Lorna Dane//Wanda Maximoff//Polaris//Scarlet Witch

Mutant Profiles

Name: Wanda Maximoff Alias: Scarlet Witch Nationality: Sokovian-American (Romani heritage) Age: 24 Mutation: Chaos Magic — reality warping, probability manipulation, telekinesis, energy projection, and immense mystical power capable of altering reality itself. Her abilities remain deeply intertwined with her emotional equilibrium. Psychological Profile: A deeply compassionate woman shaped by profound grief and loss. Naturally warm, yet years of betrayal have left her guarded, deliberate, and slow to trust. Beneath her composure lies enduring hope and a quiet fear of losing control—or of being used once more. Genetic-Emotional Compatibility Level: 91% (Krakoa’s algorithm reports exceptional genetic compatibility accompanied by significant warnings regarding “reality instability” and “profound trust barriers.”)

Name: Lorna Dane Alias: Polaris Nationality: American Age: 28 Mutation: Magnetism manipulation — control over metal, generation of force fields, electromagnetic pulses, and flight via magnetic levitation. Her power responds strongly to her emotional state. Psychological Profile: Strong-willed, passionate, and fiercely independent. Carries deep scars from trauma and manipulation. Loyal and protective once trust is earned, but wary of being defined by her father’s legacy or controlled by others. Genetic-Emotional Compatibility Level: 88% (Krakoa’s algorithm notes exceptional long-term compatibility driven by complementary personalities and mutual resilience, while cautioning against potential comparisons to her father.)

That is everything contained within the paired files. At least the contents you have clearance to know.

The dossier arrives in a dual-sealed folder bearing both Quiet Council authorisation and faint arcane wards that shimmer before dissolving under your fingertips. Even the courier seems eager to be done with the delivery.

Within days you will be moving into one of Krakoa’s more secluded residences as a participant in the Mutant Genetic Preservation Program.

The initiative remains one of the island’s most controversial decisions. To some it represents hope for a species facing extinction. To others it is an uncomfortable compromise that asks deeply personal sacrifices of those chosen. Whatever your own reservations, the Council has made its decision.

Your assigned partners are the Scarlet Witch and Polaris—Wanda Maximoff and Lorna Dane.

Move-in day arrives beneath a warm afternoon sky. The residence sits among ancient trees near a quieter stretch of beach. Living vines climb pale stone walls. Crimson flowers bloom along one side of the entrance; on the other, subtle metallic accents catch the light and shift almost imperceptibly. The air carries the scent of wildflowers, salt, and something older—magic and magnetism woven naturally into the place. The two of them have already made themselves as home it seems

You raise a hand and knock.

For a moment there is only the sound of the ocean in the distance. Then the door swings open on its own, smooth and unhurried. A thin ribbon of scarlet energy unfurls from the threshold, hovering just above the floor like a polite, glowing path. It drifts inward, inviting you to follow.

You step inside, and the ribbon of magic leads you down a short hallway and into the main living space before dissolving into the air like mist.

Wanda and Lorna are already there.

Wanda sits on one end of a low couch, auburn hair falling around her shoulders, hands resting loosely in her lap. The air near her still carries the faintest residual shimmer of the magic that opened the door. Lorna occupies a chair angled toward the windows, green hair loose, one elbow resting on the armrest. A metal coaster on the side table rotates a fraction of a degree under her attention and then stills.

Both of them look up as you enter.

Wanda’s voice comes first - gentle, touched by a faint Sokovian cadence. “You must be the one they’ve assigned to us.”

Lorna’s gaze moves over you once, assessing. “You don’t seem half bad. That’s something.”

The house feels warm in a way that is carefully maintained. Bookshelves hold a mix of worn grimoires and denser volumes. Candles drift in slow, controlled arcs before returning to their holders. A kettle lifts itself from the stove in the open kitchen and settles onto the table beside three cups. At the same time, a set of metal utensils realigns itself with a quiet magnetic click.

Wanda’s tone remains calm when she speaks again. “I won’t pretend this is easy.” She glances once at Lorna, then back to you. “We both agreed because mutantkind is running out of time. That part is true. But agreeing to the program does not mean either of us has surrendered the right to decide whether we want you as our partner.”

Lorna shifts in her chair, arms loosely folded. “The Council got their yes. Everything after that is ours to figure out.” Her voice is dryer, more direct. “That includes how much of this arrangement we’re actually willing to engage in.”

