriends.

Does it mean she’s also queer?

Or she’s just using this as armour to block them?

The latter is probably more realistic, be for real. She’s straight and you’re being delusional, but, if she isn’t, it definitely adds more layers to this.

You wish you could be as direct as her and ask.

“We still have 40 minutes left if you wanted to check out the arcade we saw coming in?”, her brows raise excitedly. Another invitation to you.

“Do you guys even have video games in your dimension?”, she teases to pull you out of the silence you’ve fallen into.

Something yet again akin to her she recognises in you without you ever voicing it.

It works.

“Yeah”.

“How about I beat your ass at Mario Kart?”, you offer a challenge. “That’s if you even have it in this dingy corner of inter dimensional travel”.

“Dingy?”.

“One hundred percent. This is probably the least recommended side of your universe to be brutally honest”, you flash her a bright grin.

This makes her laugh.

You like it when she does this.

“Says the mutant who’s running away from hers, it can’t be all sunshine and rainbows then”.

“I’m merely a tourist, darling. My dimension is definitely better, sorry to break it to you…I mean you guys don’t even have thee X-Men”, you lean closer to her side, now touching shoulders.

“Oh sure, well, I don’t know if I can argue with that…”, she grins before biting her bottom lip.

You linger, searching her eyes.

It creates a big lump in your throat.

She doesn’t break her gaze either, for a while.

“So…let’s go Mario Kart?”, her voice is softer.

The redhead doesn’t wait for you; picking up your trays to place them by the trash. She leads the way, and you follow, watching her closely.

A lot of people are in the arcade, but you manage to snag a turn on Mario, and having a brother who raised you on video games definitely pays off.

“I want my revenge”, she insists after your third victory. “Just on a different game this time”.

“Alright…you pick, since I chose this one”.

Her eyes scan the dimly lit flashing room, until they land on a target. You follow her line of sight when she points from where you stand.

“Hoops”, her eyes find yours.

Your heart hasn’t settled since the bus.

“Hoops it is. Losers first, so after you”.

The way her face drops makes you break into laughter. She immediately turns from you when she herself almost smiles; wanting to keep her very serious and vengeful countenance.

“Awww. I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry…I might even let you win…would you like that?”.

Your hand places itself subconsciously on the back of her arm, which at first startles her, but she relaxes into the touch, lingering with you.

Being this closer behind her, you can’t get enough of her scent. You’re completely wrapped up in it, wishing you could turn her around to face you.

“Excuse me! Sorry!”.

A kid runs in between you, breaking the contact.

You wonder if just before this she felt the energy; that something beyond yourselves keeps drawing you towards each other ever since you met.

She turns herself around, now facing you.

“Me and Sara played basketball all the time, so I don’t need you to do anything. I’ll win this time”.

Okay. Confidence. It’s attractive on her.

“Then I expect that my ass is indeed grass?”, you raise a brow, making her laugh.

“Thoroughly”, she grins, eyes bright with excitement, just like yours.

It feels as though she takes a step closer, or maybe it’s you who’s moving subconsciously.

Her gaze lands on your lips for a brief moment, making your heart skip a beat.

Your expression must give something away because she smirks as if she knows her effect.

You clear your throat.

“So…once again, losers first”, you tease, not wanting to move apart so soon.

You can’t get over the way she presses her lips, as if she’s shy. Then proceeds to run her hand through her hair before tying it back in a ponytail.

And God, is it so sexy.

All you do is follow the redhead around, watching her more than your own surroundings.

She goes first and sure enough she can actually shoot pretty well. Not at all modest about it either, which is hot. She likes to talk shit when it’s your turn to distract you, but again, you were raised by a brother who was into all this stuff.

A few minutes into it you’re drawing with each other, which frustrates her; though she does her best not to show you just how much.

After her final turn, when it’s your last shot of round one, she pushes you and you miss.

Her hand covers her mouth laughing.

“Oh?! So this is how you guys respond to losing”.

You walk up to her with a ball in your hands.

“You mean telepaths or my dingy dimension?”, she lightly shoves you by your shoulder.

Her little smile throws off your train of thought for a moment. You really want to hold her.

“Obviously this dimension. We have some pretty decent telepaths who can take to losing better than this…I totally had you this round”.

She snatches the ball from your hands, turning to dribble it away. It makes you feel giddy.

“If you can get this from me, I’ll let you shoot”.

“That’s not how it works, cheater”, you call after.

“My pick, my rules!”, she yells back.

This girl.

How can she make your heart race this much?

“C’mon, I bet you can’t do it”, she taunts.

“Watch me”, you chase after her, seriously trying to take the ball back, but she’s just as competitive as you are. Not letting you have it easy.

“Excuse me! You can’t dribble the ball like that, you’re only meant to shoot them!”, an older woman comes marching up to you from the front.

She must be a manager.

“Sorry!”, you apologise immediately, while the redhead appears frustrated by her interruption.

“Next time you’ll be kicked out”, the woman rolls her eyes and return to the counter.

This must be a frequent occurrence for them.

“Don’t do it”, you warn your friend.

“I didn’t even do anything”, she smiles.

“You were about to”.

“I thought you weren’t the ‘invasive’ type”, she challenges you with your own words.

“I don’t need to read your mind to know how easily reactive you can be”, you tease her.

Although she laughs, her face changes in a subtle way you don’t miss. It’s clear to you; something about what you said upsets her.

“I’m just joking”, you quickly add when she turns around, her eyes following the rude manager.

“I’m pretty reactive too at times, trust me”.

“I know, I’m fine, it’s not you…I was just thinking about something else…”.

Her gaze is still fixed on the same woman.

“Would you care to share it with the class?”, you walk towards her until you’re face to face.

“Later”, is all she replies.

“Did you wanna finish hooping?”, you try to bring her out of the quietness she’s slowly falling into.

“No, you win, fair and square. See?”, her smile returns, instantly making your heart skip.

“I can lose gracefully”, she adds.

‘Or you’re just tired’, you think to yourself.

“Well, we still have about 20 minutes left. What do you wanna do next?”, your voice perks up.

She shrugs.

“Your turn to pick”, hers is a little flat.

“Alright, how about we find a lounge? And take it easy; especially for those of us who’ve sorely lost”, you grin and she nudges you, seeming to come out of her own thoughts.

“You’re so annoying”, but she’s grinning back.

“Just doing my duty, ma’am”.

“Oh yeah? Is this how you treat the girls in your dimension?”, her question is somewhat layered.

It catches you off guard and she smiles even more realising she’s made you speechless.

All you can do is stare, totally enamoured.

“Cat got your tongue?”, another one of hers.

You shake your head laughing.

“You’re…ridiculous. C’mon let’s go find a seat”.

This time you lead the way, feeling that energy between you from earlier more intensified; even with your back turned to her.

