#posessive

You don’t turn immediately - you know that step.The faint pause in the doorway. The silence that always follows her coming home, as if the air itself recognizes her before you do.

Heels tap once against the floor.

You glance over your shoulder.

Wanda stands there, framed by the hallway light. Dark red coat still on, S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform beneath it, hair slightly disheveled from the wind, exhaustion sitting in the slope of her shoulders… and yet her eyes soften instantly when they find you.

For a moment she doesn’t move.

Her gaze drifts from the simmering pot, to your bare legs, to the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“…You cook like this on purpose,” she murmurs, voice low from disuse after a long day.

You grin. “Like what?”

Instead of answering, her fingers twitch at her side.

A pulse of red slips across the room, warm, weightless, alive.

You yelp softly as invisible hands catch your wrist and waist, gently but irresistibly tugging you backward away from the stove. The spoon clatters into the pot. The flame dims itself obediently under a flicker of chaos magic.

“Wanda— dinner—”

“Can wait.”

Your back meets her front. The heat of her seeps through the thin fabric instantly, and she exhales against your neck like she’s been holding that breath since sunrise.

Her hands never actually touch you — yet you feel them everywhere.

Magic curls around your forearms, a velvet pressure guiding your hands down to rest over hers where they hover at your waist. Another thread glides beneath your collar, ghosting along your skin. It tingles, not cold, not warm… just hers.

You shiver.

She notices immediately.

A soft laugh brushes your ear. “There it is.”

“You’re cheating,” you murmur, leaning back despite yourself.

“I am coping.”

Her nose grazes your temple, then lingers there. The tension drains out of her in stages, like someone unwinding a clock too tightly wound. The magic grows softer as she does, less restraint, more affection. It traces lazy shapes along your collarbone, dips down your arm, returns again just to feel you react.

You squirm faintly.

She hums. “I spend all day holding continents apart and stopping bullets midair,” she whispers. “I come home and you are… stirring sauce.”

The invisible pressure around your waist tightens, not possessive, just anchoring.

“You have no idea how dangerous that is.”

You laugh softly. “To who?”

Her lips brush just behind your ear. Not a kiss, barely contact.

“To my focus.”

The cabinet behind you opens with a soft creak. A wine glass floats out, then another. The cork eases free with a quiet pop, pouring itself as she doesn’t move an inch from you. One glass drifts to the counter beside the stove.

The other presses gently into your hand, guided by red light wrapping your fingers around the stem.

“You forgot to eat lunch again,” you say.

“I remembered,” she murmurs. “I just preferred the idea of this.”

The magic slides down your spine in a slow line and you inhale sharply.

She smiles, you can hear it.

“Every time,” she whispers.

Your head tips back onto her shoulder without thinking. The wine warms your throat; her presence warms everything else. Her fingers finally touch you, real this time, resting over your stomach where the magic already lingered. Reality and power layered together.

For a long moment neither of you moves. The city hums outside. The pot bubbles patiently. Her breathing steadies against your back.

“I missed you,” she says quietly, the humor gone, replaced with something deeper.

You turn in her arms.

Her magic helps, rotating you carefully, like she’s afraid the moment might break if rushed. Now she faces you, close enough your noses almost touch, her hands hovering at your hips, undecided whether to hold or not.

You decide for her, hooking your fingers into her belt.

Her composure falters instantly.

A faint red flare flickers in her irises.

“Careful,” she murmurs, but she leans in anyway, forehead resting against yours. “I am already using restraint.”

You smile. “You’re home. You’re allowed not to.”

She inhales sharply against your lips and you feel it, the precise moment restraint breaks.

The magic that had been whispering at your skin suddenly becomes a flood. Not violent, not rough, but present in a way that makes your knees weak: a tide of red wrapping around your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor. 

Your wine glass never spills … Wanda never spills … magic holds it steady as your back meets the nearest flat surface: the kitchen island, cool marble against your shoulders, your legs sliding open for her without thinking.

The red light coils around her fingers, painting them with power as she presses you down onto the counter, her thighs slotting between yours. Her mouth hovers, breath hot, teasing.

"Still think I'm not focused?" she murmurs, and the magic answers for her, slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing your inner thighs not touching, yet you feel everything, every phantom stroke making heat pool low in your stomach.

You gasp and her green eyes darken. Chaos magic flickers in her irises.

She leans in closer, her fingers wrapping around your wrists and lifting them above your head. The magic tightens around them, holding you in place. 

"You know what this magic does?" she whispers against your mouth. Her other hand trails down your side, ghosting over your hip. "It can make you feel things you've never felt before. It can make you come without even touching you."