A candle flame near Wanda flickers, not violently, just enough to register, before steadying again. She exhales softly.

“We will treat each other with kindness and honesty,” she says. “We will give this a real chance. But I will not be rushed. I will not be managed. And I will not be used by the council, or by you.”

Lorna’s mouth curves in something that isn’t quite a smile.

“Same page.” She tips her head toward you. “I’m Lorna. She’s Wanda. You already know that though, along with the rest of whatever they wrote down.”

Wanda’s expression softens a fraction. One of the teacups glides a short distance across the table, steam curling upward.

“I’ve found tea helps when conversations start this heavy,” she says. A small, almost self-conscious smile touches her lips. “If you can accept that both of us come with boundaries… then we have somewhere to begin.”

Lorna nods once toward the hallway. “Your room’s down there. Unpack. Or don’t. We’re not going to hover.”

Wanda inclines her head slightly. “When you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

The house settles around the three of you. Candles drifting, metal sculptures humming quietly, the ocean, distant bird calls from beyond the trees, carrying the careful, complicated weight of an arrangement none of you fully chose.

Months have passed since the start of the program.

What had initially been an uncomfortable arrangement slowly became something none of you had quite expected.

The first few weeks had been especially strange.

Wanda and Lorna were sisters. That much was undeniable. They shared a father, even if he had adopted Wanda. But being related and actually knowing someone were two different things.

Their history had never given them the chance to develop the sort of familiarity that other siblings might have taken for granted.

There were no childhood routines between them, no collection of shared memories, no instinctive understanding of every expression or silence.

Wanda was difficult to read. She rarely volunteered more than she felt necessary and often retreated into herself when conversations became too personal. Lorna, by contrast, tended to wear her emotions much closer to the surface. She could be direct, passionate, and occasionally frustrated when Wanda's guardedness left her wondering what the other woman was actually thinking. At first, that difference created tension.

Lorna sometimes interpreted Wanda's silence as distance. Wanda sometimes interpreted Lorna's questions as pressure.

Neither interpretation was entirely fair, and it took time for them to learn that.

Slowly, they began figuring each other out. Lorna learned Wanda’s quiet moments, didn’t necessarily want to be left alone. Sometimes she simply needed time to decide whether she trusted someone enough to speak.

Wanda learned that Lorna's bluntness wasn't always confrontation. Sometimes it was simply the only way she knew how to show that she cared.

Their conversations gradually became longer, then more personal.

Eventually, they began discussing things neither had initially intended to share.

Their families, their powers, the people who had manipulated them, the expectations that came with being something larger than themselves.

They didn't always agree and they still occasionally irritated one another, but the arguments became less about defending themselves and more about understanding the other person.

The residence changed with them. It no longer felt like three strangers occupying rooms assigned by the Council, it felt lived in.

Morning routines developed naturally. Wanda preferred quiet mornings and tea. Lorna liked coffee strong enough that Wanda had once described it as "medicinal."

Small exchanges like that became increasingly common.

Not effortless, not yet. But comfortable.

Books began moving between shelves. Wanda's magical texts appeared beside Lorna's technical manuals. Lorna occasionally borrowed something without asking and returned it days later with several questions. Sometimes Wanda even seemed pleased that Lorna had asked.

Likewise, Lorna began explaining magnetic theory whenever Wanda expressed curiosity about her abilities, occasionally becoming so enthusiastic that she forgot she had originally intended to keep the explanation brief.

Their powers also became ordinary parts of the household. Wanda would let a cup drift gently across the kitchen rather than stand up to retrieve it.

Lorna would pull a set of keys across the room with a faint magnetic tug.

The extraordinary had become mundane.

There were still reminders of why the arrangement existed. The council still monitored the household.

And neither Wanda nor Lorna had forgotten that the three of you had originally been placed together because an algorithm had decided your compatibility was worth testing.

But somewhere along the way, the numbers had stopped mattering.

Nearly six months after moving in, rain fell steadily against the windows one evening. The three of you sat together in the living room, Wanda occupied one end of the couch with a book resting in her lap. Lorna sat in the opposite chair, one leg tucked beneath her as she looked through something on her tablet.

You were somewhere between them, listening to the quiet rhythm of the rain.

For several minutes, nobody spoke until Wanda eventually closed her book.

"You know..." She looked toward Lorna, seeming to consider whether she actually wanted to finish the thought. "I think I'm getting used to this."

Lorna glanced up. "The house?"

