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Solo Shots	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5554 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, nor do I own the rights to either X-Men: Legends or X-Men Legends 2: The Rise of Apocalypse. I'm affiliated with neither Marvel nor Activision. I make no money writing this entry.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5: The Bad Girl
- Warnings: SoloF, M/F (implied), Spoilers (XML2), Language, Spank

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, felt as if she were floating on air. ‘He called me “beautiful”,’ she sighed to herself as she practically skipped to her tent on the edge of Avalon, one of the few safe havens in the Savage Land and the temporary base of operations for the fragile coalition of X-Men and Brotherhood. Their opposition to Apocalypse had led them from the ruined Genosha, Magneto’s former secret haven for mutants, to this relic of the past in the heart of Antarctica, thanks only to a hasty message from the now-captive Beast.

The primeval jungle’s oppressive humidity quickly exhausted the patience of both groups of mutants, whose tempers were fraying under the stress of their implacable foe’s destruction of both groups’ homes – not just their bases, their homes – and under the weight of years of bad blood. Professor Xavier and Magneto – under different motives and using different methods, of course – had both encouraged their groups to build bridges for the sake of cohesion. Some of the X-Men were actively trying, and Magneto’s daughter had decided to set an example for the others by following suit.
One of the friendlier X-Men was Piotr Rasputin, the mighty Colossus, a gentle giant whose muscle-bound frame held the soul of a painter. ‘He called me “beautiful”,’ Wanda repeated as she entered her tent, her voice soft with giddy disbelief. She removed the horned headband of her costume, which she wore to keep her long auburn hair out of her face; without it, the chestnut locks fell into positions framing her face, with its high cheekbones, thin but expressive lips, elfin chin, and ice-blue eyes – eyes that marked her as her father’s daughter.
Wanda crossed the interior of her small, Spartan tent in three strides and knelt beside an old trunk, one of the few possessions she’d been able to salvage from the Genoshan jetsam. A minor hex tripped the lock for her to open the lid, inside which was fastened a sizeable unbroken fragment from her vanity mirror. Idly she ran her fingers through her hair, until she realised what she was doing.
She, the Scarlet Witch, the daughter of the Master of Magnetism, was primping.
A sudden fit of giggling overwhelmed the usually-serene young witch at the thought, a fit lasting for several minutes, a fit she couldn’t stop if she tried. My, my, she chided herself inwardly, you haven’t behaved like this since your first crush as a silly girl fresh out of boarding school. When her fit passed, she sighed and tossed her signature headband into the trunk with her few other meagre possessions.
The stuffy air and humidity within the tent now left Wanda panting, a film of sweat on her face. She decided to remove her current Scarlet Witch ensemble, consisting of elbow gloves, thigh boots, leotard, and bodysuit, which she removed in roughly that order. The thought, This leather leotard and under-armour simply do not bloody breathe! ran through her mind as she undressed.
Allowing herself a small smirk, Wanda retrieved from the trunk one of her old costumes, nothing more than gloves, boots, bustier, and loincloth, which was draped in front and behind for ‘modesty.’ Her cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment that she’d ever worn such a scandalously skimpy getup, chalking it up to the folly of youth. She’d switched to the more conservative piece once it became obvious that maintaining what little modesty she had while wearing the stripper outfit would strain even her ability to defy the laws of physics, especially once her breasts had graduated from C-cups (which the bustier was fitted for) to D-cups (which it was not). ‘Still, it might be better to wear this while labouring in the humid jungle atmosphere,’ she murmured aloud.
Only a handful of the X-Men’s current roster would remember seeing me in this outfit, she realised. For the rest, it’d be such a shock to see me traipsing about practically naked – especially for Colossus. Wanda’s breathing accelerated; her tongue played mischievously along the ridges of her teeth.
Wanda surmised that, outside of art classes, Piotr had never seen a naked woman, never seen the desire in a woman’s eyes, never seen the myriad signs of arousal: the flush creeping down her neck to her sternum, the goosebumps covering various parts of her skin, the nipples stiffening into prominent peaks atop her breasts, the nectar of her arousal coating every square centimetre of her ‘sacred grove.’ Between her reflection in the mirror and brief test with the fingertips – my fanny’s right sodden, she noted with a thrill of naughtiness at such language on her part – she recognised that she was displaying all of those signs. Hastily she began packing everything into the trunk when a new conclusion stopped her in her tracks.
