Can Only Remember

26 she/her

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N, the Red Robin, lands on the roof of the stolen cop car…

Duela: (purrs) hey pretty bird

Y/N; stealing a Gotham PD vehicle is against the law, Duela

Duela: (purrs) ooh is little bird gonna arrest me?

Y/N slaps a set of hand cuffs on her…

Y/N; come on. Let’s get you back to the Batcave

Duela: I’d rather you explore my cave

Y/N blushes as red as their outfit…

[summer2224]

Breathe For Me Part 2

part 2 out of 4 parts (link for pervious at the end)

She blinks it away. Refocuses.

"Detka, no," Wanda says softly, leaning closer, her hand guiding your arm back down to the mattress. "Leave it. It's helping you. Leave it."

Your fingers curl around hers instead, and the grip is weak, barely anything, but it's you.

Wanda's breath shakes.

She presses her lips together so hard they go white.

"That's it," she manages. "That's it. Hold onto me."

Eighty nine on the monitor. Climbing.

Your eyelids flutter. Not open. Just movement beneath them, rapid, confused, your mind starting to fire in patterns that have somewhere to go but no way to get there yet.

A sound tears out of you, louder this time, a rough, scraped noise that sits somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. Your back arches slightly off the mattress. Your face twists.

Pain. It's arriving before you are.

"She's entering the window," Dr. Amari says, voice tighter now. He nods at the nurse with the tray. "Push the first dose. Let's stay ahead of it."

A syringe clicks into the IV port. Medication slides into the line.

But it takes time. Minutes. And your body isn't waiting.

Your chest heaves. Your hand clenches around Wanda's, hard, sudden, a grip that doesn't know its own desperation. 

Your head rolls on the pillow and another sound comes, worse than the first, a broken, guttural cry that doesn't have a word in it because you don't have words yet. 

You just have nerve endings and damage and the raw animal understanding that something is very, very wrong.

Yelena steps back from the bed. Not out of fear. Out of respect. 

Natasha doesn't move. But her arms uncross and her hands go still at her sides, ready for whatever comes next.

Wanda leans down until her mouth is near your ear.

Her voice cracks open.

"I know it hurts," she whispers, and there are tears in it now, not falling, not yet, but saturating every syllable. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby. I'm right here. You're not alone. You're not—"

Your eyes open.

Not all the way. Not with recognition. 

You see light. Shape. Blur. You see green.

Wanda's breath stops.

Your mouth moves. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around silence and pain, and your eyes, they're wide and lost and terrified in a way that has nothing to do with bravery or training or anything she ever taught you.

"I'm here," Wanda says, and her voice breaks clean in half. She cups your face with her free hand, thumb on your cheek, steady despite the tremor in her wrist. "Look at me. You're in the Tower. You're safe. You had surgery. You're okay."

Your gaze drifts. Catches hers. Loses it. Catches it again.

Your fingers tighten around her hand. Your lips part.

"...Wan..."

Half a name. Not even that. A syllable and a breath.

But Wanda hears it like a gunshot. Her face crumples.

A tear slips down her cheek. Then another.

She doesn't wipe them.

She leans her forehead against yours, carefully, so carefully, avoiding the tubes and tape, and breathes with you.

"I'm here," she says again, wet and shaking. "I'm here. I have you. I'm not going anywhere."

Your eyes close again. Not unconscious, just exhausted. Your grip stays.

The monitor steadies. Ninety two. Holding.

Dr. Amari watches the numbers for a long moment. Then exhales.

"She's through the worst of it," he says quietly. "She'll drift in and out for the next hour or so, but she's emerging."

The room releases something it didn't know it was holding.

Natasha lets out a slow breath through her nose.

Yelena is very still by the wall. Her eyes are bright in a way she would deny if anyone mentioned it. Her arms are crossed so tightly her knuckles are pale.

The room quiets. Wanda doesn't speak.

Her fingers return to your hair, slow, steady, tracing the same path they've worn over the last hours. 

Her green eyes are fixed on your face with a stillness that borders on devotion, watching your lashes, your lids, the faint movement beneath them.

Waiting. Not for the monitors. Not for the doctor's permission.

For you to look at her again.

Natasha moves first. She touches Yelena's elbow, a single tap, the Romanoff shorthand for we're leaving and Yelena, for once, doesn't argue. She pushes off the wall, takes one last look at you, then at Wanda, and follows Natasha toward the door without a word.

Dr. Amari lingers long enough to check the monitors one final time. He says something to the nurse about the next dose window. She nods. They gather the tray, the tablet, the portable unit, and file out in quiet succession.

The resident is the last to leave. He glances back at Wanda from the doorway like he wants to say something, reassurance, maybe, or a reminder about visiting protocols,but the look on her face changes his mind.

The door clicks shut. The room exhales.

And it's just her. Just you.

The monitors hum. The oxygen sighs. The afternoon presses against the window like it's trying to watch.

Wanda sinks into the chair.

She sits like the strings have been cut. Her shoulders drop. Her spine curves forward. Her heels press flat against the tile for the first time in hours, and the silence of them feels like surrender.

She lifts your hand to her mouth.

Presses her lips against your knuckles, slow, deliberate, like she's sealing something into your skin.

"I promise you," she whispers, and the words disappear into the space between her lips and your fingers. "Every consequence. All of it."

Your chest hurts.

That's the first thing. Before sight, before sound, before any understanding of where you are or why, your chest hurts and your throat hurts and your side hurts and you don't know which one to deal with first.

Your hand goes to your throat.

Fingers hit tape and bandage and you flinch, hard, because something is wrong there and your body knows it before your brain does.

Panic comes fast.

Your eyes fly open and nothing makes sense. White ceiling. Dim light. A sound beeping somewhere. 

Your breath catches and it burns and your fingers claw at the bandage because you need it off, you need to understand

A hand catches your wrist.

"No. Leave it. Look at me."

Green eyes.

Your wrist fights her grip, not because you want to, but because your body is running on something older than reason. Your breathing is ragged and shallow and every inhale feels like swallowing glass.

"Hey. Hey. Look at me."

Her fingers find your chin. Gentle. Firm. She tilts your face toward hers and holds it there.

Wanda.

Not the calm, commanding green from briefing rooms and training floors. These are red rimmed, bright, exhausted, terrified. But steady.

Her auburn hair falls forward over her shoulders, loose, catching the low hospital light in shades of copper and dark wine. There's a strand near her jaw that moves when she breathes.

She's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen and you can't tell her because your throat won't make words.

"There you are," she says softly. "Stay with me. Don't touch it. It's helping you."

Your fingers are still reaching. She takes your hand and folds it against her chest. Pins it there, over her heartbeat, like she's giving you something else to hold onto.

"Breathe for me," she says. "Slow."

You can't. Your chest is too tight and your side pulls with every inhale and your eyes are burning and you don't understand what happened to you.

"I know," Wanda whispers, reading your face like she always does. Her thumb strokes your jaw. "I know it hurts. You're okay. You had surgery. You're safe."

Your eyes search hers, frantic, glassy, looking for something to believe.

She gives it to you.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away. Just holds your gaze with those green eyes like she can anchor you to the world through sheer will.

"I'm here," she says. "I haven't left. I'm not going to."

Your breathing stutters. Catches. Slows, just a fraction.

Your fingers curl against her chest.

She takes your hand from her chest and lifts it to her lips.

Her eyes close.

She kisses your knuckles and a tear slides down her cheek, quiet, unhurried, like it's been waiting twenty six hours for permission.

"Detka," she whispers against your skin.

Another tear follows the first.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here."

Her eyes open. Wet. Green. Devastatingly soft.

She looks down at you and her thumb finds your cheek, brushing beneath your eye where your own tears have started without your permission.

"You don't have to talk," she says. "Don't try. Just breathe. Nice and slow. I'm not going anywhere."

Your chest shudders. Your lips tremble around nothing.

She nods like you said something anyway.

"I know," she murmurs. "I know."

She kisses your knuckles again. And again. Small, pressed things, one after another, like she's counting them.

She doesn't look at the door. Doesn't check if anyone's watching through the glass. Doesn't care.

She is so tired of caring.

"Detka," she whispers, lips still against your hand. "You are so goddamn selfless, you know that?"

Her voice cracks on the last word.

"You threw yourself in front of a bullet for a woman you've never met. You didn't even hesitate. You just—"

She stops. Breathes.

Her jaw works. Her eyes are wet and fierce and looking at you like you are the bravest and most infuriating thing she has ever loved.

"You just went."

She shakes her head slowly.

"And I watched."

Her forehead drops against your hand. She stays there, breathing into your fingers, and when she speaks again her voice is muffled and raw.

"Don't ever do that to me again."

She lifts her head. Wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, quick, impatient, like the tears are an inconvenience she doesn't have time for.

Her green eyes find yours again.

"When you're healed," she says, and her voice is steady now in a way that tells you she's already decided this, probably decided it twenty-six hours ago in a hallway covered in your blood, "you're off the front line."

Your brow creases.

She sees it.

"Don't," she says softly. "Don't argue with me. Not right now."

Her thumb traces your cheekbone.

"You go where I go. You stay where I can see you. Every mission, every op, every room — you are behind me. Do you understand?"

It's not a punishment. You can hear that. There's no anger in it, no discipline, no Commander Maximoff pulling rank.

It's just Wanda. Looking at you in a hospital bed with tape on your throat and a tube in your side and bruises blooming across your chest like a map of everything she failed to prevent.

"I can't do this again," she says, and her voice drops to almost nothing. "I won't."

Her fingers lace through yours. Carefully. Around the IV.

"You are too important." She swallows. "To the team."

A pause.

Her eyes hold yours.

"To me."

The door opens.

Yelena is already halfway across the room before the door finishes swinging. This time she is carrying two pudding cups like they're medical supplies.

Wanda's eyes close. Her jaw tightens.

She doesn't turn around.

Her hand stays on yours, her thumb stays on your cheek, and her entire body radiates the specific energy of a woman who is three seconds from committing a crime but is choosing not to because you're watching.

Your eyes drift past Wanda's shoulder.

Yelena stops at the foot of the bed. Looks at you. The tubes, the tape, the bruising, your red rimmed eyes barely open.

"Oh good," she says. "You look terrible."

Your mouth twitches.

"No, this is good," Yelena continues, peeling the lid off a pudding cup with her thumb. "You were more of a blue gray color. Now you are a yellow gray. This is upgrade."

Wanda's voice is flat. "Yelena."

"What? I am being supportive. This is my supportive face." She gestures at her own expression, which is mostly just Yelena's regular face but slightly wider eyed.

She pulls a spoon from her hoodie pocket, not a new one, the same tiny plastic one from before, and points it at you.

"I brought you pudding. Butterscotch. Confirmed. I ate three already to make sure they were not poisoned." She pauses. "They were not. You are welcome."

Your chest hurts when you try to laugh. It comes out as a rough, broken exhale that makes you wince.

Wanda's attention snaps back to you immediately, her hand pressing gently against your shoulder, easing you still.

Yelena watches this, chewing her pudding slowly.

"Also," Yelena says, pointing the spoon between you and Wanda like she's connecting dots, "you should know that while you were sleeping, Wanda threatened the entire building. Very romantic."

Wanda's fingers tighten on your shoulder.

"Yelena," she repeats, quieter this time, which is worse.

"I am just saying," Yelena shrugs, scraping the bottom of the cup. "If someone threatened an entire government agency for me, I would want to know."

Your eyes find Wanda's.

She doesn't look away. But the faintest flush creeps up the back of her neck, just above the turtleneck, and she absolutely refuses to acknowledge it.

Yelena sees it. Yelena sees everything.

She takes another bite of pudding and says nothing, which is the loudest thing she's done all day.

Wanda's fingers are in your hair again.

Her thumb traces the curve of your ear, slow, absent, like she's forgotten how to stop touching you. Her green eyes are soft and she's leaning close, murmuring something about your oxygen levels being better when the door opens for the third time.

Wanda doesn't look up. She assumes it's a nurse.

"She's resting," Wanda says. "Come back in—"

"Y/n."

The voice is not a nurse. 

Wanda's hand stills in your hair.

Your eyes, half lidded and heavy, shift toward the door.

Sue Storm stands in the doorway in a flight suit still creased from reentry, hair pulled back, face tight with the specific kind of worry that doesn't belong to a colleague. She looks like she came straight from debrief. She looks like she ran.

She looks at you the way someone looks at a mistake they never stopped regretting.

Wanda straightens slowly.

Her hand doesn't leave your hair. Her fingers just... stop moving. Like they've turned to stone.

"Commander Maximoff," Sue says.

Wanda's chin lifts. Her eyes find Sue's and hold them with the precision of a scope finding a target.

"Dr. Storm."

Two words. Polite. Professional. Absolutely lethal.

The room changes temperature. Not literally, Wanda's magic stays coiled, dormant. But something shifts in the air between the two women that makes the monitors feel louder.

From the corner, Yelena glances up from her pudding cup. Her eyes flick between Wanda and Sue. Then to you. Then back to Wanda.

A grin spreads across her face like Christmas came early.

Sue steps into the room. Her eyes haven't left you, the bruising, the tape at your throat, the chest tube, the way you look small in a bed that's too white for someone this alive.

"I just landed," Sue says. "I heard on the comm channel during descent. They said it was a field injury. They said—" Her jaw tightens. "They said airway compromise."

Wanda's expression doesn't change. "She's stable."

"I can see that."

Sue moves closer to the bed. Confident. Measured. Not asking permission, because Sue Storm doesn't ask permission, she's used to walking into rooms and belonging there, used to the kind of quiet authority that comes from bending light itself to her will.

Wanda's eyes track every step.

Your gaze drifts between them. Your brain is foggy and slow but something old fires in the back of your skull, a recognition, a tension, a history your body remembers even when your mind is swimming in painkillers.

Sue reaches the bedside. Opposite Wanda.

She looks down at you and her face does something she probably doesn't mean to show, a softness, a crack, the particular ache of someone looking at a person they lost and suddenly remembering exactly why losing them was the worst thing they ever did.

"Hey, you," Sue says quietly.

Your lips part. Nothing comes out.

Sue's hand reaches for your face. 

Scarlet wraps around her wrist.

Wanda's magic locks around Sue's wrist like a hand, firm, deliberate, unmistakable. Red light pulses against Sue's skin, and Sue's fingers stop three inches from your cheek.

Sue doesn't flinch.

She looks down at the scarlet coiled around her wrist. Looks at it the way you'd look at someone's hand on your shoulder when you didn't invite it.

Then her skin ripples.

A shimmer runs from her wrist to her fingertips, not invisible, not yet, but the threat of it. The light bending around her, just enough to say I can slip out of this whenever I want.

Her eyes lift to Wanda.

Wanda's eyes are already there.

Green and unblinking, her fingers still resting in your hair, her body angled over yours like a sentence that ends with a period. The scarlet doesn't tighten. It doesn't need to. It just stays, wrapped around Sue's wrist like a collar, patient, certain.

Sue's shimmer holds.

Wanda's magic holds.

Two women. Two powers. Neither yielding.

Yelena leans back against the wall and crosses her arms with the expression of someone who desperately wishes she had popcorn instead of pudding.

Sue smirks. Slow. Dangerous.

Wanda doesn't smirk. She just looks at Sue the way you look at someone who's reaching for something that already has your name on it.

Sue's shimmer fades first. Deliberate, not surrender, but calculation. She lowers her hand.

Wanda's scarlet unravels a half second later. Just as deliberate.

Neither of them blinks.

"She needs rest," Wanda says evenly.

"She needs a lot of things," Sue says, and her eyes don't leave Wanda's.

The space between them isn't wide. Your bed fills most of it, you, lying in the middle of whatever this is, too drugged to translate but too awake to miss the charge in the air.

Sue's gaze drops to Wanda's hand in your hair. Studies it. The way Wanda's fingers rest against your scalp, possessive and easy, like they've been there a thousand times.

They haven't. But Sue doesn't know that.

And that's what makes her jaw tighten.

"I heard your team had a training failure," Sue says. "On your watch."

Wanda's fingers don't stop moving through your hair.

"The situation has been handled," she says.

"Has it." Sue's weight shifts. One hip. Arms crossing. The posture of a woman who has commanded a team through deep space and doesn't soften for anyone. "Because from where I'm standing, handled looks a lot like a chest tube and a tracheotomy scar."

Wanda's hand stills.

Not a flinch. A choice.

She looks at Sue the way a blade looks at skin, already touching, just deciding how deep.

"You've been in space, Dr. Storm," Wanda says quietly. "Six weeks. You missed quite a lot."

Sue's chin lifts. "I would have been here."

"And yet."

Wanda doesn't even finish the sentence because she doesn't need to. The absence does the work, you weren't, I was, and we both know which one of us she reached for when she couldn't breathe.

Sue takes it. Absorbs it. 

"You think you're what she needs," Sue says, and it's not a question.

Wanda's head tilts.

"I know I am," Wanda says.

Sue's eyes flash. 

"Being here isn't the same as being enough," Sue says.

Yelena inhales sharply through her teeth. The sound you make when someone walks into traffic.

Wanda doesn't react.

Wanda holds Sue's gaze. Sue looks back. One brow lifted. Waiting.

Neither of them moves.

In the corner, Yelena has her fists up.

She's bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, throwing slow, silent jabs at the air like she's commentating a boxing match only she can see.

Neither woman notices.

Which is probably for the best.

The door opens.

A SHIELD agent stands in the frame, tablet in hand, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Dr. Storm. Director Hill is requesting your presence in debrief room seven."

Sue doesn't look at him. Wanda doesn't look at him.

Neither of them has blinked in what feels like a geological age.

"Be there in a minute," Sue says, eyes locked on Wanda's.

The agent opens his mouth.

"A minute," Sue repeats, and the temperature of the word sends him back through the door without another sound.

It clicks shut.

Sue uncrosses her arms slowly. She steps around the foot of the bed, unhurried, deliberate, heels measured on the tile, and comes around to Wanda's side.

Wanda's chin follows her the entire way. Green eyes tracking her like a scope. Not turning her body. Just her jaw, her gaze, her stillness, rotating with Sue's movement like a gun turret.

Sue stops beside her. Close. She leans down. Her mouth is at Wanda's ear and she speaks so quietly the monitors almost cover it.

"If she ends up in this bed again because of you," Sue whispers, "I won't hesitate."

Wanda's jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle jump from across the room.

Sue straightens. Smooths her flight suit. Doesn't look at you, because if she looks at you she won't leave, and she knows it.

In the corner, Yelena mouths something at you. You're too drugged to read lips but it looks a lot like I need to know the exact prayer you said.

The door closes behind her.

----------------------------

Click here for part 3

Pervious part click here

[sweetandscarlet]

something between us

• tension in between us •

• inches in between us•

warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady! wanda (32), dirty talk, yearning, lap dance, mommy kink, slight smut. minors, DNI

words: 1.7k

a/n: hellloooo and welcome to a much needed update to one of my favourites! It’s been a long while since I’ve written on here, but enjoy, there will be more to come :). - xo saph.

“oh my..” you gasped out, your hands gripping the silk material of wanda’s sheets that lay a mess on her bed.

“so… how long have you worked here for?” a customer asks in front of you, one you had forgotten the name of, and as the night before plays in your mind in broken pieces, you force yourself to pay attention.

“a while.” you stare down at the glass in your hand and take a sip of the rum and coke. “it’s always smart to stay at a place that looks after you, you know?”

“i couldn’t agree more,” the customer replied with a smile. “i’ve been with my firm for ten years.”

your hands thread through thick auburn hair, your gaze stuck to the woman as her tongue, which she had flattened out, lapped at your clit, and as she shifted to leave open-mouth kisses against the bundle of nerves that throbbed against her touch, you moan and continue to watch the way wanda’s mouth shines from your wetness.

your left leg begins to bounce gently, and you close your eyes briefly. you needed something stronger than conversation to cloud over the distracting memory. “care to tell me about it in a dance?” you ask with a smile, and when the man’s eyes dropped down to your chest, which was clad in your usual red attire, you knew you had him hooked.

“lead the way.” he replies with a grin.

ᗢ

as you sighed in a chair you now resided in, you leaned back in it, looking up at the dimly lit chandelier hanging above you.

It was now the quiet period before another busy one came, and although you wouldn’t be around to witness it, you relished in the peaceful atmosphere anyway. a majority of the customers had begun to filter out of ‘house of harkness’, and as you lowered your head, you pulled your phone out from the clutch upon your lap, and looked down at it.

it illuminated the time eight-fifty pm, and when you unlocked it, you decided to scroll absentmindedly on twitter whilst you finished off the drink that had been bought for you.

“i had an amazing time with you, y/n.”

the words echoed in your mind, and you smiled like an idiot. wanda’s voice; so sickly sweet and husky. god, you were impatient, and you wish you could hear it now, have her in front of you, her laughing at one of your jokes, or you admiring her suit-clad body.

as you continued to look down, your phone blurred in your hand as you ruminated on your afternoon.

“i had an amazing time, too,” you replied, the seat beginning to vibrate under you from the rumbling of the car's exhaust as wanda started it up. “and thank you for taking me home.”

“oh, nonsense, pretty girl. i will happily do this again for you.”

“yeah?” you asked with an excited smirk you couldn’t quite hide. she wanted to see you again. god, the exhilaration was almost too much to bear. “i would really like that. but only because of that house of yours.”

“naturally,” wanda laughs, her eyes focused on the road that now looks different to you, compared to the previous night drive to her huge abode. the sunny day now illuminated the stunning greenery on either side of the road. “i come with more perks, though. i can be quite the cook sometimes.” she adds.

“talented in bed, talented in the kitchen… what else are you good at?”

the redhead shoots a glance at you. “how about i tell you more tonight? over dinner.”

“that sounds lovely,” you respond, your stomach doing a flip at the thought of being wined and dined by wanda. “although i’ll be working at the club first…”

“that’s okay, darling. if you can play pretend, i’d like another dance, i’m afraid yesterday's was too short for my liking.”

you felt your cheeks blush at the prospect of it. this wasn’t something that crossed your mind, one that had been filled with nothing but wanda’s skin and lips, and every inch of her body. you can’t believe you hadn’t thought about it sooner - you had been awake for a couple of hours and at no point did you think how a situation like this would progress.

“well then,” you cooed, deciding you liked the idea wanda had presented to you. “let’s say nine pm? i’ll show you my dancing skills again, and you can showcase your cooking skills.”

and as you waited in anticipation as the minutes inched closer and closer to your scheduled time with wanda, you continued to scroll past boring tweets until one caught your eye. more specifically, a certain someone.

wanda maximoff pictured last week with her brother pietro maximoff at a conference.

the image attached made you gape in awe. you paid no mind to the woman’s brother and instead your eyes burned into wanda, and how gorgeous beyond belief she looked. she donned a grey tweed dior suit, with a matching jacket and black boots, and as luscious locks of ginger curls hung over her shoulders, you felt a knot form in your stomach.

with your body temperature rising all too quickly, you locked your phone and returned it to your clutch.

“scarlet. it’s nice to see you again.”

your head whipped up from your lap to the familiar voice in front of you. “wanda.” you smiled brightly, the embarrassing thought briefly passing in your mind that you had no idea how long she had been standing there for, and if she saw the contents on your phone. but with no indication written on her face, you ignore the mortifying thought and instead observe the classy raiment she wore.

wanda shot you a sultry look as you took in the cinched black blazer and the ankle-grazing skirt to match. you gulped dryly. wanda not wearing pants, was new to you, and your eyes raked up and down her body, appreciating the sight.

you outstretched a heel-clad foot to slightly push back the seat opposite you, which wanda happily sat down on, a leg crossing over the other as she rested her hands on the arms of the chair.

“you look incredible.” the sight of her made your head spin. “i mean… really, really, incredible.”

“thank you, darling.” wanda replied with a smile. her eyes bore into you, and you felt like she was drinking you in. “i like the silk robe you have on tonight.”

the compliment made you shift in your seat, and you grabbed your glass and raised it to gulp down the rest of the alcohol before placing it back on the small table between you. “thank you,” you purred, feeling your cheeks grow hot, “so, did you miss me?”

wanda nodded, a smirk spread on her plump lips, “you were quite a distraction for me in meetings today.”

“i was?” the knot in your stomach tightened from the exciting confession, “well then, you should know you’ve also been quite disruptive to my attention tonight.”

you didn’t miss the way wanda’s eyes fell to your thighs, and the red garter belts that hugged them. “a good night, though, i hope?” she asked.

“yes, but it’s about to get even better.”

ᗢ

after wanda had paid for another dance at the till, this one longer than the last, you led her by the hand through the corridor, purple fairy lights that hung overhead illuminating the way. and then, when you reached your desired booth, you felt your body buzz with great thrill.

after stepping into the purple-lit booth, the colour of your attire changed in the light to a shade that almost matched wanda’s. and as the redhead shifted to take her place on the seat, you glanced at the mirror beside you, one of many that littered the small room, and took in the two of you together. and god what a sight it was. you couldn’t believe your luck of being in close quarters with such a woman.

as you mused on the thought, you plugged your phone into the speaker behind the redhead and pressed play on your go-to playlist, and as the slow beat kicked in, you gazed down at wanda. intense eyes enraptured you as she softly bit down on her plump lower lip.

“mommy, you look so fucking good.” every fibre of your being urged you to kiss her. it took everything in you not to as you began to move your body to the music, your hips swaying gently.

“baby…” wanda gasped out at your words, her hands that rested on either side of her hips shifted to grip the edge of the seat. “i thought of you calling me that again, you sound so perfect when you do.”

though you couldn’t press your lips against the redheads, you needed to be closer to her, so you instead of standing, you straddled wanda, leaving a small gap between your thong and the material of her skirt, which you know would feel soft and expensive to the touch.

you began to move your hips, grinding in the space above her lap as you let your hands rest on her shoulders.

“and those legs of yours,” the redhead continued, her hips instinctively jutting upwards slightly, and inadvertently bumping against your clit. your breath caught in your throat at the sensation, and your hands on wanda’s shoulders tensed, your fingers pressing into her blazer. “so smooth and grabbable.”

“shit.” you panted, and although your mind whirled with wanda and the pleasure you were already feeling, you continued to dance and move your hips, following the sensual beat of the song. “i can’t wait for later, it’s been on my mind since i left you.”

“likewise, darling,” wanda beamed, “same plan I assume?”

with a grin, you nodded. eager and anticipating her to whisk you away again. but for now, you were going to enjoy being in the thick bubble of hot tension that surrounded you both, and enjoy the way wanda’s eyes practically devoured you.

ᗢ

part four

[fandomnerd9602]

Vampire Wanda x Male Human Reader please.

Vampire!Wanda cuddles with Y/N…

Wanda; mmm you’re my favorite person

Y/N: you’re my favorite vampire

Wanda purrs and giggles…

Wanda; day is upon us my love and my coffin is looking extra comfy

She takes their hand and pulls them to her coffin…

[chelleztjs18]

Lessons Learned (W.M) Pt. 3

Wanda Maximoff x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Professor!Wanda Maximoff x Student!FemReader (College AU)

Summary: You have been looking forward to this particular class but something unexpected happened on the first day.

Warning: Nothing really. Just some Fluff, Angst and maybe a little humor.

A/N: Hello hello! I'm back with the new chapter of this series. I'm not proud that it took a very long time to update this series, I apologized, especially to the person who requested this. I'm gonna work on this more. This series and Ten Days series will be the two main WIPs that I'm gonna focus on writing now whenever i have the chance to write. Good news is, the outline for this series is actually done. Thank you so much for your patience. Happy reading!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

The only sounds you hear are the soft shift of papers that Wanda holds and the faint squeak sound from the chair every time she moves. Another sound you notice is when she subtly clicks her tongue when she is focusing on whatever she is doing and of course you find it cute especially when you glance at her serious facial expression.

You regret doing what you did earlier in class. You really didn’t mean anything bad when you answered Kate’s answer but then again, you know you shouldn't do that and that’s the thing you really need to work on.

Just like you do, Wanda sometimes steals glances at you. Seeing you quietly clean up the lab without any complaint makes her feel bad and really thinks that she has been too hard on you. For her, you crossed your line a little bit but she realizes doing what she did as a professor to her student also crossed the line.

Wanda didn’t realize how long she was looking at you, you can feel that she is staring at you. You turn your head to make sure if you were right. As soon as eye contact is locked, Wanda turns her gaze away, clearing her throat and back to what she was doing.

You try to focus on cleaning the lab while multitasking, holding back your eyes not to take another glance at her. Your heart tells you to apologize to her for what happened in the class but your brain tells you what if you say things that will make it worse.

As you keep what you are doing, silence is finally broken by Wanda’s phone ringtone. She answers it excitedly while she continues organizing her paperworks and books.

“Hello Piet! Can I call you back? I’m almost done with work now.” You can hear her accent wrapped in such a thrill and you were right, you see her smiling ear to ear while talking. You can guess that whoever on the other line asks her not to hang up the call yet because Wanda hums a few times in agreement. You quickly let go of your secret curious indirect stare off her as soon as she lands hers on you.

Wanda looks back to her stuff again, trying to talk as soft as she can so you won’t hear her conversation. She picks up her pace to get everything ready as she notices you are also almost done cleaning up. “Aww you are so sweet. Yes of course, dinner sounds lovely and it’s our favorite place. I miss you too. I’ll see—” A loud noise interrupted her. She quickly looks at you to see if you are okay only to find that you drop a metal and a small glass examination tray as well.

“Piet, sorry I gotta go. Alright, I’ll call you back. Bye, love you.” Wanda ends her phone call in a rush. Your stomach churns slightly after you heard her conversation and you feel your chest dips especially the part when she said I miss you too and Love you. Is she seeing someone else? Why does it even matter to you? Wait a second, why on earth you thought of these stupid questions. Why would you care? You don’t realize you frown at your own questions in your mind. You told yourself that it’s none of your business and stay out of it. You are so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t feel that you got a little cut from picking up the shattered glasses.

Wanda’s voice brought you back from your daze. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

Her worried voice, her jade green eyes and not to mention her perfume, all of those definitely cause a short circuit in your brain. When did she get this close to you? Oh crap, at this point you can only hope that you didn’t say all those questions out loud.

“Oh? Uh- Ye-yes yes, I’m okay, Ms. Maximoff. Don’t worry.” You stuttered. “You are bleeding.” Wanda stated.

“I-I’m what?” You internally curse at yourself for not being able to function or even form any words. “You got a little cut on your finger, you are bleeding. Let me go get some band aid.” Wanda adds and points at the little cut on your finger shortly before she gets up to get the first aid kit.

You are a nervous wreck right now from how close she was with you a few seconds ago that you don’t even feel stinging pain on the cut. You quickly sweep the mess and get everything done.

Right when you almost decide to leave the room, Wanda gets back with the little band aid. “Here, let me help you. Show me the cut.” Her right palm is wide open waiting for you to lay your hand on it.

Your hand moves as if it has its own mind and soon you feel her soft skin and slender perfect fingers hold a gentle grip on your wrist. She tries to clean the cut gently. Your finger twitches slightly. “You should be more careful next time.”

Eye contacts are locked between you two for a few seconds before she averts her gaze away from you but return to wrap the cut with the band aid she got

“Uh, y-yeah. I will. I–I don’t know what happened. I didn’t even realize I got cut.” you slightly rambled.

Seeing how nervous you are makes her think it was probably because she was too harsh on you earlier. The thought softens Wanda slowly for a tiny bit.

“So you pay attention to everything else but your safety?” She says it without a harsh tone at all. Just nonchallantly almost under her breath. You laugh awkwardly, don’t have any comeback for it.

You feel your blood rush all over your body. Wanda was silent and so were you while her hand was still gently holding yours.

The quiet in the lab feels like closing the gap between you and Wanda. Her hand lingers two seconds longer than she realizes.

You try to look away from her but then you hear her voice, “There..” She lets go of your hand then puts things back into the first aid kit box.

“Oh. Uh.” Your words refused to come out of your lips.

“Good thing it’s not a deep cut.” She looks back at you. Her gaze looks softer than it was earlier in the class.

“Yeah. T-thank you, Ms. Maximoff.”

She nods then puts the box to where it was. For a brief moment you don’t know what you should do. Again, once you were about to leave the lab, her words faltered your steps.

“You handled the specimen really well earlier.” Being the fair person she is, she compliments on what you did in the lab earlier. Her tone noticeably sounds less sharp than it was in the class.

“Huh?” You turn around, rubbing the back of your neck. Her compliment definitely brings you deeper in the nervous wreck you have been in this whole time.”Oh, thank you.” You add.

“You read ahead, didn’t you?” She glances up briefly at you and gets back to her seat before gathering her stuff on the table.

“Maybe.” You rub both of your arms as you answer.

She hums at your answer, not looking at you.

Your mind internally is barking orders at you to apologize to her about what you did earlier.

“Ms. Maximoff.” You call her name, she looks at you again, longer this time.

“About earlier… I didn’t mean to.. I wasn’t trying to undermine you. ” You try hard to compose the right words but you almost fail. Despite your stuttered words, she knows what you meant. She looks away, focusing back on the papers and her books.

Wanda paused mid movement and was quiet for a few seconds before she answered. “... You have a habit of doing that. In front of everyone else.” Her tone was critical but not harsh.

She glances up at you again but this time she sees your eyes fix on somewhere random. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t do it on purpose.” You pause, you look at her for a moment. A short hum was all you got from her, then you add, “I– I’m working on it. Just. not very successfully.”

Wanda notices the sincerity in your apology but she chooses not to show it. “See you in the next class, Y/n”

You notice her hint that she is done with the conversation. “Uh y-yeah. See you.” You gave her a little wave before you left the lab.

She watches you leave only until you are out of her sight, the sounds of your steps fade slowly.

After you walk away quite a bit of a distance from the lab, you look towards it and the light is still on with movements of Wanda’s subtle shadow. You pick up your pace while your mind is still recalibrating.

One thought contradicts the others. Everything that happened today in class. Guilt, embarrassment and confusion are all mixed together. You remember the difference in her look in class and when you two talked while she was helping you with the cut on your finger.

You think how her gaze looks softer after class really slaps you with the reality that you are at fault hence her reaction earlier in class. Then you look at your bandage wrapped finger, you swear you could feel the ghost of her touch, the warmth and how soft her hand was. Oh and her compliments? You can’t lie that it did something in your mind, maybe a little short circuit, maybe brings some warmth in your heart, you actually don’t know.

Oh well, maybe you are overthinking it right now. It was nothing. It’s just a thing that professors should do when their student gets hurt, nothing more.

Then your memory drags your focus on her words in her phone conversation with whoever it was.