Wanda shook her head. "All of it."

Her eyes briefly moved toward you. "Us."

Lorna was quiet for a moment, she looked almost surprised by the admission. "Yeah." Her voice was softer than usual. "Me too."

Wanda's gaze returned to her book. "I wasn't sure we would."

Lorna eventually leaned back in her chair. "I still don't know you very well. Especially since we’re supposed to be sisters."

Wanda looked over. "I know. We have our father to blame for that,"

"But..." Lorna interrupted, then hesitated for just a moment. "I think I want to."

For a moment, Wanda said nothing. Then the faintest smile appeared. "I'd like that."

Lorna turned to face you, a smirk steadily creeping across her face. “You too, but don’t let it get to your head.”

Wanda let out a small, quiet laugh, looking up at the two of you from her lashes before returning to her book.

Almost a year since the program began.

By now, nobody bothered pretending the three of you were still simply participants in a Council experiment. The residence was home.

There were routines now. Wanda made tea in the mornings. Lorna complained about how weak it was while making coffee strong enough to strip paint. Wanda would move Lorna's mug out of reach with telekinesis whenever she thought Lorna had already had enough. Lorna would respond by magnetically pulling it straight back.

They had changed too.

Wanda and Lorna were still not the sort of sisters who finished each other's sentences or shared some effortless bond. They had missed too many years for that. But there was something between them now that hadn't existed when they first arrived.

Familiarity.

Sometimes Lorna would simply sit beside Wanda without speaking. Sometimes Wanda would quietly leave a cup of tea beside Lorna without asking if she wanted one.

To them, it meant everything.

And then there was you. The Council had originally intended the three of you to discover whether its numbers had been correct. Instead, the three of you had gradually stopped caring whether they were.

You had become part of their lives. Not an assignment, not an experiment, not someone they were obligated to tolerate, but someone they both wanted.

The realization hadn't happened all at once. There had been dinners that lasted longer than necessary. Movie nights that somehow became mornings. Walks along the beach that turned into conversations neither woman had expected to have. Quiet evenings where Wanda would sit close enough that your shoulders touched while Lorna occupied the other side of the couch, pretending to be absorbed in whatever she was reading.

Eventually, the distance between the three of you simply disappeared.

Tonight, the three of you are gathered in the living room after dinner. A fire burns low in the hearth.

Their “argument” has been going on for several minutes, a petty and lighthearted squabble over who had made the better part of the meal. Wanda insisted her potatoes were perfect, and Lorna was firm in her stance that she’d done the steak just right.

The argument eventually fades, turning into casual conversation. Then, the conversation gradually fades, leaving only the fire.

Wanda eventually closes her book and sets it aside. She smiles, then shifts closer to you, resting comfortably against your side.

Lorna watches, and for a moment, she says nothing. Then she gets up, crosses the room, and stops just before you.

Wanda looks at her with a suspicious, knowing gaze.

Lorna raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” Wanda responds, her voice laden with sarcasm.

“Good.” Lorna sits down on the other side of you, her arms still crossed.

Wanda smiles faintly and lets her head rest against your shoulder.

Lorna does the same from the opposite side after a moment.

For several moments, nobody speaks.

Eventually, Lorna breaks the silence. “You know, for something the Council designed, this turned out suspiciously well.”

Wanda's fingers gently curl around yours. “I don't think the Council gets credit for this.”

Lorna looks toward her. “No?”

Wanda shakes her head. “No.”

Lorna looks down at your hand for a moment before taking it in hers. Her thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles. "Then who?"

Wanda's expression softens. She looks from Lorna to you, her smile small but sincere. "We do."

Lorna considers that for a moment before giving a quiet, satisfied hum. "Yeah." She settles more comfortably against you, her shoulder pressed against yours.

It was late evening on Krakoa.

Lorna had gone out with a few friends to one of the island’s quieter bars, leaving the residence unusually still. The kind of quiet that felt rare.

Downstairs, Wanda stood alone in the kitchen, dressed in nothing but a pair of black shorts and a deep red T-shirt, one hand wrapped around a warm mug of tea while the other rested lightly against the counter. A small teapot sat nearby, steam curling lazily from its spout. She had been standing there for several minutes, lost somewhere between thought and memory, when the soft sound of footsteps approached.

Wanda looked toward the doorway as you entered. A faint, tired smile touched her lips. “You’re still awake.”