Yet before you exit the arcade, she grabs your hand in hers from behind, taking you through a door with bright bold lettering that reads

‘STAFF ONLY’.

She closes it, seeming to lock it behind you with her mind alone. Both her hands are occupied with guiding you, while yours shake with anticipation.

“No one’s coming in here”, she speaks before you ask the question on your lips.

She backs you up against the door, moving closer to you, in a way that seems suggestive.

“Hii”, her voice is hushed, somewhat shy even.

God, she’s perfect.

“Heyy”, yours comes out more nervously.

Her hands play with the zipper of her hoodie.

“I figured we could use our 20 minutes differently…the lounge sounds great but…”.

“This is better”, you reassure her quickly, swallowing the lump already building up.

She smiles at your slight desperation.

“So, are you gonna answer my question then?”, her head cocks to the side, watching you.

When you furrow your brows in confusion, she rolls her eyes and repeats herself.

You remember what she asked, you just want to hear it again to confirm you’re not hallucinating.

“I asked you, is this how you treat the girls in your dimension?”, her voice drops an octave, moving herself until she’s right by your face.

Those hands playing with the zip slip themselves carefully onto your waist, clasping like magnets.

“I umm, well, no. I don’t know what you mean?”.

She bites her bottom lip, your eyes land there.

“Are you not gay?”, are the next words you hear.

Oh shit.

Be quick.

Don’t make her wait.

“No I am…I just wasn’t sure if you were…”.

Her head tilts towards you, and before you can prepare yourself, she latches fully onto your bottom lip with the softest kiss, pulling at it a bit.

Your first ever kiss with anyone.

It does something to your brain chemistry.

“How about now?”, she sirens in a whisper.

Her mouth finds yours again, as you’re beginning to process what’s happening inside your body.

You love how plump her lips are, the way her hands cling on your waist. Your heart bursts at this, feeling giddy and playful.

“Well, umm…I’m still not quite sure…can you just do that again? It’s good to double check these things”, you wrap your hands around her shoulders to hold her steady.

“Oh, is it now? You wanna double check?”.

“Mhm hm”.

“Alright”.

This time her kiss has multiple little follow ups. You try your best to keep up with her set rhythm.

“Now?”, the redhead presses her swollen lips along your jawline, blue eyes watching you.

It’s heaven, all of it.

Her taste, scent, close proximity, softness.

You can’t get enough.

“Am I your first kiss?”, she pulls back slightly.

God, you can’t be that bad, can you?

“Yeah, why?”, your heart is pounding at this.

Her eyes flash amusement at your expression.

“It’s not a critique, I’m just curious since you won’t let me have what I really want”.

Your lips stretch into a knowing smile.

“I’m not lifting my shield, if that’s what you mean. You’ll just have to use your words”.

“We’ll see about that”, her fingers trace your belt.

Even though she doesn’t directly touch your skin, you can definitely feel some tingling sensation where she’s drawing on you. This girl’s already got you soaking wet without much effort.

Her hand wraps around the end of the belt.

“This is how I knew you were gay by the way”, she yanks on it gently, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

Dear god, she might really get what she wants.

“I saw you through the window…waiting in the queue to climb aboard…with your lil’ bag pack, looking like you’ve fallen right out of gay Pinterest…if you even know what that is”.

Her smile is boastful, in total control of the moment, and maybe even you, slowly.

“I can’t lie…I did wonder what was underneath this thick ass belt…so, you can imagine my disappointment when I couldn’t get past the shield you’ve put up…it’s very frustrating to me”, her hand moves as if about to unbuckle you, teasing you in a deliberate way.

The clinking sound of it alone drives you crazy.

You hold your breath, unable to reply.

“But, I do like how nervous you are right now”, she whispers before catching your lips in a kiss.

This time your hands move down from her shoulders to rest on her waist; pulling her hoodie off to reveal a tight little baby tee that shows off her incredibly toned midriff.

She on the other hand fights with your belt, until it’s on the floor of this staff room. Her kisses more desperate, her eyes dark with arousal. She’s hungry for you, as you are for her body.

“You can touch me more”, she encourages when she notices how shy you’re being. Meanwhile her fingers slip under your shirt, finally on your skin.

Your hands begin to explore much lower, until you’re cupping her ass, while she gives you more eager kisses. Her humming response when you squeeze encourages you greatly.

Before you know it, she’s got her tongue inside your mouth, making you both moan at the new sensation. She moves it around confidently.

It’s so irresistible, making you ache with pleasure.

Clearly this isn’t her first kiss.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for hours”, you reveal your small truth, groping her ass more firmly.

She half moans in her answer before speaking.

“I know…I saw it in your eyes. You were ogling me like those boys in the restaurant were…”.

She’s cocky, and you find it very attractive.

“Oh yeah? Just by my eyes huh?”, hands move up to her upper back, kissing her inbetween.

“What else did you see in there?”, you slide a hand under her baby tee, squeezing her waist.

She pulls back slightly to view your entire face; hers with mixed with an undeniable lust for you.

“I saw myself”, her voice softer, your eyes lock.

The room falls silent for a moment.

Your heart stops with it.

“My name is Jean Grey, by the way”, she slips a palmed hand into your blue jeans, smiling when she feels your slick arousal spill on her fingertips.

“What’s yours?”.

When you open your mouth to reply, a long moan it leaves instead, as she’s already rubbing your pussy with vigour. Her small circles are perfect.

“Jean…wait”, you try plead. It feels so good, to a level you’re not prepared for it.

“Uh-uh, you won’t let me see into your mind, so I’m taking your soaked cunt…you were walking around with this…for me?”.

Oh fuck.

“Just look how wet you are…you’re pathetic”, she whispers against your lips, before a soft kiss.

“And right now…all mine”.

She taunts, enjoying her control over you.

“Were you thinking about my pussy?”.

You nod.

“Having my fingers all on you…making you feel this good, making you come hard?”.

At this you moan loudly.

“Use your words”, she mimics you, halting her hand movements until you reply.

“God yes…you’re perfect Jean Grey…”.

Your voice goes up when she increases her pacing, you feel as if you’ll burst soon.

Then you remember, you just might, if you flare up; there’s no telling what could happen.

You may hurt her in the process, and this scares you more than anything else.

“Stop…I can’t come in this building”, your hand shoots on top of hers.

She does, her hand stills inside your panties.

“Why not? No one’s gonna find us, I promise”.

Oh god, why couldn’t you be a regular mutant?

“It’s not that, I don’t want to flare up, okay?”.

“I can already feel myself changing”, you add.

“I don’t want to accidentally hurt you…when we’re having such a good time, it’s still very unpredictable at this point…meaning I can’t get too worked up, until I have absolute control…”.

Her facial expression switches when she realises.

“Oh shit, okay”, she slips her wet hand out of you, quick to hold onto your waist instead.