Okay, no. This is too far. You shouldn’t care about it. All you have to focus on now is fixing your attitude towards her in class and maybe writing more of the notes for her. Seeing her subtle reactions on the notes you left makes you feel better.

Meanwhile, still in the quiet lab, Wanda marks her list and makes sure she gets all the papers that the class submitted at the end of the class, her phone rings again.

“Hi Piet.” She greets her twin brother.

“Hey sestra. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, One of the students dropped something while she was cleaning stuff in the lab and she got a cut.” Wanda explains while getting ready to leave.

“Oh is she okay?”

“Yeah, she is.” Wanda pauses her answer.

“Oh okay.” Pietro responds but she doesn’t really catch it because her mind drifts to you for a beat. “It’s nothing serious, she’ll be fine.” She continues under her breath as if she is talking to herself.

“What’s that, Wands?” He asks her mumbled words and it brings her mind back into the conversation.

“Oh, huh? Nothing, Piet.” She slightly shakes her head and then walks out of the lab.

The conversation goes on after she locks the door and leaves.

______

Walking on the way back to your dorm feels different. You are alone but your mind is not. It keeps drifting to Wanda and everything that happened in the lab today that you almost feel like Wanda walks with you. You try to shrug your mind off and distract yourself but it only works for sometime. The dorm’s hallway feels longer and quieter than usual.

You unlock your dorm and get in. 

You startled a little when you find Natasha is still awake as if you forgot you have a roommate. “There you are! What took you so long to get back.” She exclaims excitedly.

“Geez, Nat. You scared me.” You toss your backpack onto your bed.

“Dang Y/n, did you forget you have a roommate? What’s going on?” Natasha asks you curiously.

“Oh nothing.” You answer as you change your clothes, Natasha watches and notices something is a little off.

Then the bandage on your finger takes her attention. “What’s wrong with your finger?” Her finger subtly points at it.

“Oh this? I dropped a tray and I broke something. I didn’t realize I got a cut after I picked the glass up.” You explain, try to act like nothing else happened.

“But she did?” Natasha’s question went straight to the point.

“Uh yeah, I guess.” You give half a shrug as you answer.

Your best friend observes you more, she even squints her eyes a bit. Her eyebrows furrow. “You are weirdly quiet.”

“Just tired.”

“Was she being cold to you again?” Natasha asks another question.

“I don’t know actually.” Your lips answer as if it has its own mind.

“What did you mean?” She pauses. “You know what, you can tell me whenever you want to, okay?” She pats your shoulder with a little teasing smirk on her face.

“Thanks Nat.”

She nods. “I’ll go to bed now, I’ve got plans in the morning.” With that, your Russian roommate goes to bed.

You try to go to bed as well. Unfortunately an hour later, you still keep tossing and turning. Words jumping around in your mind as if trying to form words for the next note you want to leave for Wanda next class.

You sit up and go to your desk. The desk lamp is the only light you turn on so you won’t wake Natasha up. This time, writing the note feels a little different and you don’t know what it is.

You stare at the paper longer than usual. The ink settles on the paper forming every word to a sentence or two. Hesitation was there at first but the thoughts of Wanda led the pen smoothly.

“I think I saw something real from you today. It felt different enough to catch me off guard. It still hasn't left my mind.”

You fold the note carefully and tuck it into your backpack so it will be ready for the next class.

_____

A few days have rolled by. Your mind keeps drifting back to the thoughts of Wanda and what happened that day in the lab no matter how hard you try not to.

Surprisingly, despite Mr. Fury still has not gotten back to teaching the class yet, today there is an excitement in you for today’s class.

In your defense, it’s your favorite subject and perhaps you can’t wait to see her reading your note today.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Natasha asks, looking ready to go.

You ask as soon as you look up and see her. ”Why are you ready so early?”

“Well, aren’t you going early too so you can leave the romantic note for you crush, Ms. Maximoff?” Natasha teases with a teasing smile.

What she said stutters you. “W-what? She is not my crush. I..” Natasha doesn’t let you finish your words, playfully and gently hit the back of your head with her hand.

“Oh, quit it, Y/N. Let’s go, so we can get there before anybody else does.”

“Ouch. Nat, I’m serious. I leave these notes just because I feel bad for what I did.” You tackle her tease.

“Sure, sure.” She rolls her eyes playfully and pulls you up by your collar.

_____

“Okay, Y/N, go ahead. I’ll be here watching if someone’s coming.” Natasha whispers to you while watching the surroundings carefully.

You nod and quietly walk into the class with your eyes already aiming at Wanda’s desk. You grab the note in your bag, you pause for a beat and you don’t know why. Your heartbeat is doubling differently.

Your feet marvel to the door as soon as you set the note down.

“Everything good?” Natasha asks under her breath as soon as you walk out of the class.

“Mmhm.” Both of you try to act natural.

Fifteen minutes feel slow and fast at the same time for you. You and Natasha quickly blend in as more students come then the two of you walk into the classroom with the flow.

You take the middle seat where you can see better and Natasha claims the seats next to you right away. You keep shifting your sitting position, sometimes tapping your fingers on the desk rapidly. Natasha notices you keep glancing at the door multiple times.

“Relax, she’ll be here soon.” Her tease makes its way to be heard and you feel a nudge at the same time.

You see her knowing smirk once you look at her. “What? I’m not nervous or waiting for her.”

“Yeah right. You talk like we just met yesterday and I don’t know how you are.” She laughs a little and slightly shakes her head.

You try to deny Natasha again but this time you get interrupted by Tony and Vision.

“Why are we sitting here?” Tony asks as he sits next to Natasha.

“What’s wrong with this seat?” You ask.

“Usually we take further backseats, don’t we?” Vision chimed in as confused as Tony while taking a seat next to his roommate.

“Oh I know, little Ms. Y/n here wants to see her crush better huh?” Tony pulls his own conclusion confidently.

A slight blush shows up slowly on your cheeks. “Shut up, Tony. Ms. Maximoff is not my crush.” You retort.

“I didn’t say your crush is Ms. Maximoff. It can be anybody.” Tony smirks victoriously. “Valkyrie is right there, or Kate Bishop here. Or anybody.” Tony adds as he points around to the other two girls.

You see Kate turns her head back after hearing what Tony just said.

“Kate, ignore what he just said.” You suggest the brunette in front of you and she turns away right after that.

Tony gives a high five at Vision. “The truth comes out.” Vision laughs.

“Is it true, Y/N?” Vision curiously digs some truth out of you.

“Guys, guys, She’s here.” Natasha notifies three of you in a slight whisper as the class turns quiet in an instance.

Like a deer in headlights, you look right away towards the door. And there she is, the beautiful and smart Wanda Maximoff walks in confidently.

You swear you could hear your heartbeat right now. Why are you nervous? You ask yourself but the question gets quickly replaced by your own answer, it was just because you want her to read your note. You only want to know how she would react to spare your guilt. That’s all, yeah that’s all. You convince yourself.

Meanwhile Wanda, the second she walks into the class room, her eyes search for her desk right away subconsciously, only just for a fleeting second that she barely even notices that she did.

She slightly quickens her steps to her desk, almost unnoticeable. 

Her gaze catches the note right away after she sets her books on the desk. You notice she glances at it. 

“Hello everybody.” She greets the class and gives a quick scan.

The four of you are easily noticeable from her desk. Wanda glances at you and your friends, once and then again before she finally settles on her seat.

She casually opens her books, “ I hope you guys read the pages I asked you to, last week.” She pauses and subtly grabs the note.

“And I hope you guys get…” Her words stop as she reads your note.

Natasha nudges your legs with hers signaling you on what’s going on. You notice Wanda slightly furrow her eyebrows as if she is thinking of something. The note got her quiet for a good few seconds and it was enough to make her glances up for another quick scan of the class.

She looks down back to the note, followed by clearing her throat lightly.

You notice she puts the notes into the small pocket of her bag. You feel a rush of something in you that makes your heartbeat gradually raise.

With that, Wanda starts the class to distract her mind off of the note. This time you are listening differently. Not just to the lecture. To her. The more you pay attention to how she talks and how she teaches, the more she intrigues you.

You almost say something while she is teaching but you didn’t this time. You try to understand more of every information and knowledge she is trying to share with the class. Even though it’s not easy for you, you manage to do so. The more effort you put in, the more you slowly see how passionate she is about marine biology. As much as you are.

Your best friend Natasha notices the subtle changes in your behaviour. There once or twice she is surprised that you patiently wait until Wanda is done talking before you raise your hand and take your turn to ask a question. A smile shows up on her face because of it. Perhaps Natasha notices something shifts in you and you haven’t realized it just yet.

Wanda herself, she notices the absence of something. It’s quieter than usual. At first she doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t question it at all. To her, it’s probably just a smooth good teaching day.

Until when you raise your hand and wait until she calls for your turn, just to ask a question. That was all, just a pure subject related question, no critics, no sarcasm, nothing. She answers your question just how she usually does to another student.  That’s when she deciphers what makes today a little different.

Wanda glances at you briefly when you don’t interrupt her. At one point she pauses for a solid two seconds, expecting a comment from you but to her surprise nothing slips out of your lips. Wanda continues speaking anyway. Something feels off but unspoken. Again, she doesn’t question it at all.

“Okay, guys. That’s all for today. Don’t forget, I need you to submit the report from the last lab class by the next class. Then we’ll continue on to the next chapter..” Wanda ends today’s class, and all the students leave the class.

Tony and Vision leave the class as soon as they can to catch their next class at the other building. You subconsciously slow your movement when you gather your stuff, Natasha waits for you to go to the other class you both have today.

Natasha walks ahead of you towards the door. As you slightly pass Wanda’s desk, both of you stop when you hear Wanda’s subtle comment.

“You didn’t interrupt me today.” She says it without looking at you like it’s nothing big.

“Huh? Oh.” You turn your head a little only to find her checking out some papers and gathering her things all together.

“Uh, I was just listening to your lecture.”

She glances up and a word follows after that, “Really?”

You nod. You really have no idea why you have nothing to say. Almost like you forgot your words right after her green eyes looked at you. Natasha quietly watches what’s going on.

She hums a little. “See you in the next class, Y/N.” She pauses, noticing Natasha is there too. “You too, Natasha.” Her eyes move to Natasha then she goes back to what she was doing.

“Thank you, Ms. Maximoff.” Natasha answered to help your speechless self, then she nudged you again as a reminder for you to answer Wanda's nice and softer gesture.

“Y-yeah, see you, Ms. Maximoff.”

Wanda nods.

Natasha pulls your wrist gently to lead you out. A few steps after, as if her eyes have their own mind, Wanda looks at you very briefly then brings her focus back to something else.

Your note catches her attention after she puts some things into her bag. Wanda can’t help it but to pull it out just to read it again real quick. Then she puts it together with the other three notes she got and moves on with her day.

You walk with Natasha and then you feel like she is watching you. You look up to her already looking at you with a side glance and a knowing smirk.

“What now?” You ask her.

“You didn’t interrupt her today, at all.” Natasha went straight to her point, she paused. “I almost checked if you were okay.” She adds.

“I can behave.” You answer it with a slight retort and half shrug.

“That’s not what it was. You were…listening.” Natasha pokes a little fun out of you.

“I always listen. Don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do.” Natasha playfully and halfheartedly agreed.

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like interrupting anyone today.” You defend yourself.

“Okay, Y/N. Whatever helps you sleep.” Natasha agrees once more, this time she raises both of her hands and slightly shakes her head as if she knows something that you haven’t.

“Shut up, Nat.”

Both of you continue to walk for the next class for the day.

____________________________________________________

A/N: Welp that's all for today. I hope it didn't dissapoint you after the long wait for the update. Let me know what you think. Reblogs, comments, inputs and follows are highly appreciated. Again, thank you for reading, for your supports and for your patience this whole time. See you in next!

Cheerio!

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[belovaskitkat]

Had Me A Blast

Summary: Wanda says yes to Columbia University… but what about you?

Characters: stoner!wanda x reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: minor depression mention, makeup sex, marijuana use, mommy kink, teasing, pineapple on pizza (lol)

author’s note: happy birthday to my best girl, my beautiful girlfriend, who had lost faith in me about finishing this series… to which I’d say she was half right considering I never thought I’d have a finale here. I love you baby 🧡

cloud 9 au masterlist

“And I’m so goddamn proud of you! But what about us?! What about me, Wanda?” The tears began to fall and you watched as her excited expression fell, finally realizing what you had meant all along.

“Oh. I… I don’t know.”

It had been a full week since you’d last seen your girlfriend. It had also been a full week since you showered or left your room; barely getting up to pee and have a snack. You had tons of unread texts buzzing through your phone from Wanda. She was begging you to talk to her.

In that very long week, you’d gone through every scenario in your head. Everything from ‘she’ll probably just break up with me’, to ‘maybe I should just join her’. None of it made any sense. After all, Wanda told you she applied long before she moved here and you know she was telling the truth. Why was it so hard for you to believe that she forgot? You were so incredibly proud of her for getting a full ride to Columbia. Why were you also so sad?

*buzz buzz*

‘Please baby, I need to see you so I can explain!’

You picked up your phone and decided to respond. There were only two weeks left of summer break before Wanda would inevitably move across the country without you. Maybe she didn’t burn for you like you thought she did. Maybe you’ll always love her more. You ran your hands over your face in exasperation.

‘Ok’.

That’s all you responded with. You didn’t have much else in you. You didn’t even care to shower. You didn’t hear her text back since you had fallen asleep; dreaming of what could be if the world was a perfect place.

“Wanda, if you had your way you would’ve been late to your own wedding!”

“Baby please, I wasn’t late!”

“Only because I insisted that your brother be in charge of getting you here as quick as possible! You know that man is never late for anything.” The two of you laughed.

Salem walked over to Wanda and plopped himself in her lap, purring as she sat on the couch. You closed your eyes and sighed, picking up the black cat who gave you a stink eye as he walked away.

“Baby-“

“Wanda, please! You need to get dressed and we need to put our “smoking paraphernalia” away before your parents get here!”

Almost on cue, there was a knock on the front door, opening it up to see-

You sat up, tears about to stream down your cheeks as you were awoken to chip bags crumbling and a trash bag shuffling. Wanda had started cleaning up your depressive episode, and for a moment you forgot she had your spare key. Your parents’ house was nothing to brag about; a modern double wide with just enough bedrooms so you didn’t have to share with your sister growing up.

“Wanda-“

“Shhh, just let me do this, please,” she begged.

“Wanda, we need to talk,” you insisted. “Isn’t that why you asked to come over?”

“Well… yes but I do miss you,” she said quietly.

You didn’t respond as she continued to pick up the trash that had scattered around your bedroom. You weren’t a messy person by any means but this latest development had sent you spiraling. Wanda was your best friend, your lover, your partner, your soulmate. How could you let her move across the country when you were right here?

You didn’t realize tears were streaming down your cheeks now at full force. Wanda looked up from her cleaning spree and cooed. “Baby!”

“Baby please talk to me, the silent treatment has been killing me!” Wanda exclaimed.

“Killing you?! How do you think I feel?!” You asked. “We had this amazing, dream come true relationship, and a giant envelope comes in the mail and ruins it all!”

“Baby, I really did forget about it! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. This doesn’t have to be the end of us though,” Wanda said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How can it not?! You’ll be three thousand plus miles away! And you’ll be busy with school and your new friends and probably a new girlfriend!” You cried out.

“Who said anything about a new girlfriend?!” Wanda asked incredulously. “You’re my girlfriend. You’re it for me, pretty girl. From the moment you stalked me at the skate park!”

Wanda’s comment did make you chuckle a bit. “But-“

“Just because I’ll be far away, doesn’t mean we can’t make this work! I can fly you out for weekend visits and we can FaceTime on all the days we can’t be there together in person! And we can still have our date nights and-“ Wanda sighed. “But… only if you want to try.”

“Wanda,” you whispered through tears. “I love you, but what if this doesn’t work?”

“I love you most, pretty girl. But we won’t know if it doesn’t work if we don’t try. I know it’s scary and I know the unknown is well… unknown… but what if it works and the time apart only brings us closer together?” Wanda said.

Wanda scooted further up in the bed to wrap her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your dirty hair. “Okay,” you said weakly.

“Okay?” Wanda asked.

“Okay, I’m willing to try. I don’t want to lose you Wanda, and I trust you with all that I have,” you said. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything baby! Anything at all!”

“You go out there and you kick Columbia’s ass!” You said, giggling slightly.

Wanda chuckled. “There’s my girl!”

She pulled you even closer to her and you had forgotten that it had been a week since you’d showered and you knew in that moment what she was about to say. “Can you promise me something in return?”

“Of course, my love.”

“Please don’t ever go an entire week without showering ever again?”

“Is it really that bad?” You asked, covering your face.

“It’s that bad,” Wanda said, giggling. “Let me help you out of bed so we can see if your legs still work.”

Wanda helped you stand, watching in disgust at how crumpled you looked but she was determined to take care of you. “Stay right there!”

You frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed, not knowing if you’d be able to stand so long without her. You could hear the running water from the bathroom, smiling to yourself a little as you could tell she was running a bath for you. Wanda came back to take your hand and bring you to the bathroom, where she had set up a nice warm bubble bath, lit some candles, and grabbed you a large glass of water; forcing you to drink it even though you’re not a fan.

“Wanda-“

“Shhhh, c’mere beautiful,” she cooed.

You blushed as Wanda removed your oversized shirt and underwear. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“No my love, I’m sorry. My application and acceptance to Columbia should’ve been something that was talked about before this whole thing blew up. Let me make it up to you, baby,” Wanda said, as she removed her clothing as well. You couldn’t help but drool as usual. Wanda stepped in the bathtub first, before holding out a hand to help you follow suit.

The calming scent of lavender overwhelmed your senses as you sat in the bathtub with your girlfriend. You reached out to grab your wash cloth but Wanda swatted your hand away. “Let me,” she said quietly.

She washed your hair first, taking the time to massage your scalp, almost putting you to sleep with how good she is at that. After your hair was shampooed and conditioned, she helped wash your body, using a new gentle exfoliating scrub that you’d never seen before.

“Did my sister put you up to this?” You asked.

“No, it was my idea after she told me you smelled so bad that the neighbors down the street could smell you!”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, chuckling as you splashed her.

“I just wanted to make sure my baby was being taken care of is all,” Wanda cooed.

“I wasn’t doing a very good job of that myself,” you sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do once you move, Wanda.”

“Shhh we will cross that bridge when we get to it, baby. Just let mommy take care of you tonight,” Wanda said softly. You hummed at the title and closed your eyes as she washed the filth and stink away.

“Baby we have to stand up so we can properly rinse the bubbles off,” Wanda said.

“Mmmm but you’re so cozy!” You whined.

“C’mon baby we can get cozy after we’re rinsed and dry,” Wanda cooed.

You huffed but obliged, slowly and carefully standing up so you didn’t slip. The two of you rinsed and stepped out of the tub; Wanda wrapping you in a warm, fluffy towel before guiding you back to your room. You’d never felt so pampered before; Wanda sitting behind you on your bed as she brushed your hair. The two of you went through your nighttime routines, almost as if living together was normal. And for just a moment, your thoughts weren’t plagued with the reality of Wanda leaving in a few short weeks.

“You need to eat,” Wanda said, kissing your shoulder after finishing with your hair.

“Can we just order a pizza?” You asked. “I don’t wanna cook or go out.”

“Of course, sweet girl,” Wanda cooed. “The usual?”

If your eyes could produce hearts, you were sure they would. You nodded, grabbing your vape pen and taking a few hits. You could definitely tell that after a week’s worth of rotting, you’d need to replace your cart sooner rather than later.

“That tasted like an email,” you said, coughing, and sputtering. Wanda laughed and you forgot how much you missed her in that moment.

“Here baby,” she said, handing you a fresh cart. She leaned in but then stopped herself. “May I kiss you?”

You nodded, but she frowned. “Yes please,” you whispered. Wanda leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You grabbed her face and pulled her close, kissing her with so much emotion and love that maybe would somehow make up for the week away. Her hands were wandering your body, the two of you still not dressed after your relaxing bath. Wanda’s hands traveled to your ass, scooping you up into her lap to face her, with a little yelp of surprise from you in the process.

“Please,” you whispered as her kisses trailed down your neck, leaving little bites in their wake.

“Please what, baby?” Wanda tortured. Her lips were now trailing down your chest, getting closer and closer to your hardened nipples.

“Please mommy! I need you,” you whined.

“Patience, my sweet girl,” Wanda said, taking one of your nipples in her mouth. She closed her lips around it, gently sucking and nibbling, her tongue soothing over the bites. She took her time on each one, undoubtably able to feel how wet you were as you sat in her lap. You hadn’t noticed that your hips had started moving, in an attempt to get some relief from her teasing.

“Aww my needy baby,” Wanda teased, pulling away. “Tell mommy what you want so badly.”

You blushed, your head falling forward onto her shoulder, all of a sudden feeling very exposed and shy. “I can’t hear you baby,” Wanda said.

You felt her reach out to your nightstand, grabbing your pen so you could take a few more hits. Or so you thought. Wanda lifted your head and you watched as she took a hit from your pen first. And then she grabbed your face, allowing you to shotgun from her, just like your first time, sitting in this exact position, just with more clothes on. The moment brought you back and you were feeling suddenly even more needy. This continued for a few more times and you were most definitely feeling the high now.

“Need you Mommy,” you said, your high letting you be a little more brave. “Need you to touch me.”

“Aw my love, but I am already touching you! Is that all you wanted?”

“N-no! I wantyoutotouchmypussy!” You stammered out. Wanda giggled and figured she’d tortured you enough. She helped you off her lap and down onto the bed, spreading your legs while admiring how messy your pussy had become.

Wanda hesitated no longer and took a long, thick lick over your exposed cunt. “Oh fuck!”

Your hands flew to Wanda’s hair, holding it away from her face as she ate you out. Gentle sucks on your clit had your hips arching, but she pushed you back down. Wanda always made sure to finish her meal. “Doing so well for me baby,” Wanda teased against your pussy. Every time the two of you end up like this, it feels like the very first time. It wasn’t long before her ministrations sent you over the edge, not once but twice.

“Wanda,” you gasped as she climbed up next to you, while she placed her hand flat over your pussy.

“Mine. This will always be mine. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, mommy!”

“Good girl! Now go get cleaned up, I think the pizza is here!”

You had forgotten about the pizza delivery and rushed to the bathroom to use the toilet and grab some clean clothes to put on. Wanda had already grabbed plates and napkins from the kitchen, reheating a few slices in the microwave. You found Wanda setting up a little “picnic” on your bed, a blanket out on top and the plates and pizza on that too. Wanda had turned on the television to the celebrity gossip channel (her favorite).

“You got my favorite!” You exclaimed. You took a big bite of the pepperoni and pineapple topped slice and moaned.

“Careful there, baby,” Wanda teased. You shoved her gently and the two of you sat and ate, listening to Entertainment Tonight as you finished. You leaned back in bed and rubbed your tummy, four slices later, you and Wanda had devoured that pizza.

“My love, I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said. “What if…. What if we didn’t have to do long distance.”

“Wanda, I’m not that good at math but I think three thousand plus miles is a bit of a distance!” You said, looking at her a little crazily.

“Well yes, you are right about that but… hear me out,” she started. “What if…. What if we moved in together?”

“I-,” you stuttered.

“My dad could get me a little apartment! He owes me anyway.. and we could decorate it super cute and history will say we were roommates and-“

“Wanda, wait. And what would I do while you’re in school? I can’t go to Columbia! I didn’t even care to apply to college!” You said, starting to get upset again.

“Baby wait, listen. You could do whatever you want! If you wanted to take classes online, you could. If you wanted to get a job out there, you could, but you wouldn’t have to, or you could be my little stay at home wife and do whatever you want!” Wanda exclaimed. “It’s an entirely different world over there!”

“Can I think about it?” You asked, hating that you didn’t have a single answer right this moment.

“Of course my love,” Wanda reassured. She gave you a smile, and a kiss and you picked up your dinner picnic to throw away the trash. On your walk to the kitchen, you contemplated Wanda’s proposal. It really is a different world there. You’d never been to New York, or the east coast in general. Maybe you’d find a cool job and the thrill of coming back to your own place that you lived in with Wanda made you feel excited. You were thinking about the opportunities you’d have to go to different museums and see Broadway musicals and try tons of New York pizza. But then there was leaving your parents and your sister… They’d understand, right? You and Wanda have been together an entire year now. Not unheard of for a couple to move in together after that.

You hadn’t realized you were standing and staring out the kitchen window when Wanda tapped you lightly on the shoulder. “Those gears are really turning, huh, my love?”

“They are.. I’d really like to talk to my parents first if that’s okay. Not that I need their permission but I’m sure you understand. I hope,” you said, eyes softening as you turned to face your girlfriend.

“Of course baby,” Wanda said, smiling. She placed a kiss on your forehead and grabbed your hand back to go back to bed. “Can I stay the night? Or would you rather I not, so you can talk to your parents tomorrow?”

“Hmm as much as I love sleeping with you, I think it’s best I talk to my parents alone,” you said, hanging your head.

“Hey pretty girl, it’s okay! It’s a big ask, a big step, a big proposition. Whatever the outcome, I love you so much no matter what, okay?” Wanda said softly, pulling you in for a tight hug. “I love you, beautiful.”

“I love you most,” you responded.

——

“This box is so damn heavy, what’s in here, bricks?!” Your older sister asked.

“I should’ve just asked Pietro to help if all you’re going to do is complain!” You cried out. The box was heavy but your sister did help you pack so she should know.

Wanda’s stuff was already packed away neatly in the truck, with some furniture already at the new place across the country, waiting to be unboxed. You both agreed to buy a new bed just so you’d have somewhere to sleep when you visit home. The two of you had picked out the perfect little flat in New York City, and planned on adopting a cat as soon as you’re both settled.

“You ready for this, baby?” Wanda asked, stepping next to you inside the large moving truck.

“Yes and no, I’m nervous, but I’ll go anywhere with you,” you said, taking Wanda’s hand.

“I’ll be there every step of the way. We’ll be together,” Wanda said, pulling you into her side.

“Together.”

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N prepares for battle and spots Wanda…

Y/N: going into battle in a black dress and red leather jacket, Hot Topic?

Wanda: I can read your mind

Y/N:

Wanda: (purrs) I find you quite attractive too (winks)

Y/n smirks and tries to move in only for Pietro to block them..

Pietro: seven feet apart

Y/N: killjoy

[westwriteswhatever]

Choosing You

Chapter 2: Fruit Snack

Pairing: WandaNat X Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: It's interview day and nothing is going right. With your final round interviewer being someone you would never have expected, will you be able to hold it together?

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings/Tags for This Chapter: Describes an anxiety attack, unsafe living environment, past psychological abuse, hurt/comfort

Series Masterlist AO3

— You lean your back against the counter in front of the espresso machine, glancing down, the digital calendar glares back at you.

Romanoff-Maximoff Global.

It was the last company you expected to hear back from—if you even factored them into your reality at all. You vividly remembered the moment you submitted that application. It had been a desperate Hail Mary thrown into a sea of listings, a wild shot at the most prestigious entity in the corporate world. As a leading consulting and venture capital firm, their name was a household fixture, synonymous with an elite, gatekept world of wealth. The firm was notorious for its fiercely guarded internship cohorts and a grueling, multi-stage interview process designed to break lesser candidates.

The very same interview you were just offered.

You tap your finger against the side of your phone, going through all the logistics in your mind before the morning rush begins. The available dates only have morning openings, ninety minutes. Meaning, it’ll be a two-stage interview. You’ll have to cut one of your shifts at the coffee shop short, or call out altogether. It isn’t something you can exactly afford. Getting the internship is the only way it’ll be worth the loss in wages.

You glance up at the sound of the door chime.

A student walks into the shop, a backpack slung over her shoulder and her phone pressed to her ear. “Mom, am I supposed to separate my clothes by color when I do my laundry?” The student looks up, giving your coworker an apologetic smile. “At least darks and lights? Okay, cool. Love you.” She hangs up and begins ordering.

Watching her, you remember having to figure everything out entirely on your own. Three burnt eggs. A load of laundry destroyed. Smacking your printer until it finally worked. Even down to securing your very first part-time job.

A notification flashes across the top of your screen, breaking your train of thought.

Your older sister.

Hey, you haven’t texted me back in a while. Do you not love me anymore? Haha, call me soon.

You open your text history with her. The last time you messaged her was three months ago, a brief note assuring her that everything is going well. You scroll backward, tracing the conversation history to the earliest saved messages. The gaps of time between your responses grow longer and longer the further down you scroll.

Do you not love me anymore?

It isn't her fault she doesn't know. You silently left that day, and the only explanation you gave her was that you were excited to start school. If there’s a feeling greater than love, then that’s what you feel for your sister. It’s a love that makes you willing to sacrifice anything for her—even yourself. It’s the very love that made you accept becoming a marionette for years, until you had no choice but to finally break away.

Now, you are still trying to stand, desperately trying to figure out who you are now that the strings are cut. And it’s because you love her so much that you can’t talk to her. So instead, you don't respond, simply so you won't have to continue to lie to her.

You move your screen back to the digital calendar and choose the earliest date before you can think twice. Two days from now. Friday. Somehow, the message from your sister reminds you of exactly why you’re here.

Your coworker hands you the customer's order, and the morning rush begins.

—

The remainder of Wednesday brings back-to-back classes, paired with heavy assignments due for both the following Monday. Your sister’s message lingers with you throughout your restaurant shift, dragging memories in its wake as you set plates down at customers' tables. The imperceptible shaking of your hands is becoming increasingly harder to ignore. You don’t know if it’s from the interview looming, or from the fact that you’ve fixed your hair for what feels like a hundred times today.

On Thursday, you finally ask one of your coworkers at the coffee shop to cover the latter half of your Friday shift. Guilt creeps in at the inconvenience you’re bestowing upon them, but this is your only chance. If you don’t secure this internship now, you’ll be forced to repeat this entire exhausting cycle next term, only to possibly face the exact same uncertain results.

University is exhausting, work is exhausting, and the panic rising in your chest is debilitating.

You glance at the time—half past eleven. You close your laptop. The amount of studying you’ve done is far from sufficient, especially with final exams around the corner, but you know you’re going to need all the rest you can get.

Possible interview questions replay endlessly in your mind as you check to make sure everything is prepared for tomorrow.

Tell me about yourself. There isn’t much to say.

A black skirt you save for special occasions and one of your clean white collared shirts hang meticulously from the metal candleholder. You don’t have any other clothes that would pass for professional wear.

What are your greatest strengths? I can manage to function on four hours of sleep.

Your wallet, notebook, and keys are packed securely inside your backpack.

What are your greatest weaknesses? So many.

Your phone sits on its charger, and a single granola bar rests on your desk, waiting to hold you over for the day ahead.

You turn off the light, and the room plunges into sudden darkness. Sitting at the edge of your bed, you feel the hard mattress digging into your thighs. Only the ugly parts of you come to mind. Answers no hiring manager would ever want to hear.

But deep down, you already know the truth. Despite the terror, despite the total lack of preparation, the practiced image of you will save you. It always does. The phantom strings still holding your spine taut will pull, and your confident, charismatic smile will appear on command. Your voice will alter into that perfect, magnetic cadence you were taught makes you more attractive. You’ll say whatever you need to say to get exactly what you want.

It’s the only thing ingrained into you for years.

You hate that you’re this way. You despise how easily the mask slips on.

You lay back, your head finally resting against the pillow, praying that everything goes well tomorrow.

—

You wake up ten minutes before your alarm goes off, the light of your screen harsh against the darkness of your room. You let out a tired groan. You could sleep for ten more minutes, but waking up a second time will feel even worse.

Ten extra minutes to get ready, I guess. You try to be positive.

And you definitely needed them. The bags under your eyes are prominent, and it takes you far too long to finally make the decision to dab concealer beneath them. One of your shorter front strands has a mind of its own, refusing to stay down even after you use product.

You bite your lip in frustration as you rush back into your room to change into a t-shirt, since you didn’t have the time to do laundry. Your jeans hang too loosely around your waist, forcing you to use the one and only belt you own.

It feels like all your last-minute preparations are going to waste as a sudden realization hits you. You won’t be able to hang your interview clothes in the backroom of the coffee house. The heavy smell of espresso and whatever else lingers in the air will seep right into the fabric.

You take the skirt and shirt off their hangers, folding them meticulously before placing them carefully at the bottom of your backpack. Pulling your keys out, you shrug your jacket over your shoulders and grab your phone off the bed. You rush to close your door and lock it while slinging the heavy backpack over your shoulder.

It feels like your brain is trying to leave your skull with the way it throbs with every breath you take.

The sound of someone entering through the front door makes you pause.

“Oh hey, I’m lucky to catch you. Heading out?” Matt’s voice echoes from the entrance.

He must’ve just finished his shift.

You twist the doorknob twice, making sure it is truly locked, before letting yourself fully come into view.

You greet him with a close-lipped smile. “Hey, good morning. Yeah, I’m in a real rush.” You step toward the front door, but he makes no move to get out of your way.

“I’m sure you can spare a minute," he says, staring down at you with an easy smile. "Do you want to hang out later?”

Nothing is going right this morning.

“I’m sorry, I probably can’t. I have classes and work later.” You try to ease your arm past him, reaching carefully for the front door handle.

His smile drops for a split second before returning. He glances down at your arm, looking almost amused by your effort to bypass him. “No problem. See you later.”

You open the heavy door and push past him into the crisp morning air. Turning back just before the frame clicks shut, you offer a tiny concession. “See you,” you respond, forcing an apologetic look to your face.

The door closes before you can see his reaction. Not that you have the time. You’re already sprinting toward the bus stop.

You manage to catch the bus just in time. Your head aches violently at the sudden rise in your heart rate, your pulse drumming in your ears.

It’s barely five minutes into the bus ride to the coffee shop when you realize you forgot your granola bar.

—

You make an extra effort to greet customers brightly and carry conversations with them as you prepare their drinks. It feels like the only thing that can ease the guilt of leaving your shift early. Hopefully, seeing the extra tips left in the jar will make the impending loss in your paycheck a bit more bearable.

Behind every warm greeting and polite laugh, the interview looms heavily in your mind as the hours tick away. Finally, it’s time to clock out. The extra espresso shot you added to your americano—meant to carry you through the morning—feels like it was tainted by your worst enemies.

Instead of feeling energized, you feel sluggish. Your brain feels like it’s processing everything slower than it usually does on four hours of sleep. The intense caffeine kick that normally eases your headaches only makes your skull pound, to the point that if you pressed a fingertip to your temple, you’re certain you would feel it violently pulsing.