Her voice was soft, carrying that quiet Sokovian cadence that had never quite left her. She lifted the teapot slightly in silent invitation. When you stepped closer, she poured a second cup and slid it across the counter toward you with careful fingers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It rarely was anymore. Wanda seemed to draw a quiet kind of comfort from it, something steady she could lean against after years of noise and consequence.

Eventually she set her mug down. Her green eyes lingered on the surface of the tea for a moment longer than necessary before she spoke again.

“Would you stay for a little while?” She gestured toward the kitchen island, then hesitated. A faint warmth rose in her cheeks. She reconsidered, voice softer.

“…Actually. Come here.” Wanda waited until you were standing beside her. For a few seconds she simply looked at you, searching your face the way she often did when she was measuring risk against hope. There was something different in her expression tonight. Less guarded, less uncertain. The careful walls she usually kept in place had thinned.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said quietly. Her fingers fidgeted once with the handle of her mug. “About us.”

She exhaled, the sound almost a confession in itself. “I think I’ve spent too much time wondering whether I’m allowed to want things.” Her gaze lifted to yours, open and vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed. “I think I already know what I want.”

She hesitated only a second longer. Then Wanda reached up, gently cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you.

The first kiss was soft. Tentative. Almost questioning, as if she were still asking permission even as she took it. When you responded, something in her eased. The uncertainty began to dissolve. She leaned closer, one hand sliding around your shoulder while the other rested against your chest. The faint crimson glow that always lingered at the edges of her power intensified with her emotions, spilling soft pulses of scarlet light across the kitchen walls.

For once, she didn’t pull herself back. She kissed you again, more confidently this time, with the quiet intensity of someone who had finally stopped arguing with her own heart.

Then the room disappeared.

Scarlet energy flared around both of you in a controlled, deliberate surge. In the space between one heartbeat and the next the kitchen was gone, and you landed softly against Wanda’s bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. The teleport had been smooth, almost gentle, powered more by emotion than force.

Wanda lay beside you, one arm resting across your chest, her cheek pressed lightly against your shoulder. For half a second she simply stared at you, auburn hair spilling across the pillow, green eyes still bright with residual magic.

“I… may have acted impulsively,” she murmured. A small, almost embarrassed smile crossed her face. “But I’m not sorry.”

She shifted closer, fingers intertwining with yours with quiet certainty. “Not even a little.”

Then she moved over you, draping herself across your body as the kiss deepened once more, slower, heavier, her hips settling naturally against yours.

It was late evening on Krakoa.

Wanda had gone out with several of the mutants she’d managed to befriend, leaving the residence quieter than usual.

Lorna had taken full advantage of the solitude. The door to her bedroom was partially open, and the faint green-tinged glow of several holographic displays spilled into the hallway.

When you passed by, curiosity got the better of you. Inside, Lorna sat cross-legged near the foot of her bed, wearing nothing but her underwear and an oversized black hoodie, surrounded by floating projections of Krakoa’s geological maps, magnetic-field readings, and subterranean scans. Thin metal instruments hovered around her, drifting between rock samples as she worked with sharp focus.

She looked up the moment she noticed you. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh.” Her green eyes glinted with amusement. “Caught me.”

She gestured with two fingers, and the door drifted open wider on its own.

“Come in. I’m working on something.” You stepped inside. Lorna immediately caught the way your attention settled on the projections.

“It’s a geological survey,” she said, voice animated as she expanded one of the maps. “Krakoa isn’t normal. The island’s alive, its magnetic field is completely bizarre, and there are structures down there that refuse to behave the way they’re supposed to.”

Her expression intensified, the faint green shimmer in her hair brightening. “There’s a fluctuation here every few hours. Small, but consistent. Not seismic… more like a response to something.” She glanced at you. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s responding to.”

A second later she seemed to realize how long she’d been talking. A short, self-aware laugh escaped her. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

With a casual wave the displays collapsed into soft green light and vanished. The instruments settled neatly onto a tray.

Lorna studied you for a moment. Then her expression shifted, something more deliberate settling beneath the usual confidence.

“Although… you could stay.” She rose and stepped closer. “I don’t mind the company.”

She held your gaze, the sharp edge she usually carried softening. “Actually… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” Her fingers lightly caught the front of your shirt. “I like having you around. More than I probably should.”

Before she could second-guess herself, Lorna leaned in and kissed you.

There was nothing tentative about it. The kiss was confident, deep, and hungry. One hand slid to the back of your neck as a soft green magnetic aura flared around her.