You whimper, not from the touch, because there isn't one, just that terrible, delicious red presence wrapping around your core like velvet and fire. She laughs, low and soft, watching your hips buck uselessly against empty air.

There it is… that desperate whine she lives for.

"Such a noise," she breathes, lips brushing your jaw. "And I haven't even done anything yet." 

The magic tightens.

"Wanda—please—" The words tear out of you, raw and ragged, your thighs trembling as that phantom pressure coils deeper, a slick, red pulse ghosting where you're most sensitive. You're already soaked, you can feel it, your body arching off the marble like it's trying to chase contact that doesn't exist. "I can't—I need—fuck—"

"Look at you," she murmurs, drinking you in like she's been thirsty for days. She looks powerful like this, clothed while she strips you bare with magic alone. 

"You're so beautiful such a mess already." Her gaze drops between your legs and her throat bobs. "And so wet, god."

Her auburn hair tumbles forward as she leans down, some escaping the loose knot at her nape, and she doesn't tuck it back, letting it curtain around you both like a private world. The soft strands brush your collarbone as her green eyes, usually so sharp, so composed, gleam with hunger.

The red light curls under your shirt hem, lifting it smoothly. Cotton peels up your torso, over your head, vanishing into thin air. Your bra follows.

Now you're bare, naked under the kitchen lights, sprawled out over the island. Her eyes burn a path down your body, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, the place where magic still pulses between your legs. 

She's still fully clothedsuit jacket still buttoned, the gold S.H.I.E.L.D. badge glinting at her hip. It's obscene, how put together she looks while you're laid out like a feast.

Her jacket falls open, revealing the white silk shirt beneath as she leans forward, hands braced on the countertop on either side of you. 

The magic between your legs intensifies, a red haze rising from the marble to coil around your waist like a living thing. 

"You look like you belong on this altar," she whispers harshly, green eyes glinting with something primal. "Like a sacrifice I'm about to devour." She pauses, then adds softer, "And I'm starving."

"Wanda," you whimper desperately, "I need something—your hand, your mouth, your magic—I don't care—I just need you to touch me." Your hips lift off the cold marble, chasing nothing but air. "Please." The word comes out broken, needy, something you'd never say outside the bedroom, but she loves this version of you, loves when you fall apart like this. "I'm begging you."

"There it is," she murmurs, her voice dropping into something darker, richer. She loves when you beg. 

The magic between your legs pulses, answering your prayer, but instead of touching you, it just intensifies the pressure, the phantom touch teasing your entrance without penetrating.

"What exactly do you need?" she whispers teasingly, green eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Use your pretty words." The magic traces circles around your clit without touching it. "Convince me."

Wanda's pupils dilate as she watches you moan and arch your back, your breasts pushing out as your head rolls back. 

She swallows hard, the magic between your legs throbbing with unspent power. Seeing you desperate and mindless with need turns her on so much, your pride gone, your face contorted with hunger for her touch. It's incredibly arousing to her. 

The magic traces up your inner thighs slowly but deliberately, avoiding your most sensitive areas entirely. "Fuck, look at you," she whispers hoarsely.

The red light fades as she drops to her knees, not gracefully, not carefully, but desperate. 

Your hands tangle in her thick auburn hair instinctively, fingers gripping tight as she kneels between your trembling thighs. Her green eyes, half lidded and hungry, drag slowly up your body to meet yours.

"Please—" you groan, not even ashamed anymore, just drowning in want. "Wanda, I need your mouth. I need to feel you—I'll give you anything—" Your heels hook against her shoulders, tugging her closer.

Her mouth is on you before you even finish the sentence, a ravenous, starved sound escaping her as she buries her face between your thighs. No teasing, no slow tasting. She devours, tongue flat and hot, pressing broad strokes against your clit before plunging deep. She groans against your skin like she's been starving, like she can't get enough of your taste.

Your head falls back, a broken cry splitting your throat as her lips seal around your most sensitive spot.

She's ruining you with her mouth, no finesse, just pure hunger. 

Her hands grip your thighs roughly, pushing them wider as she eats you out like she's trying to swallow you whole. 

Your fingers twist in her hair until it hurts, and she just moans against your heat, the vibration making your hips jerk violently. 

"Fuck," she pants between licks, "you taste so good—" She presses her tongue flat against your clit and suctions hard.

"Wanda—oh god—" Your hips stutter against her mouth, thighs squeezing around her head as the filthiest moans spill out of you, broken, gasping, no shame left. "Your—your tongue—I can't—"

She groans back, vibrating against your clit, and you watch her free hand fumble with the buckle of her belt

She unbuttons her suit pants clumsily, magic already working between her legs before she even touches herself.