You grab your backpack from the breakroom and carry it into the cramped bathroom. Zipping it open, you find your belongings completely shifted. The cover of your notebook bears fresh indentations from where your keys knocked against it during your walk. Your interview clothes, which you placed so meticulously at the bottom, are slightly unfolded and bunched to one side.

Your back presses against the bathroom door as you hug your backpack tight against your chest. You slide down the frame, the cold wood doing nothing to pull you out of your own mind. It’s only when you’re sitting flat on the floor, your backpack pressed tightly between your torso and your legs, that you feel the first real emotion flicker through the numbness.

“So stupid,” you whisper to yourself, over and over again.

Because what did you honestly think was going to happen by stuffing your clothes down there? Your right leg bounces uncontrollably against your arm. You rest your elbows heavily on your knees to stop the trembling, before burying your face in your hands, running your fingers through your hair and gripping it tightly.

You release your hair before it can no longer be salvaged. Strands hang in every direction in your peripheral vision from where your tight grip pulled them from the elastic.

You dislike yourself even more for worrying about your hair at a time like this.

Reaching back, you pull the tie completely free. Shorter strands fall loosely against your cheeks, blocking your vision from anything that isn't directly in front of you. You pull your interview clothes out of the backpack, unfolding them fully.

Wrinkled.

You suck in a sharp breath, biting your lip harshly as you force yourself to stand up off the floor. You hang your backpack from the coat hook and drape the clothes carefully over the top.

Your hands tremble as you unbuckle your belt and unbutton your jeans. It feels like all your strength is actively leaving your body as you push them down and fold them. You’re operating entirely on autopilot. Your t-shirt follows. It takes two agonizing tries on every single button before your collared shirt is finally closed and tucked neatly into the waistband of your skirt.

You risk a glance at the mirror. Then instantly wish you hadn’t. Blood seeps from your bottom lip where your teeth must’ve punctured it earlier. The fabric of your shirt is noticeably wrinkled on the left side. Strands of your hair are raised in some areas, while entirely flat in others.

A complete wreck. That’s the only description for the reflection staring back at you.

Swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, you barely even feel the sting. Your right hand rises subconsciously, beginning to smooth over the creases on your side. Somehow, it feels less like a fix, and more like your body is desperately trying to comfort you because your mind simply won’t.

Combing your fingers through your hair, you let your nails drag against your scalp to remind yourself that you cannot afford to do this right now. The rigid tension in your shoulders drops, but it brings no relief. Instead, it’s replaced by a profound exhaustion, leaving you feeling as though you’ve just survived a violent war with your own mind.

Reaching into your backpack, you pull out your phone, expecting at least half an hour to have passed. You’re already mentally bracing yourself for a mad dash to the bus stop, preparing for the forty-five minute trip into the city.

It’s only been seven minutes.

You zip up your backpack before slinging it over your shoulder. Glancing in the mirror one last time, you can’t help but feel like you look especially hollow today. Fragile.

Suddenly, you can feel a ghost of a tight grip on your shoulder, fingernails digging deep beneath your collarbone.

“Smile. People are watching.”

The corners of your lips curve upward as if being pulled by invisible strings. Turning back toward the exit, you find the metal door handle cold against your palm.

You hope to leave this weak side of you behind in the bathroom before the interview begins.

—

You settle into the bus seat, hugging your backpack against you like a shield. The contrast between your first early morning transit and the subsequent, mid-day rides has never bothered you. This one is louder, more packed, with strangers constantly pressed close on all sides. Sometimes it’s impossible to find a seat, so perhaps you’re lucky today.

Except for the woman to your right, whose shoulder digs directly into yours as she talks loudly on her phone. You can’t help but wince when she raises her voice at whoever is on the other end. Apparently, they forgot to set an appointment for her.

You hug your backpack even closer to your chest when she waves her arm in sheer frustration. It’s a terrifyingly familiar sight. Loud voices. Placing blame. Disappointed expressions.

You were fortunate that you had never been struck.

It would blemish your skin, after all.

Keep it together, you remind yourself the moment you begin to deeply retreat within yourself.

The woman doesn’t get off at the next stop. Instead, more people pack themselves onto the bus, and the ride only grows louder. The hard plastic of the seat digs into your back. The walls of the vehicle feel like they’re closing in on you, trapping you in a symphony of shouting voices and shifting bodies.

Please, keep it together, you plead with yourself as the bus continues its grueling journey into the city.

—

You squeeze past the passengers standing tightly in the aisle and turn toward the bus driver, offering a grateful smile that you know falls flat with how tired your eyes feel. The driver gives you a brief once-over before shooting an encouraging smile back at you. Stepping off the bus, you walk down the plaza stairs with shaky, uneven steps.

It feels like everything has been completely out to get you today. Even yourself.

But you need this. This internship. To graduate. To get a stable job in the future. Because that’s the entire point, right?

You force your chin up, refusing to let yourself waver as you look toward the towering monolith of reflective glass and steel ahead.

The Romanoff-Maximoff Global building is the tallest structure in the city. It’s entirely fitting for the headquarters of a financial giant. Craning your neck upward, you can barely make out the massive corporate sign displayed proudly on the dark glass of the upper levels.

You take one deep, steadying breath before walking up the wide stone steps toward the grand entrance. The heavy glass doors slide open automatically when you step within range, and a rush of cool, synthetic-smelling air immediately wraps around you. Walking inside, it feels far more like stepping into a high-end luxury hotel than an office building.

The polished white marble floors perfectly reflect the warm light pouring down from the crystal chandeliers above, blending with the natural sunlight cutting through the massive windows to make the lobby feel impossibly bright. Resting areas are abundant, filled with long, plush couches and elegant armchairs. Perfectly arranged fresh flowers sit in heavy vases atop a multitude of pristine coffee and accent tables.

It’s a room you have no business being in.

You scan the sprawling lobby ahead, where a row of people in tasteful, high-end professional wear are seated at sleek desks, intensely focused on whatever tasks they are working on. Your eyes jump anxiously from side to side before you quickly pull up the email on your phone to anchor yourself.

Check in at the front desk.

There are seven of them.

You grip the strap of your backpack resting on your shoulder. Your thoughts race at the possibility of walking up to one of the desks and getting the entirely wrong person. That would be your first memory at this company.

Your heart rate jumps at the thought, sending pangs of pain to your head, but you’re saved when one of the women working at one of the desks calls you forward.

The sound of your sneakers against the marble echo throughout the lobby and it feels like everyone is watching you, waiting for you to slip up. But when you look up, everyone still has their heads down, doing their jobs.

“How can I help you?” the woman asks before you’re even fully at the desk.

“Um.” You scramble to open the email again before stepping the rest of the way and turning the screen toward her. “I have an interview today. It’s in twenty minutes.”

She stares at your phone screen with an impassive expression, glancing up for a brief second. Her fingers tap a few keys on the keyboard, her eyes scanning the monitor before she looks back at you.

“Take the glass elevators on your left to the fifty-second floor,” she says, sliding a sleek black security card across the desk. “The financial planning and analysis manager is expecting you.”

You take the card, your fingers brushing against the cool plastic. You nod a thank you, but she’s already looking back down at her own screen.

Turning toward the left side of the lobby, you look at the rows of elevators. The black card feels heavy in your palm. You run your finger against the edge of it, letting the dull plastic dig into your fingertip.

The elevator doors open instantly after you tap the card against the scanner. Pressing the metal button for the fifty-second floor, you finally lean against the railing. The doors close, and the numbers on the digital screen rise alongside the elevator. You take a deep breath, holding it tightly, then finally release it.

With every exhale, you try to push out all the things that have gone wrong today. Waking up before your alarm was annoying. Matt being the first person you saw was inconvenient. The coffee shop shift completely burned through your social battery. Your breakdown in the bathroom left you listless. The loud, cramped bus ride overwhelmed you.

At least you have a little under twenty minutes to get your head on straight.

The elevator doors slide open, and you’re greeted by a stoic man dressed in a sharp suit.

“Are you my ten o’clock interview?” he asks bluntly.

“Yes,” you respond, the word coming out almost like a question.

He gestures to his left, beckoning you forward. “Great. We can start now since you’re already here. Follow me.”

You breathe in sharply. You’re not ready. But you can’t find it in yourself to ask for more time.

He begins walking down a long grey hallway without looking back once as you trail behind him. His strides are long, and it takes whatever remaining energy you have just to keep pace.

The fifty-second floor feels like the exact opposite of the lobby. Dark wallpaper, dim lighting, and an eerie silence hangs over the space. Stopping at a white door, he opens it and ushers you inside.

The room fits the grim aesthetic of the rest of the floor, but the complete lack of windows makes it feel more like an interrogation room. He takes a seat at a desk against the far wall before pointing to the single chair in front of him.

“Sit down.”

“I’m Mark. The FP&A manager. I’ll be conducting your interview today.” He glances down at the papers resting on his desk. Before you can introduce yourself, he has already begun.

“Walk me through what a $10 depreciation does to financial statements, assuming a 25% tax rate.”

Your brain doesn't even pause to process the sudden prompt. Instead, the ingrained image within you activates. The strings snap your posture a fraction tighter, and the practiced, effortless warmth floods into your expression on command. You block the exhaustion, the pounding headache, and the hollow ache in your stomach behind a glass wall you know will break eventually.

It just can’t be today.

You need to be perfect.

When you speak, your voice slides perfectly into that clear, confident cadence you were taught to use.

“Assuming a 25% tax rate, a $10 depreciation expense reduces net income by $7.50,” you begin smoothly, your lips holding a charming smile. “This increases ending cash by $2.50 on the cash flow statement, balancing the assets and equity sides of the balance sheet down by $7.50.”

Mark holds your gaze for a moment before continuing. “Good,” he says with a faint smile. “Let’s continue.”

—

You stare at the white door Mark has just exited through. The prompts and questions had been endless, one popping up right after the other the exact second you finished answering, leaving absolutely no room for rest.

“Walk me through how the Income Statement, Balance Sheet, and Cash Flow Statement are connected.”

“How do interest rates affect a company's borrowing costs?”

“What is EBITDA, and why do we use it?”

You let out a shaky breath. The smile melts from your face, and your eyes drift closed.

The last forty-five minutes saturate into your body. Your shoulders drop completely, as if they can no longer hold themselves up against the weight of the day. The moment your eyes shut, it feels like the windowless room is spinning as a severe wave of lightheadedness sets in.

One more interview, you reason with yourself, the thought a desperate plea to convince your own body not to give up just yet.

But it’s as if your body knows you’re lying. It knows that after this, you will have to take the bus back to your university, walk to class, followed by another lecture, and then face your restaurant shift tonight. It isn't just this interview.

You fight against your own limbs to force your shoulders upright. Your eyes snap open at the sound of voices right outside the room. The words are muffled behind the thick wood, but it sounds like a casual back-and-forth. You easily catch the confused inflection in Mark's tone.

The door opens suddenly. You wipe the tired expression off your face instantly, replacing it with an easy smile. Turning around, you see Mark standing beside a shorter woman.

“Hi,” the woman greets you warmly. “I’m Cindy. I’ll be taking you to the next round of the interview.”

Mark stares down at her with squinted eyes before turning his gaze to you and offering a brief nod.

“Hello,” you respond as you stand up, grabbing your backpack off the floor and sliding the straps over your shoulders. Your legs wobble slightly under the sudden pressure of your weight. Forcing your posture straight, you nod politely at him. “Thank you for the interview today.”

He gives you a small smile before you walk out the door and follow Cindy down the dimly lit hallway. She taps a gold colored card against the scanner and the elevator doors slide open. She gestures for you to enter before she steps besides you and presses the button labeled C.

She turns to you with an encouraging smile. “Don’t be nervous.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly. “Though, I have to admit, I’ve never seen an undergraduate internship interview take place on the C-suite floor.”

Huh?

C-suite… that can’t be right. Anybody studying anything within the business major knows exactly what the C-suite is.

The highest-ranking senior executives in the entire corporation.

You glance up at the screen displaying the floor numbers. They just keep rising. It feels like the elevator is moving significantly faster than it did on your trip to the fifty-second floor.

The elevator stops smoothly and the doors slide open, revealing an open floor plan flooded with light from towering skylights above. You have to squint, adjusting your eyes from the stark dimness of the previous floor.

Stepping forward behind Cindy, you scan the area. The floor is made of polished dark wood that looks spotless. The center holds multiple plush couches where you assume high-value investors and shareholders sit while waiting for appointments. A long counter rests on the right, the top crafted from white marble with light wood detailing the cabinet space beneath. A high-end coffee machine sits on the surface, surrounded by neatly arranged pods and endless amenities. Chips, cookies, fruit.

Your stomach caves in on itself at the sheer sight of the food.

It’s just as quiet up here as it was on the fifty-second floor, but somehow it doesn’t hold the same eerie atmosphere. Instead, with the sunlight streaming down and the rich aroma of coffee in the air, you feel your shoulders naturally settling.

Massive executive offices line the far wall, each room looking at least ten times the size of your bedroom. Your view inside is completely blocked by heavy wooden frames and dark, one-way glass.

Cindy leads you to the office furthest to the right. You trail closely behind, still craning your head to absorb the pure opulence of the floor. Opening the door, she gestures for you to go inside.

“Have a seat right in the chair in front of the desk. Your interviewer will be coming in shortly.”

She gives you a warm smile that you mirror instantly out of habit, before she steps back and closes the heavy door with a soft thud.

You can’t help but look around the bright office. The left wall holds two massive bookcases lined with a vast array of books, their spines varying in every color. The right wall features a shelf filled with small decorative pieces and jewelry. The brilliant gold and silver of the rings lined across the wooden shelf reflect the sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk.

Taking a few paces forward, you reach the single armchair in front of the desk. Slipping your backpack off your shoulders, you place it securely against the base of the chair. As you sit down, the high-end leather feels soft and accommodating against the bare skin beneath your thighs.

You take a deep breath in. Somehow, the room smells exactly how a warm summer night feels. The aroma envelopes you completely—the scent of flowers that bloom in the peak of July and sun-warmed concrete. Even the temperature of the office feels absolutely perfect against your cold, shivering skin.

It’s the first time you’ve felt genuinely comfortable all day.

You finally glance at the desk in front of you. It’s crafted from a dark, rich wood that you can tell is of exceptionally high quality without even touching it. A computer monitor rests to the left, the screen faced entirely away from you. Papers scatter the surface in a way that looks messy, but strictly organized at the same time. A picture frame made of light wood sits at the far right of the desk. The noticeably worn edges of the frame make you believe that the owner must pick it up often.

Your gaze drifts to the elegant nameplate resting right in front of the picture frame.

Wanda D. Maximoff. CFO.

What—

The door opens before you can even fully register the situation you are in. It feels like your body is creaking when you turn almost robotically to look behind you.

You’ve seen her in countless business articles before. She’s one half of the power couple who built one of the most successful companies in the world. Wanda stands in front of you, wearing an elegant navy blazer and a matching long skirt. Crisp black heels make her look even more imposing, if that’s even possible.

She’s even more gorgeous in person.

The heavy door closes slowly behind her. She turns toward you fully, offering a slight tilt of her head and a soft smile. Her sharp green eyes shine against the ambient sunlight, and somehow, the whole room feels instantly brighter.

The distinct shade of her eyes looks almost too familiar. But before you can think further, Wanda starts to speak.

“Well, hello there,” she says lightly, walking directly toward her desk. Her blazer lightly brushes your shoulder as she passes, and the rich scent of summer flowers fills the air.

It feels like you’re in a complete trance as you watch her take a seat in her leather desk chair, which matches the dark shade of the wood. You’re finally snapped out of it when she rests her elbow on the surface, placing her chin in her palm and tilting her head. She offers you an almost teasing smile.

What are you doing? you chastise yourself internally.

You clear your throat, instantly digging for the assured voice programmed deep within you.

“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You stand up, extending your hand to offer a firm handshake, exactly like you were taught to do in school.

She stops you with a slight raise of her hand before you are even halfway out of your seat, her smile remaining entirely unchanged. “No need for that. Please, sit comfortably.”

Biting the inside of your mouth, you sink back down into the soft leather. Your outstretched hand finds its way to your left side, nervously smoothing over the slight wrinkles that still remain on your shirt. This is absolutely nothing like the clinical mock interviews you practiced in class.

Wanda glances down at one of the papers resting on her desk before her sharp green eyes lock onto yours once again.

“So,” she begins, her tone smooth and entirely unbothered. “You’re not qualified for this internship.”

You freeze.

Then why—

“Then why are you here?” she asks, sounding almost amused as she cuts right through your internal panic. “Well,” she muses, looking up toward the skylight in thought. She meets your eyes once again. “I like to look at the whole picture.”

“I…” you start, your voice noticeably wavering.

Stop it, you fight with yourself internally, forcing your posture rigidly upright.

“I know I’m not qualified,” you state clearly, the rehearsed confidence taking over. “But I can adapt quickly. I know how to read financial models. I’m proficient in Excel. I know how to do market research.”

You pause when her expression morphs from an amused smirk into a softer, quieter smile. It’s an expression that completely cuts through your ramble.

“I know. You did extremely well in your interview with Mark,” she says slowly. “Perfect, even.”

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief at that, but your mind is still swirling.

Then why am I here? you wonder again.

Wanda glances down to where your hand still rests over the wrinkled fabric of your shirt. You widen your palm to cover the creases entirely, hoping she doesn’t see how disheveled you feel.

The corner of her lip pulls upward. Her gaze doesn’t move from your hand.

“Tell me about yourself.” Her tone is completely relaxed, but it doesn’t stop the sudden spike in your pulse.

You take a slow breath in before beginning. “I’m currently a junior in university, majoring in finance. I do well in my classes. I balance going to school and working part-time jobs. I learn quickly, and I know I can adapt to working here,” you finish in a poised tone.

“I see,” she says, sounding almost lost in thought. Her gaze shifts, tracking up to focus directly on your bottom lip. You desperately hope it’s healed by now. “What are your greatest strengths?”

The raw truth from last night echoes bitterly in your head: I can manage to function on four hours of sleep.

Instead, you let the script speak for you. “I take instruction well and turn that into results.”

“Mhm.” She nods as if she was expecting that exact response. Finally, she looks up to meet your eyes again. “And your greatest weaknesses?”

So many.

“Sometimes I get too focused on what I’m doing and don’t see what’s around me,” you respond, offering an almost self-deprecating smile.

“And do you balance going to school and working well?”

You move your gaze downward, staring at the scattered papers on her desk. “Yes,” you say quietly, the smile on your lips wobbling slightly at the edges.

The silence in the air hangs incredibly heavy. You force your eyes upward at the total lack of a response. It feels like she’s staring right past you. As if she’s reading your mind.

“What are your hobbies?”

Your mind blanks. What does this have to do with anything?

Your mouth opens, but instead of a quick, tailored answer, your breath comes out erratically. You grip your side tightly, the fabric of your shirt wrinkling further beneath your fingers, but you can’t stop yourself. Maybe it’s the accumulated stress of the interview. The extra shot of caffeine earlier. Seeing Matt. The lost wages from cutting your shift short. The woman’s loud, angry voice on the bus. The months of surviving on four to five hours of sleep. Your stomach twisting painfully in on itself from the complete emptiness.

It feels like you can no longer quell the overwhelming waves of anxiety that you are usually so good at hiding from others.

Because what are your hobbies? Why can’t you think of a single thing?

Your face twitches in sudden pain. You unclench your jaw, realizing your teeth have bitten right through the muscle of your cheek. Blood spreads over your tongue. You barely register the metallic taste.

This is a question you should be able to answer easily.

It feels like the office walls are closing in, the sunlight that had been so bright dimming slowly.

You barely process the sound of a drawer opening.

The remaining light in your vision dims entirely as a shadow encompasses you. A warm hand envelopes your own, the heat of her palm pressing over the fingers you have clutching so tightly against your shirt. You tilt your head up slightly, your vision clearing just enough to see Wanda standing directly in front of you, her red hair curtained softly around her face. Her eyes look almost apologetic as she gently uncurls your stiff fingers from the wrinkled fabric.

The faint sound of plastic crinkling fills the quiet air as she places something small into your palm that she is holding open. You look down blankly to find a small fruit snack packet resting on your palm.

The exact kind you used to eat when you were a kid. A time before there were expectations.

She wraps your fingers gently around the packet, the pointed corners of the plastic digging slightly into your skin.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she murmurs, her tone genuinely apologetic. There’s a faint accent in her voice that you can’t quite put your finger on. “That was a mean question.”

You shake your head slightly. You’re the one who’s overreacting to a simple icebreaker.

She grips your hand lightly, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles with an expression that looks almost disapproving. “Let’s take a break.” She releases your hand, stepping back just a fraction. “Eat the fruit snack. It always makes me feel better.” She gives you a soft, reassuring smile.

Now that her warmth isn’t anchoring you, the tremor in your hands is completely noticeable. You bring your other hand up to the corner of the plastic, trying to tear it, but your fingers refuse to cooperate.

Why are you failing at absolutely everything today?

The packet is gently removed from your hand before you can spiral any further. You glance up to find Wanda opening it for you, widening the plastic seam to make it easier for your fingers to reach inside. She hands it back to you with a reassuring smile.

“There we go,” she says softly. “These are always hard to open.”

You reach inside, pinching a grape-shaped gummy between your thumb and index finger before popping it into your mouth. You chew slowly, letting the soft elasticity ground you against the spinning room, though the candy remains completely flavorless on your tongue.

Wanda crouches down directly in front of you, resting her elbow on her knee and looking up at your face with a gentle smile. You quickly reach back into the plastic packet for another piece to avoid her locked gaze—an orange one this time. With every chew and swallow you manage, Wanda gives an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

By the time you reach the very last gummy, a strawberry, you can finally taste the sweet, fruity flavor. It’s heavily mixed with a sharp, lingering metallic taste. The throbbing pain in your inner cheek grows with every remaining bite, and the fingers you used to grip your shirt earlier ache intensely from how tightly you held them. The only sound in the office is the steady, quiet rhythm of your own breathing alongside Wanda’s.

You can see the sunlight in the room clearly again. But it also shines a harsh light on how you just behaved.

You quickly place the empty wrapper on your skirt before reaching to smooth down the left side of your shirt. Harsh lines from where it was in your clutches refuse to flatten completely, even as you run your hand down the fabric repeatedly. You let out a breath of frustration.

Giving up, you run your fingers through your hair, trying to find some semblance of the image you are meant to portray. You sit up rigidly once again, squaring your shoulders. Finally, you steal a glance at Wanda, who is still crouched in front of you.

She looks troubled as she watches you. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her lips are set in a faint frown.

It's your fault.

You clear your throat. It feels like you haven't spoken in hours, even though you know it’s only been minutes.

“Let’s continue.” The confident edge in your voice is marred by a weak rasp that you try desperately to ignore.

Wanda gives you a long, unreadable stare before rising. It’s almost impressive that she was able to crouch like that in high heels.

“Okay,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Let’s continue.”

She walks around her desk before sitting back down, leaning back in her chair and observing you closely. “Why do you want to work at our company?”

You close your eyes briefly before opening them, keeping the heavy, panicked emotions at bay behind the fractured glass wall that is now messily covered in tape.

“I want to work at this company because…”

—

The remainder of the interview goes exactly as planned. There are no more curveball questions. Every prompt is strictly about the job or the firm. The questions are standard. Easy to answer.

But you know you aren't going to be offered the position. You won't get it because instead of the pristine image you were trained to portray, you had accidentally been yourself.

You’re left with Wanda’s final words before exiting her office.

“We’ll call you if you get the position.”

If you had done well, you feel like they would’ve given it to you right then. Or at least, Wanda wouldn’t have sounded so deeply conflicted.

At least you got to meet her, you think, desperately trying to find a single silver lining. You could only hope to carry yourself with the elegance and poise that she did.

A cold breeze hits the bare skin of your legs, snapping you back to reality. You look up, realizing you are standing on campus, and open the heavy door to the building of your first class.

You let out a slow sigh as you enter the crowded lecture room. You’ll have to repeat this entire exhausting cycle again next term.

—

You feel completely hollow as you step out of the restaurant breakroom, tying your apron tightly around your waist. Today has felt like twenty-five hours. And every single one of those hours was designed solely to drain you of what little energy you had left.

Angie appears right in front of you. You almost want to turn on your heel and walk away, because right now, your raw emotions can’t handle anyone being genuinely nice to you. But you can never ignore Angie—not when she’s been so good to you.

“Sweetie!” she calls out excitedly. “There was a last-minute reservation, and they specifically requested to sit in whatever section you’re assigned to.”

Maybe it’s one of the regular customers I had a longer conversation with, you think, trying to match her energy.

You nod at her, forcing an easy smile onto your face at her excitement.

“Get out there,” she says brightly, grabbing your shoulders and steering you directly toward the dining room doors. “I have you in section five. They’re already here, waiting for you.” She gives you a playful push forward.

You walk to the service bar and wash your hands thoroughly before turning around. Scanning the dimly lit dining room, you notice it’s hardly full yet. Most of the standard reservations won't arrive for another ten minutes. You take measured steps toward your section, mentally preparing to muster up a bright, welcoming smile.

Maybe the fruit snack actually helped. Your head isn’t pounding nearly as violently as it did before the interview.

You reach the corner booth where the ambient lighting is the dimmest. You are just about to greet the couple in front of you when you catch a terrifyingly familiar voice.

“Told you, Nat.” Wanda is leaning exceptionally close to her companion, whispering into her ear as if sharing a private secret.

The image is too familiar. The memory of those vibrant green eyes from a week ago flashes violently through your mind.

Nat? you think, your thoughts instantly racing.

Natasha Romanoff. The other half of the power couple. The CEO of Romanoff-Maximoff Global.

You meet her sharp eyes, which are already watching your approach closely.

“Yes, moya lyubov, you were right,” Natasha says, her gaze never wavering from your face.

You turn your head as Wanda sits upright. You desperately want to find somewhere to hide—anywhere no one will ever find you—after coming face-to-face with the exact person who just witnessed you at your absolute worst.

“Can I get the wine list, darling?” Wanda asks, offering you a bright smile.

The slight wrinkle of her nose as she smiles at you makes you pause, forcing yourself to finally get it together.

“Of course,” you respond politely, already turning on your heel to escape this deeply awkward situation.

“And darling?” Wanda calls out after you.

You turn back around, forcing a grimace that you desperately hope passes for a polite smile.

“We’ll see you at the office on Monday.” —

A/N: I really wanted the first interaction to be with Natasha because I've never written for Wanda before and wanted to stall it as long as possible 😂 but even though this is fiction, I couldn't rationalize why the CEO would be interviewing a possible intern. The CFO interviewing was already a stretch. Hopefully I wrote Wanda okay! Feedback is always appreciated 🥰

Also, thank you guys again for the feedback and interest on the first chapter 😊 it made writing the second chapter fun and something I looked forward to.

To the person in asks saying i love AO3 more for posting this chapter there hours earlier: NOT TRUE. i forgot i had a prior engagement when i was making this draft 😂

[ilovemarvel97]

PILLOWTALK

My Life With You Series

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Singer Reader

Summary: Y/N release a new song that goes viral immediately.

Word Count: 9,398

Request: Yes

Warning: Fluff, Little Smut, (18+), Reader has a P.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

---

The internet didn’t explode right away.

It cracked first.

Like a glass under pressure—silent, subtle fractures spreading before anyone realized it was about to shatter.

Y/N’s name had already been trending that morning. That wasn’t unusual anymore. Ever since her debut, everything she touched turned into noise—charts, headlines, speculation. But this… this was different.

Because at midnight, without warning, she dropped a new single.

“Pillowtalk.”

No teaser.

No countdown.

No explanation.

Just a black cover, her name, and the track.

---

Lizzie’s POV

Elizabeth woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating relentlessly against the nightstand. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow—Y/N’s pillow, she noted absently, still faintly smelling like her—before blindly reaching for the phone.

“...what,” she mumbled, eyes barely open.

Notifications flooded her screen.

Mary-Kate: DID YOU HEAR IT??

Ashley: Lizzie. Call me. Now.

Trent: Uh… so is this about you or—

Unknown Number: “Pillowtalk?? Girl???”

Lizzie frowned.

“…what did she do now…”

She tapped one of the links. A music app opened, and the song started.

---

Climb on board…

We’ll go slow and high tempo…

Lizzie froze.

Her eyes snapped open.

“…oh no.”

---

Y/N’s POV

Across the city, Y/N was very much awake—pacing, phone in hand. Regret? No. Nerves? Definitely. She stared at the ceiling of her apartment, jaw tight as notifications rolled in faster than she could process. Streams skyrocketing. Fans losing their minds. Speculation threads already forming.

And then—

Lizzie ❤️ calling…

Y/N stopped pacing immediately. “…shit.” She answered.

“Hey—”

“Did you write a sex song about me?”

Straight to it.

Y/N blinked. “…good morning to you too?”

“Y/N.”

There it was—that tone. The one that made her both want to laugh and immediately behave. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, first of all—”

“—it’s very detailed,” Lizzie cut in.

“I—”

“Second of all, my entire family just woke me up.”

Y/N winced. “…okay, that part I’m sorry about.”

“Y/N.”

“…yes?”

A pause. Then, softer—dangerously softer: “…is it about me?”

Y/N leaned back against the wall, staring at nothing. There it was. The real question. Not teasing. Not playful. Something vulnerable underneath it. And suddenly, all the confidence she had at midnight? Gone.

“…you tell me,” she said quietly.

Lizzie huffed on the other end. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m serious,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’ve been in my life long enough. You know how I write.”

Lizzie didn’t answer right away—because she did know. Y/N didn’t just write songs. She documented feelings. Moments. People. And this song—the intimacy, the tension, the want threaded through every line—

Her cheeks flushed. She pressed her lips together, pacing once before dragging a hand through her hair. “…you’re unbelievable,” Lizzie muttered, but there was no real bite to it now—just warmth, familiarity… recognition.

On the other end, Y/N smiled softly. Not nervous this time. Just… fond.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice quieter, steadier, “it’s about this girl I’ve been dating for over six months.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes immediately, even as her heart picked up. “Oh really? Tell me more,” she said dryly.

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s kind of a menace. Steals my clothes. Judges my cooking. Wakes up grumpy if I’m not there—”

“I do not—”

“—and I’ve been in love with her for a while now.”

That stopped her.

Not because it was new—it wasn’t. Y/N had said it before, softly, late at night, half-asleep, pressed into her skin like a secret meant only for her. But this—hearing it now, wrapped inside a song the whole world was dissecting… it hit differently.

“…you’re really leaning into this, huh,” Lizzie murmured, quieter now.

Y/N smiled. “I mean, it’s not exactly breaking news.”

Lizzie let out a small breath, shoulders relaxing despite herself. “No,” she admitted. “…it’s not.”

A pause settled between them—comfortable, lived-in. Then Lizzie spoke again, quieter now. “…come over tonight.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a soft shift on the other end, like Y/N had straightened, like something in her had warmed at the invitation. “I’ll be there.”

Lizzie nodded to herself, even though she knew Y/N couldn’t see it. “…good.”

A beat. Then, softer—almost shy, but not quite: “And for the record…”

Y/N hummed. “Yeah?”

Lizzie’s lips curved, her heart steady now. “I really like the song.”

Y/N’s smile grew, slow and certain. “Good,” she said. “Because I wrote it thinking about you.”

Lizzie shook her head, huffing under her breath—but she was smiling. Of course she was. Because this wasn’t the beginning. It wasn’t some sudden confession. It was just them—six months in, already in love, and now, apparently… with a hit song to prove it.

---

Lizzie’s POV

The apartment felt quieter after the call ended. Not empty—never empty—but… full in a different way, like the air itself had shifted. I stared at my phone for a few seconds longer than necessary, Y/N’s contact still open, her last words lingering in my ears. Because I wrote it thinking about you.

God.

I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me and fell back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “…she’s insane,” I whispered, but my lips were already curving. Because this wasn’t new.

That was the thing. Anyone else listening to Pillowtalk would think it was some bold confession, some reckless, romantic reveal—but they didn’t hear her the way I did.

They didn’t know how she sounded at 2 a.m., voice low and soft, tangled up in me as she murmured I love you like it was the easiest thing in the world. They didn’t know how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

They didn’t know the way she felt.

I did.

And somehow… that made the song feel even more intimate—not because it was the first time, but because it wasn’t. Because it was ours—just… louder now.

I turned my head, glancing at the nightstand—at her hoodie half hanging off the edge, at the faint imprint of where she’d slept last time she stayed over. My chest tightened, soft and warm. “…six months,” I murmured. It hadn’t felt like six months. It felt like something that had just… settled into place, like she had always been there and I just hadn’t noticed until suddenly I couldn’t imagine anything without her in it.

And now the entire world was trying to piece her together through a three-minute song.

I huffed, sitting up again and reaching for my phone. Big mistake. Notifications exploded across the screen the second it lit up, but curiosity got the better of me anyway. I tapped into Y/N’s page—and immediately, chaos. Comments flooding in faster than I could even read them.

“WHO IS THIS ABOUT???”

“SHE’S IN LOVE I CAN HEAR IT 😭”

“I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE—PICK ME Y/N”

“WHOEVER SHE’S DATING IS LIVING MY DREAM”

“GIRL WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER???”

I snorted despite myself, scrolling—thread after thread, fans dissecting every lyric like it was a crime scene. Some were sweet, some unhinged, most were… thirsty. 

My eyes paused on one: 

“I wish I was the one she’s singing about.” Another: “The way she sings?? I’d fold instantly.”

I shook my head, lips pressing together to hide the smile creeping in. “…you have no idea,” I murmured.

But then—another comment.

“Have you SEEN her Calvin Klein shoot?? Whoever she’s with is GOD’S FAVORITE.”

I froze. Oh. That. That week.

I groaned, dropping my head back dramatically. “…don’t remind me.” I could still picture it perfectly—those photos, the way she looked at the camera, the comments that followed, the absolute feral energy her fans had unleashed. 

I had been so annoyed—not at her, never at her—but at… everything else. At the fact that everyone got to look. At the fact that people talked about her like she wasn’t—

Mine.

I rolled onto my side, staring at my phone again. And yet… now? Now I was just smiling. Softly. Because the comments kept coming—

“WHO IS SHE AND HOW DID SHE PULL Y/N???”

“SHE MUST BE INSANE LEVELS OF LUCKY.”

“I’D NEVER SHUT UP IF Y/N WROTE THIS ABOUT ME.”

My chest warmed, a quiet, almost smug kind of warmth. “…yeah,” I whispered. Because they didn’t know. They didn’t know what it felt like to have Y/N’s hands on you, steady and sure. To hear her voice drop just for you. To be the one she *looked at* when the world wasn’t watching. They didn’t know how soft she could be—how gentle, how *hers* she was when it was just the two of us.