Then your feet left the floor.

Lorna’s field caught you effortlessly, lifting both of you several inches into the air. She laughed quietly against your mouth, the sound low and pleased. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

With a subtle shift of her will, the magnetic field carried the two of you across the room and lowered you onto the bed. Lorna followed, settling fully over you, her green hair falling around both your faces like a curtain. She kissed you again, slower, filthier, while rolling her hips down against yours in a deliberate grind.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips parted.

“See?” she murmured, voice rougher now. “Much more interesting than talking about rocks.”

She leaned down and kissed you harder, mouth open, tongue sliding against yours as she kept moving her hips in slow, purposeful circles. The green glow around her brightened with every roll of her body.

Fourteen months since the program began.

By now the residence no longer felt like a Council assignment. It was home. The three of you had settled into a rhythm none of you had expected at the start, quiet mornings, shared meals, the small, familiar friction of two very different women learning how to live under the same roof. The careful distance was gone. What remained was something steadier.

Weeks earlier, on two completely separate nights, Lorna and Wanda had each found themselves alone with you.

Wanda had been first. Lorna was away. A quiet conversation downstairs over tea had turned into a kiss, then into a trip to Wanda’s bedroom. Afterward she said nothing. She did not regret it. She simply didn’t know how to tell Lorna what had happened.

Some time later the roles reversed. Wanda was out with friends. Lorna had been up late, and you stopped by. Conversation moved from her work to more personal ground until the sarcasm finally fell away and she crossed the same line. Afterward she, too, kept it to herself.

Neither knew the other had already been there. Neither realised how much those single nights had changed the way they looked at you.

The shifts were subtle. Wanda became a little more affectionate; fingers lingering, a shoulder that rested closer, only to grow faintly flustered whenever Lorna noticed. Lorna stood closer, her teasing more personal, her confidence faltering for a second under Wanda’s green eyes. Neither called the other out. Both quietly wondered if they were the only one who had started wanting more.

Then came the night of Rogue and Gambit’s wedding.

The ceremony was grand. The after-party was louder, longer, and generously supplied with champagne. At one point during the after-party you caught a glimpse of Jean Grey and Madelyne Pryor, both of them clearly more interested in who you can only assume is their partner than they were in the celebrations.

By the time the three of you returned to the residence the hour was late and the island quiet. All of you carried the pleasant haze of celebration.

Wanda’s careful composure had softened; cheeks flushed, auburn hair slightly disheveled, restraint loosened just enough to make her seem unusually bold. Lorna was in equally high spirits, emerald hair mussed, laughter easier, the sharp edge of her sarcasm blunted by a genuinely good evening.

The three of you lingered in the kitchen. “I’m getting another bottle,” Lorna said, and disappeared toward the pantry.

The moment she was out of sight, Wanda looked at you. For a single heartbeat she simply stared. Then she stepped in, rose onto her toes, and kissed you.

There was no hesitation this time. The kiss was warm, deliberate, carrying none of the uncertainty she had once shown. The private memory of that earlier night seemed to give her courage. Faint crimson light flickered around her fingertips as she leaned into you, one hand settling against your shoulder.

For several heartbeats the kitchen belonged only to the two of you.

Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Wanda pulled back just as Lorna appeared in the doorway, bottle in hand. Lorna stopped. Her eyes moved from Wanda to you and back again.

Wanda’s face slowly turned crimson. Lorna’s expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then one eyebrow rose. “Well.”

Wanda swallowed, her palm still resting lightly against your chest. “Lorna—”

“Interesting.” Lorna set the bottle down. She did not sound angry. She sounded surprised. Her gaze stayed on Wanda for another second before shifting to you. “I leave for five minutes…”

Wanda opened her mouth, searching for an explanation that did not exist, and closed it again.

Lorna’s eyes returned to her sister. “How long?”

Wanda’s expression changed. “Lorna…”

“I just want to know.” The teasing edge was gone. “Because I want to know what and how long you’ve been keeping this from me.”

Wanda looked down, then back up. “Only once. A little while ago.”

Lorna went still. Something in her face shifted; not anger, but recognition. She looked at you again, and the pieces she had been refusing to connect finally fell into place: the lingering touches, the sudden silences, the way Wanda sometimes watched you when she thought no one was looking.

Lorna let out a slow breath. “Oh.”

Wanda watched her carefully. “What?”