You feel kind of awkward, but she doesn’t let you endure it, settling on making out with you.

Her wet tongue latching unto yours turns you on so much, but you manage to remain neutral.

You observed she loves to be squeezed and groped while you’re kissing, so you give her more of this; both of you touching the other with a desperation you’ve never experienced before.

How can perfection exist in other dimensions?

Her name is Jean Grey, holy fuck.

“Do you wanna eat my pussy?”, her timid voice interrupts your thoughts.

Oh god, YES.

“I would very much love that”, you smile tenderly.

“I thought so…come”.

The redhead sways to the couch, pulling down her bottoms to reveal cute panties. She lays down on it, spreads her legs apart, and calls you over with just a finger. This must be what heaven is.

You don’t waste the remaining time you have before you have to get back on the Greyhound.

Your body moves on top of hers, hearing her quietly moan when she feels your full weight.

She kisses you, immediately beginning to grind herself on your jeans, as if she hasn’t been under another person for a long time. Or simply held.

“Tell me how to eat you out…”, you pull back.

“Why don’t you just remove your stupid-”

“Jean. I’m not taking down my shield, for the one hundredth time…”.

“It’s not just for you, okay? The professor I told you about, Charles Xavier can locate me and I don’t want to be found by him right now”.

“Alright alright, don’t freak out on me…”, she caresses your cheek with perfect tenderness.

“Well, then respect my boundaries”.

She nods, gazing up at you with big dilated eyes.

“You’re a piece of work…”, her lips form a smile.

“That’s only ‘cos you’ve had it too easy, hopping into anyone’s mind. Someone has to tell you no”.

“So, no Jean Grey, you can’t enter my mind”.

“Even though I’m fighting for my life to keep this up, I won’t let you get in so easily…you’ll have to wait and maybe work for it a little more…”.

The redhead bites her bottom lip, leaning up to press her lips on yours with a passion.

You feel as though you’re able to dance with her, the way your tongues now mingle effortlessly.

“Please let me into your mind?”, she tries again when you pull back to gaze into her eyes.

“No…there’s a lesson here”, you grin down at her.

“Okay Professor…”, her hand grabs the back of your neck to guide you into another kiss. She grinds on your thigh in such a needy way.

But after a few minutes she needs more than this.

Jean pushes you up slightly and wiggles her cute panties off, revealing her glistening wet pussy.

Her scent alone has you salivating.

“Start on the outside, nice and slow at first…like you’re making out with my pussy”, she orders.

“Okay…you can grab my hair, if you need to”, you slide down until you’re face to face with her cunt.

She’s literal perfection.

“Oh I will, you just focus on doing a good job”.

You follow her instruction, bringing your mouth to kiss her outer lips; pressing more firmly with each one, already tasting her rich juices. God.

You swear you’ve never had anything so good in your life until Jean Grey’s pussy.

She starts to mumble under her breath, trying not to grind on your mouth. Her fingers tangle into your hair, gripping you when you finally part her.

Her soft noises drive you insane.

You lick her slowly, moving your tongue up and down, until you hear her instruct on doing it in a more circular motion. You do, and it transforms the energy in the room, and in Jean.

She starts to meet your tongue with her own thrusts, moaning long and deep for you.

Some of the objects around you both begin to float, the longer she hums with pleasure. But you’re too preoccupied to even notice.

“Now push your tongue inside me…fuck me with it. You’re doing so good…it feels incredible”.

“I’ll come soon…”.

Hearing her speak breathy, on the edge, almost breaks your shield. It’s hard to stay focused on keeping the block up when all you want to do is let her in, but you stay put, fighting the urge.

Her eyes gaze down at you as if they know how close you are to yielding to her.

She takes pleasure witnessing your struggling.

You wipe the smug look on her face when you push your tongue inside her needy warm pussy.

“Oh fuck…that’s it right there…use that tongue”.

You do, as much as you can fit it inside her.

This time she’s practically yanking on your hair, but you don’t mind as long as she’s getting what she needs. Her mumbles are much more filthy.

“Fuck my pussy…shove it there…ruin me, make me come…I need to come so badly…”.

Sometimes you can’t quite catch what she’s saying, it all sounds like praise, otherwise she would guide your head more.

You feel as if you’re floating, until you realise the couch is in fact hovering above ground.

She must be very close.

Your tongue fills her up and pulls out repeatedly, making sure you’re still giving attention to her sweet little button, you’re obsessed with it.

At this point her moans are so loud you’re scared someone will definitely hear her, even above the loud arcade music.

How can she taste this good in your mouth?

“I’m cominggg…”.

Her thighs covers your ears, but you can still hear how much she cries out.

Jean’s knuckles turn white with her tight grip in your hair. The couch goes higher with her climax, then it roughly thuds back down on the ground.

Everything else she has floating falls and crashes, at the same time she slumps back down.

Her fingers instantly pull you up by your hair to make out with you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

Jean spreads her legs wide, allowing you to grind in between them with your jeans.

“So? Do you like how I treat girls in this dimension?”, you grin against her kisses.

The redhead exhales loudly, satisfied at last.

“I fucking love how you treat girls…in any dimension. You were amazing for a first timer”, she smoothes your hair with gentleness.

“I haven’t come this hard for a very long time”.

Her gaze lingers on you, as if you mean something special to her already; perhaps you do.

The girl you just met hours ago.

She’s magnetic, and oh so powerful.

You need her in all ways.

“I thought you’d fly us out of the building for second there”, smoothing her damp bangs.

You’re both sweating, it’s kind of hot.

She breaks into perfect laughter.

“Honestly, that’s never happened before. I just recently unlocked this side of my abilities”.

You never would have guessed, with the way she has total control. Even landing roughly with the couch felt like a choice than a slip up.

If only she had gone to Xavier’s school.

She’d be unstoppable, and very popular, for sure.

“Maybe you can be my professor? I’d love to know how to do it for my powers”, you grin.

Jean’s eyes are quiet, even as she smiles back.

“It was dark…and I was in a bad place when it happened so, maybe go back to school…learn to do in an environment without trauma”.

She plays with strands of your hair.

“Do you wanna come?”, your heart starts racing.

Her laugh fills the staff room.

“I just did, but thank you for being so eager”.

You laugh with her.

“No silly, do you wanna come to my school? I think they’d love you…and you’d like it there”.

The redhead exaggerates pretending to think about it. Still, your heart beats fast in anticipation.

“Will you stop running away if I do?”, she lifts her brow, challenging you.

“Yeah…maybe. I’d have a friend, finally…maybe even a girlfriend one day?”, you smile sweetly; and you think her heart melts at this.

Her hands push you from her as she sits upright on the couch. Your face heats up at the sight of her. She blushes in return, covering her front.

“Pass me those will you?”.