I locked my phone, bringing it down to rest against my chest. A small smile stayed on my lips. Because for all the noise—for all the speculation, for all the people wishing, hoping, imagining—

Y/N was mine.

Only mine.

And tonight?

I’d have her right here again. Not through a song, not through a screen—just…

Mine.

My phone buzzed again against my chest.

I groaned. “Please don’t be—”

Ashley.

Of course.

I unlocked it slowly this time, bracing myself.

Ashley:

So… we’re all just going to ignore the fact your girlfriend dropped the horniest love song of the year?

I snorted. Before I could even type back—another notification.

Mary-Kate:

Be serious for one second. Is this the same girl you’ve been secretly smiling at your phone about for six months?

“…I hate both of you,” I muttered under my breath, already typing.

Lizzie:

You’re both dramatic.

Three dots appeared instantly. Then—

Ashley:

That’s not a no.

Mary-Kate:

That’s VERY much not a no.

I pressed my lips together, fighting the smile that was trying to give me away—even though they couldn’t see me.

Lizzie:

You already know I’m dating her.

Ashley:

Dating is one thing.

Being the muse of THAT song is another.

I rolled my eyes, flopping back against the pillows again. God, they were relentless.

Mary-Kate:

Okay, jokes aside—

That made me pause.

Because Mary-Kate only said that when she actually meant something.

Another message came through.

Mary-Kate:

We need to meet her.

My fingers stilled over the screen.

Ashley:

Yeah. Before this whole thing goes public and suddenly she’s everywhere with you.

A small knot formed in my chest—not bad, just… real. Because they weren’t wrong. This—whatever this was turning into—It wasn’t going to stay quiet forever.

I sat up again, pulling my knees in slightly as I read the next message.

Mary-Kate:

If she’s important to you, Lizzie… we want to know her.

Ashley:

Also I need to see if she’s actually worthy of inspiring THAT song.

I huffed out a laugh at that, shaking my head.

“…you two are unbelievable.”

But my heart had softened. Because underneath the teasing—they cared about me. About who I was letting into my life.

And Y/N…

My gaze drifted briefly to the hoodie still draped over the chair. To the quiet presence of her that lingered everywhere.

“…she is,” I murmured.

More to myself than anything.

Then I looked back at my phone and typed.

Lizzie:

You’ll meet her.

A pause. Then I added—

Lizzie:

Soon.

The replies came instantly.

Ashley:

Oh my god it’s serious serious.

Mary-Kate:

Of course it is Ash! They’ve been dating for six months!

I laughed, shaking my head as I locked my phone again.

“Idiots,” I said fondly.

But the word soon lingered in my mind. Because tonight—

Tonight wasn’t about family. Or the public, or any of that. It was just us.

But after that?

After the song…

After everything it stirred up—things were changing.

And maybe—Just maybe—I was ready for them to.

---

At Night

Lizzie’s POV

By the time I got home, my head was full.

Meetings always did that—too many voices, too many opinions, too many versions of my future being laid out in neat little bullet points like it was something that could actually be controlled.

My PA had gone over scripts, scheduling conflicts, press timelines… the usual. I said yes to some things. Maybe to others. No to a few I already knew I didn’t want. But through all of it—there was this quiet pull in the back of my mind.

7 p.m.

I slipped my shoes off by the door, exhaling as the silence of my apartment wrapped around me again.

Finally.

Just me.

Well…

Me—and her, in all the little ways she seemed to exist here even when she wasn’t.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Right on cue.

Y/N ❤️:

Still alive? Or did your meetings kill you?

I smiled instantly, dropping my bag onto the chair.

Lizzie:

Barely. I think I signed my soul away to at least two projects.

The reply came fast.

Y/N ❤️:

Damn. Should I be jealous?

I scoffed, walking toward the kitchen.

Lizzie:

You wish.

Three dots.

Y/N ❤️:

I mean… I am the one getting you tonight, so I think I’m winning.

My cheeks warmed.

God.

I leaned against the counter, biting back a smile.

Lizzie:

Don’t get cocky.

Y/N ❤️:

Too late.

Another message followed right after.

Y/N ❤️:

I’ll be there around 7. Still at the studio right now.

I glanced at the time. Just past five. Two hours.

My chest did that annoying little thing again—tightening, but in a way that felt more like anticipation than anything else.

Lizzie:

Okay.

I hesitated. Then—

Lizzie:

Drive safe.

A pause. Longer this time.

Then—

Y/N ❤️:

I can’t wait to see you.

And with that I smiling stupidly. I stared at that for a second longer than necessary before locking my phone.

“…okay,” I murmured to myself.

Two hours. I pushed off the counter, looking around my apartment again.

Still clean.

Still… very obviously lived-in by two people, if anyone looked close enough.

I walked into the bedroom, opening my closet without really thinking about it.

My hand hovered over a few options.

Something casual?

Something comfortable?

Something that would absolutely get a reaction out of her?

I huffed a quiet laugh.

“…why am I like this?”

Because it mattered. Because she mattered.

I pulled out one of her shirts instead. Of course I did. Slipping it on, I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair a little messy from the day, her shirt falling just right on me.

My lips curved slightly.

“…yeah. That’ll do.”

I left the room, glancing at the clock again.

6:12 p.m.

Still time.

I tried to distract myself—turned on the TV, flipped through channels, didn’t actually watch anything. Checked my phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.

Scrolled. Locked it.

“…this is ridiculous,” I muttered.

But my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. Because no matter how many times she’d been here—no matter how normal this should’ve felt by now—it didn’t. Not completely. There was always that little spark. That anticipation. That pull.

And tonight…

After the song.

After everything it stirred up—

It felt just a little more intense.

6:47 p.m.

I stood up.

Paced once.

Twice.

Then stopped in front of the door, like somehow that would make time move faster.

“…relax,” I told myself.

As if that was going to happen.

6:55.

The handle moved. I blinked.

“…wait—”

The door unlocked before I could even react, and then it opened—

And there she was.

Like she had just appeared.

Y/N stood there, slightly breathless, hair a little messy like she’d run a hand through it too many times, jacket still on—

And the second her eyes landed on me—

She smiled.

Wide.

Immediate.

Like it had been longer than three days. Like those three days had actually mattered.

My chest tightened.

“Hi—”

I didn’t even get to finish.

She stepped in, closing the door behind her without looking, already moving toward me—and then her arms were around me, pulling me in like she’d been waiting all day for this.

Like she needed it.

The height difference made it effortless. I barely had time to react before I was pressed against her, her warmth wrapping around me—her face burying into the side of my neck.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice soft, a little rough.

I exhaled, my hands coming up instantly, gripping onto her like I had something to prove.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

God. Three days. It wasn’t long. It shouldn’t have felt like this.

But it did.

She held me tighter, like she was making up for lost time. “Gosh, I missed you,” she mumbled against my skin.

And this time—I didn’t tease her.

“…I missed you too,” I admitted, quieter.

She stilled for half a second at that, like she felt it—really felt it—before pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes softened, something warm and a little undone flickering there. “Yeah?” she asked gently.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say it again without sounding… too much. But she already knew. She always did.

And then—she kissed me.

Not rushed. Not playful. Slow. Like she was grounding herself, like she was reminding herself I was actually here. My hand slid up to her jaw, holding her there as I leaned into it, letting it linger just a little longer than usual.

When we finally pulled back, my forehead rested briefly against hers. “…you’re early,” I murmured softly.

Y/N smiled faintly. “Couldn’t stay away.”

That did something to my chest. Of course it did.

Her gaze dropped slightly—and she paused. “…is that my shirt?” she asked.

I glanced down, then back up at her, completely unapologetic. “Maybe.”

Her smile returned, softer this time. “…looks better on you.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move—didn’t step away. Because after three days, this—this was exactly where I wanted to be.

Her smile lingered for a second longer before she finally shifted, like she’d just remembered something. “Oh—” Y/N pulled back slightly, one arm still loosely around my waist as she lifted the other.

A takeout bag.

I blinked. “…you brought food?”

She raised a brow, a hint of amusement slipping into her expression. “You just noticed?”

I glanced down at it, then back up at her, a little sheepish. “I was… distracted.”

Y/N huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, I could tell.” She gently nudged the bag toward me. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten properly,” she added, tone casual—but there was that underlying care she didn’t even try to hide anymore.

My chest warmed. “…I had a meeting,” I defended weakly.

“Exactly,” she said, like that proved her point.

I rolled my eyes, but took the bag from her anyway, peeking inside. The smell hit immediately. “…oh my god.”

Y/N watched my reaction, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah?”

I looked up at her, genuinely impressed. “You got my favorite.”

“I know.”

Of course she did.

I shook my head, smiling as I walked toward the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she cut in easily, shrugging off her jacket.

I turned back just in time to see her toss it over the chair, already making herself at home like she always did—like this place was just as much hers as it was mine. And honestly? It kind of was.

“You eat yet?” I asked, opening the containers.

Y/N shook her head, leaning casually against the counter across from me. “Not really.”

I paused, glancing up at her. “Then we’re sharing.”

She smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

I grabbed two sets of chopsticks, handing one to her as I nudged the food between us. We stayed by the counter at first, eating straight from the containers like we always did when neither of us felt like being proper—comfortable, easy, familiar.

But it didn’t take long before the silence shifted—subtle, but noticeable. Because there was something sitting between us. Unsaid.

I glanced at her, catching the way she was focused on her food a little too much. “…so,” I started casually, leaning my hip against the counter. “The song.”

Y/N’s chopsticks paused mid-air for a second. Then she resumed eating like nothing happened. “Mm,” she hummed. “What about it?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You really just dropped that,” I said. “No warning. No heads-up. Nothing.”

She glanced up at me, already reading the tone behind it. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said simply.

I blinked. “…a surprise?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”

“For who?” I asked, half incredulous.

“For everyone,” she replied—then her eyes softened slightly when they met mine. “For you, too.”

That… did something to me. But still—

“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, mentioned it?” I pressed, though there wasn’t real anger behind it. “Like, ‘hey Lizzie, I’m about to release a very—very—specific song’?”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “Okay, yeah… maybe I should’ve.”

I raised a brow. “Maybe?”

She exhaled, her expression shifting—more serious now. “I didn’t think it would hit like this,” she admitted. “The reactions. The speculation… all of it.” Her gaze flickered over my face, searching. “And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she added quietly. “So if it did, I—”

“Hey.”

I didn’t even let her finish. My chopsticks clattered softly onto the counter as I stepped forward, closing the small distance between us.

She looked up, slightly caught off guard.

I didn’t say anything else—just moved.

One second I was standing in front of her—the next, I was settling onto her lap, turning slightly so I was facing her properly.

Her hands instinctively came to my waist, steadying me.

“Liz—”

“I liked it,” I said immediately.

She blinked.

“…what?”

“I liked the song,” I repeated, softer this time, my hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “A lot.”

Something in her expression shifted—like tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding started to ease.

“You did?” she asked, almost careful.

I nodded, a small smile pulling at my lips.

“Yeah.”

Her thumbs brushed absently against my sides, grounding, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

“…it didn’t freak you out?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“No.”

A pause. Then, quieter—“It’s not the first time you’ve said those things to me,” I added. “It’s just… the first time the world heard it too.”

Y/N watched me for a second, really watched me.

“…and you’re okay with that?” she asked.

I held her gaze.

There was still that carefulness in her eyes—like she was bracing for something, like she didn’t want to push too far.

God.

She really didn’t get it sometimes.

My hands slid up slightly on her shoulders, grounding myself before I spoke.

“I love you too,” I said softly.

The words landed between us—familiar, but still heavy in the best way. Her breath caught just a little.

And I didn’t look away.

“I’ve loved you,” I continued, quieter but steadier now. “This doesn’t change that.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was making sure—really making sure.

So I gave her more.

“And I don’t care if the world knows about us,” I added.

That did it.

I felt the shift in her hands immediately—tightening just slightly at my waist, like something in her had finally settled.

“Lizzie…” she murmured.

“I mean it,” I said, brushing my thumb lightly along her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a lot. And yeah, people are going to talk and speculate and be… insane.”

That pulled the faintest smile from her.

“But they already are,” I added softly. “And none of that changes what this is.”

I leaned in just a little closer.

“What we are.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then back up again. Something warm. Something certain.

“…you sure?” she asked, almost like she needed to hear it one more time.

I smiled.

“Yeah.”

A small pause.

Then, a little teasing—because I couldn’t help it:

“Besides,” I murmured, “if you’re going to write songs like that about me…”

Her lips twitched.

“…kind of hard to stay a secret.”

She let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more emotional.

“Fair point,” she said.

But then her expression softened again, deeper this time.

More real.

Her hand came up, brushing lightly against my cheek.

“…I meant what I said too,” she murmured.

“I know.”

And I did.

Because I could feel it—

In the way she held me.

In the way she looked at me.

In everything she didn’t even have to say anymore.

Her forehead rested briefly against mine.

“…you’re really okay with this?” she asked one last time.

I didn’t hesitate.

“I’m okay with you.”

That was the answer. That had always been the answer. And whatever came with it—the world, the noise, the attention—

None of it mattered as much as this.

As her.

Y/N smiled then. Not the confident, teasing smile the world knew. Something softer. Something only I got to see.

“…come here,” she murmured.

I was already there.

Her lips were already on mine before I could say anything else.

This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful.

It deepened almost immediately—like something that had been building all day, all week, all three days apart finally snapping into place.

I inhaled sharply against her, my hands sliding up into her hair as hers tightened at my waist, pulling me closer—closer—until there was barely any space left between us.

“Y/N…” I breathed, but it came out softer than I intended.

She answered by tilting her head, kissing me deeper, more certain—like she didn’t want to stop now that she had me again.

And I didn’t want her to.

God, I didn’t.

My fingers curled slightly in her hair, holding her there as I leaned into it, completely giving in to the warmth, the familiarity, the pull of her.

Her hands shifted—one pressing firmer against my lower back, grounding me, keeping me right where she wanted me.

And somewhere in the middle of it, I start to grind down on her lap.

It wasn’t intentional. Not really. Just instinct. Just the way my body reacted to hers—

The way I shifted on her lap, closer, seeking more without even thinking about it.

A soft, breathless sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.  The sound was barely more than a ghost, but in the quiet of the kitchen, it felt deafening.

Y/N let out a low, rough groan against my mouth, and I felt it everywhere—vibrating through my chest, settling deep in my stomach. It was raw, unfiltered want. The kind of sound that never belonged in public, never belonged to the polished version of us the world saw.

Hearing it now, after everything today, made something in my blood spark.

I didn’t pull away. I leaned into it.

My hands tightened in her hair, and I started to move—slow, deliberate. A gentle roll of my hips, pressing myself down into the heat of her lap, testing, teasing.

Y/N hands, steady on my waist just seconds ago, suddenly gripped harder. Fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt—her shirt—that I was wearing.

“Lizzie,” she rasped.

Her voice cracked just slightly as she pulled back an inch, her forehead still resting against mine. Her breathing was uneven, her eyes dark and completely locked onto me.

I didn’t stop.

If anything, I slowed down, making every movement count. Every shift of my hips more intentional, more precise.

And then I felt it.

That firm, growing pressure beneath me—impossible to miss, impossible to misunderstand. The heat of her, even through the denim, sending a sharp, electric feeling straight through me.

My lips curved before I could stop them.

Not soft. Not shy.

A smirk.

Because I knew exactly what I was doing to her.

“Oh…” I whispered, letting it trail into a quiet hum as I shifted again, deliberately chasing that friction. “Is that for me?”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her jaw tightening like she was trying to hold herself together—and failing.

Another groan slipped out of her, deeper this time.

“You know it is,” she managed, her hands sliding from my waist down to my hips, guiding me—or maybe just holding on. “God, Lizzie… you’re going to be the death of me.”

I let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, the sound brushing right against her lips.

Leaning in, I nipped lightly at her jaw before murmuring into her ear, “Good. Because after that song… I think you owe me.”

I pressed down once more—slow, firm—feeling the way her breath hitched, the way her whole body reacted under me.

The rest of the world could keep talking, guessing, analyzing. Right here, in this dim kitchen—there was only one thing that mattered.

And I was sitting right on top of it.

The heat in the kitchen had become too much—too consuming, too intense to stay contained against the counter. I barely remember how we moved, only that I didn’t let her go for more than a second before we ended up in the living room, collapsing together onto the couch.

The change of space didn’t cool anything down. It made it worse.

The kiss deepened instantly—hungrier, more desperate—like the three days apart had left something aching under my skin that only she could fix. My hands moved over her without thinking, tracing the lines of her body through her clothes, relearning, needing more.

Too much fabric.

I grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, the motion urgent, wordless. She understood immediately, breaking the kiss just long enough to lift her arms so I could drag it over her head and toss it somewhere behind me.

The second her skin was bare, she was back on me—her mouth crashing into mine with a force that made my head spin.

Then it was my turn.

Her hands found the bottom of the oversized shirt I was wearing—her shirt—and tugged it up and off. The moment it cleared my head, our skin met, and—

God.

It was like fire.

I let out a shaky breath as I settled back into her lap, straddling her, my chest rising and falling against hers. Without the layers between us, everything felt sharper. Every movement, every shift of my hips—

I felt her.

Firm. Heavy. Pressing through the denim of her jeans. Familiar.

My lips curved slightly despite how unsteady my breathing had become.

“You’re so desperate for me tonight,” I murmured against her mouth, the smirk slipping back into place even as my voice came out softer than I intended.

Her hands slid down to the small of my back, pulling me closer—flush against her.

“Can you blame me?” she breathed. “I spent twelve hours in a booth singing about exactly this. Having the real thing is… a lot better.”

Then she moved.

Her hips tilted up, pressing against me in a way that made my head fall back, a sharp gasp tearing out of my throat before I could stop it. The directness of it—the way she reacted to me so openly, so unapologetically—it sent a rush straight through me.

My hands moved on instinct, fumbling slightly in my haste as I reached for the button of her jeans. I popped it open, dragging the zipper down, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.

She exhaled—long, shaky—as she was released from the constraint of the denim, the tension eased.

And I felt it. Her cock, already slick and aching, sprang free, pulsing against my stomach. My eyes dropped, my breath catching as I took her in, my hand moving almost automatically, wrapping around her—warm. Soft. Alive under my touch.

I tightened my grip, drawing a slow, deliberate stroke that pulled a broken sound from her.

“Lizzie…” she warned, her head dropping on my shoulder, her voice strained.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice dropping—lower, steadier, something possessive threading through it without effort. I shifted slightly, moving in a way that teased both of us, letting the contact build just enough to make her react again.

“I’ve got you,” I repeated softly, closer this time, my lips brushing near her ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.” The “soon” I’d promised earlier—everything waiting outside this moment—felt impossibly far away. Right now, none of that existed. No public. No expectations. No noise. Just her beneath me—and the undeniable, electric reality of us.

The air felt thick—heavy with the scent of us, with everything that had been building since that song dropped at midnight.

I didn’t slow my hand.

I kept that same steady rhythm—firm, knowing—and I felt the exact moment her composure started to crack. She leaned into me, her hips lifting instinctively into my touch, like she couldn’t help it anymore. Our kiss turned messy—desperate, teeth catching, breath mixing—until she pulled away, like she needed air just as much as she needed more of me.

Then her face was in my neck.

Her breath hit hot and uneven against my skin, and I shivered as she started moving—slowly, deliberately—her lips dragging along my jaw, then down my throat. Every small bite, every soft press of her tongue after, pulled sharp, shaky breaths out of me before I could stop them.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured against my skin.

I felt it more than I heard it.

“God, Lizzie… don’t stop.”

I wasn’t going to. My grip tightened, my thumb sweeping over the crown of Y/N’s cock, catching the beads of moisture gathering there. I watched her—really watched her—the way her eyes rolled back, the tension in her arms as she braced herself against the couch.

It did something to me.Seeing her like that. Undone. Because of me.

But she wasn’t the only one losing control.

Her hands moved over me, sliding up my sides, fingers spreading over my ribs like she was feeling everything—my breath, my heartbeat. Then higher, thumbs brushing just beneath my breasts before her mouth followed.

I gasped softly, my head tipping back as she moved lower, her kisses turning slower, heavier, more deliberate along my collarbone. My fingers tightened in her hair, holding her there without even thinking.

And when Y/N reached my chest—She didn’t hesitate. The moment her mouth closed around my nipple, her tongue moving in a way that sent a sharp, direct pulse straight through me—I gasped, my hips jerking forward on instinct.

The movement pressed me harder against the base of Y/N’s pulsing length, the friction sudden and overwhelming, and for a second it was almost too much.

But I didn’t stop. If anything, I sped up. My hand moved faster, more urgent now, feeling the way she was swelling, the way everything in her was starting to give.

I could feel it—the way she was winding up again, every small break in her control finally collapsing into something much sharper, much heavier. And I held onto it. Pushing her right to the edge.

The room felt smaller, like everything had narrowed down to just us—the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, and the soft brush of skin against skin.

I barely had time to think before her hands moved to the clasp of my bra. Even with the slight tremor in her fingers, she was sure, steady. A quick flick—and it gave way, the lace loosening and falling from me. Y/N pulled back just enough to reach for the clasp of my bra, her fingers sure and steady despite the slight tremor of adrenaline. With a deft flick, she released it, letting the lace fall away.

A sharp, cut-off gasp slipped from my lips.

Y/N’s mouth was on me immediately—warm, firm, claiming—while her hand cupped the other one. The sensation hit all at once, overwhelming and grounding at the same time, like the only thing keeping me tethered while everything else blurred.

My hand never stopped. Still wrapped around her, still moving—firm, slick—feeling every pulse, every shift in her as she reacted. My other hand stayed tangled in her hair, holding her there, silently urging her not to stop.

“God, you’re so good to me,” she groaned against my skin. I felt it more than I heard it, the vibration running straight through me. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark—heavy with something deeper than just want.

“Lizzie, you’re perfect. Everything about you.”

The smirk I’d been holding onto slipped away. All I could do was look at her, breathless, my chest rising and falling as I felt the way she harder and harder beneath me—the tension building in her thighs, her breathing turning sharp, uneven. Her cock starting to throb in my hand.

“Lizzie… I’m close,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.”

I didn’t answer. I just tightened my grip. My hand moved faster, more focused, every movement deliberate as I pushed her closer. My thumb brushed the crown focusing there, and her head fell back to my shoulder, a deep, raw sound tearing from her.

Then suddenly—

She surged forward, pulling me into a kiss that stole whatever breath I had left.

And I felt it. Her whole body tensed, a sharp shudder running through her as a hot, heavy release coated my fingers as she came in my hand—hot, overwhelming, the force of it making her go weak against me. She collapsed into me, arms wrapping tight, almost desperate, her face pressed into my shoulder as she rode it out.

I held her there, my own breathing uneven, my heart pounding against hers. For a moment, neither of us moved. Just that—our hearts racing, bodies pressed together.

Then she shifted.

Before I could react, her arms hooked under my thighs and she flipped us in one smooth motion. A breathless laugh escaped me as I landed back against the couch, her body now above mine.

Y/N reached for her bra, tossing it aside like it didn’t matter anymore, her hands already moving to the waistband of my jeans. I looked up at her—and the look in her eyes made my breath catch again.

Bright. Focused. Dangerous in a way I knew meant I was in trouble.

“My turn,” she whispered, her smile slow, certain.

My breath hitched as I felt her tug at my jeans, my heart already racing for what came next.

---

Next Morning

The next morning came softly—warm, quiet.

And then—

Ding dong.

I groaned, my face still buried somewhere warm and familiar. “…no,” I mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Ding dong.

I shifted slightly—and that’s when I realized.

I wasn’t in bed.

I was… on the couch.

More specifically—on Y/N.

My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the windows. Y/N was still asleep beneath me, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of her chest. One arm was wrapped securely around my back, the other resting loosely at my side, like even in her sleep she hadn’t wanted to let me go.

And we were—

Oh.

Right.

Naked.

I huffed a quiet, sleepy laugh, my lips curving as I took her in. “…you’re going to have the worst back pain,” I murmured softly. Because somehow, at some point, we’d ended up here—half tangled, half collapsed—falling asleep in the middle of everything. There was a blanket thrown over us, barely covering anything, like one of us had tried… and then given up halfway.

I didn’t remember when. Or how. I must’ve passed out.

But still—she’d held onto me. Even like this.

My fingers lifted, brushing gently through her hair, slow and careful. God. She looked peaceful. Soft in a way the world never got to see.

Ding dong.

I groaned again, dropping my forehead lightly against her shoulder. “…whoever that is, I hate them.”

The bell rang again. Persistent. Annoying. Very much not going away.

I sighed, reluctantly pushing myself up—careful not to wake her as I slipped out of her arms. She shifted slightly at the loss, brow furrowing just a little, but didn’t wake. “Sorry,” I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder.

Then I stood.

And immediately paused.

“…oh my god.”

The living room was a mess. Clothes everywhere—on the floor, on the couch, half hanging off the table. And—

I pressed my lips together, trying, and failing, not to smile. Used condoms. Two on the floor, one definitely on the coffee table, wrappers scattered around like we hadn’t even tried to be discreet.

“…wow,” I muttered under my breath.

I shook my head, heat creeping up my neck despite everything. “…okay.”

Grabbing a robe quickly, I slipped it on and tied it tight before making my way to the door, running a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to look presentable.

Ding dong.

“I’m coming!” I called, still a little hoarse. I reached for the handle, pulling the door open—and froze.

“…oh my god.”

There she was. Mary-Kate. Standing on my doorstep like she hadn’t just flown across the country on a mission, looking way too pleased with herself.

Her eyes flicked over me instantly—taking in the robe, the messy hair, the very obvious context. Her lips curved. “Well,” she said casually. “Good morning.” She leaned slightly to peek past me into the apartment. “…I came to meet your girlfriend,” she added, far too calm.

I just stared at her.

“…you said soon,” she continued, completely unapologetic. “I interpreted that as immediately.”

I blinked once. Twice. Then glanced back over my shoulder—at the very naked, very asleep singer currently on my couch, and the very incriminating state of my living room—then back at her.

“…you have got to be kidding me.”

Mary-Kate’s smile only grew. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

I immediately stepped out just enough to block the doorway. “No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not. You can’t just—show up like this—”

“Lizzie,” Mary-Kate cut in, already trying to peek around me again, “you’re wearing a robe at”—she checked her phone—“eight in the morning.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to take in the details. “…and your hair looks like that.”

I deadpanned. “Thank you.”

Her smirk turned sharper. “So she’s here.”

I crossed my arms. “That is not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it worse. “…I can smell it.”

I froze. “…you can—what?”

Mary-Kate waved a hand vaguely. “Not literally. Just—” she gestured toward me, then past me—“the vibe.”

I stared at her. “…you’re insane.”

“Move,” she said simply.

“No.”

“Lizzie.”

“No.”

A beat.

Then Mary-Kate spoke again, calm as ever—“Is she naked?”

I choked. “Okay—nope—conversation over.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, she is.”

I pressed my lips together, trying very hard not to laugh and scream at the same time. “You are not coming in here right now,” I said, lowering my voice. “She’s asleep.”

That made her pause. A small shift. Because despite everything—she wasn’t completely heartless.

“…I flew all the way here,” Mary-Kate said, softer this time—but still stubborn.

“And you’ll survive waiting five minutes,” I shot back.

She studied me for a second. Then, unexpectedly—she smiled. Small. Knowing.

“…you really like her,” she said.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

No deflection. No teasing. Just—yeah.

Her expression softened, just for a second. “…okay,” she said, holding her hands up slightly. “I’ll behave.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know how to behave.”

“That’s fair,” she admitted.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “…give me a minute.”

She nodded—reluctantly.

I stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave them outside, then leaned against it for half a second. “…oh my god,” I whispered to myself.

Then I pushed off and turned—and immediately softened. Because there she was. Still on the couch. Still asleep. Barely shifted from where I left her, except now one arm was stretched out where I had been, like she’d reached for me even in her sleep.

My chest tightened.

“…hey,” I murmured quietly, walking back over. I crouched beside Y/N, brushing my fingers gently through her hair again.

She stirred this time—brows furrowing slightly before her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy with sleep. “…Lizzie?” she mumbled, voice rough.

“Hi.”

She squinted up at me, clearly still half asleep. “…what time is it?”

“Too early,” I said.

That earned a faint, sleepy huff from her. Then her gaze focused a little more. “…why are you dressed?”

I smiled despite myself. “Because—”

I didn’t get to finish.

Her hand caught my wrist, tugging me forward before I could react. A soft yelp left me as I lost my balance, landing right back on top of her, the blanket shifting around us. “Y/N—” I started, but it came out more breath than protest. She was already smiling—sleepy, warm, dangerous in that quiet way of hers.

“Mm,” she hummed, eyes still half-lidded as her hands settled at my waist. “You left.”

“I was gone for like—two minutes,” I said, but my voice softened automatically as she pulled me closer.

“Too long,” she murmured.

Her fingers brushed the edge of my robe, slowly, like she was rediscovering me all over again. My breath caught slightly.

“Y/N…” I warned, though there wasn’t much strength behind it.

She looked up at me, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“What?”

Her hands slid a little higher, pushing the robe open just enough to expose my shoulder. “You are not supposed to wear this yet,” she added, quieter now.

My breath hitched as her lips brushed just under my ear—soft at first, then a light nip that sent a sharp shiver down my spine. I bit my lip instantly, trying to keep quiet, but it barely helped.

“Y/N…” I whispered, already losing a bit of my resolve.

She hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with herself, her voice dropping as she murmured teasingly into my ear—“Thought you liked it when I take my time…”

That did it.

I turned my head, catching her lips in a kiss that was anything but slow this time—harder, needier, like the night before hadn’t been nearly enough. Her hands moved instinctively, sliding along my sides, pushing the robe further open—and then one of them lifted, settling against my chest—

“Wait—”

I caught her wrist gently but firmly, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe.

She frowned slightly, confused, still close enough that I could feel her breath against my lips. “…why?”

I let out a shaky exhale, pressing my forehead lightly against hers. “Because,” I said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected, “my sister is outside.”

A pause.

Y/N blinked. “…your sister.”

“Mm-hm.”

Another pause.

Then her eyes closed briefly as she groaned under her breath. “…that is incredibly bad timing.”

I laughed softly, still a little breathless. “You think?”

She opened her eyes again, looking at me—really looking—like she was debating whether or not it was worth ignoring that fact. “…we have five minutes,” she said slowly.

I raised a brow. “Y/N.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No.”

She huffed, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “…fine.”

I leaned in, pressing a quick, softer kiss to her mouth—gentler this time. “Later,” I murmured.

Her expression shifted instantly at that. “…yeah?” she asked.

I smiled. “Yeah.”

That seemed to satisfy her.

For now.

I pushed myself up with a quiet exhale, forcing my brain to actually function. “Okay—move,” I muttered, already stepping off her.

Y/N let out a soft, reluctant groan as I left her, but she didn’t argue this time. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and sat up, blinking away the last of her sleep.

I grabbed the nearest thing—a shirt from the floor—and started picking up whatever I could reach. “…condoms,” I muttered under my breath, scooping up the very obvious evidence from the table and floor. “Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.”

Y/N snorted softly behind me. “Hey,” she said, voice still rough, “that’s teamwork.”

I shot her a look over my shoulder. “You’re helping.”

“I am helping,” she said, already leaning down to grab her boxers from the floor.

I huffed but didn’t argue, tossing wrappers into the trash as fast as I could. Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she pulled on her boxers, then reached for the rest of her clothes—her bra, her shirt, her jeans—moving quickly but without that earlier rush. Now it was… focused. Real.

“We have, like, two minutes,” I said, glancing at the door.

“We’re fine,” she replied, way too calm for someone about to meet my sister for the first time.

“Easy for you to say.”

She smirked faintly. “I’m charming.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the last of the mess before backing toward the hallway. “Bathroom,” I pointed.

“Got it.”

I disappeared into my room while she headed the other way.

---

A few minutes later, I stepped out, now fully dressed, hair quickly fixed, trying to look like I hadn’t just—well. Everything.

At the same time, the bathroom door opened. Y/N walked out, running a hand through her hair one last time, looking… annoyingly put together for someone who had been asleep on my couch five minutes ago.

She glanced at me immediately. “…do I look okay?” she asked.

I didn’t even hesitate.

I stepped closer, reaching up slightly before leaning in and pressing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. “You look perfect,” I murmured.

Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction at that. “…good.”

I smiled faintly, then grabbed the perfume from the table, spraying it quickly. “Okay,” I said, more to myself than anything. “We’re doing this.”

Y/N nodded once. “Yeah.”

I took a breath, reaching for the door. And then—I opened it.

Mary-Kate was still there. Waiting. Watching.

And the second she saw us, her expression shifted—curious, assessing, and just a little too amused.

I glanced back at Y/N briefly, then stepped aside.

“Alright,” I said. “You wanted to meet her.”

A small pause.

Then—

“This is Y/N.”

I stepped aside, giving her a clear view.

For a split second, everything went… still.

Y/N, standing just behind me, lifted her hand in a small, polite wave—calm, composed, like she wasn’t standing in front of my sister for the first time after… all of that. “Hi,” she said simply.

Mary-Kate didn’t wave back.

She just looked at her—up, down, then back up again. A slow, impressed hum left her.

“…okay,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You’re hotter in person.”

“—Mary-Kate,” I snapped immediately.

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard—and then, just slightly, she blushed. Actually *blushed*. Which somehow made it worse.

Mary-Kate let out a quiet breath through her nose, clearly amused—but at least she didn’t push it further. “What?” she said, glancing at me. “I’m just being honest.”

“You’re being inappropriate,” I shot back.

Y/N cleared her throat softly, lowering her hand with a small, slightly awkward smile. “…hi,” she said again, a little more unsure this time.

Mary-Kate stepped forward then, shifting gears. “Hi,” she replied calmly this time, extending her hand. “I’m Mary-Kate.”

Y/N took it immediately, grateful for the normal interaction. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a brief pause. A weird one. Not uncomfortable exactly—but new. Everyone taking each other in.

I cleared my throat, stepping in before Mary-Kate could say anything else that would make this worse. “…so,” I said, forcing a small smile, “how about breakfast?”

That seemed to break the tension just enough. Mary-Kate shrugged. “I flew here. I’ll take food.”

“Great,” I said quickly, already turning toward the kitchen—and, without thinking, reaching back to grab Y/N’s hand and pull her along with me.

The second we were out of direct view, I let out a quiet breath. “…oh my god.”

Y/N chuckled softly beside me. “That went well.”