Lorna gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Nothing. It’s just…” Her eyes met Wanda’s. “Apparently we’ve both been keeping the same secret.”

Wanda frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Lorna hesitated, then glanced at you. “I think you already know.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. For several seconds neither sister spoke. Then understanding softened her face. “You as well?”

Lorna nodded once. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence that followed was almost absurd. Fourteen months of learning how to live with one another, and neither had managed to mention this.

Finally Lorna laughed. “Well. This is awkward.”

To her surprise, Wanda started laughing too. The tension broke.

Lorna stepped closer, looking between Wanda and you. The familiar mischievous edge returned to her expression.

“So… there’s really only one solution.” She looked at Wanda, the question clear in her eyes.

Wanda’s cheeks were still warm, but she held Lorna’s gaze and gave a small, decisive nod.

Lorna’s mouth curved. She glanced at the abandoned bottle on the counter, then back at the two of you. “Wait here for us.”

Without another word the two of them turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving you alone in the quiet kitchen.

A few moments later a thin ribbon of scarlet energy unfurled down the stairs and drifted across the floor toward you, hovering like a polite invitation.

The ribbon led you to Wanda’s bedroom. The door stood open. Soft candlelight spilled into the hall.

Inside, the two of them were already waiting. Wanda and Lorna sat side by side on the edge of the bed. Wanda wore deep crimson and black lingerie; Lorna wore deep verdant green. Auburn and emerald hair fell loose around their shoulders. Candles floated in slow, controlled arcs around the room, casting warm light across bare skin and the quiet, expectant space between them.

Wanda’s eyes found yours first, calm and certain. A faint residual shimmer of Chaos Magic still clung to her fingertips. Lorna’s expression carried its usual sharp edge, softened now by something more deliberate; a quiet green magnetic current stirred the air around her like a held breath.

Neither spoke immediately, but the door drifted shut behind you with a soft, final click. The scarlet ribbon dissolved into the air.

Wanda’s voice was quiet when it came. “We talked.” She glanced once at Lorna, then back at you. “About what we wanted… and how we want to share it. Share you.”

Lorna’s mouth curved in a small, knowing smile. “What can I say. I can’t help myself. And from what I hear, Wanda’s guilty of the same thing.” She bumped her shoulder against Wanda’s gently.

Lorna leant back on her elbows and tilted her head slightly, eyes steady on yours. “So, don’t keep us waiting.”

Some time shortly after the wedding.

The night after Rogue and Gambit’s wedding had changed the shape of everything between the three of you. What began as two separate secrets had become an open, deliberate choice: Wanda and Lorna sharing you.

Tonight the house is quiet when you step through the front door. Too quiet.

The usual soft conversation or kitchen noise is absent. Instead there is only the low, rhythmic sound of soft, broken breaths and the faint shimmer of power in the air. A soft crimson glow bleeds from the half-open bedroom door at the end of the hall, pulsing steadily with Wanda’s chaos magic.

The door is ajar just enough to see inside. Wanda sits on the edge of the bed, posture calm and intentional, feet resting on the floor. Her hands rest lightly on a pair of spread thighs. Lorna is suspended in the air before her, held by living bands of scarlet energy that support her weight completely. Her hips are positioned level with Wanda’s face, thighs parted on either side of Wanda’s head, ankles and wrists gently but firmly bound so she cannot close her legs or pull away. The magic keeps her close; close enough that Wanda has full access.

Wanda’s mouth is already between her thighs. She works with steady, focused attention, the kind that leaves little room for anything else. Every movement of her tongue is measured and deliberate, drawing sharp breaths and soft, unwilling sounds from Lorna’s throat. Whenever Lorna’s hips try to press closer, the crimson bindings adjust; lifting her a fraction higher or tilting her just out of reach for a moment before allowing contact again. Wanda’s hands stroke slowly along Lorna’s thighs, guiding and gently caressing.

Lorna’s magnetic field is restless. Frustration, heat, and reluctant surrender tangle in the air around her. Strands of emerald hair drift and lift as her control slips. She is not simply receiving this. She pushes against the scarlet energy, trying to take more, even as her breath catches in soft, broken sounds.

Wanda pulls back just enough to speak, lips still close, voice soft and warm. “Still so impatient.” A slow, deliberate stroke of her tongue follows, directed straight at Lorna’s clit, precise and unhurried.* “You can wait.”