When you turn around to grab her panties she levitates them to herself, laughing at your face.

“You’re so annoying”, you mimic her, smiling.

You haven’t felt a type of giddiness like this since your brother was still alive. God, it would change everything if she really came back with you.

As if she’s reading your thoughts, she gazes at you while slipping her bottoms on, fixing her hair to appear a little more presentable.

“I can’t believe this happened”, you scoot closer to her, knowing you can’t be as affectionate once you’re back on the bus.

“Me too”, her arms wrap around your shoulders as yours cover her waist. It feels so fated.

“Where are you heading to anyway?”, you ask.

There’s a sadness that flashes in her eyes for moment, similar to the one she had when you first saw her, as if she’s lost in this dimension.

Although she hasn’t yet told you the full story; you feel this is directly linked to what happened in New York, and why she unleashed such a power.

You wish you could have protected her.

“I’m not quite sure…”.

“Then come with me? I mean it”, your tone is more certain than the few other times you mentioned it. You hope it doesn’t scare her.

Her eyes avert yours nervously.

“An entirely new dimension?”, she trails.

“Yes. It’s really not as different as here, I promise and you’ll have more people like us to befriend”.

The room falls silent, and for a second you’re certain this is too much for her.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

“Hello? Who’s in here? Open this door!”.

It sounds like the rude woman from earlier.

“Oh shit!”, you whisper.

“Chill. It’s fine, one second”, Jean stares towards the door and a few moments later you can hear footsteps walking away.

The way you gaze at her must be telling because she rolls her eyes.

“Did you want her to walk in then?”, her tone is slightly annoyed.

“Obviously not…thank you”.

Are you really that much of a square?

It still feels quite invasive to take over someone’s body without their knowledge; but you like this girl, you’re getting to know her. So, maybe it’s not a big deal if she needs to do it for safety reasons.

Surely, that’s the point of this?

“Just as I thought”, she breaks into a grin.

You can’t help melting, she’s her most beautiful when she’s happy and laughing with you. She’ll get away with many things looking like that.

“We should get going anyway, the Greyhound will be leaving in a few minutes”.

The redhead follows your lead.

By the time you step back out it’s evening.

“Jean, please come back with me?”, you try again when you settle back into your original bus seats, feeling closer than before.

“I’m thinking about it…”.

“Alright”, you bite your bottom lip, leaning back into your seat. ‘Don’t push it’, you think silently.

The driver makes a final check to make sure all passengers are back on before driving.

You pull out your pink iPod and wired headphones, offering one to your new friend.

She takes it, sitting back more comfortably in her own seat. Her hand slowly reaching to hold yours.

It’s perfect, she’s perfect, you’re perfect together.

“Is your school like Sky High, the movie?”.

You shake your head a little confused.

“I’ve never heard of this…what’s the plot?”.

She goes on to explain the entire movie about the school for superheroes, making you laugh at some of the ridiculous things that happen in it.

Eventually an hour into the ride, you tell her details about your dimension, while sharing more music. It becomes more interesting when you begin to compare which artists exist in both your worlds and which are in one but not the other.

You love the way her head slowly rests on your shoulder. It’s safe and you don’t feel alone.

“How about this track?”, you press play.

She grins up at you seconds into the intro.

“Duh! C’mon, this is a classic, if my dimension didn’t have Eve, it’d be such a devastation”.

“Agreed. I think the song fits your vibe…kinda”.

“Because I’m a telepath?”.

“Well, yes, but also just a badass…”.

She blushes.

“I’m flattered, really”.

Before the Greyhound arrives in the next town, you feel something shift in your body. Not like when you’re about to flare up, but close to it.

As if you’re about to hop.

And because you’re holding onto Jean’s hand, it’s much more intense. She feels it too.

She opens her mouth to ask, but you’re soon teleported into another bus, this one emptier.

The redhead looks up from your shoulder in shock, to see the outside isn’t dark anymore; the sun is out, as if it’s a brand new day.

Or a new dimension?

You just hope to God it’s yours, and not one you don’t know how to navigate, like last time.

Both of you quickly remove your shared earphones, taking in your surroundings.

the song of Eve’s you play to Jean 🎧

Darkhölme’s School for the Gifted Youngsters - Part II

Hela will fuck you in every position possible but her favorite one is the when you're both on your knees and she's thrusting into you from behind. Her hands smooth up and down your thighs, brushing against your wet cunt. She's moving fast, but deep, grinning into the kiss you clumsily pull her into in a desperate attempt to silence your moans. All your effort to do so it futile, with every thrust you get louder. There's no need for you to keep quiet while she's fucking you, she wants to hear you clearly, her favorite woman in the whole world.

Illyana developed a breeding kink during the many times she's used her strap-on with you. She didn't mean to say she's gonna get you pregnant while almost breaking the bed, it just slipped out. From then on she only uses the strap-on with artificial cum in it and bends you in half while doing so. No matter the position she's always within kissing distance, she loves kissing you, her tongue demanding against yours. if she goes too hard on you she will kiss your pussy as an apology and she is being very sincere with her apology.

Natasha often wears her strap-on under her clothes and leaves it to you to get it wet and ready. You can suck it, you can use lube, you can ride it until you come all over it. But after that it's her turn to have some fun and for you to be a good girl and not a brat like she knows you can be. If you do behave like a brat she has no problem putting you in your place, which is under her, screaming her name, telling her how much you love her cock. She's also very forgiving towards you, if you ask her nicely she can go easy on you.

Ororo teases you a lot but ultimately gives you everything you want. She spoils you when she uses the strap-on, she encourages you as you ride it, massages your thighs, your ass and your hips and grins when you tell her you're close. When you feel tired but needy she is more than happy to stay still and cuddle, only moving back and forth occasionally, eliciting soft whimpers from you. Plants soft kisses across your neck while you ride her up and down, back and forth. One of her favorite things is to have you clean it afterwards.

The low, monotonous drone of the television does little to fill the suffocating silence of your living room. It’s a ghost of a sound, a feeble attempt to distract from the tempest raging within you. You’re sprawled on the couch, a position that should be comfortable but instead feels like a cage. Your eyes trace the flickering lights on the screen, but the images are a meaningless blur, unable to penetrate the thick fog of your thoughts. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, a testament to the anxiety that has taken root in your soul. Your mind, a relentless machine, replays a highlight reel of your relationship with Natasha—the laughter, the whispered secrets, the stolen kisses, all now tainted by the bitter sting of recent memories.

Natasha. Her name alone is a paradox, a source of both immense joy and profound sorrow. She’s on her way, and with each passing minute, the knot in your stomach tightens. You’ve rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, but the words still feel foreign and cruel on your tongue. How do you tell the woman you love that you need to step away? How do you explain that the very thing that once anchored you is now dragging you under? The constant cycle of her shutting down, of her deflecting and denying, has chipped away at your heart until it feels raw and exposed. You’ve given so much of yourself, only to be met with a wall you can no longer scale. The love is still there, a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished, but it’s no longer enough to sustain you. This isn’t just about you anymore; it’s about survival.