I shot her a look. “Did it?”

She smiled, relaxed despite everything. “I’m still alive, so yeah.”

I huffed a laugh, moving around the kitchen to grab plates. Then, out of nowhere—

“You know,” Y/N said casually, leaning against the counter, “you really do look like her.”

I paused. “…what?”

She gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Your sister. You look like twins.”

I stared at her for a second—then laughed. “Okay, first of all—rude. And second, she has her own twin.”

She grinned. “I’m serious.”

I shook my head, still smiling as I turned back to the counter. But then—I glanced at her again, a thought clicking into place.

“…wait,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Is that why you blushed?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Earlier,” I pressed, pointing slightly. “At the door. When she said…” I stopped myself, rolling my eyes. “When she said you were hotter in person.”

She immediately lifted her hands in defense. “No—no,” she said quickly. “That’s not—”

I raised a brow.

“I was just caught off guard,” she added, a little more carefully this time.

I studied her for a second. “…uh-huh.”

“I was,” she insisted, softer now.

Then she stepped closer—and just like that, the teasing faded a little.

“Yeah, you look alike,” she said, voice quieter. “But…” Her eyes met mine. “…you’re different.”

Something in my chest shifted. “How?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

Y/N smiled—small, but real. “You’re you.”

Simple. But the way she said it—like it meant everything.

“…smooth,” I muttered, but there was no bite to it.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “I mean it.”

I looked at her for a second longer, then shook my head, turning back to the counter to hide the way I was smiling. “Yeah, yeah,” I murmured. “Help me before she comes in here and starts judging my cooking.”

Y/N pushed off the counter immediately. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, stepping beside me.

And just like that—it felt normal again.

Well.

As normal as it could be—with my sister in the other room, and the girl I loved standing right next to me.

---

Everything… actually went well.

Surprisingly well.

There were a few teasing comments—mostly from Mary-Kate—but nothing Y/N couldn’t handle. In fact, she handled it better than I expected. Calm, easy, just the right amount of charm without trying too hard.

Mary-Kate warmed up to her quickly. That quiet, observant way she had? Y/N met it with the same kind of steady presence, and somewhere between breakfast and coffee, they just… clicked. Mary-Kate, of course, still tested her a little. Pushing. Waiting to see if Y/N would crack.

She didn’t.

And by the time they were both laughing over something stupid I’d said—completely at my expense, obviously—I realized something.

Y/N fit.

Not perfectly. Not instantly. But naturally.

Like she wasn’t forcing her way into my world—she was just… stepping into it.

---

Later, after MK left—after the apartment finally went quiet again—my phone buzzed.

I glanced down.

A message from Mary-Kate.

Mary-Kate:

Y/N is approved! I really like her.

I smiled before I could stop myself. Then—another message came through.

Ashley:

So you’re telling me you met her WITHOUT ME?

A second one, almost immediately—

Ashley:

I’m offended.

…another.

Ashley:

Actually no, I’m jealous.

I huffed out a quiet laugh. Of course she was.

Mary-Kate:

You were busy.

The reply came instantly.

Ashley:

That’s not the point and you know it.

I shook my head, locking my phone. “…unbelievable.”

But I was smiling. Of course I was. I looked up from my phone—and there she was. Y/N, sprawled comfortably on my couch like she belonged there, scrolling through something on her own phone, completely unaware of the messages I’d just gotten.

My chest softened.

“…hey,” I said.

She glanced up immediately. “Yeah?”

I shook my head, smile still lingering. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I not allowed to smile?”

“Not like that,” she said, already suspicious.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Just—come here.”

She didn’t question it—just got up and walked over, settling beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Which, at this point—It was.

---

Outside our little bubble, though—the world hadn’t slowed down.

Pillowtalk kept climbing. Streams rising, charts updating, the buzz getting louder. It hit Billboard.

And the speculation? It only got worse.

Fans digging through interviews, clips resurfacing, every glance, every interaction, every *moment* being picked apart.

“WHO IS SHE???”

“SHE HAS TO BE SOMEONE FAMOUS.”

And all the while—we stayed quiet. Stayed in this space that was still ours, for a little while longer.

---

Until few weeks later—we were spotted.

Just a simple moment. A walk, a laugh, a hand that lingered a little too long.

And suddenly—we were everywhere. Viral.

But that?

That’s a story for another day.

---

Leave your comments!

[heartzz4yuuuu]

older!neighbor!wanda who slowly corrupts housewife!reader …

-telling you how pathetic your husband is, how you could do so much better than a man who simply brushes you off.

-and desperate for her approval, you beg wanda to help your marriage, and wanda desperate for more obliges. wanda teaches you how to be a good wife, a good woman. teaching you to cook, clean, but most importantly…how to please.

-and little you….you want to please him..so you tell yourself, but it’s not his affection you crave—it’s hers.

-and wanda knows all about your little feelings towards her, so much to where she initiated the arrangement! One where she teaches you how to please a man.

-what’s a better way to learn than hands on?

-“let me be your test doll…for practicing of course” she’d say in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers. underlying cunningness that flies right over your head as she inches closer, her hand coming to your jaw forcing it straight, making your nervous wandering eyes look at her. Only her.

-“this is what good neighbors do babydoll….what kind of neighbor would I be if I let you prance around all clueless hm?” how could you not believe her when she talks so sweetly?

-Wanda has slowly become what you consider your close friends. you love gushing about her to your friends, telling your family back home is what wonderful neighbor you have…how she helps you navigate married life, sorta like a mentor—you phrased it.

-but mentors don’t have their hands in your hair pushing your face closer to her cunt, instructing you to stick your tongue out further, and moaning out in between heavy breaths “fuck keep going baby…doing so good for mommy…such a fast learner..”

-and a fast learner you are, one of wanda’s favorites? teaching you how to ride, by having you up and down her thick strap. saying “just like that babydoll….exactly like that” while she watches herself disappear into you over and over. It gives her a rush to see your pretty thighs—marked from her own love bites—tremble all tired from how long she’s had you bouncing.

-maybe next she’ll even introduce you to her lovely friend natasha….her mind is running with the amount of corrup—teaching she can do to you.

[norwayromanoff]

Table for One (For Now)

masterlist

NR x waitress!r

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Same day, same time, same order.

The request that I didn't follow too well 😅 (sorry)

When Natasha walks into your restaurant for the first time, you don’t think much of it. She’s just another customer for you to serve… albeit a beautiful one.

“Hi! Welcome in! How’s your night treating you?” you ask cheerily, giving her your best smile.

She offers you a huff through her nose and brushes off your question.

Okay, well, you can try and work with that. You persevere despite her lack of receptive response. “Here’s our menu. I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” you tell her, flashing her another smile.

Natasha grabs the menu from you without another word, so you take the hint and give her some space and time to peruse her options.

When you return to her table, she orders one of the simplest things on the menu—a burger, fries, and a water.

She doesn’t address or speak to you any further, ignoring your continued polite attempts at a small, pleasant conversation.

She leaves without a “thank you” or a “have a good night”, exiting the restaurant without a backward glance.

And she doesn’t tip.

Oh, so she’s not just another customer. She’s the fucking worst.

One week has passed since you last saw Natasha, and yet, you’re still ranting about the minimal interaction. You can’t stop; anger and irritation have been present every moment of your shifts since that day no matter what you do.

“She was just so rude,” you say hotly for what is probably the umpteenth time, “Literally, infuriating.”

“Uh huh,” your coworker responds, bored, having heard this basically on repeat.

“I just- I can’t fucking believe the nerve of her.”

“I hear you.”

“The absolute audacity to walk in here, barely say a word to me, and then not leave a tip.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I’m a great server, a fucking delight… and, not to mention, I’m downright adorable. No one doesn’t tip me.”

Your coworker has finally had enough of your tirades. “Dude, just let it go,” she sighs exasperatedly, “You’re, like, obsessed with her.”

“The fuck? I am not obsessed with her,” you deny immediately, spitting out the words as if just the thought disgusts you.

“You haven’t shut up about her since you saw her. Just admit you thought she had that super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on and you liked it.”

“I didn’t find her hot!” you argue, taking genuine offense at the fact that your coworker could think something like that about you.

“Sure, you didn’t.”

“No, seriously, I didn’t. I don’t,” you declare vehemently before muttering under your breath, “I swear, if she shows her face again, I’m going to-”

“Well, you’ve got your chance.”

“What?”

“She’s here.” Your coworker nods her head in the direction of where Natasha is, seated at the same table as the last time she was here. “She’s been here. Eavesdropping probably. You haven’t been quiet.”

Your gaze snaps over to Natasha, finding her already staring. One of her eyebrows quirks up as you make eye contact. “You didn’t think to warn me?” you hiss, alarmed, voice finally dropping to a lower volume as you look back at your coworker.

Your coworker just shrugs, unbothered, and then she walks away from you, heading to the back, leaving you alone behind the counter.

Natasha’s still watching you, eyes intense and unmeetable. You’re fleeing to the back after your coworker in just seconds.

You don’t emerge until you’re sure the redhead has left the restaurant, too sheepish and embarrassed to face her. You make your way over to her booth to clean up her dishes, and there, left on the table, is several crumpled bills. It’s the biggest tip you’ve ever received—the biggest tip you’ve ever seen—and, written on the merchant copy of the receipt in sloppy scrawl underneath her signature… ‘Fair enough’.

You don’t know how or why; the whole situation doesn’t make sense to you. You insulted Natasha, and yet she left that huge tip and agreeing note… and she continues to show up, over and over, arriving at the same time every week. She becomes a regular, always coming in during your shifts, always seating herself in your section, and always alone.

Your coworker teases you relentlessly. “She likes you,” she singsongs.

You have to frantically shush her every time, her loudness way too much for the small restaurant, the redhead surely able to overhear. “There’s no way she does,” you reject her statement, “I insulted her. A lot. Multiple times. And she made it clear that she heard me.”

“Yeah, and she also told you that you were right.”

“That doesn’t mean she likes me.”

“Don’t play dumb, and don’t pretend you don’t like her too.”

“How many times do we have to do this. I don’t like her.”

Despite the less-than-respectful-on-her-part first interaction, despite the less-than-respectful-on-your-part second interaction, you two do develop a sort of routine. Natasha sits in the same booth every visit; you memorize her order and put it in with the kitchen before she has to ask. She begins to smile and talk a bit more; you learn that her silences, when present, aren’t impolite.

You don’t want to admit it—because how could your heart possibly betray you like this by fluttering every time you see her stroll through the restaurant doors?—but you can’t keep lying to yourself about how you aren’tbeginning to like her. She’s not totally unpleasant anymore, you guess.

“Your usual,” you say as you deliver the burger, fries, and water glass to Natasha’s table.

She flashes you a small grin, and, like what’s typical for her now, thanks you, her voice soft when she talks. “You always know just what I need.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your own smile. “You ‘need’ the same thing every time. It’s not hard.”

Unconsciously, you find yourself happy that she’s always unaccompanied, with no one in tow, and although you don’t think you’ll ever stop ignoring your coworker’s claims—“Just accept that she has a crush on you”—you’re secretly pleased at being told that perhaps Natasha likes you. Your coworker was right. She really does have a super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on.

It’s a Thursday when Natasha next comes in, which is… weird. She’s a Wednesday patron, a 6:30pm Wednesday patron, to be exact. She’s always on time. So, when she arrives at the restaurant on a different day than normal, at a different time than normal—right before you’re off, actually—and sits at a different table than normal, it’s beyond unexpected.

Your coworker shoots you a confused look when she watches the redhead make her way into her section instead of yours, and although you’re puzzled and perhaps ever so slightly jealous, you technically are supposed to be clocking out in a few minutes, so it’s not like you could serve her anyway.

Maybe she just really wanted another burger earlier than normal, and maybe she just didn’t want to sit by the window tonight.

You can’t help but eavesdrop on Natasha’s order. Will she be switching that up too?

“Can I get you your usual?” your coworker asks her.

Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet,” she answers, “I’m actually waiting for someone this time.”

You falter, heart sinking in your chest in a funny way that you don’t want to acknowledge. She’s on a date. Your eyes flick to the front doors, wondering just when the person meeting with her will be walking through them. You don’t want to be here for that.

You remove your apron and fold it over your forearm with maybe a little too much force, you grab your bag from the back possibly somewhat too roughly, and you make your way out of the back room, heading toward the exit with purpose. You happen to have to pass Natasha’s booth on your way. You don’t make eye contact.

You’re stopped by a hand reaching out to grab your wrist, and you whip around, confused and surprised at being stopped by her.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice gentle as she tries to soothe your clear agitation.

“I’m off,” you reply, and you can’t help but throw something a bit more bitter her way as well. “But you know that already.” It’s a definitive statement. She’s familiar with your schedule by now; she’s been here enough times to have learned it.

“I do know,” she confirms.

It makes you even angrier, and your annoyance, stemming from jealousy, flares. You open your mouth to shoot back some retort, but she beats you to it.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to sit?”

You freeze, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Table for two today,” she informs you even though you’re well aware, grinning in amusement at how obvious it is that you’re trying to connect the dots.

And then it clicks… and you slowly slip your bag off your shoulder… and you slowly take a seat across from her… and you slowly find yourself smiling instead of frowning in hurt.

Your coworker returns to the table, smirking knowingly, an ‘I so told you so’ expression on her face as she gives you a pointed look. “Your date finallyshow? Ready to order now?” she addresses Natasha.

Natasha nods, turning to face your coworker. “Yeah, I’ll take my usual, and…” She then looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to relay what you want to eat. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I work here. I get all my meals for free.”

“I know,” she says playfully, “That’s why it’s on me.”

[w1dowatrace]

Purple Rain

Chapter 3: Friends With Benefits | 5.7k

Summary: If someone would ask her, this was the moment she started needing you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: Unconventional relationship, reader is in a talking stage with someone else and Wanda has a girlfriend, FWB (as a joke—mostly), minor medical anxiety, suggestive humor, sexual references, financial struggles, discussions of corruption, class difference, sleep deprivation, you put your own warnings on Wanda bc I am getting suspicious about her too...

Author's Note: Gaiz google finally recovered my email, GLB chap 13? :3

Navigation | Masterlist | Tip jar

ᱬ

Afternoon light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom as Wanda stood beside the screen, calmly walking Pepper through her latest pitch.

"Senator Hartley's pushing harder toward infrastructure lately," Wanda explained smoothly, clicking to the next slide. "And considering his new relationship with a lobbyist connected to major construction firms, there's a good chance the next bill swings heavily in that direction."

Pepper stayed quiet, listening carefully while Wanda continued.

"If we move our assets now, we'll be ahead before everyone else catches on."

"Well, that's honestly a very good pitch," Pepper leaned back slightly, clearly impressed. "If this pays off, I'll personally talk to Tony about making you a partner."

Wanda blinked once, genuinely caught off guard.

A partner

She only came in expecting to present her pitch. Instead, this might've been the opportunity she'd been chasing for years.

"Wow…I mean, thank you, Pepper," she said, keeping her voice calm and professional even while her chest tightened slightly with adrenaline. "I won't disappoint you."

Wanda needs someone to share this good news with.

Which was honestly pathetic.

It was already 10 PM by the time she arrived at another work dinner, walking into another restaurant filled with people who smiled too much but trusted each other too little.

That was basically her entire industry.

A bunch of rich people drinking overpriced alcohol while secretly waiting for the perfect moment to screw each other over professionally.

The hostess led her toward the private dining area where her colleagues were already gathered around the table laughing like they actually liked each other.

Fake

Every fucking single one of them.

"Maximoff," one of them greeted with a grin the second she sat down. "Heard Pepper loved your Hartley pitch."

Wanda gave a small smile. "Guess she did."

Another guy laughed while pouring himself a drink. "Careful. That usually means someone's about to get promoted."

The table went quieter after that. Not obvious enough for normal people to notice but of course Wanda noticed. Those quick glances. The sudden shift in tone. The way they started mentally recalculating where she stood compared to them.

Competition

Funny how fast admiration turned into quiet resentment in corporate spaces.

By the time the gathering finally started dying down, it was already almost one in the morning and Wanda had mentally checked out at least an hour ago.

At some point the conversations all started sounding the same—fake laughs, fake compliments, fake interest. People talking just to hear themselves speak while subtly fishing for information they could use later. One coworker spent twenty minutes pretending to congratulate another guy for closing a deal while obviously trying to figure out how much commission he made from it.

It was exhausting.

Wanda gave a few polite goodbyes before she left. The cold night air hit her the second she stepped outside.

Finally—silence.

And the city was still awake like her. Not even a slight hint of sleepiness.

1:52 AM

She still had an hour before her usual drive around the city—one of the things she did whenever she couldn't sleep. But instead of driving aimlessly tonight, she found herself heading somewhere else.

By the time Wanda parked outside the coffee shop, it was already a little past three in the morning. The place was still open, warm lights glowing through the windows while the nearly empty streets stayed quiet around it. Wanda stepped inside, immediately catching the smell of brewing coffee.

A guy behind the counter looked up first.

"Uh, hi," Wanda said awkwardly, adjusting the suit jacket hanging over her arm. "Is Y/N here?"

The man immediately narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Why?" he asked slowly. "Who are you?"

Wanda blinked at his tone.

"I'm her friend."

The guy stared at her for a long second.

"You? Her friend?" he repeated like the idea itself sounded ridiculous. The man looked at her up and down—long sleeves, slacks, expensive pointed boots, her suit hanging neatly over her arm, and her phone with three burner cameras flexing in her hand.

"Why?" Wanda asked defensively. "I can't be friends with her?"

Before the guy who turned out to be your manager could answer, another voice suddenly cut in.

"Wait—"

A woman near one of the tables was staring at her with immediate recognition while another guy beside her practically looked ready to combust from panic.

"You're Wanda, right?" the woman asked carefully.

Wanda pointed slightly. "And you're Kate? Do you know where Y/N is?"

Then somehow, Wanda found herself parking outside a public clinic at nearly four in the morning. And she had barely turned the engine off when she saw you.

You were inside the gate of the clinic carrying a baby in your arms.

Wanda froze immediately. Her brain short-circuited so hard she genuinely considered driving away before you noticed her.

Unfortunately, you already had.

Your eyes landed on her car instantly before your face lit up with disbelief. You will never forget that 2025 Mazda 3. A second later, you walked straight toward her car with the baby balanced carefully against your chest. Then you knocked dramatically on her window so hard like a street beggar asking for spare change before immediately laughing at yourself.

Wanda stared at you for half a second before finally getting out of the car.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, still laughing a little like you genuinely couldn't believe she existed outside expensive bars and corporate buildings.

Wanda opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, her eyes dropped toward the baby sleeping quietly in your arms.

"Is that your baby?"

You looked down at the sleeping child before immediately laughing.

"What? No."

You adjusted the blanket around the baby more securely before glancing toward the clinic behind you.

"Her mom is in the clinic. She's sick," Your expression softened slightly as you looked down at the baby again. "I just felt bad. She's been awake the whole time too, so I told her I'll take care of her while she naps."

Wanda just stared at you quietly for a second before slowly nodding once.

"What about you?" she asked after a moment. "Why are you here at three in the morning? Why is…why are there people in here at this hour?"

You immediately pointed toward the small scratch injected-like wound near your cheekbone.

"Oh, Manager scratched me. I was feeding them earlier. There were new cats." You sighed dramatically. "And I think Manager got jealous because I was giving the new ones more attention."

Her fingers reached your jaw gently which surprised you, she turns your head slightly so she could inspect the scratch properly.

"It might look small," she said quietly, her thumb brushing lightly near the mark, "but scratches and bites near the head and neck are dangerous. The virus reaches the brain faster from there." She finally let go and glanced toward the clinic entrance. "But…don't government clinics open at eight in the morning?"

You looked at her for a second before motioning with your head for her to follow you inside.

The moment Wanda stepped through the gate, her expression shifted.

The clinic was already crowded despite the hour. Plastic chairs lined the walls, nearly all occupied by exhausted people waiting silently under harsh fluorescent lights.

An old man sat slumped in a wheelchair near the wall, one foot heavily wrapped in gauze while his wife fanned him gently with a folder. A mother slept sitting upright with a baby against her chest while a little kid stretched across connected chairs beside her using folded jackets as blankets. Near the registration area, a construction worker with dried cement still on his clothes held an ice pack against his swollen wrist while staring blankly at the floor. A teenager coughed weakly into a towel beside his grandmother.

Nobody looked comfortable.

Nobody looked rested.

Just tired people waiting because they couldn't afford not to.

You adjusted the sleeping baby carefully before speaking again, your voice softer this time but Wanda could notice how tired you are.

"You have to come early if you want a chance to get checked fast," you explained casually. Then you smiled a little, though there was something quietly sad underneath it. "If you come at eight, you're already late." You glanced around the waiting area. "Some people stay here the whole day just waiting for their number to get called. And if the doctors run out of slots…" you shrugged lightly. "You just come back tomorrow and hope you still don't die before then."

Wanda stayed quiet while taking everything in. And somehow, underneath all that she's seeing, nobody was even complaining anymore. Like this was normal and suffering quietly had simply become part of the process.

She felt everything at once—pity, irritation, guilt she couldn't fully explain. Not because clinics like this shocked her—she knew places like this existed. Of course she did. She just never actually stood inside one long enough to feel it.

You were watching her carefully while she absorbed everything around her, almost like you were waiting to see what kind of person she'd become after seeing this side of the city.

Then after a moment, you looked away.

"What about you?" you asked quietly, adjusting the sleeping baby in your arms. "What are you even doing here?"

The redhead hesitated for a moment, then quietly said, "Uhm…I think I will become a partner now. Not just a partner, but a part owner of the company." She paused right after, almost like she regretted saying it here, in a place like this, at this hour. It felt a bit insensitive, like she was bringing up success while surrounded by people who are literally struggling.

You laughed lightly at that. "Why are you telling me this?" you asked. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"She's out of the country."

You clicked your tongue immediately. The sound was full of judgment. "Just admit it. You're not faithful."

That earned a small snort from her. But she didn't argue or defend herself. She didn't deny it either.

"Be like me."

That caught her attention.

"Oh?"

You nodded seriously. "I'm already faithful to her, even though we're only in the talking stage."

"You have a girlfriend?" her eyebrow slowly rose.

"Not yet, but hopefully."

There was something oddly dreamy about the way you said it, Wanda noticed. But for once, she didn't tease you about it. She just lets you keep that smile to yourself.

Then you tilted your head at her. "You really have no friends, do you?"

That made her look down for a moment, like she didn't know what to do with the question. Then her eyes met yours again, and there was something softer there—something almost embarrassed, almost exposed. This is a woman who had everything—money, power, looks. And yet, here she was, completely alone. It's kind of heartbreaking and pathetic.

"Okay," you said after a beat, exhaling. "We're friends now. But my rate will be higher—forty to fifty dollars per hour. And I will be strict on time too. If you go over three hours, there's an extra charge." You smirked at her slightly, watching her listen like she was actually considering it. "And no touching below the neck."

"Okay, deal." Her agreement came out fast—way faster than you expected.

You blinked at her. "Wait, what?"

She just nodded once like it was already settled. "Your terms are fine."

"You gotta be kidding me," you muttered under your breath, blinking at her. You were just joking, but this woman didn't even flinch. She said it so casually, like agreeing to your ridiculous pricing was just another line item in her day.

Wanda didn't hesitate for long.

"What about this?" she said suddenly. She glanced around the clinic before pointing toward a young kid in the corner who had been coughing nonstop for what felt like forever. "Give up your line here. Let the kid take it instead."

You followed her finger, then frowned slightly. The baby in your arms is still deeply asleep. You went straight here after work instead of going home to sleep, you were about to curse the shit out of her when she landed her offer.

"I'll pay for your vaccine at a private clinic. You'll get it faster, no need to wait here." She glanced at you briefly, unfazed. "And your paid three hours with me doesn't count," she added smoothly. "Let's just say this is your…HMO coverage."

You stared at her. "You're ridiculous."

"It makes sense," she said without looking up. "You get your vaccine—your HMO. You don't wait here until mister sun comes, and the kid gets your slot." She finally glanced at you again. "Everyone wins."

You bite your lip, glancing between her and the baby sleeping in your arms. You'd be stupid to decline that kind of offer.

"Fine," you said at last. "But I need to bring this baby back first."

Wanda tilted her head slightly, then said in a low, joking tone, "Don't. Let's keep her."

You shot Wanda a look, then walked back to the baby's mom without saying anything else. You made sure the baby was properly handed over, said a quick thanks, then headed straight out of the clinic.

Wanda was already waiting by her car when you came back.

You checked your phone before getting into the car. It was almost 5 AM, the sky started to lighten a bit but the city was still mostly asleep.

Wanda started driving and after a bit, you finally spoke. "How did you even know I was there?"

"I asked your coworker. Kate, right?" she said, eyes on the road.

You just hummed. "Hm."

Silence followed after that. A few minutes later, Wanda noticed you weren't endlessly talking—very surprising. She glanced over, she thought you were simply staring out the window or you just at one point, be silent. Her eyes lingered for a moment. You really had fallen asleep.

Your head rested awkwardly against the glass, arms loosely folded, breathing slow and even. Whatever energy had been keeping you upright earlier had clearly run out.

The next thing you knew, consciousness returned in fragments. Your eyes slowly opened. For several long seconds, your brain struggled to piece everything together through the lingering fog of sleep.

Where—

Oh yes, Wanda's car.

A groggy frown crossed your face as you pushed yourself upright, trying to gather your bearings. Your neck protested immediately, stiff from sleeping in an awkward position.

"Hey." Wanda's voice cut through your thoughts.

You turned toward her. The best response you could manage was a sleepy, half-conscious hum.

"Mmh."

Your arms stretched overhead instinctively. Every muscle in your body seemed determined to announce its existence all at once. Several joints cracked loudly as you twisted in your seat.

You rubbed your face. "How long am I asleep?"

"Almost two hours."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" she asked, though the answer seemed obvious.

"You really didn't sleep?"

"No." Wanda's fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. "I really can't."

You blinked.

You studied her for a moment. The exhaustion from earlier was impossible to ignore now. Not just today. Thinking back on everything she'd told you, it sounded like she carried that exhaustion around constantly. You shifted slightly in your seat.

"Do you see anyone?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Anyone?"

"A doctor. A psychiatrist. Therapist. Something."

For a moment you expected her to dodge the question or brush it off. Instead, Wanda surprised you.

"Yes."

"Really?" your eyebrows lifted.

She nodded. "I've seen psychiatrists before." The answer came easily without embarrassment or defensiveness.

"As part of treatment?"

"Partly. But right now I am just on meds."

You nodded slowly. That made sense. Honestly, it was reassuring. A lot of people ignored things until they became impossible to ignore. At least she wasn't doing that.

You looked at her for another moment.

"I have a goal now."

"A goal?" Wanda immediately looked suspicious.

"Yep."

She sighed as she started the engine of her car. "I don't like the sound of that."

You pointed at her dramatically. "My goal is to make you sleep."

Wanda stared then barked out a short laugh. "Well, that's terrifying."

"It shouldn't be."

"It absolutely should be." She shook her head. "You saying you have a plan to make me unconscious is not comforting."

"Sleep, Wanda." You correct while rolling your eyes.

"How exactly are you planning to accomplish it?" She gestured vaguely with one hand.

You sat back confidently. "I'll have my ways."

Wanda laughed. "That is somehow even more alarming."

You waved her off. Then a thought crossed your mind. "Actually."

Wanda immediately groaned at that. But you just ignored her.

"You know they say sex helps people sleep."

In Wanda's mind she had already crashed her car with what you just said.

You continued anyway. "It is science. It releases endorphins, oxytocin. Apparently people get sleepy afterward because it helps reduce stress and relaxes the body which makes people fall asleep faster."

Wanda slowly turned her head toward you.

Not fully because she's still driving but enough to give you a look. A look that clearly said, Where exactly are you going with this?

Meanwhile, you appeared completely unaware of the effect your statement had. Or maybe you just didn't care.

"So, you should have sex."

She glanced over at you again before looking back at the road. The thing that made it difficult not to laugh was how genuinely invested you seemed in the explanation. You weren't being flirtatious or trying to be suggestive. You were talking the same way someone might explain the benefits of drinking tea before bed—completely earnest.

She shook her head slowly, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the city lights slid across the windshield in long streaks of gold and white. Wanda bit the inside of her cheek despite her obvious attempts to remain composed.

Then, without warning, she leaned toward to face you. One eyebrow lifted. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes.

"So, you wanna test that theory?"

Everything inside your brain immediately stopped working. You don't know if it was because her face was inches closer to yours or for what she just said. For one full second, you panicked. Your eyes widened before your finger flicked directly with the center of her forehead.

"Aw!"

Wanda immediately recoiled. One hand abandoned the steering wheel for half a second to clutch her forehead while she stared at you in disbelief.

"What the hell?!"

"Fuck you!" You pointed at her with genuine outrage. "No, seriously. Fuck you. You have a girlfriend and the first person your brain comes up to that idea is me? Pervert. You really aren't faithful!"

The accusation hung in the air for a few seconds before Wanda finally let out a laugh of pure disbelief. She wasn't offended, but she genuinely couldn't believe she was being scolded over what had been, in her mind, a harmless joke. Unfortunately for her, you were completely committed to this now. The more she laughed, the more serious you became. You sat straighter in your seat and folded your arms across your chest, looking every bit like a disappointed parent preparing to lecture a troublesome child.

"I was joking." Wanda groaned dramatically, still rubbing her forehead with exaggerated misery as though you'd inflicted a life-changing injury.

"You know," you said casually, "I actually have a better way to make you sleep."

"What is it now?" She groans.

"Punch. One good punch."

She barked out a laugh. "You can't be serious."

"Wanna test that theory?"

"Want me to crash this car?"

"Go. I would even say thank you."

The answer came so quickly that Wanda actually glanced over at you. You were completely serious. Or at least serious enough to make it concerning.

Your head rested against the seat, your expression carrying the exhausted look of someone who had already accepted too many responsibilities for one day. Between classes, work, and whatever sleep deprivation had convinced you to nap for two hours in a stranger's car, the threat apparently wasn't as effective as Wanda had hoped.

In fact, you looked mildly tempted.

"I'd finally get some rest," you added with a small shrug.

Wanda stared at you for a moment before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"That is not a normal response."

You merely looked out the window.

"At least I wouldn't have to go to work."

The fact that you said it so casually somehow made it funnier and sadder at the same time.

The car pulled into the parking lot of a private animal bite and vaccination center. Five minutes later, you found yourself sitting inside a small consultation room while Wanda occupied the chair beside you. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant. A metal examination tray sat against one wall. Medical posters about animal bites, rabies prevention, and wound care decorated the room.

You were currently trying very hard not to look like someone who's out of place again because even as a clinic, this place looks luxurious.

The door opened and a doctor stepped inside carrying a clipboard. After exchanging brief greetings and questions towards you, the doctor took a seat across from you and adjusted their glasses.

"Since the scratch is on the face," they explained, "we'll need to administer ERIG around the area where you were scratched, okay?"

For a moment, you simply stared at the man. The words registered individually.

Face

Inject

Then your brain finally puts the sentence together.

He's going to inject your face.

Your eyes widened immediately. "Wait." You sat up straighter. Your heart rate seemed to double in less than three seconds. You shifted back in your chair instinctively, as though distance alone could somehow solve the problem.

"Do I need to call for an assistant nurse?"

The question was delivered with complete seriousness. You weren't causing trouble but he could very clearly see your panic.

You immediately shook your head, then nodded. You weren't even sure yourself.

Meanwhile, Wanda had been watching the entire breakdown unfold. At first there was amusement. She wanted to laugh at you but she knows you would really do that plan of yours to make her sleep with a punch. A small smirk tugged briefly at her lips before she pushed herself up from her seat.

"I got her, doc. Don't worry," she said as she stood beside you.

The moment the doctor prepared the syringe, every ounce of confidence you had been pretending to possess throughout the appointment vanished completely. One second you were sitting normally in the examination chair. The next, you were staring at the needle with the expression of someone who had just received the worst news of their life.

"Alright," he said. "Just stay still for me."

Stay still. As if that were a reasonable request.

Your survival instincts completely abandoned logic. Sitting in the examination chair, you immediately reached for the closest source of emotional support available. Unfortunately for Wanda, that source happened to be her. You immediately wrapped your arms around her, burying your face on her stomach. Before anyone could comment on it, you were fully hugging her while she stood beside your chair.

The doctor chuckled before gently positioning your head giving you a last warning.

"Okay. Hold still."

You immediately squeezed your eyes shut. Then you felt the first injection. Instantly, every muscle in your body locks. Your grip around Wanda tightened and she started caressing your head which surprisingly helped you.

The sensation wasn't unbearable. It wasn't even particularly painful. But the knowledge that a needle was involved somehow made everything ten times worse!

"Okay, it's done."

Only then did you cautiously lift your head. Your expression looked as though you'd just survived a major surgical procedure rather than a few injections around a scratch.

"Thank, God." You sighed.

The doctor shook his head with an amused smile while finishing his notes. "You know," he said casually, "you're terrified of a small needle." Then he added, in a tone that suggested he was entertaining himself more than anyone else, "But you're not afraid of the big needle."

Wanda immediately turned away and a laugh escaped her. She was trying very hard to suppress it.

Meanwhile, you simply stared at the doctor.

"What big needle?"

The doctor only smiled and Wanda was now covering her mouth. Neither of them answered. Which somehow made the situation even more confusing.

"What?" You looked between them.

The doctor simply wished you well and continued writing prescriptions. While Wanda refused to make eye contact with you. The entire exchange made absolutely no sense.

Several minutes later, the two of you were outside. The evening air felt nice after being stuck inside the clinic. You walked beside Wanda toward the parking lot while she still looked suspiciously amused about something.

Eventually, your curiosity won.

"What was that about?"

"Hm?" Wanda glanced back.

"What did he mean by big injection?" You frowned.

The moment the question left your mouth, Wanda stopped walking. For a second she simply stared at you and she freaking laughed again. Not a polite laugh. Not a small laugh. A full laugh that irritated you.

You waited—completely serious. "What?"

Wanda looked at you, still laughing. "You seriously don't know?"

"No."

Another laugh. Then she finally shook her head.

"A cock."

You blinked. "What?"

"A penis."

Your brain took a moment to catch up. Your face immediately twisted in disbelief.

The realization hit you all at once.

For several seconds, you simply stood there in the parking lot staring at Wanda as your brain replayed the conversation inside the clinic from beginning to end. The fact that you had stood there asking, "What big injection?" with complete sincerity while apparently being the only person in the room who didn't understand the joke.

"Is that even ethical?!"