A red glow pulses there, her magic forming an impossible length, longer and thicker. 

She groans around your clit "Fuck," she whispers harshly against your skin. Her fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.

With a final, desperate lick that makes you whimper, she pulls back just enough to use her magic to strip herself completely. 

And she’s gorgeous. 

Her suit jacket, shirt, pants, all vanish in a flare of red light, leaving her pure and naked between your spread thighs. 

Her formed length stands out proudly from her body, throbbing with unspent magic and desire. She's beautiful like this, powerful, otherworldly, and utterly fuckable. 

"Is this what you wanted?" she whispers teasingy, rubbing the head against your soaked entrance.

"Wanda—please just put it in—" you whine, lifting your hips desperately.

But she doesn't listen. Instead her real hand snakes between your thighs, two fingers pressing teasing circles around your entrance without pushing in. Your whimpers grow more desperate until you're practically begging. 

"Look at me," she commands softly.

Your eyes meet her, her green irises hazy with want, auburn hair wild around her face. Then her slick fingers slide inside you slowly, curling just once. 

"Fuck—"

She works you with her fingers, three now, stretching you open, while her thumb circles your clit in lazy, torturous strokes. Her magic created cock presses against your inner thigh, hot and pulsing, dripping red energy onto your skin.

"So tight," she breathes, watching her fingers disappear inside you. "So wet for me." 

She crooks her fingers and you feel it—there—a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as your back arches off the counter.

Her breath catches as she watches you, your face flushed, lips parted, eyes rolling back. Her fingers pause deep inside you, not moving, just there. 

She's mesmerized by the sight of her fingers vanishing into your wet heat, by the way your inner muscles clench around her. 

Her mouth hangs open, no sound coming out, just ragged breaths. 

She can't tease you anymore, not when you look like this.

Not when she needs you just as badly.

With a sudden, desperate movement, she pulls her fingers out of you, only to immediately replace them with the head of her magic cock. 

You both moan at the first press inside you, she's thick and hot and alive with power. 

Her hands grip your thighs roughly as she starts to push in slow inches by inch. Her mouth finally closes around a choked sound, not words anymore just needy noises escaping her throat while she watches herself disappear into your body.

"Fuck—" she hisses, bottoming out inside you. Her hips stall there for a moment, just feeling you wrapped around her. 

Your legs shake against her shoulders where they're draped over them. She leans forward slightly, her body pressing yours down onto the counter, her mouth crashing onto yours in a messy kiss that tastes like desperation and magic.

Her hips start moving, long, deep strokes that drag against your walls like she's trying to bury herself permanently. 

Every thrust makes you slide slightly on the marble, her hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned. The magic within her cock pulses bright red, sending waves of unnatural pleasure through you every time she bottoms out.

She's not gentle. She's not careful. She's starving.

Your nails rake down her back, leaving angry red marks that glow briefly before fading, her magic healing them instantly, just so you can scratch again.

"Oh god—Wanda—I can't—" You cry out as she hits that spot inside you again, your voice breaking into pure, shameless noise. Your back arches violently off the counter, heels digging into her lower back, urging her deeper, harder.

She grunts against your neck, her usual composure gone. Her thrusts become erratic, hungry. 

"Agh-bozhe moi—oh my god ," she curses in Russian, breath hot and ragged against your skin. "Fuck—so tight—"

She wraps her arms underneath your thighs, pulling your legs back to press your knees against your chest, opening you up completely to her. 

The sudden change in angle makes you scream, her length hitting even deeper now with each thrust. 

The kitchen fills with the wet, slapping sounds of her magic fucking you ruthlessly on the countertop. 

"Mine—" she moans possessively, "Only mine—" Her fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to bruise, but you don't care, you just need more.

"Yours—yours—oh god right there, Wanda!—" you scream, back bowing off the cold marble as your walls clench around her. Her cock pulses inside you, that magic heat building with every relentless thrust. "Don't stop—please don't—"

Her eyes roll back, her thrusts becoming erratic hammering. A string of Russian curses spills from her lips. 

"I'm gonna come—I'm gonna come—" You chant desperately, your body tightening around her as your orgasm builds. 

Wanda's face contorts with effort and pleasure, her thrusts becoming even more brutal, her arms trembling as she holds your legs back. 

"Yes—" she pants, her own climax racing towards her. The red magic inside her length begins to glow even brighter, pulsing urgently against your inner walls. "Come with me—"

Your body convulses violently as you come, your inner muscles clamping down on her like a vise. 