The shrill cry of the doorbell is a physical blow, jolting you from your reverie. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room. This is it. You force yourself to take a deep, shuddering breath, then another, and another, a desperate attempt to find your center. Rising from the couch, your legs feel like lead, each step a monumental effort. You pause at the door, your hand hovering over the cold metal of the doorknob, a final moment of hesitation before you shatter both of your worlds.

You swing the door open, and there she is. Natasha. Her beauty is as breathtaking as ever, but it’s the flicker of uncertainty in her emerald eyes that captures your attention. She offers a small, hesitant smile, a fragile thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She steps inside, her presence filling the space with a familiar yet painful energy. You watch as she gravitates to her usual spot on the couch, a silent testament to the life you’ve built together, a life that is now on the verge of collapse.

“So… you said you wanted to talk?” Her voice is a soft melody, laced with a thread of apprehension. She knows. Of course, she knows. Natasha has always been able to read you like an open book, and right now, your pain is written on every line of your face.

“Yeah, I did,” you manage to say, your voice surprisingly steady. You choose to sit in the armchair opposite her, the coffee table between you a chasm you’re not sure you can cross. “I needed to talk to you about us. And this isn’t a conversation for the phone.” A dry, humorless laugh escapes your lips, a nervous tic you can’t control. You clench your trembling hands in your lap, willing them to be still.

“I can’t do this anymore, Nat,” the words tumble out, a torrent of pain you can no longer contain. You see the confusion in her eyes, the way her brow furrows and her lips part in a silent question.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. The fear in her eyes is a dagger to your heart. It’s the fear of a woman who has lost so much already, a woman who is terrified of losing you too.

“I’m so tired, Natasha,” you confess, the words raw and honest. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough, like my feelings don’t matter. I’m tired of you shutting me out, of you building walls that I can’t break down. I pour my heart out to you, and you just… disappear. You act like nothing’s wrong, like I’m the one who’s overreacting. I know I’m not perfect, but I don’t deserve to be treated like a ghost in my own relationship.” You hold her gaze, your own eyes burning with unshed tears. You need her to see, to finally understand the depth of your hurt.

Silence descends upon the room, heavy and suffocating. Natasha’s face is a mask of conflicting emotions—shock, hurt, and a dawning, painful understanding. The spy, the assassin, the woman who can face down any enemy without flinching, looks utterly lost. You can see the war raging within her, the instinct to retreat battling with the undeniable truth of your words.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally murmurs, her voice thick with unshed tears. She looks down at her hands, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“That’s just it, Nat. You never do,” you say, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you. “Did you even know? Did you have any idea how much I was hurting?” You look up, and the sight of a single tear tracing a path down her cheek breaks your heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I never… I never wanted to hurt you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I… I ruined it. I understand why you’re doing this. I do.”

“I’m glad you understand,” you say, your own voice choked with emotion. “I think… I think we both need some time. To heal.” She nods, a sad, resigned smile on her lips. She reaches across the table and takes your hand, her touch a familiar comfort that now feels like a goodbye. “I love you,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “I will always love you. Whether we’re lovers or friends, that will never change. Okay?”

You manage a small smile, squeezing her hand. “I love you too, Nat. And I’ll never forget us. You’ll always have a piece of my heart. Maybe… maybe someday we’ll find our way back to each other.”

The walk to the door is a somber procession. You step out into the cool night air, turning to face her one last time. “Thank you for everything,” you say, a wry smile on your face. “See you around, Romanoff?”

“Until we meet again,” she replies, her own sad smile mirroring yours. The door clicks shut, the sound echoing the finality of your decision. You turn and walk away, the weight of your shared past and uncertain future a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Until we meet again.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Months have passed. Months of healing, of rediscovering yourself outside of the all-consuming orbit of Natasha Romanoff. The time apart was a necessary balm for your wounded soul, a quiet space to lick your wounds and remember who you were before the heartbreak. And yet, not a day went by that you didn’t miss her. The ache was a dull, constant companion, a reminder of the void she’d left behind.

So when she called, her voice a hesitant murmur on the other end of the line, asking to see you, you agreed. And now, you’re standing outside her apartment, the familiar scent of her building wrapping around you like a ghost. Your heart is a frantic bird beating against the cage of your ribs. You take a deep, fortifying breath, the air doing little to calm the storm inside you, and knock.

The door swings open, and she’s there. She looks… softer. The hard edges you’d grown so accustomed to seem to have smoothed over, replaced by a raw vulnerability in her emerald eyes. A genuine, hopeful smile touches her lips.

“Hey,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for coming. Come in, make yourself at home.”

She closes the door and turns to you, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I know I called last minute, but I… I really needed to see you. To talk to you.” She leads you to the couch, and the sense of deja vu is so strong it’s dizzying. The same couch where your world fell apart is now the stage for its potential reconstruction.

“It’s okay,” you say, offering a small, tentative smile. “You don’t need to explain. I missed you too, so it’s a win-win.” The admission hangs in the air between you, a fragile truth. You look down, a blush of your own creeping up your neck. “What did you want to talk about?” you ask, finally meeting her gaze. You brace yourself, ready to accept whatever comes next. If she wants to end things for good, you’ll let her go. Anything to make her happy.

“I’ve been missing… us,” she starts, her voice trembling slightly. “A lot. I want our relationship back. I promise I’ll be a better girlfriend. This time without you… it made me realize how much of an asshole I was. I want to do better. Give me a second chance, please. I won’t fuck up again.” She’s practically begging, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The sight of the unshakable Black Widow so utterly broken and open for you is staggering. You sigh, your resolve crumbling, and take her hand.

“Nat, I won’t lie and say that I didn’t miss this, because I did,” you confess, your voice thick with emotion. “But I was so scared of getting hurt again. You understand, right?” She squeezes your hand, nodding vigorously, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I understand, and you’re right. But please, I’m begging you. Give us one last shot. I promise that if I fuck up again, if it doesn’t work out, I will leave you alone and never contact you again. If that’s what you wish.” You think about it, about a life devoid of her laughter, her touch, her presence. It’s a bleak, colorless picture you can’t bear to imagine. You let her in.

“This is the last chance, alright?” you say, your voice firm, your boundaries clear. “If it happens again, I will walk away and I won’t come back. I won’t bury my feelings and forget my needs just to make you happy. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she breathes, a radiant, hopeful smile breaking through her tears. “So… does that mean we’re back together?”