The outrage in your voice only made Wanda laugh harder.

"No, seriously!" you continued, genuinely horrified now that everything finally made sense. "He said that to a patient."

At this point Wanda wasn't even pretending to hold herself together anymore. The image of your confused expression inside the clinic combined with your current outrage was simply too much.

Meanwhile, the more you thought about it, the more offended you became.

The look Wanda gave you suggested she couldn't decide whether you were being dramatic on purpose or whether this was simply how your brain naturally functioned.

"You're ridiculous."

"No. He is." You pointed toward the building again. "That man has a medical license."

"I know."

"He should know better."

"I think he was joking."

"That's what concerns me."

Wanda laughed so hard she actually had to lean against the side of her car for support. Eventually she managed to compose herself enough to unlock the car.

"Okay."

You looked over suspiciously. "Okay what?"

Wanda opened the driver's side door before glancing back at you. "Now, now." She made a small calming gesture with one hand. "Let's calm down."

You immediately frowned. "I am calm."

"Sure, darling." Wanda shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Get in the car."

You continued staring at her. "I still think that was unprofessional."

"Get in."

"I want that on record."

"Get in."

The smile never left her face. With one final grumble, you finally climbed into the passenger seat.

Wanda had parked the car again in a quiet area overlooking a stretch of city streets. You sat sideways in your seat, one arm resting against the door while Wanda stared through the windshield, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

A few moments later, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small stack of bills.

"We've been together for almost four hours. Fifty times four..." Wanda calculated. "Two hundred."

She held the money out.

You shook your head and laughed, but took the money anyway because refusing it felt pointless at this stage. The second it touched your hand, however, you peeled off some bucks and handed it back.

Wanda looked down. Forty dollars. Then back at you.

"What are you doing?"

"I was joking when I said my rates went up." You pushed the bills toward her.

"So the original package remains unchanged."

"Yeah."

Wanda shrugged and accepted the money back. "You have plans after this?" She glanced over.

"Yeah." You stretched slightly before answering. "Classes later and then I have a night shift at work.

That earned a small look from her.

"Again?"

"Unfortunately."

"You don't stop, do you?"

A laugh escaped you. Not a particularly cheerful one. A laugh someone develops after repeating the same routine so many times that it stops feeling unusual.

"In this economy?" you said, shaking your head. "I can't."

You leaned back further into the seat, one hand absentmindedly rubbing your jaw.

"I have a lot of children to feed, you know."

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

"The children of politicians."

That made her snort. But you weren't finished.

"Every time I work, every time I pay taxes, every time I buy something, every time I pay a fee for a document, a permit, a license, a registration, somewhere out there a politician's third child gets another thousand dollar Gucci bag."

Wanda laughed.

You pointed accusingly at the windshield as though the system of corruption itself was standing outside.

"I'm basically sponsoring private school tuition at this point." Your expression remained serious for exactly one second before cracking into a grin. "I don't even know their names and somehow I'm helping fund their future."

The amusement in your voice couldn't quite hide the truth underneath. Because as ridiculous as the joke was, it came from a very real frustration. The frustration of watching prices rise faster than wages. Of seeing people work harder and harder while somehow falling behind anyway. And hearing corruption scandals so often that they barely felt surprising anymore.

You started counting on your fingers.

"Food wants money."

Another finger.

"Transportation wants money."

Another.

"School wants money."

Another.

"Corruption wants money."

Another.

"Corruption isn't a bill." Wanda counters.

"It feels like one." You looked at her with complete sincerity, the joke still present in your voice but softer now. Less playful. More tired. "I never subscribed to it, but somehow the charges keep showing up. The second people elected those politicians, I started paying the price too."

For a few seconds, Wanda expected herself to laugh. The setup sounded like another joke but the laugh never came.

For the first time since you'd started joking, she didn't have a comeback.

Because you were right. About the rampant corruption. About how expensive it had become just to exist. About how hard people worked only to find themselves running in place or how some people had no choice but to keep moving because stopping simply wasn't an option.

The uncomfortable truth was that Wanda wouldn't really know what that felt like. She had worked hard in her life. Nobody could take that away from her. She had spent years building her career, surviving impossible hours, competing against people who wanted the same opportunities she did.

But even then—there had always been a safety net. A family with money, connections, resources.

The knowledge that if everything somehow collapsed tomorrow, she wouldn't end up wondering how to pay rent next month. She wouldn't have to choose between groceries and transportation. Or worry about having to work a night shift after classes just to stay afloat.

And because of that, she found herself unusually quiet.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware of the effect your words had. You were still looking out the window, smiling faintly as though you'd just told a series of dumb jokes and nothing more.

The fact that you could still laugh about it somehow made it worse.

For a few moments, the car remained quiet. The money still sat in your hand, you looked down at it for a second before letting out a small breath.

"Thank you." You lifted the money slightly. "For this." The words came quietly. "It's a huge help." You leaned back against the seat and looked down at the bills again, absently straightening the edges with your thumb.

Wanda noticed how you sounded really tired.

"You're welcome." The words came softer than usual. "Thank you too for being my friend..."

You opened your mouth to say you're welcome but Wanda continued.

"...friends with benefits."

"Oh, fuck you." Your curse came automatically then a laugh followed immediately afterward.

The conversation had somehow drifted into comfortable silence again. Eventually, Wanda glanced toward you as you reached for the door handle.

"Wait."

You paused. "What?"

She pulled her phone out from her pocket. "Give me your number."

"Oh." You blinked then immediately grinned.

"Don't make it weird." Wanda rolled her eyes at the expression.

"I'm not making it weird."

"You are already making it weird."

You laughed but rattled off your number anyway.

A few seconds later she finished entering the last digit then she looked up. "What name should I put?"

The question should have had a normal answer. A reasonable answer. Your actual name, for example.

Instead, you immediately pointed at yourself.

"FWB"

Wanda stared. The silence lasted exactly two seconds before she barked out a laugh. The sound escaped before she could stop it.

"And that stands for what?" She giggles.

"Fabulously Wicked Baddie." You winked before reaching for the door handle.

A thoughtful hum escaped her.

"I think..." she began, a smirk slowly appearing on her face, "it's Frustratingly Wonderful Brat."

"Wrong, Frustratingly Wonderful Being." You shrugged. Your hand remained on the car door. "Just put whatever you want me to be." The air outside immediately greeted you as you stepped out of the car. "I'll head now. Thanks again."

And as you began walking away, you lifted the money one last time in a farewell wave before disappearing.

Wanda remained sitting behind the wheel for a few moments longer. Her attention remained fixed on her phone. Specifically, on the blank contact name waiting to be filled in.

She just ended up just typing your name.

But as she saved the contact and set her phone aside, she couldn't help hearing your voice one last time.

"Just put whatever you want me to be."

For some reason, that felt less like a joke and more like the beginning of a problem.

Purple Rain: Masterlist

[fandomnerd9602]

Pirate captain Wanda x reader please.

Wanda walks into the Captain’s Quarters to see a bound Y/N…

Wanda: ye know who I am

Y/N: the Scarlet Witch. Captain of the High Seas

Wanda: (purrs) ye don’t seem scared

Y/N: I-i just…never seen a pirate of such ferocity and…beauty

Wanda lifts Y/N’s bound hands above their head…

Wanda; (purrs) you’re cute. I may have to keep ye

[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Chapter 9

The Red Face Thing

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: The forced proximity of a long road trip is finally wearing down the walls between Wanda and Y/N. Trapped in a cramped car with an incredibly perceptive Yelena Belova, the unspoken tension reaches a boiling point.

Words: 13k+

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate AU, Mentions of Past Hydra Abuse/Experimentation, Reader has a P, mention of smut. 

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

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Yelena’s POV

The road stretched endlessly ahead of them beneath heavy grey clouds that turned the late afternoon dim and cold. Trees blurred past outside the windows in dark smears of green and black, occasionally broken by tiny gas stations or forgotten roadside towns as the car pushed steadily south.

Inside, it was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the faint music drifting from the radio. Yelena drove with one hand resting lazily on the wheel, sunglasses pushed into her hair despite the lack of sunlight. Wanda sat in the passenger seat with one knee slightly pulled up, staring out at the distant hills passing by. In the backseat, Y/N sat sideways behind Wanda, one arm draped across the top of the seat. Her attention seemed split between the scenery outside and Wanda beside her. Even now. Always.

Yelena had noticed it in the rearview mirror probably a hundred times already. How the taller woman acted around Wanda. A faint smirk tugged at Yelena’s mouth before she finally broke the silence.

“Tell me again what happened.”

Wanda blinked and looked over. “The mission?”

“Yes, mission,” Yelena replied dryly.

Y/N snorted softly from the backseat.

Wanda ignored it, shifting slightly before answering. “We were ambushed during a retrieval mission. Hydra knew we were coming.”

Yelena’s amusement faded immediately. “That is bad already.”

Wanda nodded faintly. “There were too many of them. Too organized. They knew exactly how we’d move.” Her jaw tightened slightly at the memory. “It wasn’t random.”

“Someone leaked information,” Yelena said.

“Maybe,” Wanda admitted quietly. “Or they’ve been studying us longer than we thought.”

In the backseat, Y/N’s posture stiffened almost instantly.

Wanda noticed immediately. Her fingers twitched faintly in her lap before she continued. “We escaped. Barely. But during the escape we had to split up.”

“Nat, Steve, and Bucky went one way,” Y/N added quietly. “Me and Wanda went the other.”

Yelena glanced toward the mirror again. “And Natasha told you to run.”

“A week ago,” Wanda said. “She contacted us through an encrypted burner. Told us to stay off-grid, keep moving, change locations constantly, and not go near the compound.”

“Until they figured out what happened,” Yelena murmured.

Wanda nodded. Silence settled inside the car again as light rain began tapping softly against the windows. The windshield wipers swept once across the glass.

“And after that?” Yelena asked.

Wanda’s expression dimmed slightly. “Nothing.”

Yelena’s grip shifted slightly on the steering wheel. That bothered her. Natasha never stayed silent unless she had a reason. Or couldn’t answer. The thought lingered heavily in the car for a few seconds, mixing with the sound of rain against the windows and the steady rumble of tires against wet pavement.

Wanda noticed the slight tension settling into Yelena’s shoulders. “…Where are we going exactly?” she asked quietly.

Yelena blinked once, pulling herself back from the thought. “South coast.”

“That narrows it down so much,” Wanda muttered.

Yelena ignored the sarcasm easily. “There’s a place,” she said after a moment. “Old safehouse Natasha used years ago after Red Room.”

That immediately got Wanda’s attention. “You think she’d go back there?”

“No,” Yelena said simply. “Which is exactly why she might.” A faint smirk tugged at Yelena’s mouth. “Yes.” Yelena adjusted her grip on the wheel before continuing. “It’s near the coast. Small town. Forgettable.” Her expression dimmed slightly. “One of the first places Natasha brought me after we escaped Dreykov.”

Wanda’s gaze softened.

Yelena shrugged one shoulder casually, though there was something quieter beneath it. “She used it sometimes when things became... too loud.”

In the backseat, Y/N listened silently, chin resting against her folded arm near the window while rain streaked across the glass beside her.

The silence thickened again after that. Rain continued tapping softly against the windows while the car pushed farther south through long empty roads. Yelena drove one-handed again, though this time her eyes kept flicking toward the rearview mirror, but because she was studying Y/N now. Curious.

Eventually she spoke again.

“So,” Yelena said casually, “how were you able to smell Natasha on me?”

Wanda glanced over slightly.

In the backseat, Y/N blinked once. “…What?”

“At the alley,” Yelena explained. “You said I smelled like her.”

“Oh.” Y/N shifted slightly. “You do.”

“You can smell family connections?”

“No. I just have a good nose.” Y/N hesitated briefly, like she was trying to explain something obvious to someone who lacked the context for it. “I can turn into a wolf.”

Silence. Yelena stared at the mirror for a full second.

“Wait.” She glanced toward the backseat. “Like actual wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Big wolf?”

“…Yes.”

“How big?”

Y/N paused slightly. “…Big.”

Wanda smiled faintly despite herself.

Yelena barked out a laugh immediately. “That is amazing.”

Y/N relaxed slightly at the reaction. Then Yelena’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she looked at Y/N through the mirror again. “So are you enhanced too?”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

Yelena gestured vaguely toward her. “You are giant. Strong. Dramatic. Broody. I’m trying to determine if you are enhanced or just hot.”

Wanda’s head snapped toward Yelena instantly. A visible frown formed on her face.

Y/N, meanwhile, looked deeply confused again. But answered anyway, “It’s part of the wolf,” she explained quietly. “Strength. Senses. Healing.”

Yelena tilted her head slightly. “And Hydra did this?”

Y/N shook her head. “No.” A small pause. “I was born this way.”

That got Yelena’s full attention immediately. “…Seriously?”

Y/N nodded once.

For a second, Yelena just stared at her in the mirror. Then a grin spread across her face. “That is coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Wanda’s frown deepened.

Y/N looked surprised by the enthusiasm. “…Really?”

“Yes,” Yelena said immediately. “You are giant magical wolf woman.”

Another pause.

“Can I see later?”

Wanda turned sharply toward Yelena again.

Y/N blinked once. “…The wolf?”

“Yes, the wolf.”

“…Okay.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened slightly. Yelena caught it immediately finding amusing.

Wanda stared ahead at the road in complete silence now.

Yelena smirked to herself before continuing to poke at Y/N. “Can you understand people while wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Can you talk?”

“No.”

Wanda pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yelena.”

“What?”

“You are interrogating her like she is a zoo exhibit.”

“I am learning,” Yelena corrected.

Y/N tilted her head. “I don’t mind.”

“See?” Yelena pointed triumphantly.

Wanda made a noise of irritation and looked out the side window again.

Yelena was absolutely certain now. The more she complimented Y/N, the grumpier Wanda became. And Y/N was somehow too oblivious to notice any of it. Which only made it funnier.

“This is amazing,” Yelena continued.

Y/N blinked once, slightly unsure how to respond to that level of enthusiasm. “…Okay.”

“No, seriously.” Yelena pointed dramatically toward the backseat. “Do you understand how cool this is? Natasha never told me the Avengers had an actual werewolf.”

“I’m not a werewolf,” Y/N corrected automatically.

Yelena waved a dismissive hand. “Close enough.”

“It’s not.”

“What is difference?”

Y/N frowned slightly, genuinely considering it. “…I’m not cursed.”

Yelena barked out a laugh loud enough to echo through the car. Wanda stayed facing the window. Silent.

“You are funny too,” Yelena informed Y/N.

Y/N looked mildly alarmed by that statement. “I wasn’t joking.”

“That makes it better.”

Another soft laugh escaped Yelena as the car rolled down the road. In the backseat, Y/N relaxed a little more into the seat, one arm resting against the door while she watched the road ahead through the windshield.

Yelena glanced toward the mirror again. “So how does it work?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “What does?”

“The wolf thing.”

“Oh…I shift.”

Yelena stared at her reflection for a second. “…You are terrible at explaining things.”

Wanda’s lips twitched faintly despite herself before she forced the expression away again.

Y/N noticed immediately. Her attention shifted toward Wanda for a second longer than necessary, lingering there briefly before returning to Yelena.

“Okay!” Yelena glanced back again. “Do you chase things?”

Y/N looked genuinely confused. “…What things?”

“Cars. Squirrels. Tiny annoying animals. A ball.”

“No,” Y/N said immediately, mildly offended. “I’m not a dog.”

Wanda covered her mouth quickly to hide another laugh as she very briefly—and disastrously—imagined throwing something just to see what Y/N would do.

Y/N looked immediately pleased by the sound. That tiny shift in her expression didn’t escape Yelena either. God, these two were obvious.

“So,” Yelena said casually, still grinning to herself, “if I buy squeaky toy later—”

“No.”

“Very fast answer.”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“You thought about it though.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Wanda let out another quiet laugh before she could stop herself. Y/N’s attention snapped toward her again immediately, expression softening all over again like flipping a switch.

Wanda looked away toward the window quickly before Y/N could notice the heat returning to her face.

Unfortunately, Yelena noticed both.

The car slowly settled into a quieter rhythm after that. Rain tapped softly against the windows while the highway stretched endlessly ahead of them, illuminated only by distant headlights and occasional road signs flashing past in the dark. Yelena hummed quietly along with the radio. Wanda stayed turned toward the window, though the faint smile never fully disappeared from her mouth. And in the backseat, Y/N relaxed deeper into her corner, calm and content in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Mostly because Wanda kept laughing.

---

Wanda’s POV

By the time they finally stopped, Wanda felt like her entire body had gone numb from sitting in the car for so many hours. The road had long since emptied into stretches of darkness, civilization thinning until there was barely anything left except trees, old gas stations, and occasional flickering signs glowing weakly in the distance.

When the motel finally appeared, it looked like something pulled straight out of a horror movie. A buzzing neon VACANCY sign flickered unevenly near the road. Half the letters were dead. Wanda stared at it through the windshield. “…Absolutely not.”

Yelena parked anyway. “Perfect hiding place,” she declared.

“It looks like we’re about to get murdered.”

“Exactly. Nobody searches for someone in murder motel.”

That was... annoyingly logical.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. The motel itself was old and weatherworn, paint peeling along the doors and railings. A single dim light buzzed outside the office. Wanda climbed out of the car slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan. Cold air hit immediately. Before she could even react properly, warmth settled at her back.

Y/N.

She had moved beside Wanda almost instantly after getting out, standing close enough that their shoulders brushed lightly while golden eyes scanned the parking lot carefully. Wanda tried very hard not to notice how automatic it had become.

Yelena absolutely noticed. Again. The blonde grabbed the car keys and headed toward the office with an amused little hum under her breath. “I’ll get the rooms,” she announced.

Wanda watched her disappear inside before exhaling quietly. Beside her, Y/N tilted her head slightly. “Tired?”

Wanda glanced up at her. Even exhausted, Y/N still looked unfairly good. Which was a problem Wanda was aggressively not thinking about.

“A little,” Wanda admitted.

Y/N nodded once, gaze flicking briefly toward the dark edges of the parking lot again before settling back on Wanda.

“You should sleep.”

Something about the simple certainty in her voice made warmth spread through Wanda’s chest again. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

A few minutes later, the office door opened again. Yelena stepped back outside, twirling two keycards between her fingers. “One room for me,” she said casually. Then tossed the second card directly at Y/N. “One room for the couple.”

Wanda nearly inhaled her own soul. “We are not a couple!”

Yelena raised one eyebrow slowly, visibly amused. “…Okay.”

The way she said it somehow made it infinitely worse.

Wanda’s face burned hotter instantly. “We’re not!”

“Mhm.” Yelena smirked faintly before turning away, already walking toward her room with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Goodnight, married people.”

“Yelena!”

The blonde only waved dismissively without looking back.

Wanda stood frozen in the middle of the parking lot for a full second, absolutely mortified before she grabbed her own bag quickly. “Come on.”

The motel walkway creaked softly beneath their footsteps as they crossed the parking lot. The farther they moved from the office lights, the darker everything became, shadows stretching long between the doors. Y/N walked slightly behind Wanda this time, close enough that Wanda could feel her presence without looking.

It made her chest ache in that confusing, dangerous way again.

Wanda unlocked the door quickly and pushed it open. The room was exactly what she expected.  Old and small with a single buzzing lamp cast soft yellow light over faded floral wallpaper and worn carpet that had definitely seen better decades. There were two bedside tables, a tiny bathroom tucked near the back, an old TV mounted crookedly on the wall—and one bed.

Wanda stopped walking and slowly, she turned toward Y/N.

Y/N blinked once. “…What?”

“There’s one bed.”

Y/N looked at the bed. Then back at Wanda. “…Okay?”

Right. Of course that wouldn’t bother her. They’ve been sleeping on the same bed this whole time.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “We’ve shared beds before.”

Y/N nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

Because for Y/N, this really was normal. Wanda hated how much that calmed her.

Y/N quietly locked the door behind them before setting her bag down near the wall. The room immediately felt smaller afterward. Quieter.

Wanda busied herself taking off her jacket, avoiding eye contact completely. But unfortunately, Y/N noticed her mood almost instantly. “…Wanda?”

“I’m fine.” The answer came sharper than intended.

Y/N went still for a second.

Wanda immediately regretted it. She rubbed a hand over her face tiredly. “Sorry. I just—”

Before she could finish, warmth suddenly wrapped around her making her freeze. Y/N had stepped closer without a sound and pulled her gently into a hug. Not tight. Not restraining. Just there. Warm arms around her shoulders. Y/N chest against hers. Steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

“I don’t want to fight,” Y/N murmured quietly.

Wanda’s breath caught.

Y/N held her carefully, like she was afraid Wanda might pull away if she moved too suddenly.

“I just want to know if you’re okay.”

The honesty in her voice shattered something soft inside Wanda immediately. Because there was no accusation there. No frustration. No confusion. Just concern.

Wanda felt herself melt against her before she could stop it. Her forehead slowly dropped against Y/N’s shoulder as tension drained out of her body all at once.

“I know,” she whispered tiredly.

Y/N’s arms tightened slightly around her at the sound. Warm and safe.

Wanda closed her eyes.

God.

This was becoming a serious problem.

---

Wanda stayed there longer than she meant to, pressed against Y/N’s chest while the motel room hummed quietly around them, the old air conditioner rattling softly somewhere near the window.

Y/N didn’t rush her. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. She just held her. One hand rested carefully between Wanda’s shoulder blades while the other stayed warm against her waist, grounding and steady in that effortless way only Y/N seemed capable of.

Wanda hated how much she needed it.

After a long moment, Y/N spoke quietly. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question was so soft, so genuinely worried, that Wanda’s chest tightened painfully. She pulled back just enough to look up at her.

Y/N’s expression was open, uncertain now in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Like Wanda’s reactions mattered more than her own comfort.

“No,” Wanda said immediately. “No, you didn’t.”

Y/N studied her face carefully, searching for any sign she was lying. “…Then why are you upset?”

Because you smile every time I laugh. Because you look at me like I’m something precious. Because I can’t breathe when you touch me anymore. Wanda swallowed hard. “I’m just tired,” she said instead.

Y/N kept looking at her for another second, then slowly nodded. “…Okay.”

She believed her enough not to push further. That somehow made Wanda feel even worse.

Y/N finally loosened her hold, though one hand lingered lightly against Wanda’s waist for a second longer before falling away completely. The loss of warmth was immediate.

Wanda tried very hard not to notice.

Y/N stepped back and glanced around the room before wrinkling her nose slightly. “This place smells weird.”

The abrupt change nearly made Wanda laugh.

“It’s a motel.”

“It smells like cigarettes and sadness.”

A startled laugh escaped Wanda before she could stop it. Y/N’s entire expression softened instantly at the sound again.

There it is. That look. Wanda felt heat crawl back into her face immediately. Wanda turned away quickly before Y/N could notice her spiraling again and dropped her bag near the bed. Behind her, she heard Y/N moving quietly around the room, checking windows and locks automatically out of habit. The familiar sounds settled something anxious in Wanda’s chest.

A few minutes later, Wanda sat near the edge of the bed while Y/N disappeared briefly into the bathroom to wash up. The second the door closed, Wanda dropped her face into her hands with a groan.

“This is bad,” she whispered to herself. Very bad. Because now every little thing affected her. The hugs, the smiles, the protective instincts, the way Y/N looked happier whenever Wanda laughed. And the worst part?

Wanda liked it. A lot.

The bathroom door opened again. Wanda looked up automatically—and immediately regretted having eyes. Y/N stepped back into the room wearing loose grey sweatpants and a black sports bra, hair still damp from washing it quickly in the sink.

Wanda forgot how breathing worked. Again.

Y/N glanced at her immediately. “…What?”

“Nothing.” That answer came way too fast.

Y/N stared at her for a second. Then, to Wanda’s absolute horror, a small smirk appeared.

“Why is your face red?”

Wanda nearly choked. “It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s warm in here.”

Y/N glanced around the room. The ancient air conditioner rattled loudly from the window. “…No, it isn’t.”

Wanda hated everything.

Y/N took another step closer, still looking genuinely curious despite the faint amusement lingering on her face.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“The red face thing.”

Wanda grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at her. But Y/N caught it automatically. And the smirk got slightly bigger.

Wanda wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

Y/N frowned slightly, clearly trying to understand what Wanda meant. Then, instead of backing off, she stepped closer.

Wanda immediately regretted saying anything.

“Why?” Y/N asked.

Wanda opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Y/N tilted her head. “Am I the one making you blush?”

The question hit Wanda like a freight train. Her entire brain stopped functioning. For one horrifying second, neither of them spoke. Y/N watched her carefully. Wanda stared back completely frozen. Y/N kept watching her, golden eyes focused entirely on her face. There was no teasing there. No smugness. Just curiosity. Which somehow made it ten times worse.

Slowly, Y/N reached out and took Wanda's hand.

Wanda's breath caught. “Y/N—”

“You keep doing it.”

“What?”

Y/N shifted a little closer. Far too close. Wanda could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“Your heartbeat.” Y/N's brow furrowed thoughtfully. “It keeps getting faster whenever I'm around.”

Wanda's entire body locked up.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it?” The question came out quiet. And somehow that was the problem. Because Y/N wasn't trying to corner her. She actually wanted to understand.

“You blush when I get close,” Y/N continued carefully. “And when I touch you.”

Another inch closer.

“Your heartbeat gets faster.”

“Y/N.”

“And when I hug you—”

“Y/N.”

“Is it because—”

“Stop.”

The word came out sharper than Wanda intended.

Y/N immediately fell silent.

Wanda hated the flash of uncertainty that crossed her face. This was exactly why she couldn't do this. Because one more second and she was going to say something she couldn't take back. Something that would change everything.

Wanda pulled her hand free and stood abruptly. “I need a shower.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“A shower.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Y/N glanced toward the bathroom. Then back at Wanda. Still confused.

“Did I say something wrong?”

The guilt hit instantly.

“No.”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You pushed me.”

Wanda groaned and scrubbed both hands down her face. “I just need five minutes, okay?”

Y/N studied her for a moment.

Then nodded slowly. “…Okay.”

The disappointment she tried to hide made Wanda feel even worse. Without trusting herself to say anything else, Wanda grabbed her clothes and headed for the bathroom. The door shut behind her. The lock clicked.

For a long moment, Wanda simply stood there staring at her reflection in the mirror. Then she dropped her forehead against it.

“Oh, this is a disaster.”

---

Y/N’s POV

The bathroom door clicked shut.

Y/N remained exactly where she was on the edge of the bed, staring at it. Very confused. A few minutes ago she had been certain she was finally understanding what was happening. Wanda’s heartbeat accelerated whenever Y/N got close. She blushed, she looked away and she got nervous when Y/N touched her.

Those signs seemed obvious. At least, they did to Y/N.

So why did Wanda keep denying it? It didn’t make sense.

Because Wanda was her imprint. The certainty of that sat deep inside her bones. Unshakable. The moment Y/N had seen Wanda for the first time, something had changed. Every instinct she possessed had immediately recognized her.

Protect. Stay close. Keep safe. Make her happy.

It wasn’t something Y/N had chosen. It simply was. As natural as breathing. As natural as her heartbeat. Which was why Wanda’s reactions confused her so much.

Y/N wasn’t afraid.

Why would she be?

Wanda was Wanda. Her imprint. The person her instincts trusted more than anyone else in the world. Even now, with a locked bathroom door between them, Y/N could hear Wanda moving around inside. Running water. Soft footsteps. Safe.

The knowledge settled her immediately. So why wasn’t Wanda settling too?

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck.

Maybe other people were just complicated. That seemed increasingly likely. She thought back to the car ride. The way Wanda smiled when Yelena was being ridiculous. The way her face turned red. The way she’d melted into Y/N’s arms earlier. And then five minutes later acted like Y/N had asked her to dismantle a bomb with her teeth.

None of it made sense. Y/N’s frown deepened. Maybe Wanda was afraid Y/N didn’t feel the same way. The thought made her sit up straighter.

Was that it?

Normal people needed things said out loud sometimes. Maybe Wanda couldn’t feel what Y/N felt. Maybe she didn’t understand.

Y/N stared at the bathroom door.

Of course she didn’t understand. She didn’t even know what imprinting was.

The realization hit all at once.

Y/N had spent so much time assuming Wanda knew. Assuming she could somehow see it.

But Wanda wasn’t a wolf.

She had no reason to know why Y/N always ended up beside her. Why Y/N watched every room for threats. Why her attention always drifted back to Wanda no matter what else was happening. Why hearing Wanda laugh felt better than winning a fight.

Y/N exhaled slowly.

Maybe Wanda thought those things were choices. Not instincts. Not something woven into the very core of Y/N’s existence.

The thought made her chest ache unexpectedly. Because if Wanda didn’t know…

Then from her perspective, Y/N probably looked insane. 

Y/N frowned, then sighed.

Humans were confusing. Wanda was confusing. And somehow she was still the easiest person in the world to be around.

---

Wanda’s POV

The next morning, they were back on the road before sunrise.

Wanda had barely slept. Not because of the motel. Not because of the old mattress or the rattling air conditioner.

Because of Y/N.

After escaping into the shower the night before, Wanda had spent nearly twenty minutes standing under lukewarm water trying to get her thoughts under control. By the time she finally came back out, Y/N had been sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her.

Wanda had immediately announced she was tired before Y/N could continue whatever conversation they'd almost had earlier. Y/N had looked like she wanted to ask something, but after a second she'd simply nodded and said okay.

Then they'd gone to bed.

One bed. One very small bed.

Wanda was refusing to think about that too.

The motel coffee had been terrible, Yelena had insulted the complimentary waffles for five straight minutes, and somehow Y/N had still eaten four of them.

Now the three of them were driving farther south beneath a cloudy grey sky. This time, Y/N was driving. Wanda was absolutely not thinking about that. Not thinking about the way Y/N's hands looked on the steering wheel. Or the way she drove—steady, calm, one arm resting loosely near the window while the other guided the car effortlessly down the empty road. Wanda sat in the backseat behind her, staring out the window while trying very hard not to focus on the sound of Y/N laughing. Again.

For the past few hours, Yelena and Y/N had been talking almost nonstop. At first it had been practical things—roads, Natasha, safehouses, possible routes. Then somewhere along the way it had devolved into complete nonsense. And Y/N was participating.

Willingly.

Wanda still didn't understand how Yelena had managed this so fast.

When Y/N first joined the Avengers, it had taken months before she willingly joined conversations with the others. Even longer before she started joking back.

But now?

Yelena said one ridiculous thing and suddenly Y/N was relaxed enough to laugh every five minutes.

It was ridiculous.

“See?” Yelena said from the passenger seat, gesturing dramatically with half a granola bar. “This is why I don't trust goats.”

Y/N glanced at her briefly.

“…Goats?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They look like they know secrets.”

A quiet snort escaped Y/N before she could stop it. Wanda stared at the back of her head in betrayal.

“That’s not a reason,” Y/N said, still amused.

“It is absolutely a reason. I saw one stare at me for twenty straight seconds once.”

“Maybe it didn't like you.”

“Exactly. Suspicious.”

Y/N laughed again. Wanda frowned harder at the passing scenery outside. How was this happening?

Yelena leaned back smugly in her seat.

“You laugh because you know I’m right.”

“I laugh because you sound insane.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“In my culture, it is.”

Y/N shook her head slightly, smiling to herself as she focused back on the road.

Wanda crossed her arms tighter. This was really ridiculous. She should've been happy Y/N was comfortable.

And she was. Mostly.

So why did something unpleasant twist in her chest every time Yelena made her laugh?

Wanda frowned deeper.

No. She was not jealous. Yelena was just... easy to talk to. Loud, blunt and strange. And Y/N responded well to that apparently.

---

A few hours later, they stopped at a gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The place looked old and tired, tucked beside a long empty road with faded signs and only two working pumps. A tiny convenience store buzzed beneath fluorescent lights while bugs repeatedly sacrificed themselves against the windows.

Y/N had gone inside a few minutes ago after muttering something about needing the bathroom and “more snacks.”

Which really meant: Many snacks.

Wanda stayed leaning against the side of the car while Yelena finished pumping gas. The air was cooler now, carrying the smell of asphalt and distant rain.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Until Yelena starts—“So,” Yelena said casually, screwing the gas cap back on.

Wanda immediately narrowed her eyes. That tone never meant anything good.

“What.”

Yelena leaned against the pump. “What exactly is your deal with giant wolf woman?”

Wanda nearly choked on air. “What?”

“I ask simple question.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Yelena looked deeply unconvinced.

“You sleep together.”

“We do not—”

“You literally share a bed every night.”

“Because we’re hiding!”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s usually only one bed!”

“Convenient.”

Wanda glared at her immediately. “Nothing is happening.”

Yelena hummed. “Okay. Then explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain!”

“So you are really not a couple?”

“We’re not,” Wanda said quickly.

“Very convincing.”

“We’re just—” Wanda stopped. What were they?

Yelena noticed instantly. “Oh my god.”

“Stop.”

“You don't even know.”

Wanda hated that she was right.

Yelena folded her arms. “You hold hands. You sleep together. She watches you like emotionally damaged guard dog.”

“She does not.”

“She absolutely does.”

Wanda looked away. Because the worst part? A small, traitorous part of her knew Yelena was right.

Yelena stepped closer, lowering her voice. “She looks at you like you hung moon.”

Wanda's face heated instantly. “That’s not true.”

Yelena stared at her flatly. “You know I was trained from childhood to read people, yes?”

“…Unfortunately.”

“And you”—Yelena pointed directly at her—“look at her like you want climb her like tree.”

Wanda nearly died. “Oh my god!”

Yelena burst out laughing. “You should see your face!”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t care.”

Wanda dragged both hands down her burning face miserably. This was horrible. Because now that Yelena had said it out loud, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

The touching. The closeness. The way Y/N smiled every time Wanda laughed. The way she always seemed happiest when Wanda was happy. The way Wanda immediately relaxed whenever Y/N touched her. And worse—how much she wanted it.

Yelena's amusement faded slightly.

“So why are you fighting it?”

Wanda blinked. “…What?”

“You are very obvious,” Yelena said more gently. “Both of you.”

Wanda swallowed hard. “It’s complicated.”

Yelena snorted. “No. It is actually extremely uncomplicated. You like giant wolf girl. Giant wolf girl likes you.”

If only it were that simple. Wanda thought about the motel room. About Y/N asking if she was the reason Wanda blushed. About those golden eyes looking at her with absolute sincerity while trying to understand. About how confused Y/N had seemed when Wanda ran away to the shower.

Wanda looked away. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is because of robot guy?”

Wanda's head snapped toward her. “How do you know about him?”