She had absolutely, positively no qualms about Piotr seeing her this randy. In fact, the thought of him seeing her so wanton made her even randier. ‘Oh bloody hell,’ she sighed in mock resignation, ‘I suppose I am overdue for a wank. I haven’t had one since Pietro’s abduction.’
Without further ado, her hands began wandering all over her body, her fair skin slick with perspiration, her hair stuck to her in some places because of it. She stroked or caressed everything from throat to thighs, imagining that her hands belonged instead to a certain Russian mutant. His phantom hands, huge and calloused slabs of meat that they were, missed none of her favourite places to be touched; the big fellow even knew how she wanted to be touched. Wanda moaned her phantasmal lover’s name. He responded only by rolling her large nipples between his fingers, digits which felt both deft and surprisingly gentle on the sensitive tips. ‘It’s been too long,’ she whispered to him, ‘since I’ve been touched like this by a real man.’ Still kneeling, she shifted so that her legs could open in anticipation of his touch.
The young woman laughed lightly, adding, ‘If you don’t count the android Vision – fully functional and anatomically correct, I assure you – or, of course, my own hands.’ Fantasy Piotr trailed a hand down her stomach toward the well-kept hedge at the juncture of her thighs; he stopped to stroke the area teasingly. Wanda wriggled, trying to bring Piotr’s fingers to her naughty bits; failing that, she bucked her hips in an (also ultimately vain) attempt to bring her naughty bits in contact with the Russian’s gentle fingers.
‘Oh, don’t tease me, Piotr, please don’t,’ she begged, the very act surprising her. Beads of sweat formed all over her and ran down the contours of her body, a sensation Wanda found delicious. Her hands continued to tease the rest of her the way she wished Piotr would do, eliciting gasps and moans from between her lips. In her mind, her lover hunched down to lick some of the sweat droplets from her skin, especially between her breasts. Shivers of pleasure climbed her spine.
Wanda rose off her haunches from the almost-lotus position she’d been in, until she could extend no further without standing. Her (or Piotr’s) hand left her breast and slid down her waist to her bum, which forthwith received a much-desired caressing. A pair of fingers – at this point, she didn’t care whose – found their way into her sopping cunt and began thrusting in and out, while the accompanying thumb massaged her clit. The young woman moaned loudly as the pleasure inside her accumulated.
‘More,’ she whimpered. Illusory Piotr reclined and offered her his cock to ride, a leviathan of better than 20 centimetres. Accepting this offer required Wanda to insert a third finger – pity my favourite dildo was lost in the wreckage, she mused hazily in the back of her mind – to replicate the sensation of a member that size entering her tight (though not virginal) cunt. She wasted no time on acclimation, but instead she immediately began bouncing herself up and down, riding her lover for all she was worth.
Fantasy Piotr decided to spur Wanda on with a gentle swat on the bum, an act surprising to the young witch, unexpected in its dissonance with the Russian’s gentility and its excitement for her.
She sped up.
He gave her another. She gasped.
He gave her another. ‘Ohhhh, you think me a naughty girl, do you?’ Wanda cried. ‘I am! I am a naughty girl! You must treat me accordingly.'
Phantom Piotr obliged. He alternated sides with the next set of smacks to her rump. Wanda squealed in delight; tremors of ecstasy wracked her body as her climax consumed her. In her fantasy, Piotr groaned her name while pumping her full of his cum.
Removing her fingers from herself, Wanda slumped onto her stinging haunches. Covered in sweat, hair plastered to her face and neck, she decided to slip off somewhere and bathe, taking her skimpy costume to wear afterward.
She hoped that a certain Russian might catch her bathing. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Links to pics Scarlet Witch's more conservative XML2 costume: http://marvel.wikia.com/Wanda_Maximoff_(Earth-7964)
And for the other costume mentioned: http://marvel.wikia.com/Wanda_Maximoff_(Earth-616)/Gallery, first picture in the top row.
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Solo Shots