You scream, sound echoing off the kitchen walls as your orgasm hits like a truck.

Wanda's eyes roll back completely, she lets out a loud, raw moan, her hips stuttering as her own release slams into her. 

The magic inside her length explodes, pulsing red light bathing you as she fills you with her magical essence, marking you from the inside out. "FUCK—"

She collapses forward, catching herself on her forearms to keep from crushing you. 

Her face buries in your neck, hot breath and soft Russian curses spilling against your skin as she rides out the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Her length is still buried deep inside you, pulsing gently with residual pleasure.

Your legs are still draped over her arms, shaking slightly as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. 

Wanda's breathing is ragged against your neck, her body still trembling from the force of her release. 

The magic between you, still glowing faintly red, is slowly dissolving, taking the formed cock with it, but leaving behind a warm, sticky feeling deep inside you.

She finally lifts her head, eyes glassy and half lidded. 

"Still thinking about dinner?" she rasps, voice wrecked.

You laugh softly, breathless and boneless against the kitchen counter. 

"Yeah, definitely thinking about dinner right now," you tease, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glance pointedly down between your legs. "Definitely starving." You shift slightly, feeling her magic slowly fading away inside you.

She kisses you slowly, deeply, her hands gentling on your thighs as she helps you sit up. 

"I ruined dinner," she murmurs against your lips, sounding almost apologetic, but her eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "And the counter." 

You glance behind you at the marble now slick with both of your releases. 

"Mmm," you hum, standing carefully on wobbly legs. "Good thing we have other surfaces." You waggle your eyebrows suggestively towards the bedroom. 

Her eyes darken instantly.

"Bedroom," she groans softly, standing up and scooping you into her arms effortlessly. 

You yelp and laugh as she carries you towards the bedroom, your legs wrapping around her waist instinctively. 

She kicks the door open and deposits you on the bed before following after you, crawling over your body like a predator. 

Her hands grip your thighs, pulling them back around her waist. 

"You’re on top," she whispers against your mouth, smirking wickedly. "Beautiful."

You push at her chest, flipping her over until you're straddling her naked body. Your hair falls around your face like a curtain as you look down at her, Wanda, the most powerful being in the universe, completely and utterly yours. She looks up at you with pure adoration and desire, her green eyes drinking you in.

Her hands coast up your thighs, over your hips. "There's my beautiful girl," she whispers. The magic between you feels different now, slower, more deliberate.

You smirk and begin kissing down her body, lingering on her breasts, her stomach, before settling between her thighs. 

She spreads herself open for you, already wet and glistening with need. You lick a slow stripe up her center and she moans deeply, her hand flying to your hair. Her eyes roll back as you begin to eat her out slowly, deliberately, like she did to you. 

"F-fuck," she pants, "Your mouth—" Her hips start to move, pressing her pussy against your lips and tongue.

You suck on her clit softly, your tongue flicking over it rapidly before plunging inside her. She gasps, her hand tightening in your hair almost painfully. 

"Just like that—don't stop—" She's so sensitive after already coming once tonight, you can tell by the way her thighs shake and her back arches off the bed. 

You double down on your efforts, adding fingers to stretch her open. 

"oh god—" Her voice breaks as you curl your fingers just right.

She's completely lost in your touch, her mind blissfully empty except for the feeling of your mouth and hands between her legs. 

She chants your name like a prayer, her body winding tighter and tighter. Her free hand moves to grab the sheets, bunching them in her fist as she rides your face desperately. 

"I'm close—I'm close—I'm—" Suddenly, she screams as she comes, her release soaking your face and fingers as you lap it up greedily. "Yes—yes—YES!"

She's a mess underneath you, soaking wet, panting, her green eyes glassy and dilated with pleasure. 

She pulls you up eagerly, tugging you by your wrists until you're straddling her hips again. She looks up at you with pure, desperate need. 

"Ride me— please ride me—" She whimpers, her hips bucking up against nothing.

You don't need to be told twice. 

You position yourself over her, and as you lower yourself onto her, her magic springs to life. 

The familiar red glow pulses between your legs as her magic cock forms again, this time slightly bigger than before. 

You gasp as it stretches you open, filling you completely as you sink down onto it. 

"oh fuuuck—" you moan deeply. 

Wanda groans loudly beneath you, her hands gripping your waist. 

"Look at you taking it—" she moans approvingly.

"Fuck—you're so deep—" you moan, beginning to ride her slowly. 

Your hands brace against the wall behind the headboard for leverage. 

Wanda's hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as she watches your body bounce on her magic length. 