Yelena looked completely unbothered. “Giant wolf woman told me.”

Wanda blinked. “…What?”

“The motel.”

Yelena shrugged.

“You went to the bathroom this morning. I asked her the same question I am asking you now.”

A feeling of absolute dread settled over Wanda immediately. “You asked Y/N if she liked me?”

“Obviously.”

“And?”

Yelena stared at her. “Wanda.”

“What did she say?”

“She spent ten minutes looking confused that it was apparently not obvious.”

Wanda felt her face heating already. “Oh my god.”

“She talked about you the entire time.”

That did absolutely nothing to help.

“What exactly did she say?”

Yelena thought for a second.

“Mostly things that sounded concerning.”

“That is not an answer.”

“She said she likes being around you. That you make her happy. That she feels calmer when you are nearby. That she worries when you are upset.” Yelena paused. “And then she looked at me like I was stupid for asking.”

Wanda suddenly found the cracked pavement very interesting. “Right.”

Yelena watched her for a moment.

“She also asked why you seemed afraid.”

That hit harder than it should have.

Wanda looked away again. “She doesn't understand.”

“No,” Yelena agreed. “She really doesn't.”

Because how could she? Y/N didn't know about the guilt.

About Vision.

About the part of Wanda that still felt responsible for everything that had happened. That it hasn’t been long since the break up. The thought twisted sharply in her chest.

“…Partly,” Wanda admitted quietly.

Yelena leaned back against the car, some of the teasing fading from her expression. “You know Natasha told me once that love is not always dramatic thing.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes it is just a person who feels like home.”

Wanda's chest tightened painfully. Because that was exactly the problem. Before she could answer, the convenience store door opened.

Y/N stepped back outside carrying two bags absolutely stuffed with snacks. She paused immediately after seeing their expressions.

“…What happened?”

Wanda straightened so fast she almost injured herself. “Nothing.”

Yelena grinned. “Wanda was just telling me how much she enjoys your company.”

Wanda made a horrified sound.

Y/N blinked once. Then—very softly—she smiled.

Wanda’s face burned instantly. “Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath.

Y/N blinked once, still holding the overloaded snack bags in both hands. “…What?”

“Nothing,” Wanda said quickly. Far too quickly.

Yelena’s smirk widened. Wanda refused to look at either of them. She immediately turned and walked toward the car before this conversation could somehow become even worse.

Behind her, she heard Y/N following automatically. Wanda climbed into the backseat without a word, pretending to be deeply interested in literally anything outside the window.

A second later, the back door beside her opened. Wanda looked over automatically—and found Y/N holding out a candy bar.

“…I got you this.”

Wanda blinked.

“What?”

“You liked it yesterday.”

“…Thanks,” she murmured softly, taking it from her.

Y/N nodded once, visibly pleased by her reaction before closing the door and heading back toward the driver’s seat. From the front passenger side, Yelena watched the entire interaction with the expression of someone having every suspicion confirmed in real time.

Neither of them noticed.

A few minutes later, the car pulled back onto the empty highway. The sky had darkened further while they stopped, low clouds hanging overhead as distant thunder rumbled somewhere far away. Inside the car, the atmosphere felt different now. Softer.

Wanda unwrapped the candy bar quietly while trying very hard not to think about the fact that Y/N had remembered her favorite snack after a single offhand comment the day before. Or the fact that, according to Yelena, she'd apparently spent the morning talking about Wanda.

That thought refused to leave.

In the front seat, Y/N drove with one hand resting loosely on the wheel while the other occasionally disappeared into one of the snack bags. Every few minutes, her eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror automatically. Toward Wanda.

Every single time their eyes met, Y/N smiled a little without seeming aware of it. And every single time—Wanda’s stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

Beside her, Yelena looked out the window to hide another smirk.

---

Nobody’s POV

They reached another motel long after dark. This one was somehow worse than the last.

The neon sign buzzed loudly overhead, missing half its letters, and the entire parking lot smelled faintly like gasoline and old cigarettes. A trucker smoked near one of the vending machines while static crackled from a tiny radio somewhere nearby.

Y/N parked the car and immediately started scanning the area automatically. Four occupied rooms. Two people near the ice machine. No immediate threats. Safe enough.

Beside her, Yelena stretched with a groan.

“If I die in sleep tonight because of cursed motel ghost, I blame both of you.”

“You’d fight the ghost,” Wanda muttered tiredly as she climbed out.

“Obviously.”

Y/N grabbed their bags from the trunk while Yelena headed toward the office to get rooms.

A few minutes later, she returned twirling keycards between her fingers. “One for me,” she announced. “One for emotionally repressed couple.”

Wanda immediately groaned.

Yelena smirked and handed Y/N the second keycard before disappearing toward her room.

Y/N barely paid attention to the teasing this time. Mostly because she was tired. Partly because Yelena had spent the entire day making comments like that. She adjusted the bags over her shoulder and followed Wanda across the parking lot toward the far end of the motel.

The night air was cold enough that Wanda folded her arms tightly across herself almost immediately. Without thinking, Y/N moved a little closer. Then—

“Actually...”

Y/N looked down immediately at the sound of Wanda's voice.

Wanda wouldn't meet her eyes. “You should sleep with Yelena tonight.”

Y/N stopped walking. “…What?”

“You can stay in her room.”

Confusion hit instantly. “Why?”

“It just makes more sense.”

“It doesn't.”

Wanda exhaled sharply, already sounding frustrated. “Y/N—”

“No.” Y/N frowned slightly, genuinely confused now. “I want to stay with you.” The words came out before she even thought about them.

Simple.

Obvious.

True.

Wanda's face immediately turned red. Again.

Y/N stared. There it was. The thing she'd been trying to understand since the motel the night before.

“That’s not the point,” Wanda muttered.

“Then what is the point?”

Wanda looked away.

Y/N stood there holding both their bags while trying to understand why Wanda suddenly seemed upset again. Just a few hours ago things had been fine. Wanda had laughed. They talked. Y/N bought her favorite candy bar. And Wanda had smiled. Everything had felt normal.

Now it felt like she'd somehow missed an important conversation.

Again.

A thought occurred to her. “…Is this because of yesterday?”

Wanda froze.

Y/N immediately knew she was right. “The bathroom thing?”

“Y/N.”

“I wasn't trying to upset you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Wanda closed her eyes briefly.

Y/N's confusion only grew. Because she wasn't avoiding Wanda. She wanted to be around Wanda. Always.

That was the problem. At least, it seemed to be the problem from Wanda's perspective. And Y/N still had absolutely no idea why.

Now suddenly Wanda was pulling away again. It made something uncomfortable twist in Y/N's chest.

Wanda rubbed a hand over her face tiredly. “I just want some privacy...”

The words hit harder than they probably should have. Y/N went quiet immediately.

Oh.

For a second, she just stood there beneath the dim motel lights, trying to understand why her chest suddenly felt tight. Then she remembered what Yelena had told her earlier.

Humans needed space sometimes. Especially when they were confused. And Wanda was definitely confused.

Y/N looked down briefly before nodding once. “…Okay.” Her voice came out quieter than before. She shifted the bags in her hands and stepped forward, handing Wanda hers.

Their fingers brushed. Usually Wanda unconsciously leaned toward contact. This time she pulled her hand back first.

Y/N immediately noticed. Something in her chest sank.

“…Goodnight,” she said softly.

Then she turned before she could ask another question she wouldn't get an answer to.

Wanda watched her walk away toward Yelena's room, shoulders slightly tense, steps quieter than usual.

And for the first time since they'd met—Y/N didn't look back. The realization hit Wanda immediately. A sharp ache spread through her chest as she stood alone outside her room. That wasn't what she wanted. Not even close. The motel suddenly felt colder.

Wanda looked toward Yelena's door just as it opened.

Yelena stepped out, took one look at Y/N, then looked across the parking lot toward Wanda. The assessment took less than two seconds. Y/N's expression.

Wanda standing alone. The distance between them. Understanding flashed across Yelena's face immediately. Her amusement disappeared.

“…What happened?”

Y/N shook her head once. “Wanda wants privacy.”

Yelena glanced at Y/N. Then at Wanda. Then back again.

“Come on.”

Y/N hesitated for one last second. Not looking at Wanda. Not checking if she was following. Then she stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind them. Leaving Wanda alone beneath the flickering motel light while guilt settled heavily in her chest. Because somehow, in trying to create distance, she'd managed to hurt the one person she least wanted to hurt.

---

Y/N’s POV

Yelena’s motel room looked almost identical to other motels. Same dim yellow lighting.

Y/N stood near the door for a moment after stepping inside, one hand still loosely holding her bag while Yelena quietly locked the door behind them.

The silence stretched. Usually silence around Wanda felt easy. This one didn’t.

Yelena noticed immediately.

“…You look like someone’s kicked puppy.”

Y/N frowned slightly. “Nobody kicked me.”

“Mhm.” Yelena tossed her jacket onto the second bed before sitting down cross-legged against the headboard. She watched Y/N carefully for another second.

“You are upset.”

Y/N shook her head automatically. “…No.”

“Very convincing.”

Y/N stayed quiet. Because she didn’t really understand what she was feeling. Her chest just hurt. A little, not physically. Something tighter than that.

Yelena’s expression softened slightly. “She didn’t mean it badly.”

Y/N nodded. “I know.”

And she did know. Wanda wasn’t cruel. Never cruel.

But—

Y/N sat slowly on the edge of the second bed, shoulders lowering as exhaustion finally started catching up to her. “She wanted space,” she murmured quietly, more to herself than Yelena.

Yelena hummed.

“And you do not like space.”

Y/N immediately shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

Yelena raised one eyebrow. “No?”

Y/N frowned, trying to explain the uncomfortable feeling twisting inside her chest. “I just...” She hesitated. “I like knowing she’s okay.”

That part was true.

If Wanda was nearby, Y/N could relax. Sleep deeper, breathe easier. Distance felt wrong in a way she couldn't fully explain to people who weren't like her. Or people who didn't know what an imprint was.

Yelena watched her quietly. “You are aware normal people do not look physically distressed because they sleep in different room for one night?”

Y/N blinked. “…Oh.”

“Mm.”

Y/N looked down again. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Yelena’s expression softened further. “You didn’t.”

“But she wanted space.”

“Yes.”

Y/N's chest tightened again. Because Wanda had never asked for distance before.

Not really.

Even during the strange, confusing moments lately, Wanda still stayed close. Still leaned against her when tired. Still reached for her without thinking.

Tonight felt different.

Y/N rubbed her thumb absently against the edge of her sleeve. “She sounded...” Her voice lowered. “…frustrated.”

Yelena sighed and leaned back against the headboard. “She is frustrated.”

Y/N immediately looked up. “With me?”

“No.”

The answer came so fast that Y/N blinked. “Then with what?”

Yelena stared at her. For a long moment. Then groaned, “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You genuinely have no idea.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I know.”Yelena pointed at her. “That is the problem.”

Y/N frowned deeper.

Yelena dropped her hand over her face dramatically. “Natasha is never going to believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“That two smartest people I know are somehow both idiots.”

Y/N looked mildly offended. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Debatable.”

Y/N stared at her. Completely lost.

Yelena stared back. Completely exhausted. After several seconds, Yelena sighed heavily. “She is not frustrated with you.”

“Then why does she keep running away?”

The question slipped out before Y/N could stop it.

Yelena's expression softened immediately. Because there it was. The real problem.

Y/N looked away. “She keeps getting close.”

Closer. Laughing. Smiling. Leaning against her. Looking at her like she wanted to say something. Then the moment Y/N tried to understand, Wanda would panic and retreat. The pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.

Yelena was quiet for a moment.

“Have you considered she might be scared?”

Y/N frowned. “Of me?”

“No.” Yelena pointed at her again. “Of this.”

Y/N blinked. “This what?”

Yelena dropped backward onto the mattress with a groan. “Unbelievable.”

Y/N remained exactly as confused as before. Which somehow made Yelena groan even louder.

“With herself.”

That confused Y/N even more.

“…How?”

Yelena stared at her for a long moment. “See, this is why I asked if you liked her yesterday.”

Y/N frowned. “I do like her.”

“Yes, I know.”

“No, I mean I like her.”

Yelena pointed at her. “That. That right there.”

Y/N looked even more confused. “What?”

“You say it like it is obvious.”

“It is obvious.”

“To you.”

Y/N hesitated. Then slowly sat back against the edge of the bed. “Maybe because she’s my imprint.”

The room went silent. Yelena blinked. “…Your what?”

“My imprint.”

“What is imprint?”

Y/N frowned slightly, surprised she didn't know. “It’s a wolf thing.”

That explained absolutely nothing. Yelena waited.

Y/N seemed to realize that. “Oh.”

A pause. Then she tried again.

“When wolves find their person.”

Yelena immediately sat up straighter.

“Their person?”

Y/N nodded.

“The one they're meant to protect. Stay with. Take care of.”

Yelena stared. “Oh my god.”

Y/N tilted her head. “What?”

“You never told me that part.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Nothing about this is obvious.”

Y/N frowned again. “But Wanda is my imprint.”

Yelena pointed both hands at her.

“Does Wanda know this?”

“No.”

“Have you told her?”

“No.”

“Then how is it obvious?”

Y/N opened her mouth. Paused. Then slowly closed it again. For the first time, she looked uncertain. “…Oh.”

“Exactly.” Yelena dropped back against the headboard. “From Wanda's perspective, you are just showing up everywhere and looking at her like she invented happiness.”

Y/N looked down. That explained a few things.

After another moment, Y/N quietly stood and gathered her clothes. She paused near the bathroom door.

“…Do you think Wanda’s upset with me?”

The uncertainty in her voice softened Yelena’s expression immediately. “No,” she answered honestly. “I think Wanda is trying very hard not to be upset with herself.”

Y/N absorbed that silently before heading to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, the sound of running water filled the small motel room.

Yelena leaned back against the headboard with a long sigh and stared at the ceiling.

“This is painful,” she muttered to herself.

Because somehow these two idiots had managed to fall catastrophically for each other while operating with completely different instruction manuals. It was honestly impressive.

---

Wanda’s POV

The room felt wrong without Y/N in it. Wanda realized that approximately three minutes after closing the door. Which was completely ridiculous. She sat on the edge of the motel bed, still fully dressed, staring at the muted TV while silence pressed heavily around her.

The room suddenly felt colder than it had before. Wanda rubbed both hands over her face with a frustrated groan before falling backward onto the mattress. “This is stupid.”

Because this was what she wanted, wasn't it? Space. Distance. A chance to breathe. So why did her chest ache now that she had it?

Wanda stared at the ceiling while Yelena's words replayed mercilessly in her head.

You like giant wolf girl.

God.

The worst part? Yelena wasn't wrong. Wanda turned onto her side with another frustrated sound, burying half her face in the pillow. Everything had become too much too fast. The touching, the closeness, the way Y/N always noticed her first, the way she smiled every single time Wanda laughed, and now there was something else she couldn't stop thinking about.

The conversation Yelena had told her about.

The fact that Y/N had apparently spent a long time that morning talking about Wanda. The fact that she'd been confused when Yelena asked if she liked her. Like the answer was obvious. Because to Y/N, apparently, it was.

Wanda groaned into the pillow. Because once she admitted that to herself, everything else became harder to ignore too. The jealousy. The way seeing Y/N with Yelena all day had made something ugly twist in her stomach.

The realization made Wanda sit upright immediately.

“Nope.” Absolutely not. She stood and started pacing the tiny motel room instead. Because this was dangerous territory.

Vision had barely been out of her life for a month. And now Wanda was spiraling because a giant wolf woman smiled at her too sweetly?

It made her feel guilty. Confused. Excited. All at once.

Wanda stopped pacing near the window, arms folded tightly across herself. Outside, rain had started again, droplets tapping softly against the glass beneath the flickering motel lights. Her eyes drifted automatically toward the neighboring room.

The ache in her chest returned immediately. Because now all Wanda could picture was Y/N's face after she'd asked for space. That tiny shift in her expression.

The way she'd gone quiet, the way she'd said goodnight, the way she hadn't looked back. That part hurt most. Y/N always looked back. Always checked. Always made sure Wanda was there. Tonight she hadn't.

Wanda pressed a hand against her forehead. Maybe she'd been too harsh.

No. Not harsh. Just—panicked. That was the problem. Because every time Y/N got close, Wanda felt herself wanting things she wasn't ready to want. And every time Y/N pulled away, it felt worse. A miserable realization settled over her.

She missed her. She'd sent Y/N away less than twenty minutes ago. And she already missed her.

“This is insane,” Wanda muttered to herself.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her clothes and headed toward the bathroom before she could think herself into another crisis. 

---

Y/N’s POV

Something woke her up. Y/N’s eyes snapped open instantly. For a second, she stayed completely still on the motel bed, listening. The room was dark except for faint moonlight leaking through the curtains. Across from her, Yelena was asleep sprawled diagonally across the mattress with one arm hanging dramatically toward the floor.

The motel itself was quiet. No footsteps outside. No strange engines. No weapons clicking into place. Nothing dangerous. And yet—something felt wrong.

Y/N sat up slowly, frowning. Her chest felt tight. Restless. Like an instinct tugging somewhere deep inside her. Across the room, Yelena shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't wake. Y/N looked toward the wall separating this room from Wanda's. Her heartbeat. Still there. But the uneasy feeling didn't leave.

Y/N quietly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The floor creaked softly beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room and pulled on her hoodie.

A few hours ago she'd told herself she would give Wanda space. That she'd stop pushing. Stop making things harder. But now she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not danger. Something else. Something she couldn't explain.

Cold night air wrapped around her the moment she stepped outside. The parking lot sat silent beneath flickering neon lights while distant thunder rolled somewhere far away. Y/N's eyes drifted automatically toward Wanda’s room. Her chest tightened immediately. Before she could stop herself, her feet were already moving. She crossed the parking lot and stopped outside the door.

Silence.

Y/N stared at it. Wanda wanted privacy. The reminder sat heavily in her stomach. She shouldn't bother her. Especially not after tonight. Y/N rubbed the back of her neck and paced once in front of the room. Maybe Wanda was sleeping. Maybe she was finally getting the space she'd asked for. Maybe she was happier without Y/N hovering nearby every five minutes.

The thought hurt more than it should have.

Y/N stopped again. Her instincts screamed at her to check. Just once. Just make sure Wanda was okay. She lifted her hand toward the door—Then froze.

Because what if Wanda opened it and looked disappointed to see her? The thought made her immediately lower her hand.

No. Don't push. She stepped back.

Paced once more. The feeling refused to leave. Y/N glanced around the empty parking lot before exhaling quietly through her nose. Then an idea occurred to her. A familiar one. Something she'd done dozens of times before. Back at the compound. When Wanda couldn't sleep. When nightmares woke her up. When neither of them wanted to talk.

Decision settling into place, Y/N stepped into the shadows beside the railing. Bones shifted beneath skin, and a second later, a massive wolf stood where she'd been. Golden eyes catching the faint motel lights. The wolf padded quietly back toward Wanda's door. This felt different. Safer. Not pushing. Not asking questions.

The wolf lifted one massive paw. Then, Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Three soft scratches against the motel door. The exact same pattern she'd always used at the compound.

A silent question. Are you okay?

Then the wolf sat down outside the room patiently. Golden eyes fixed on the door while distant thunder rolled across the night sky.

Waiting.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda jolted upright in bed with a sharp breath, heart hammering violently against her ribs. The nightmare still clung to her. Fragments of it flashed through her mind. Darkness. Loss.

Watching people disappear and being unable to stop it. The familiar panic sat heavy in her chest even after waking. Then again—Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

For one disoriented second, Wanda thought she was back at the compound. Back in her room. Back when nightmares still woke her almost every night. Back when a giant wolf would quietly scratch at her door before curling up beside her bed until she fell asleep again.

Then reality caught up.

Wanda was already moving before she fully processed it. She threw aside the blankets and hurried toward the door, pulse racing for an entirely different reason now. The second she opened it—she froze.

A massive wolf sat quietly beneath the flickering motel light. Golden eyes lifted immediately toward her.

Y/N.

Relief hit Wanda so hard her knees almost weakened. Immediately followed by guilt. Because she'd sent her away. And somehow Y/N had still come.

“Oh my god—Y/N!”

The wolf's ears flicked backward slightly. Wanda grabbed the door quickly and looked around the parking lot. Empty. Thank god.

“Inside,” Wanda whispered urgently. “Now.”

The wolf immediately stood and slipped past her into the room. The second the door shut, Wanda turned toward her with exasperated disbelief.

“What are you doing?” she hissed quietly. “You can't just turn into a wolf outside the motel!”

The wolf lowered slightly. Ears flattening immediately.

“What if someone saw you?”

A soft whine escaped her. Wanda crossed her arms. “I’m serious.”

Another quieter whine. The ears lowered even further. And instantly—all of Wanda's frustration evaporated. Because somehow Y/N looked guilty. Even as a giant wolf.

Wanda let out a long sigh. “You can't do that,” she repeated, softer this time.

The wolf lowered her head. God. Wanda's chest ached. Not because of the nightmare anymore. Because she'd spent the entire evening missing her.

Without thinking, Wanda stepped forward and wrapped both arms around the wolf's neck, burying her face deep in warm Y/H/C fur.

Immediately, warmth surrounded her. The wolf made a soft sound deep in her chest and leaned into her instantly. Like she'd been waiting for permission.

Wanda closed her eyes. “You scared me,” she whispered into the fur.

The wolf huffed softly against her shoulder. For a long moment neither of them moved. Wanda simply stood there holding her while her heartbeat gradually slowed from the nightmare. While the lingering fear drained away. While the horrible emptiness she'd felt all evening quietly disappeared.

Her fingers threaded slowly through thick fur.

“You know,” she murmured after a while, “I think you were right.”

The wolf's ears twitched. Wanda smiled weakly. “The room was awful without you.”

The wolf immediately perked up. Wanda actually laughed. A real laugh. The wolf's tail thumped once against the carpet.

Wanda stared. “Don't.”

Another thump.

“You are enjoying this.”

The tail thumped again.

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly before resting her forehead against soft fur. Then, more quietly—“How do you always know?”

The wolf tilted her head.

Wanda swallowed against the last remnants of the nightmare.

“…When I have nightmares,” she murmured. “How do you always know?”

The wolf stared at her silently.

Then stepped closer until her large head pressed carefully against Wanda's chest. Like the answer was obvious. Like she'd always know.

Wanda's expression softened painfully. She reached up and cradled the wolf's face between her hands before pressing her forehead against soft fur again. And just like that—the room didn't feel cold anymore. Neither did she.

---

Wanda stayed wrapped around her for another long moment, fingers buried deep in soft dark fur while the last remnants of the nightmare slowly loosened their grip on her chest. The wolf stayed perfectly still for her.

When Wanda finally pulled back, golden eyes were already waiting for her, focused entirely on her with that same endless attentiveness that always made her chest ache.

“You really scared me,” Wanda murmured softly.

The wolf's ears lowered immediately. Apologetic.

Wanda sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Y/N ears twitched upward again. That made Wanda laugh quietly.

Without really thinking about it, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against the wolf’s muzzle.

The reaction was immediate. A quick warm lick swept instinctively across Wanda’s lips.

Both of them froze. Silence filled the motel room.

Wanda blinked. The wolf stared at her with wide golden eyes. Then suddenly— a distressed whining sound escaped Y/N while her paws shuffled anxiously against the carpet.

I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT.

Wanda blinked again. The whining got louder.

I’M SORRY. OH MY GOD.

Another panicked sound.

THAT WAS A REFLEX.

Wanda stared at her for one long second—then burst out laughing. Not a small laugh. Bright and helpless and exhausted all at once.

The wolf looked absolutely horrified.

I DIDN’T BITE YOU, RIGHT?

That only made Wanda laugh harder. “No,” Wanda managed between laughs, covering her mouth. “No, you didn’t bite me.”

The wolf immediately shoved her nose against Wanda’s shoulder miserably like she wanted to disappear into the fabric of her shirt. Another embarrassed whine escaped her. Wanda’s entire chest warmed painfully at how genuinely mortified she sounded.

“Oh my god,” Wanda laughed softly, rubbing both hands through her fur. “You’re adorable.”

The wolf made an offended sound at that word. Which somehow made it worse. Wanda shook her head, still smiling helplessly before stepping back slightly. “Shift back,” she murmured softly.

The wolf paused. Golden eyes lifted toward her carefully.

Wanda’s heart squeezed immediately at the uncertainty there. Then softly—“Come to bed with me.”

The wolf went completely still. For a second, Wanda thought maybe she’d imagined how intensely Y/N reacted to things in wolf form—until the giant tail behind her thumped once violently against the dresser.

Wanda smiled helplessly before waving one hand lightly. Scarlet magic flickered around the room lamps. “Okay,” she murmured. “Shift back.”

The wolf hesitated. Then slowly stood.

Wanda turned around immediately to give her privacy as the familiar sound of shifting filled the room behind her—bones moving, breath catching softly, claws retracting against carpet.

A few seconds later, silence returned.

Wanda lifted one hand and used her magic automatically, summoning one of Y/N’s shirts and sweatpants from the other room. The clothes appeared and floated gently backward through the air.

“…Thanks,” Y/N murmured quietly behind her.

Wanda’s chest squeezed at how soft her voice sounded now. Still embarrassed.

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda climbed back onto the bed while Y/N got dressed behind her. The mattress dipped softly a minute later as Y/N carefully settled beside her. Not touching. Leaving space which Wanda noticed immediately.

Y/N sat tense near the edge of the mattress for a few seconds before finally speaking quietly into the darkness. “…Is this really okay?”

Wanda turned her head slightly.

Y/N was staring down at her hands now. “You said you wanted privacy,” she added softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The guilt hit Wanda immediately.

Wanda rolled onto her side with a quiet sigh until she was facing her fully.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

Y/N looked up immediately at that. Moonlight from the window softened her features, silver-blue across tired eyes and damp dark hair. Wanda reached up without thinking and brushed her fingers gently through that hair. Y/N immediately leaned into the touch.

Wanda’s chest ached painfully.

Her hand slid lower until she was cupping Y/N’s cheek softly, thumb brushing warm skin. Y/N visibly melted beneath her hand.

“I just panicked,” Wanda admitted quietly.

Y/N frowned slightly. “…Because of me?”

“No.” Wanda smiled faintly. “Well—yes. But not in a bad way.”

That only confused Y/N more. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

Y/N’s eyes searched hers carefully before words suddenly started tumbling out all at once. “I didn’t mean to crowd you and I know I stay close a lot and Yelena keeps teasing and maybe I should stop doing that and I know I hover sometimes but I just—”

Wanda leaned forward suddenly and pressed a soft kiss right against the center of Y/N’s nose.

Y/N froze instantly.

Wanda smiled a little despite herself. “There,” she murmured softly. “That stopped you.”

Y/N stared at her with wide eyes.

Wanda’s heart skipped hard in her chest.

God. She was so beautiful like this.

Wanda’s thumb brushed slowly across Y/N’s cheek again.

“…Did it only work because you were in wolf form?” she whispered softly.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Wanda leaned closer before she could lose her nerve. Then gently, but carefully, she pressed her lips against Y/N’s.

Soft. Barely there. A question more than a kiss.

Wanda felt Y/N stop breathing entirely. Their lips lingered together for one suspended second.

Then Wanda whispered softly against her mouth—“…What about there?”

It did. The second the words left Wanda’s lips, Y/N moved. Like instinct finally snapped.

Her hand came up carefully—almost hesitantly at first—cupping Wanda’s jaw as she kissed her back immediately. Not soft this time.

Wanda made a small sound against her mouth, surprised by the sudden intensity of it. Y/N kissed her like she’d been holding herself back for weeks and finally couldn’t anymore.

Which—God. Maybe she had.

Y/N shifted closer instinctively, one hand sliding carefully to Wanda’s waist while her other stayed against her cheek like she was afraid Wanda might disappear if she let go. Wanda melted instantly. Her fingers tangled into Y/N’s dark hair while she kissed her back harder, deeper this time, heart pounding violently against her ribs.

Y/N made a quiet sound low in her throat at that. The noise went straight through Wanda. Every kiss after that became less careful. Though still tender and hesitant in places, it was desperate underneath. All the restrained affection between them suddenly had somewhere to go. Wanda felt Y/N’s hand tighten slightly against her waist when she kissed her deeper, and god—that warmth, that need. It made Wanda dizzy.

Because suddenly every thought she’d been trying to bury for weeks came rushing back all at once.

Budapest. The way she’d imagined pulling Y/N closer beneath her hands. The way she’d woken up flushed and breathless after that stupid fantasy she absolutely should not have had. And now—Y/N was actually here. Kissing her. Wanting her back.

Wanda made another soft sound against her lips before instinct took over completely. Her hands slid from Y/N’s hair down to her shoulders, gripping firmly as she pulled her closer across the mattress. Y/N came willingly immediately. Like she’d been waiting for permission. The movement pressed them flush together, chest against chest beneath the blankets, and Wanda physically felt Y/N shudder at the contact.

God. That reaction alone nearly destroyed her.

Y/N kissed her again instantly, deeper this time, careful restraint cracking apart little by little with every passing second. One of her hands slipped around Wanda’s waist while the other stayed cradling her face like something precious.

Wanda couldn’t stop touching her.

Her fingers dragged through soft dark hair, down the back of Y/N’s neck, across warm shoulders beneath the thin shirt Wanda had summoned earlier.

Real. This was real.

Y/N pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Wanda’s while both of them tried and failed to calm down. Her eyes searched Wanda’s face carefully. “Is this…Okay?” Y/N whispered softly.

The concern in her voice right after kissing her senseless made Wanda’s chest ache so hard it almost hurt. Instead of answering normally, Wanda slid one hand up into Y/N’s hair again and pulled her back down into another kiss.

A soft sound escaped her as Wanda tugged her fully on top of her this time, their bodies fitting together against the motel mattress in a way that felt almost terrifyingly natural. Wanda’s heart pounded harder the second Y/N settled between her legs.

Y/N kissed her deeper almost instantly, one hand braced beside Wanda’s head while the other slid carefully along her waist like she still couldn’t believe she was allowed to touch her like this.

Wanda definitely wanted her to. Her fingers moved down Y/N’s back slowly, dragging over muscle beneath the thin shirt before gripping the fabric firmly. Y/N shivered against her mouth.

Wanda tugged upward instinctively. Y/N immediately lifted enough to let her pull the shirt off completely without breaking the kiss for more than a second. Wanda’s breath caught instantly at the feeling of Y/N’s bare chest against hers through the oversized shirt she slept in.

Her hands roamed before she could stop them, sliding across toned shoulders and down Y/N’s back again, nails scratching lightly against warm skin. Y/N gasped softly into her mouth. The sound made heat coil low in Wanda’s stomach immediately. Every touch after that became hungrier. Still messy and inexperienced in places. But desperate. Y/N kissed like she felt things too deeply to hold back once she started.

Wanda could feel it in every movement.

Every rough inhale.

Every trembling touch against her waist.

Her fingers curled harder into Y/N’s back when Y/N pressed closer instinctively, and—

Y/N suddenly froze. The kiss broke abruptly. Wanda blinked up at her, breathless and confused. Y/N had pulled back just enough to stare downward, visibly panicked now.

“What?” Wanda whispered immediately.

Y/N looked horrified. “I—”

She swallowed hard and tried shifting backward quickly like she wanted to put distance between them.

Wanda’s brows pulled together instantly. “Y/N?”

Y/N wouldn’t look at her. And then Wanda realized why.

Oh.

Heat rushed straight into her face again. Because pressed between them, unmistakable now, she could feel how hard Y/N had gotten.

Y/N looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she blurted immediately, panic flooding her voice. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—I can stop—”

“Hey.” Wanda caught her face gently before she could spiral any further. “Hey.”

Y/N finally looked at her. Absolutely terrified she’d done something wrong. Wanda’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wanda whispered softly.

Y/N still looked unconvinced. “But—”

“You’re turned on,” Wanda said gently, trying not to smile at how scandalized Y/N looked by the concept. “That tends to happen when people are making out.”

Y/N stared at her. “…Oh.”

Wanda laughed softly despite herself. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, huh?”

Y/N’s face flushed immediately. “…Not really.”

Wanda’s expression softened at once.

Y/N looked away again, visibly embarrassed now, her hands planted awkwardly against the mattress like she suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. “I know what it means,” she said quietly. “I just…”

She stopped.

Wanda stayed still beneath her, waiting patiently.

Y/N swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to think that’s all this is.” The words came out rushed, almost panicked. “That I just—I don’t know—got excited and that’s why I kissed you or—”

“Y/N.”

“I mean I did get excited obviously, but that’s not why—”

“Y/N.”

That finally stopped the spiral. Wanda reached up, brushing her fingers gently against Y/N’s cheek until those anxious eyes finally met hers.

“I know.”

Y/N’s shoulders loosened slightly. Only slightly. Because there was still fear there.

Real fear.

Wanda could see it now beneath all the embarrassment.

Y/N hesitated before speaking again, quieter this time. “I’ve never done this properly before.”

Wanda frowned softly.

Y/N immediately looked away again. “I just...” Her jaw tightened. “I was thirteen when Hydra took me…They did things.”The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Wanda’s chest tightened hard.

Y/N’s fingers curled against the blankets like she already regretted saying anything. “They wanted more of me,” she murmured quietly, voice flattening in the way it only did when she talked about Hydra. “More wolves.”

Wanda felt cold all over.

Y/N stared somewhere over her shoulder instead of at her. “And when they couldn’t...” She swallowed once. “They tried other ways.”

That was enough. Wanda understood immediately. Pain ripped through her chest so sharply she almost stopped breathing.

Y/N laughed once. Bitter.

“So technically I know what sex is.” Her voice dropped even quieter. “But not like this.”

Not safe. Not wanted. Not hers.

Wanda’s eyes burned instantly.

Y/N shook her head quickly, like she wanted to take the words back. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Wanda whispered immediately.

Y/N finally looked at her then.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The motel room felt impossibly quiet.

Then Wanda reached up and gently took one of Y/N’s hands in both of hers.

“You never have to explain those things to justify yourself to me.”

Y/N blinked.

Wanda squeezed her hand softly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Something fragile crossed Y/N’s face. The kind of vulnerability she almost never allowed anyone to see. “You’re not... bothered?”

The question shattered Wanda’s heart.

“Y/N.” Wanda lifted their joined hands slightly. “You survived.”

Y/N looked down.

“That’s not something you need my forgiveness for.”

Silence.

Y/N’s throat worked once. Twice. Then she laughed softly through her nose. A little unsteady. “You make everything sound simple.”

“It is simple.” Wanda brushed her thumb across Y/N’s knuckles. “What happened to you was wrong.”