You nod, and before you can register what’s happening, her lips are on yours. The kiss is a chaotic, desperate collision. It’s messy and rough, a raw outpouring of months of pent-up longing, pain, and unspoken love. It’s the taste of a second chance, of a homecoming you weren’t sure you’d ever have.

She pulls you onto her lap, her hands roaming your body with a possessive urgency, as if to reassure herself that you’re really here. “I missed you,” she murmurs against your neck, her voice a low growl. “You have no fucking idea.” Her kisses are a brand, a declaration to the world that you are hers.

“I’m going to show you how much I missed you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with a dominant heat that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re mine.”

Her hands move with a newfound reverence, a tenderness that was often absent before. She helps you out of your shirt, her eyes full of an adoration that makes you feel like the most precious thing in the world. “So beautiful,” she whispers, her gaze tracing the lines of your body. Her fingertips ghost over the scars that litter your skin, some faded with time, some newer, angrier. You instinctively move to cover them, a wave of self-consciousness washing over you.

She gently grabs your arms, her touch firm but loving, and moves them aside. “These are new… Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly. You shake your head, not ready to revisit that darkness. “Maybe later,” you plead, your voice thick with need. “Right now, I just need you to touch me. Please.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. She scoops you into her arms and carries you to the bedroom. She lays you down on the bed, her movements deliberate and controlled. She worships your body with her lips and hands, kissing every inch of skin, every scar, whispering praises and affirmations that soothe the wounded parts of your soul. “You’re so beautiful, my love,” she murmurs against your skin. “Every single part of you is perfect. You were sculpted by the gods.”

You tear up, overwhelmed by a love so profound it feels like a physical force. You cup her face, pulling her up to meet your gaze. “I love you, Nat,” you whisper.

“I love you, my angel,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. She traces your lips with her thumb before capturing them in another soul-searing kiss. Her hand wraps around your neck, a gentle but firm pressure that speaks of her control, of her dominance. Her eyes travel down your body and then back to your face, a silent question in their depths. “Can I?”

You nod, your breath catching in your throat.

“Words, honey,” she smirks, the familiar, commanding glint in her eyes making your heart race.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a prayer and a plea. “Yes, just… please.”

She smiles, a slow, predatory smile that promises pleasure and oblivion. “Good girl.”

She moves with a languid grace, her every action a testament to her love and her desire. The world outside fades away, the room shrinking until it’s just the two of you, two broken pieces finally fitting back together. Her touch is both a question and a command, a dance of dominance and submission rooted in a love that has weathered the storm. You surrender to her, to the overwhelming feeling of being cherished, of being wanted, of being home.

She doesn't waste time. Natasha presses her body against yours, the scent of her vanilla shampoo mixing with the faint musk of her skin. Her mouth crashes onto your neck, teeth grazing before sucking hard, marking you with deep, bruising hickeys that bloom purple under your skin.

Each pull sends jolts of pain-laced pleasure through you, your hands clutching her shoulders as you gasp. “Mine.”, she growls against your throat, her voice thick with possession. “No one else gets to touch you like this.”

You whimper, nodding, the emotional weight hitting you — her need to claim you again, to heal the fractures between you. The marks sting, a visible reminder of her love, and you crave more, your vulnerability laid bare as tears prick your eyes from the intensity.

Natasha's hands roam your body, stripping your shirt away with efficient pulls, exposing your skin to the cool air. You watch, breath hitching, as she sheds her clothes, revealing the harness already buckled around her hips, the thick strap-on jutting out, realistic and veined, glistening with lube she's applied. Her eyes lock on yours, fierce and tender all at once.

“You need Mommy to take care of you, don't you?” she says, the word slipping out like a secret key, unlocking the flood of submission in you. You nod, whispering "Yes, Mommy,” your voice breaking with raw need, the emotional reconnection making your heart ache as much as your body throbs.

She straddles you, knees pinning your hips, her weight a comforting cage. The tip of the strap-on presses against your entrance, teasing your slick folds before she thrusts in deep, filling your pussy with one controlled push.

You cry out, the stretch burning sweetly, her toned body rocking against yours as she sets a rhythm — hard, demanding strokes that make your breasts bounce.

“That's it, take it all,” she commands, her hands cupping your chest, thumbs circling your nipples until they're hard peaks. She leans down, mouth latching onto one breast, sucking and biting the soft flesh, worshipping it with hungry laps of her tongue. You tremble under her demanding hands, the sensation shooting straight to your core, clenching around the invading length.

Emotions swirl — love, regret, relief — as she murmurs against your skin, “I worked on myself for you, baby. To be better. To be the best girlfriend for you. To fuck you like you deserve.”

The pace builds, her hips slamming forward, the strap-on pounding your pussy with wet, obscene slaps. You wrap your legs around her, pulling her deeper, lost in the mix of physical overwhelm and the depth of her gaze. “Gonna fill you up, breed this tight little pussy”' she groans, the words fantasy-fueled heat that makes you arch, imagining her seed taking root, binding you forever.

Her free hand marks more skin — fingernails raking your thighs, leaving red trails — while she switches to your other breast, teeth grazing the nipple hard enough to make you sob with pleasure. Sweat slicks your bodies, the room filling with your moans and her grunts, the emotional undercurrent making every thrust feel like reconciliation.

You come first, walls spasming around the toy, crying her name as waves crash through you, tears streaming from the intensity of it all.

Natasha follows soon after, grinding deep with a shuddering groan, her body collapsing onto yours in spent release. She doesn't pull out right away, staying buried inside as she shifts to hold you close, the strap-on a lingering connection. Her arms wrap around you, pulling you into her chest, lips brushing your forehead in soft kisses.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hours later, you’re brought back to reality by the gentle touch of a warm, damp cloth against your skin. You open your eyes to see Natasha carefully, lovingly cleaning you. You smile, a deep sense of peace settling in your heart. You grab her hand, pulling her down to cuddle, burying your face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her familiar scent.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice a soft rumble against your ear.

“I love you more, baby,” you mumble, already drifting off to sleep, safe and secure in her arms.

“Not possible, honey,” she chuckles, her arms tightening around you.

"Welcome everyone... to the very first season of The Love Initiative!" The camera glides over sunlit villa, white walls, glass doors, pool that would be too big for twenty people and a lot of very pricey decorations, before settling on Sam Wilson, the host, standing in a custom burgundy suit.

"My name is Sam Wilson, I´ll be your host and before you ask... yes," he adds, smirking, "this is exactly what it looks like. Ten days. One villa. A group of very attractive, very single women... and one person who´s about to have their life turned upside down." He starts walking.

"Here´s how it works. Our contestants will be living together right here," he points at the villa, "bonding, competing, falling in love... or at least trying not to start unnecessary drama." Sam pauses, then shrugs, "actually, scratch that, there will definitely be drama." A quick glance at the camera, "you´re welcome."