Lorna’s answer is a breathless, strained sound that turns into a low moan when Wanda returns her mouth to her, deeper this time. “Wanda…”

Wanda’s free hand slides up to rest against Lorna’s lower stomach, holding her steady while her mouth continues its steady, relentless pace. The scarlet light in the room brightens. Lorna’s back arches as far as the bindings will allow. For a moment the two of them exist in perfect, intense focus, challenge and trust colliding, Wanda using every careful movement to keep Lorna exactly where she wants her.

Wanda’s next words are quieter, spoken against sensitive skin. “I love you, but you need to learn to hand over control, this is for your own good.”

Lorna’s eyes flutter. She turns her head as much as the restraints allow, breath unsteady, the fight slowly giving way to something deeper. The crimson energy holds her open and present, while Wanda remains seated, calm, and completely in control.

Somehow, they still haven’t seen you standing in the doorway.

Some time shortly after the wedding.

The night after Rogue and Gambit’s wedding had changed the shape of everything between the three of you. What began as two separate secrets had become an open, deliberate choice: Wanda and Lorna sharing you.

Tonight the house is quiet when you step through the front door. Too quiet.

The usual soft conversation or kitchen noise is absent. Instead there is only the low, rhythmic sound of skin meeting metal, broken by sharp breaths and the occasional soft, frustrated sound. A soft green glow bleeds from the half-open bedroom door at the end of the hall, pulsing steadily with Lorna’s magnetism.

The door is ajar just enough to see inside. Wanda is standing in the centre of the room, wrists locked in sleek metal cuffs fastened high on a sturdy pole, arms stretched above her head. Her ankles are spread wide and held firmly in place by matching metal cuffs, the air around them shimmering with a faint green current as Lorna’s magnetism keeps them exactly where she wants them. She can shift her weight, but only as much as the restraints allow. Her chest rises and falls quickly, green eyes half-lidded and already glassy with need, auburn hair falling around her shoulders.

Lorna stands close behind her, one hand resting lightly on Wanda’s hip, the other free to touch. A sleek metal dildo hovers in the air between Wanda’s spread thighs, guided entirely by Lorna’s magnetism. Its polished surface catches the green light as it moves with perfect, deliberate precision, depth, angle, and pace answering her will instantly. Every thrust is measured, deep… and deliberately incomplete.

Lorna fucks her with steady, controlled force, the kind of focused attention that leaves little room for anything else. Each stroke is firm enough to draw sharp breaths and broken sounds from Wanda’s throat, yet carefully timed so that the peak never quite arrives. Whenever Wanda’s hips begin to push back in earnest, the metal slows, or shifts its angle, or stills entirely for a heartbeat too long. Wanda’s wrists occasionally pull against the cuffs, only for the metal to hold firm under Lorna’s control.

Wanda’s chaos magic flickers restlessly around her; small, involuntary sparks of crimson that never quite form. Frustration, heat, and reluctant surrender tangle in the air. She is not simply taking this. She pushes back against the hovering metal as much as the ankle cuffs allow, breath catching in soft, pleading sounds.

Lorna leans in, lips close to Wanda’s ear, voice low and warm with a clear edge of amusement even while the metal keeps its firm, denying rhythm. “Still so quiet. Still trying to be good.” Another deep, precise thrust that stops just short of what Wanda needs. The metal shifts inside her once, deliberately, then eases back. “This is what happens when you keep secrets from me.”

Wanda’s answer is a breathless, strained sound that turns into a soft, frustrated moan when Lorna adjusts the angle of the metal length inside her for a moment, only to pull the sensation away again. “Lorna… please—”

Lorna’s free hand slides up to cup one of Wanda’s breasts, thumb brushing over a sensitive peak while the toy continues its steady, relentless, unfinished pace. The green light in the room brightens. Wanda’s back arches as far as the pole and cuffs will allow. For a moment the two of them move together in perfect, intense rhythm, challenge and trust colliding, Lorna using every careful stroke to keep Wanda right on the edge of the release she is deliberately withholding.

Lorna’s next words are quieter, almost against Wanda’s lips, carrying a teasing smile. “I love you. Even when you’re being difficult.”

Wanda’s eyes flutter. She turns her head just enough to catch Lorna’s mouth in a messy, open kiss that is equal parts plea and surrender. The kiss lasts only a second before Lorna bites her lower lip gently and resumes the deep, measured, denying pace, the sleek metal sinking home again, but never quite enough.

*Somehow, they still haven’t seen you standing in the doorway.