"That's it—take it all—fuck, look at you bounce—" She groans appreciatively, her eyes darkening as she watches you ride her. "You look so sexy—" She encourages you, her voice low and dirty.

Your pace quickens, your body getting used to her size again. 

Each downward motion makes you gasp as you bottom out on her. Wanda's eyes are glued to you, watching your breasts jolt, your face contort with pleasure, the way your thighs tremble when you rise up only to slam back down. 

"Don't stop—faster—god, you're so good at this—" 

She pulls you down harder onto her with each thrust, meeting your movements with upward bucks of her own.

"You feel so good—" she groans, her hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Ride me harder—use me—" 

Her magic pulses inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. 

You throw your head back, moaning loudly as you pick up the pace even more. Your breasts bounce wildly now, and Wanda reaches up to grope them roughly while watching herself disappear inside you over and over again. 

"That's my girl—take it all—" She praises darkly.

"Wanda—I—I'm—" You sob her name, your thighs beginning to shake violently. Your walls clamp down rhythmically around her, signaling your approaching orgasm. 

The pace becomes erratic, desperate, you're not even trying to be pretty about it anymore, just need to feel yourself come around her. 

Wanda's eyes glow brighter, recognizing the signs. 

"Come on, baby—come on my cock—be a good girl for me—" She urges, her own voice breaking with need.

You moan out as you come, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body locks up, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around her as you scream her name. 

Wanda moans deeply, feeling you squeeze her tight, her own release triggered by your climax. Her magic cock swells inside you, pulsing and releasing that same warm, sticky magical essence deep within you again. She keeps thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out. 

"Fuck—" she groans loudly, her hips finally stalling as she fills you completely with her magic. 

Her hands squeeze your ass tightly, pulling you flush against her as she buries herself deep inside you. 

"So beautiful—" she pants out, covered in sweat and completely wrecked. 

Her magic cock slowly dissipates inside you, leaving behind the warm aftermath of their intense joining. 

"All mine—" she whispers possessively, pulling you down to lay on her chest. "Only mine—"

You collapse against her chest, breathing ragged and body trembling from the force of your orgasms. 

She holds you close, her arms wrapping around your waist protectively while her lips press soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Neither of you speaks for a long time, just enjoying the afterglow, the warmth of each other's bodies. 

Eventually, Wanda murmurs, "Dinner really is ruined, isn't it?"

You laugh softly against her skin. "Totally."

at first he was intrigued, one person with stupid suit can bust a whole drug ring with bodyguards? he laughed at it, and send some of his lackeys to capture you. they failed of course, his men coming back with multiple broken bones and bruises with their tails tucked between their legs.

at first it was curiosity, then interest, before it becomes frustration, he had gone almost crazy when he found out that you have busted too many of his rings. he put a bounty on your head - dead or alive with a large sum of numbers, no one ever succeed in capturing you.

he starts sending out assasins to track you down, all of them also failed miserably, they might beat you down and injure you to the degree, but never succeed in killing you completely.

after the frustration went down - comes the obsession. he doesn't remember when did his infatuation started, all he remembered that you had taken down too many of his business, too many of his elite assasins have been sent to hospitals and jail.

yandere! crime lord that get a huge adrenaline rush when he finally coming face to face with you, he tried to hide his huge grin when you got him pinned against the ground, he can finally see you up close and my, even if you're covered from head to toe he can tell that you're hell of a person behind that mask. there was something weirdly familiar about your presence.

he escaped successfully that one night just because he had planted a bomb under the building.

yandere! crime lord that becomes possessive of you, he wanted you alive all for himself now, wouldn't let anyone touch you but him alone and let it shows to other crime lords, all other criminals that had touched you all swiftly dealed by his assasins.

his subordinates are confused by his sudden affection towards the vigilante, but no one ever dare to question him, the last brave yet unfortunate guy had commented on the matters have been six feet underneath now.

yandere! crime lord goes as far as creating fake trafficking ring to capture you, and you escaped every single one of them. maybe you're just that slippery, or lucky, or he lets you go just because he enjoyed the chase as a sick form of foreplay, who knows? he's still determined to have you alk for himself anyways.

yandere! crime lord who saw how close you are with yandere! superhero. and immediately planning on to dispose the annoying fly. no matter if yan! supes are a literal justice icon with superpowers, with his money and power - he will dispose him sooner or after.

morally ambiguous! reader, who noticed their weird fixation over them and tried to eliminate both of them for good, only for them to slip away since their will to have you all for themselves are too big.

now it's all just game of switch between prey and predator for the three of you.