⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀ the brush of lips sends jolts through the sorceress’ nerves . a swarm , a hive* , of butterflies in her stomach . frenzying at every touch the queen gifts her so graciously .

crimson fingertips card through +
soft, warm hands glide down Wanda's waist. scarred lips brush back, calling electricity to arc 'cross her nerves. the witch's name is a low moan against her own mouth as Doom drew her even closer.

softly trailing up her spine, one hand found the lace holding Wanda's dress up & set to undo them.

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