Sam then gestures toward a seperate part of the villa, "and then there is the one and only. Our lead. The one making all the decisions. The one everyone´s here for." Sam smiles, "(Y/N)!"

"Now (Y/N) won´t be living with the others. They get her own private apartment, a little peace, a little quiet place to think... and to question every single decision they make over the next ten days."

"Each day, they´ll go on fun dates, face new challanges and get to know the women who are all here for one reason... to win their heart."

His tone softens just slightly, "and at the end of it all... they´ll choose one person. One woman to leave this villa with."

A beat of silence.

"No preassure, right?" Sam chuckles. "So get comfortable. Get emotionally invested. Maybe don´t pick favorites too early, trust me, never ends well." A pause, then a grin on his face. "because if there is one thing I can guarantee... it´s that sparks will fly!"

Right. So... this is really happening.

You stare at your reflection like it might suddenly give you an explanation how you got here. Here is a beautiful villa bathroom, that is definitely more expensive than your entire apartment back home, about to participace in what is essentially... a televised speedrun of your love life.

Which to be fair, needed help. A lot of help. Because if you´re being honest? Your romantic history could be summed up in three categories - almosts, what-ifs and that one time you thought girl was flirting and she was just cursing at you in another language.

You let out a quiet breath, leaning your hands agasint the sink. So the only solution to your problem is going on a fully televised dating show. Because if you were going to make questionable life choices, you might as well commit.

You straighten slightly, eyeing yourself in the mirror again.

Ten days. Ten days to meet a group of women who are all here for you. To go on dates. To figure out feelings. To... somehow choose one person at the end of it.

Your future girlfriend. Potentially your future wife. No pressure. None at all. Totally normal. This is exactly what well-adjusted people do. You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. This is very normal gay experience.

The main hall is ridiculous in person. Beautiful ridiculous, to be specific. Warm golden lighting, tall windows, elegant furniture and at the center of it all is a stage framed by soft lights and large flower arrangements.

You stand just out of frame, smoothing your hands down the front of your clothes for what has to be the hundredth time, trying and failing to ignore the pounding of your heartbeat.

From somewhere beyond the cameras, Sam´s voice carries through the room, Unlike someone, he sounds very confident and overall effortlessly charming. "Now, before be begin, let´s talk about the person at the center of all this."

A large screen flickers to life. And suddenly you´re watching yourself. Pieces of you. Quick flashes of a life that feels oddly intimate, seeing it on the big screen now. Of course you remember them shooting it before you went to villa, but seeing yourself with friends in a coffee shop, or walking throught the city with headphones on, reading in your apartment or other candid moments where you look soft, free... it´s weird to see yourself through the eyes of someone else.

Sam narrates over it all, "smart, kind, funny..." he pauses, "questionable taste in food combos, according to production notes." A quiet laugh from the crew, "but most importantly? Someone who has a lot of love to give. And maybe, just maybe, is finally ready to let herself receive some back." The montage ends.

"And now..." Sam´s voice lights with very theatrical excitement. "Here they are- the one and only..." He grins towards the camera, "(Y/N)!"

Oh god.

That´s you.

That is, unfortunately, your cue.

You step out into the light, trying your best not to look like you´re internally screaming. The camera turn and everything suddenly feels very real. Sam meets you halfway, immediately offering the kind smile, that takes some of the edge off.

"Well," he says, gesturing toward you, "welcome in the villa, (Y/N)!"

"Thank you, it is very crazy to be here... in a good way, of course." You laugh, nerves making it come out breathless.

Sam chuckles, leading you toward the center of the room, both of you settling into the easy rhytm of conversation. "How are you feeling?" He asks, softer now, genuine.

You exhale a nervous little laugh, "honestly?"

"Please."

"Terrified. Excited, Slightly nauseous. But mostly excited."

Sam nods seriously, "that´s exactly how I feel every Thanksgiving with my family, so I´d say you´re doing great."

That pulls a real laugh from you, it definetly helps loosening up the nerves.

"Alright, but now the important question."

You immedietly narrow your eyes, "that sounds dangerous."

"It is," Sam folds his arms, "what is your type?"

You think about it for a second before shaking your head, "I... honestly don´t know if I have one."

Sam blinks, "no type at all?"

"No. I mean- obviously I find people attractive, but I´ve never really had a strict type. It´s more about the chemistry, I guess. Personality. Connection."

Sam hums, glancing toward the large closed door at the other end of the hall. "Well," he says, dragging out the word, "that´s actually great news."

You raise a brow, "oh?"

Sam smiles, mischievous, like he knows something you don´t, "because behind those doors..." he points dramatically, "we have plenty of types."

Your stomach flips, not in a bad way. Just in a holy shit this is happening way.

Sam catches your expression and laughs, "so... final asnwer," he turns towards you. "Are you ready for all the ladies?"

You glance at the door, at whatever, whoever is waiting behind them. You smile happily and nervously at the same time, "I am."

Sam claps his hands together, "that´s what I like to hear." He steps back, grin widening. "Then let´s meet your future heartbreaks- I mean..." A beat of silence, "... potential soulmates."

The door open, and the first woman steps through. Sam´s voice carries smoothly across the hall, "Natasha Romanoff!"

You forget how breathing works. She moves like she owns every room she enters, not arrogantly, but with a quiet certainty, that makes the whole space shift around her. Her blonde hair falls in a soft waves over one shoulder, she´s dressed in sharp black tailoring softened by silk. It looks expensive, that´s for sure.

Every detail about her feels unreal. Her gaze lands on you, unreadable at first, then softens, just enough to make your stomach completly betray you.

She steps close, offering a small smile, that already feels like a marrige proposal. "It´s lovely to finally meet you, (Y/N)."

Her voice is velvet and low and-

Right.

Words.

You should use words.

Preferably right now.

"Hi," you manage.

Excellent start.

Natasha´s smile curves slightly wider, amused and she brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear before stepping to the side. Your heart is doing concerning things.

Sam leans closer, "you´re staring, (Y/N)."

"I know."

"Do you need a minute?"

"I want medical assistance," Sam laughs and so does Natasha.

Then the door opens again and Sam speaks up again, "Wanda Maximoff." As your eyes meet hers, somehow things get worse.

Or better.

Definetly worse.

Definetly better.

Wanda walks in like the wind throught tall grass, effortless, grounded. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, slightly messy in a deliberate way and she´s dressed in dark jeans, boots, layereed necklaces and a worn flannel hanging open over a top, that reveals strong arms and sun-kissed skin.

You are immedietly in love with at least three things about her. When Wanda speaks it´s simple and casual, "hey you," but you nearly fold in half.

"Hi," you breathe, somehow even less coherent than before.

Wanda smiles and she joins Natasha. You look between them. Two most beautiful women, already devastating.

How many women are left? God.

Sam softly pats your shoulder and he chuckles, "you´re doing great."

"I´m fighting for my life."

"That´s good for the fans." He smirks, then he looks at the door again. "Another lady to the group, Kate Bishop!"

Oh.

This one looks like trouble.

Kate walks in like she´s entering a stadium tunnel before a championship game. Broad grin, shoulders back, confidence radiating off her in waves. She´s tall, athletic, dressed in jeans with sneakers and fitted blazer over a shirt. She absolutely knows she´s hot.

Which is horrible. She knows exactly what she does to people. Her eyes flick over you and brighten immediately, "well, hi there."

That grin becomes flirtatious in half a second, "you´re even cuter than production said." Heat floods your whole face.

Sam makes a delighted sound beside you, "oh, she´s fast."

Kate laughs, stepping closer to shake your hand, but her thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, deliberate enough to make butterflies explode violetnly in your stomach. "It´s really nice to meet you, (Y/N)," she says, softer now. Then with a wink, "can´t wait to win."

She´s competetive, cocky, charming. You are so unbelievably doomed. Kate joins the other and you stare blankly ahead. Sam glances at you with a smirk, "how are we feeling so far?"

"I´ll tell you later, just keep them coming," you mumble out.

Sam laughs, "got it, lets tear off a band-aid. This is getting better and better, ladies and gantlemen. Welcome Yelena Belova!"

A blonde woman enters with the energy of someone deeply unimpressed by everything and somehow that makes her impossibly magnetic.

Lather jacket, dark shirt, rings on her fingers. Cool confidence worn loosely, like she´s not trying to impress anyone and somehow impresses everyone. Her hair is slicked back, her expression dryly amused, eyes sharp yet soft enough to hint at something warmer beneath.

She stops in front of you, looks you up and down and then she nods once, "good."

You blink, "good?"

Yelena shrugs, "you seem interesting. I was hoping for interesting." Then after a beat, "also pretty. Bonus." Sam physically turns away to laugh.

You feel your soul leaving your body, which makes Yelena smirk, "oh this will be so fun."

You´re still trying to recover from Yelena, when Sam straightens beside you and grin suspiciously. "Oh, (Y/N), you´re pretty much in gay heaven."

"Or hell, it´s hard to tell, to be honest."

Sam nods, with a chuckle, "very true. I´d say both is very entertaining." The doors open again and Sam´s voice rings out, "Carol Danvers!"

And another confidence walks in. Not the quiet kind, like Natasha´s. Carol walks in like she´s used to stepping into high-pressure situations and coming out on top. Tall, huge shoulders, strong arms that look sculpted by the gods themselves. She´s wearing tailored trousers and a fitted white button-up with sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, showing toned forearms and a sharp watch at her wrist. Devastatingly attractive.

There´s a bomber jacket slung casually over one shoulder like she just stepped off a runway and a military base. Her blonde hair is swept back and her smile...

Her smile is trouble. Very cocky, yet very warm. Her eyes meet yours with immediate focus, it´s like she chooses what deserves her attention and right now, somehow, it is you and only you.

She steps close, offering her hand, "Carol." You take it and immediately notice two things, her grip is very firm, yet her hands are soft.

"It´s really nice to meet you," she says, voice smooth and sure. One of her corner of her mouth lifts, "I´ve heard there´s competetion here."

Your pulse jumps. Carol glances towards the lineup of women already gethered, sizing them up in one efficient sweep before looking back at you. "That´s alright, I like the competition."

Kate from across the room, lets out a small offended laugh, Carol only shoots her a grin. You can feel the instant competitive energy in the room.

Sam whistles, "looks like it´s hot and we barerly even started, that´s what we like to see. Just don´t fight yet, our medic is starting from tomorrow." He looks around, "just joking." Sam looks at the camera lenses and mouths "I´m not... anyway Agatha Harkness, everyone!"

This woman walks in like trouble has been flirting with her for years. Strong hands. Worn boots, that hit the floor with deliberate weight. Dark jeans, a white tank and a weathered flannel hanging open over it, sleeves rolled. Her hair is slightly messy, silver streaks catching the light in a way that makes her hotter. She looks older than the others.

Her whole energy says 'I know exactly who I am.' Agatha walks up to you with a smirk on her face, "oh," eyes dragging over you, "well done, producers."

You nearly choke, hoping that the medic is close, just in case. Sam laughs, "she likes you," he winks to the camera.

"I gathered," you mumble weakly. Agatha then steps close enough, that her woodsy and smoky cologne briefly wraps around you.

"Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart," she says with a teasing grin. "Let´s save everyones time and just-" she offers her hand, while Yelena snorts at her offer. Kate grins knowing exactly what is Agatha doing, while the rest just watches, hoping that you won´t fall for her tactics.

Before you can finish, Agatha´s expression changes, only slightly, but you see it. Her eyes cut sharply towards the doors and her jaw tightens. Like she suddenly senses something unplesant and Sam knows what the unplesant thing is. Or rather who. "Interesting," Agatha mumbles.

You were so deeply wrapped in Agatha´s cologne, you didn´t even realize, that the door openned one last time. Sam looks at the camera knowingly, "last but not least, Rio Vidal."

Rio moves calmly, measured and dangerous. Dark tailored slacks, black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled once at the wrist, rings on her long fingers and dark hair in a bun, showing her sharp cheekbones. She is beautiful in a way, that definetly feels intimidating. Like everyone instinctively makes room for her.

Then her gaze lands, not on you, but on Agatha. And slowly, very very slowly Rio smiles, "small world."

Agatha lets out a humorless laugh, which makes you confused, "you´ve got to be kidding me." You are glancing from one to another.

Wait, what?

Agatha measures Rio, but then she walks up to her spot, where other ladies are, some trying not to laugh, some smirking, knowing this will be a hell of a ride.

Rio finally looks at you and her entire expression softens by a degree. Which kinda makes it worse, because now all that intensity is directed at you. She takes your hand gently, brings it toward her lips, not quiete kissing your knuckles, but close enough, that your entire nervous system short-circuits.

"(Y/N)," Rio says, voice velvery smooth. "Pleasure."

"Oh, she is absolutely not using my dating moves on national television," Agatha mumbles so only Carol can hear.

Rio walks up next to Agatha, but she quickly changes with Carol, so she stands between them. You stare at the lineup and you swallow hard.

"These are our contestants and this is what we call premium television." Sam smiles, gesturing to the ladies.

Natasha elegant and unreadable. Wanda steady and wild. Kate grining at all the ladies. Yelena amused, but sharp. Agatha glaring like she is planing a murder. Carol as a big ball of confidence. And lastly, Rio pleased with herself.

Everyone one of them is impossibly beautiful and you feel so drawn towards them. Your stomach is doing crazy things, not only butterflies but a whole damn zoo. You lean towards Sam, "I think I´m in trouble."