Y/N’s eyes closed briefly.

“And none of it changes how I feel about you.”

When Y/N looked at her again, something in her expression had softened. A little less alone.

But suddenly Wanda heard, loud and clear.

Dirty.

Wanda reached up immediately, both hands cradling Y/N’s face firmly.

“Hey.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered uncertainly between hers.

“You are not dirty.”

The thought had barely crossed Y/N’s mind before Wanda answered it out loud. Y/N froze. Fear flashed across her face so quickly Wanda almost missed it. Not fear of Wanda. Fear of what Wanda might have seen. Her breath caught.

“Did you—” She stopped.

Wanda understood instantly.

Y/N’s eyes searched hers anxiously now, bracing for disgust. For pity. For horror.

Wanda’s heart broke all over again. Very gently, she leaned forward and kissed her. Soft. Slow. When she pulled back, she kept their foreheads touching.

“I didn’t look,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N visibly stilled.

“I only heard that thought because you were thinking it so loudly.” A tiny, sad smile touched Wanda’s lips. “Your brain practically shouted at me.”

A horrified sound escaped Y/N immediately. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” Wanda brushed her thumbs beneath Y/N’s eyes. “I would never go digging through your head like that.”

Y/N stared at her quietly. Still scared and uncertain. So Wanda kissed her again.

A tiny kiss. Then another against the corner of her mouth.

“You hear me?” Wanda whispered softly. “I don’t need to see anything to know Hydra hurt you.”

Y/N’s throat moved.

Wanda’s hands remained steady against her face.

“And I don’t need to see anything to know none of it was your fault.”

For a second, Y/N just looked at her. Then her eyes dropped. Like hearing the words was somehow harder than saying them. Wanda felt her chest tighten.

“You survived,” she continued quietly. “That doesn’t make you dirty.”

Y/N closed her eyes. Wanda could see the fight happening behind them. Years of shame, of pain. Years of being treated like something that belonged to other people.

“You are still you,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N’s breath shook.

“And I still see the same person.” Slowly, Y/N opened her eyes again.

Wanda smiled faintly. “The person who brings me my favorite candy bar.”

A tiny huff escaped Y/N.

“The person who scratches at my door when I have nightmares.”

Another tiny huff.

“The person who accepted Yelena, even though she doesn’t stop talking.”

That finally earned the smallest laugh. Wanda’s smile widened.

“The person who always notices when I’m upset.”

Y/N’s expression softened immediately.

“The person who somehow knows exactly what I need before I do.” The laugh faded into something quieter. Something warmer. Wanda brushed her thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek.

“The person who makes me feel safe.”

Y/N froze. Wanda felt her own heart pounding now. Because this part was terrifying. But not nearly as terrifying as losing the chance to say it.

“The person who made me miss her after twenty minutes.”

A startled sound escaped Y/N. Wanda laughed softly. “It was very annoying.”

Y/N’s eyes never left hers. Like she was afraid to blink. Wanda swallowed. 

Then Wanda reached up and gently pulled Y/N down toward her.

“The person who I can't stop thinking about.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“The person who makes me nervous.”

A faint smile tugged at Y/N’s mouth.

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

Another tiny laugh. Wanda’s chest squeezed painfully.

“The person...” She hesitated, suddenly feeling far more vulnerable than she had during any fight she'd ever been in. “The person I think I'm starting to fall for.”

Silence. Complete silence. Y/N stared at her. For one horrible second, Wanda wondered if she'd broken her.

Then Y/N's eyes softened. Not with surprise. With certainty.

“I know.”

Wanda blinked. “You know?”

Y/N nodded once. “You blush every time I get close.”

Despite everything, Wanda groaned. “Oh my god.”

A tiny smile appeared on Y/N's face. “I like you too.”

The words landed so gently that for a second Wanda almost missed them. Then her heart stopped.

“What?”

Y/N looked embarrassed immediately. But she didn't look away.

“I like you.” Simple. Honest. Like she'd been carrying the truth for a long time.

Wanda stared at her. Then before she could overthink it, she grabbed the front of Y/N's shirt and pulled her down into a kiss. Y/N made a surprised sound against her lips before kissing her back immediately. All the fear that had been sitting between them seemed to disappear at once. Wanda smiled into the kiss. Y/N kissed her again. And again. Neither of them seemed capable of stopping. The world narrowed down to warmth, laughter, and the relief of finally being honest with each other.

After a moment, Y/N shifted closer instinctively. The movement was completely automatic. Unthinking. She moved further between Wanda’s legs, pressing closer as the kiss deepened.

Wanda felt it immediately. The firm pressure of Y/N’s arousal brushing against her through their clothes. For a split second, neither of them seemed to process what had happened. Then Y/N shifted again without thinking and accidentally pressed more firmly against her. Both of them froze.

The kiss breaking apart.

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as realization crashed over her. Wanda stared up at her, equally stunned. For one long second, neither of them moved. Then Wanda buried her face against Y/N’s shoulder as a breathless laugh escaped her.

“I think...” she managed between embarrassed laughter, “maybe we should sleep tonight.”

The mortified sound Y/N made only made her laugh harder. Y/N went bright red. Immediately.

“Right.”

“Very much right.”

“Sleep.”

“Yes.”

Y/N nodded so fast it was almost impressive.

“Definitely sleep.”

Wanda laughed again and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

Neither of them moved for several seconds. Still tangled together, smiling.

Eventually Y/N carefully settled beside her beneath the blankets. But Wanda immediately rolled toward her anyway. Y/N's arm wrapped around her without hesitation. Safe. Home.

Within minutes, the tension that had haunted the entire day finally began to fade. And for the first time in a long time, both of them fell asleep smiling.

---

Yelena’s POV

By the next morning, Yelena knew something had happened.

Not because anyone said anything. Because both of them were acting weird.

Well—weirder.

Yelena leaned against the hood of the car, sipping terrible gas station coffee while watching Wanda and Y/N approach from the motel office carrying breakfast.

Y/N was smiling. Not occasionally. Constantly. At Wanda talking.  At Wanda handing her coffee. At Wanda literally existing.

It was honestly disgusting.

And Wanda—

Wanda wasn't much better. Yesterday she'd been tense. Guarded. Pretending not to stare. Today she kept drifting closer without even realizing it.

When they reached the car, Y/N handed her a coffee. Wanda accepted it, then immediately reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Y/N's face. The movement was completely natural.

Neither of them seemed to notice.

Yelena nearly threw her coffee into traffic. Interesting. Very interesting.

Also—Y/N never came back to her room last night. Which already told Yelena something important.

Not what she'd originally assumed.

Because one look at them made it obvious neither of these idiots had gotten much farther than finally admitting their feelings. They had the exact same energy as two people who had stayed awake all night talking and then spent the morning staring at each other like they'd discovered fire.

Yelena hated it.

Y/N opened the passenger door for Wanda automatically. Wanda rolled her eyes but smiled anyway before getting inside.

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

Y/N started walking around toward the driver's side when Wanda reached out instinctively and caught the sleeve of her flannel. Tiny movement. Barely noticeable.

But Y/N stopped immediately. Turned around without hesitation. Wanda said something too quiet for Yelena to hear. Y/N's entire face softened.

Oh my god. They were unbearable already.

Yelena climbed into the backseat with the exhausted expression of someone trapped between two people who were one shared playlist away from becoming completely insufferable. The engine started a moment later.

And immediately—Wanda reached over and stole one of Y/N's hash browns without asking.

Y/N looked offended for approximately half a second before sighing dramatically and handing her the entire bag.

“You said you weren't hungry.”

“I changed my mind.”

“That's my breakfast.”

“You're big. You'll survive.”

Y/N muttered something under her breath, but there was absolutely no annoyance behind it. Worse. She looked fond.

Yelena stared at the back of Y/N's head in horror. Oh, they were down catastrophically bad.

A few minutes later, Wanda noticed a smear of ketchup near the corner of Y/N's mouth. Without thinking, she reached over. Y/N immediately stopped talking. Wanda wiped it away with her thumb.

“Thanks,” Y/N said softly.

“You're welcome.”

Then Wanda went right back to eating Y/N's breakfast like she hadn't just short-circuited the driver's brain. Yelena considered jumping out of the moving vehicle. The car rolled back onto the empty highway while morning sunlight slowly spread across the road ahead.

Nobody said a word. Nobody had to.

By then, Yelena had reached to a conclusion. Natasha absolutely owed her money for putting her in the middle of this emotional disaster.

---

Unknown POV

The motel looked almost abandoned in the afternoon light.

Most of the guests had already left hours ago, leaving behind an empty parking lot shimmering beneath the heat. Somewhere nearby, a broken ice machine rattled loudly while insects buzzed lazily around the flickering neon sign. A motel room door opened quietly. A man stepped outside, shielding his eyes briefly against the sun before looking toward the far end of the parking lot. His gaze slowly lifted toward the old security camera mounted above the motel office. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. The call connected immediately.

“Yes,” he said calmly. A pause. “The wolf was here.”

His eyes drifted briefly toward the motel rooms again. “The camera caught it.” Another pause. “No. I’m certain.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flash drive between gloved fingers. “The fur color changed,” he continued quietly. “H/C this time.” Silence answered him for a moment. The man’s expression shifted slightly at whatever was said next. “Yes,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought too.”

A truck rumbled loudly past the motel on the distant highway. The man watched it disappear southbound. “They left this morning,” he said. “Heading south.” Another long pause.

Then—“No. They didn’t notice surveillance.” His gaze flicked once more toward the camera above the office. “The Maximoff woman is still with her.”

A faint crackle came through the speaker. The man listened carefully before nodding once. “…Understood.” The call disconnected.

For a few seconds, he remained standing there in the afternoon heat, thumb resting lightly against the flash drive in his hand. Then slowly—he smiled.

---

[summer2224]

Breathe For Me Part 2

Part 1 out of 4 (full story is too long for a single post. Words 22052. Link for the next part at the end)

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

by summer2224

18+ smut

Written December 23th, 2025 — May 30th, 2026

-------------------------------------------

The room breathes for you.

That's the first truth of this place, the low mechanical inhale, the soft pressurized exhale, the rhythm that belongs to a machine because your lungs haven't earned back the right to do it alone yet.

It's been twenty six hours.

The ICU suite is dim, curtains half drawn against a gray afternoon that doesn't care about you or your chest cavity or the woman standing at the window like she's daring the sky to darken further. 

The monitors beside your bed tick out your existence in green and white, heart rate, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, a life reduced to numbers that Wanda has memorized without being taught what any of them mean.

She knows your resting heart rate is sixty-two. She knows that because she's watched the screen for twenty six hours and counted.

Your body lies still beneath white sheets pulled to your collarbone. The bruising has deepened overnight, a dark, ugly bloom spreading beneath your skin like something rotting under glass. 

There's tape at your throat where Natasha's knife gave you back the sky. A chest tube curves from your left side into a container on the floor, doing its quiet, gruesome work. Your hands rest at your sides, fingers slightly curled, like you fell asleep reaching for something you never caught.

You look small.

Wanda hates that. She hates it with a violence that would scare her if she had room for anything other than the single, relentless task of keeping watch.

She stands at the window in heels.

Black. Sharp. The kind that sound like a verdict on tile floors, click, click, click, the kind she wears when she wants a room to feel her before she speaks. 

She changed hours ago in the Tower's residential wing, standing in a bathroom she doesn't remember walking to, stripping off tactical gear that was stiff with your blood. She showered until the water ran clear and then stood under it for four more minutes because her hands wouldn't stop shaking and she refused to carry that into your room.

She came back in jeans, a black turtleneck , hair down but precise. Like she dressed for a funeral and then decided to attend a war instead.

She hasn't left since.

Her phone is pressed to her ear, and her voice is a scalpel.

"No."

A pause. Someone on the other end talks too long.

Wanda's jaw tightens. Her reflection in the window glass is a ghost version of herself, pale, sharp, eyes like something that burns cold.

"I said no. The disciplinary review stays on my timeline, not yours. If Director Hill has concerns about the process, she can bring them to me directly instead of routing them through you like I won't notice."

Another pause. Shorter this time. The person on the other end is learning.

"The trainee remains suspended from all field operations. That is not a recommendation. It is not a discussion point. It is a consequence, and consequences do not have a comment period."

Her free hand rests on the windowsill. Her nails are clean now, no blood, no grit, but she keeps looking at them like she can still see it.

"Their psychological evaluation is scheduled for Thursday. If they're cleared for simulation based retraining, I will design the program personally. If they are not cleared—"

She stops.

Not because the person interrupted.

Because she caught your reflection in the glass.

Behind her, in the bed, your chest rises on the machine's rhythm. Your face is turned slightly toward the window, though you don't know it. The bruise under your collarbone is visible above the sheet, purple and black, shaped like a fist, like the bullet's ghost left a handprint on you.

Wanda's throat works.

Her voice doesn't waver, but it takes a fraction longer to return.

"—if they are not cleared, we revisit in six weeks. Not before."

She ends the call without saying goodbye. It's not rudeness. It's just that the person on the other end stopped being real the moment she saw the bruise again.

The phone lowers.

Her hand stays in the air for a moment, suspended, like she forgot what hands do when they're not holding you together.

Then she turns from the window.

The heels are quiet now. She crosses the room slowly, and the sound she makes is careful, controlled steps on cold tile, the kind of walking that belongs to someone approaching something they're afraid to break.

She stops at the side of your bed.

Looks down at you.

And the Commander is gone.

What's left is just Wanda. Tired. Terrified. So in love it's eating her from the inside like a second heartbeat she never asked for.

Her fingers reach out and brush a strand of hair from your forehead. The touch is barely there, a ghost of contact, like she's afraid too much pressure will remind the universe you're fragile.

"Detka," she whispers.

You don't answer. You haven't answered in twenty six hours.

She knows that.

She talks to you anyway.

"They're trying to fast track the review," she says quietly, sinking into the chair beside your bed that has a permanent indent in the shape of her. "Hill wants to close the file before the press cycle catches it. Fury is pretending he's neutral, which means he's already decided something and he's waiting to see if I'll agree with it."

Her hand finds yours on the mattress. She doesn't lace your fingers, the IV makes it complicated, so she just rests her fingertips against your knuckles, light enough that a nurse wouldn't notice.

Heavy enough that she can feel your warmth.

"I won't," she adds, softer. "Agree with it. Whatever it is. Not until you wake up and tell me what you remember."

Her thumb traces a slow line across the back of your hand.

The monitor beeps.

Steady. Reliable. The only thing in this room keeping her sane.

"Your oxygen is better today," she says, like she's reporting to you. Like you asked. "Ninety four percent. Yesterday it was ninety one. The doctor said that's good. He said it like he expected me to smile."

A pause.

"I did not smile."

She sits the way she stands, like the chair is a throne she's tolerating.

Her legs cross at the knee, one heel dangling slightly off the floor, the sharp black stiletto catching the dim light like a weapon someone forgot to confiscate. Skinny jeans, dark as ink, fitted like they were cut specifically for the architecture of her, all clean lines and quiet authority, the kind of silhouette that makes people step aside in hallways without understanding why.

The black turtleneck sits high against her throat, tight, elegant, covering every inch of skin like armor made of cashmere. It makes her jaw look sharper. It makes her collarbone disappear. 

Her auburn hair falls past her shoulders in loose waves that look effortless and aren't. She washed it twice last night, because she could still smell the smoke, and let it air dry while she sat in this exact chair reading your charts like they were mission briefs. In the low hospital light, the color shifts between dark copper and something deeper, almost red, like the magic she keeps coiled beneath her skin.

And her eyes. God, her eyes.

Green the way the word doesn't prepare you for, not soft, not gentle, not the green of gardens or springtime or any of the things poets reach for when they're being lazy. Wanda's eyes are the green of deep water with something living at the bottom. 

Bright and sharp and devastating, framed by lashes that darken without mascara, set beneath brows that express more in a single shift than most people manage with their entire face.

Right now, those eyes are on you.

And they are so tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The kind that lives behind the sternum, the kind that comes from holding yourself rigid for twenty six hours because if you soften for even a second you might not stop.

Her skin is pale in the way it always is, porcelain and precise, but there's a drawn quality to it now, a tightness across her cheekbones that wasn't there two days ago.

Her jaw tightens as she watches you breathe.

She is gorgeous the way a storm is gorgeous.

The kind of beautiful that doesn't comfort. The kind that warns.

And she is sitting in a hospital chair with her fingertips on your knuckles, watching your chest rise and fall on a machine's schedule, and she has never in her life felt less powerful.

Her phone buzzes on the side table.

She glances at it. Her jaw does that thing again, the tightening, the micro flex that means someone is about to have a very bad conversation.

She picks it up, reads the screen, and her eyes narrow.

The text is from Yelena.

is she awake yet

Followed immediately by 

can I bring pudding. the cafeteria has pudding. I think it is butterscotch but it could be old vanilla

Her thumb hovers. Then moves.

Bring the pudding and I'll make you eat the cup.

She sets the phone down with a deliberate softness that is somehow worse than slamming it.

Her gaze returns to you.

The door opens behind her.

She doesn't turn. She's cataloged every sound this wing makes in the last twenty six hours, the shift change footsteps, the cart wheels, the particular rhythm of each nurse's entrance. 

This one belongs to Dr. Amari, the lead trauma surgeon, because he always hesitates for half a second before crossing the threshold.

Like he's checking the weather in the room before he commits.

Smart man.

"Commander Maximoff."

"Doctor."

He moves to the monitors first. Checks the numbers Wanda already knows. His pen scratches against his clipboard, and the sound is small and ordinary and Wanda hates it, hates how routine your broken body has become to the people whose job it is to fix it.

"Her oxygen has been stable since early this morning," he says. "Lung function is improving. The chest tube output is decreasing, which is what we want."

Wanda's eyes stay on your face. "And."

It's not a question. It's a door held open.

Dr. Amari sets his clipboard down.

"We'd like to start reducing sedation," he says. "Gradually.."

Wanda's hand stills on yours.

"She won't wake up all at once," he continues. "It's a process. She may be in and out for a while — confused, nonverbal, agitated. That's normal."

Wanda nods once. Controlled.

"When she does come around fully, she's going to be in significant pain. The rib fractures, the contusion, the chest tube, the throat—" He pauses, choosing his words. "She's going to feel all of it. We'll manage it, but there's no way to take it to zero."

Wanda's jaw flexes.

"She may also panic," he adds carefully, like he knows this is the part that matters. "Patients with airway trauma sometimes wake up disoriented. They feel the restriction, the soreness at the throat, and their body tells them they're still in danger. It can be... distressing to witness."

The room is quiet except for the monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Wanda's voice is even. "What do you need from me."

"Stay calm. Talk to her. Keep her grounded. She'll recognize your voice before she recognizes where she is."

Something shifts behind Wanda's eyes, a flicker, fast, barely there.

She nods.

"I'll be back to begin the taper in about an hour," he says. 

Then he leaves. The door clicks shut.

Wanda sits perfectly still for a long moment.

Then her grip tightens on your hand, not much, just enough, and she exhales through her nose, slow, measured, the way she breathes before a fight she knows is going to cost her.

"Okay," she whispers. Not to you. Not to anyone.

Just to the room. Just to herself.

Natasha enters next.

Wanda doesn't look up. "You could knock."

"I could," Natasha agrees, and doesn't elaborate.

She doesn't go to Wanda. She goes to you. She looks down at you for a long moment.

Natasha reaches out and brushes her thumb across your cheek.

Wanda watches. 

She knows Natasha loves you. Not the way Wanda does, not the way that keeps her awake and makes her dangerous, but in the way Natasha loves the handful of people she's decided are hers. Fiercely. Silently. With a loyalty that would make her kill without hesitation and grieve without sound.

Wanda respects it.

She still watches until Natasha's hand pulls away. 

Natasha turns, leans against the window ledge, and crosses her arms. Her eyes move to Wanda for the first time and stay there, scanning her with the same clinical efficiency she'd use on a surveillance target.

"You look like shit," Natasha says.

Wanda blinks. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. When's the last time you ate."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's not what I asked."

Wanda's jaw tightens. She doesn't answer, which is an answer.

Natasha lets it sit for exactly two seconds, long enough to make her point, short enough not to push Wanda into a wall.

"So what's the plan," Natasha says, nodding toward you.

Wanda's gaze drops back to your hand under hers. Her thumb starts its slow trace across your knuckles again, automatic, like a rosary.

"They're reducing sedation," she says. "Over the next few hours. She'll come out gradually."

Natasha's expression doesn't change. "Good."

"She's going to be in pain."

"They'll manage it," Natasha says. Practical. Grounded.

Wanda shakes her head once, not disagreeing, just... rejecting the comfort of it. "He said she might panic. When she wakes up. The throat, the—" Her hand lifts slightly, gestures at you, at the tape, the tube, the evidence. "Her body won't understand. She'll think she's still—"

She stops.

Her jaw works.

Her eyes are bright and she is looking at the ceiling like she can keep the tears in by sheer geometry.

"She'll think she's still suffocating," Wanda finishes, and her voice is barely there.

Natasha is quiet for a moment.

The door opens again. Yelena is there, filling the doorway like she was shot out of a cannon, holding a small plastic pudding cup in one hand and a spoon in the other.

She is already eating it.

"Before you say anything," Yelena says, mouth half full, pointing the spoon at Wanda, "it is butterscotch. Not old vanilla. I investigated."

Wanda tilts her head.

It's slow. Deliberate. The kind of head tilt a predator does before deciding whether something is food or annoyance.

Yelena does not register this. Or she does and simply does not care, which is somehow worse.

She leans against the doorframe, licks the spoon, and gestures at you with it.

"She looks better."

"She's in a coma," Wanda says flatly.

"Yes, but a better coma. More color. Before she looked like—" Yelena waves the spoon in a vague circle. "—like milk that has been left out."

Wanda stares at her.

Yelena takes another bite.

Natasha crosses the room in two steps, reaches over, and yanks the pudding cup out of Yelena's hand with the precision of a woman disarming a weapon.

"Hey—"

"Read the room," Natasha says.

"I did read room. Room is sad. Pudding helps sad."

Natasha closes her eyes briefly. The exhale through her nose says everything.

"Sheesh." Yelena stares at her hand like she's been pickpocketed. 

Then she shrugs, produces another pudding cup from her other pocket, and peels the lid off without breaking stride.

Yelena wanders closer to your bed, chewing thoughtfully. 

She looks down at you the way she looked at you in the hallway, not soft, not sentimental, but present. 

"You know," Yelena says, pointing a new spoon at your unconscious face, "when you wake up you should ask Wanda about the trainee meeting. Very entertaining. I think one of them peed a little."

Natasha's head turns so fast it's almost audible.

The look she gives Yelena could strip paint off a wall. It's not anger, it's the very specific expression of an older sibling watching the younger one sprint toward a line they absolutely should not cross.

Yelena catches the look.

Shrugs.

"What? It was impressive. Very scary. I was taking notes." She scrapes the bottom of the pudding cup. "I think Fury was also a little scared. He will never admit this. But I saw his eye do the thing."

"Yelena," Natasha says, low.

"His eye does a thing," Yelena insists to no one in particular. "When he is nervous. It goes—" 

She squints one eye in a deeply unflattering impression.

Wanda is watching this like she's observing an alien species.

"She will be fine," Yelena says, and for once her voice isn't performing. It's just quiet. Just true. "She is too stubborn to die. This I know because she works under Wanda, and no one survives Wanda unless they are stubborn."

Natasha's expression softens a fraction.

Wanda's gaze drops to your hand.

She doesn't say anything.

But her fingers tighten around yours, just barely.

The hour doesn't pass. It drags itself across the floor of the room like something wounded.

Natasha stays. She doesn't explain why and Wanda doesn't ask. She settles into the chair by the window with her coffee and her silence and her particular way of being present without taking up space.

Yelena stays too, though she migrates between leaning against the wall, checking her phone, and examining the medical equipment with the unsettling curiosity of someone who's definitely thinking about how to weaponize a heart monitor.

Wanda doesn't move from your side.

Then the door opens wider than before.

Dr. Amari enters first, but this time he isn't alone. Two nurses follow, one adjusting a tray of syringes and vials, the other carrying a portable monitoring unit that she hooks into the existing setup with practiced hands. A third person, younger, a resident maybe, stands near the door with a tablet and the expression of someone trying very hard to look like they belong in a room with the Scarlet Witch.

The air changes.

Wanda feels it immediately, the shift from waiting to happening. The room tightens around the new bodies, the new purpose, the new equipment. Everything that was still is suddenly in motion.

She stands.

Not because anyone asked her to. Because her body won't let her sit while people move toward you with needles.

Dr. Amari glances at Natasha and Yelena, then at Wanda. He doesn't ask them to leave. He's learned that much.

"We're going to begin the taper now," he says, voice calm, instructional, the tone of a man who has done this enough times to know that the explanation is as much for the people in the room as it is for the patient. "We'll reduce the sedation in stages. It's not a switch, it's a dial. Her body will come up slowly."

One of the nurses adjusts your IV line, fingers quick and sure. The other checks your vitals on the new monitor, murmuring numbers to the resident who logs them on the tablet.

"First stage, she'll show autonomic changes," Dr. Amari continues. "Heart rate may increase. Breathing pattern may shift. She won't be conscious yet, but her body will start responding to stimuli."

Wanda listens without blinking.

"Second stage, she may show movement. Fingers, eyelids. Restlessness. She might react to sound or touch but won't be oriented. This is where it can be difficult to watch."

His gaze meets Wanda's. 

"She'll look distressed. She may try to reach for the tube sites. We need her to not do that."

Wanda nods once.

"Third stage is full emergence. That's when she'll recognize voices, faces, surroundings. That's also when the pain hits." He pauses. "But there will be a window where she feels it before the medication catches up. That window is... uncomfortable."

"How long," Wanda says.

"Minutes. Could be five. Could be twenty. Every patient is different."

Wanda's jaw does the thing. The flex. 

"I'll be here for the full process," Dr. Amari says. "If anything concerns me, we can pause the taper and resedate. She's safe."

The nurse at your IV looks to Dr. Amari. He nods.

"Reducing now."

The nurse's fingers adjust something on the line. A quiet click. A dial turned. Nothing dramatic, no alarms, no visible change. Just a small mechanical adjustment that means the chemicals keeping you under are loosening their grip, and the world is about to come rushing back to you whether you're ready for it or not.

Wanda moves closer to the bed.

She hovers over you now, one hand finding the railing, the other reaching for your hair. Her fingers slide through it slowly, carefully, smoothing it back from your forehead in a rhythm that's more instinct than thought.

"You're okay, detka," she murmurs, thumb brushing your temple. "I'm right here. You're okay."

Behind her, Yelena's eyebrow lifts.

One. Slow. Deliberate.

Her mouth opens.

Natasha's elbow connects with her ribs so fast it's almost invisible.

Yelena's mouth closes.

She rubs her side, shoots Natasha a look of profound betrayal, and receives in return the most imperceptible head shake in human history.

Yelena exhales through her nose. Folds her arms tighter. Says nothing.

But her eyes stay on Wanda's hand in your hair, and the corner of her mouth twitches with the unmistakable expression of someone filing something away for later.

The monitor beeps. Steady. Unchanged. Not yet.

Wanda's fingers keep moving through your hair. Slow strokes. Over and over. Just a woman touching someone she loves because she's about to watch them suffer and this is the only thing she can do.

"You're okay," she murmurs, barely above a breath. "I'm right here."

A minute passes. Two.

The first nurse checks the monitor. Writes something down.

"Heart rate's coming up slightly," she says. "Seventy. Seventy two."

Dr. Amari nods. "That's expected. Let it climb."

Wanda's hand stills in your hair for half a second. Then resumes.

Three minutes.

Your fingers twitch.

It's small, a curl and release, involuntary, like your body is testing its own edges. Like something deep inside you just remembered it has hands.

Wanda's breath catches.

Her fingers tighten in your hair, just barely, and then she forces them to soften again.

"That's stage one," Dr. Amari says quietly. "She's coming up."

Your head shifts on the pillow.

A tiny movement. Barely an inch. 

But your brow creases, the first expression your face has made in twenty six hours, and it's pain.

Not awake. Not aware. But your body knows.

Wanda's hand slides from your hair to your cheek. She cups it, thumb resting just below the bruise near your jaw, and she leans closer until her face is all that would fill your vision if you opened your eyes.

"I'm here," she whispers. "You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."

The monitor reads seventy eight.

Climbing.

Your fingers twitch again, both hands this time, a small restless curl like you're searching for something to hold onto in whatever dark you're swimming through.

Wanda's free hand drops to yours immediately. She catches your fingers before they reach for the IV line, folds them gently into her palm, and holds.

"I know," she whispers. "I know. I'm here."

Your brow creases deeper. Your head shifts on the pillow again, turning toward her voice like a plant bending toward light it can't see yet.

"Heart rate eighty four," the nurse says.

"Breathing is getting more irregular," the resident adds, eyes on the tablet. "She's fighting the vent."

Dr. Amari moves to the opposite side of the bed. "Let's pull the ventilator support down another notch. She wants to breathe — let her try."

Another click.

Your chest stutters. One breath comes too shallow, the next too deep, your lungs relearning a rhythm they forgot while the drugs held them still. A small sound escapes your throat, not a word, not a groan, just air forced through damaged tissue, and it's awful.

Wanda's hand tightens in yours.

Her jaw flexes so hard the muscle jumps.

"That's normal," Dr. Amari says, and he's watching Wanda as much as he's watching you. "Her body's catching up. It's messy but it's good."

It doesn't look good.

It looks like someone dragging themselves up from the bottom of a well one handful of dirt at a time.

Your arm moves, jerky, uncoordinated, and your fingers reach toward your throat. Toward the tape. 

The nurse catches your wrist gently. "Easy. Easy, sweetheart."

Wanda's eyes snap to the nurse's hand on you.

It's fast. Involuntary. The look of someone who has been the only one touching you for twenty six hours and has forgotten how to share. Truth is... she doesn't share when it comes to you.

---------------------------------

Click here for part 2

[fandomnerd9602]

Maid!Wanda keeps cleaning the study as Y/N walks in…

Wanda: you look so lonely. I-I’m sure many a young women would love you

Y/N: many in my status would take someone for a mistress. But not me.

Wanda’s heart flutters…

Wanda: you’re different than most. I know it well.

Y/N: then you know my dear friend that I do not care for status.

Y/N gently caresses her cheek…

Y/N: w-would you have me? For a spouse?

Wanda; my family has no dowry.

Y/N: I care not for dowry

The two share a passionate kiss, their love finally allowed to bloom…

[norwayromanoff]

Choose Me Too

masterlist

Soft bottom!NR x top!r

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: The presumed by everyone (including herself) touch-averse Black Widow needs physical contact like anybody else. It only took you to show that to her. Now, she just needs to convince you that touch starvation isn’t the driving force behind her want to kiss you.

The idea started from this request

18+

Author's note: Some smut with feelings.

It was a hard mission for Natasha.

No, it wasn’t just a hard mission; it’s been multiple. Over and over. Back to back.

She’s exhausted, and despite having just returned from one, she’s sure that tomorrow, she’ll be summoned for another. It seems like there’s just crisis after crisis these days. Infiltrate this organization, retrieve that intelligence data, handle and escort yet another asset across country lines… and do so through whatever means necessary.

She collapses onto the common room sofa, leaning back against the cushions, eyes slipping shut.

It’s late. No one else is up. She just needs one moment to…

Natasha’s disturbed by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Her eyes reopen tiredly to find you gazing at her, confused and concerned. Well, no one else was supposed to be up.

“Rough mission?” you ask her.

She sighs. She doesn’t want to get into it.

You understand her exhale; you don’t push. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just coming to grab a glass of water. I’ll be out of the space shortly.”

“It’s alright,” she murmurs, and she’s not sure she wants to—she’s had quite the past 72 hours—but it’s you, and she’ll always be soft for you. “Anything in particular keeping you up?” she questions.

You hum. “Not sure,” you reply, “Anxiety, probably. Stress, maybe.”

Natasha gets that. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” You’re surprised at the offer—Natasha really looks like she’d prefer to be alone—but you accept anyway, unwilling to turn down the opportunity to spend time with her. You make your way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with some water before walking into the common room and settling on the couch beside the redhead, a comfortable amount of space between you two, perhaps a larger amount of space than usual for two friends.

Natasha’s not one for closeness, for intimacy, and she’s made that abundantly clear time and time again. It’s not uncomfortable, being this far from her, but you wonder what it would be like if she ever let you close the distance.

Her eyes fall closed once more, and silence blankets the both of you.

She looks so small right now. You want to offer something—anything—to comfort her, to soothe and alleviate whatever shadows from her mission may still be clinging to her.

But you don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to talk, and she’s always rejected physical contact before: Steve’s friendly pats on the back, Wanda’s hugs, your casual linking of arms as you walk side by side.

But tonight, she looks so small, so worn out. You can’t help but try, and you’re willing to admit that you could use some closeness as well.

“Do you maybe… want to come here?” you ask hesitantly, certain that she’s going to reject your offer, but your arms open to welcome her on the off chance she chooses to accept.

And although she doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even answer with certainty, to your shock, the redhead nods.

Maybe she senses that you need this, maybe it’s just for you, but she’s giving you it anyway.

It doesn’t take long.

Natasha’s head is pressed against your chest as she lets herself just be amazed by the steady sound of your heartbeat beneath her ear. Your arm is draped over her waist, keeping her flush against you, as you gently swipe your thumb back and forth across her hip. Your legs are tangled with hers as you two lounge together on the sofa, something on the TV playing quietly in the background, barely paid attention to by her in favor of reveling in your presence instead.

She’s trembling, everything within her at war. She’s never truly let herself get this near to someone else, and her instincts are both screaming at her to push you away and begging her to tug you even closer. Her nerves are on fire, every part of her body humming at the feeling of being in touch with another, and although lingering unease still swirls in her stomach, there’s also a sense of comfort that comes from being against you.

Everything is new, unfamiliar, and addicting.

She begins melting with each passing moment, relaxing into your hold, her tension unfurling as she surrenders to the sensation of just being held. Her own hands rise to settle around you, to grip at your shirt, the fabric clutched between her fingertips, and a soft sound escapes her, unbidden, as she nestles as if burrowing into your chest.

But it’s not enough. She needs to be closer.

So, Natasha situates herself more firmly against you, curling into you further, trying to gain even more physical contact. Her body moves without her thinking, acting on its own, shifting until she’s then fully on top of you, straddling you, her face soon back to being buried deeply into the crook of your neck, her nose nuzzling the curve of it, brushing the delicate skin there.

You suck in a surprised breath at the sudden change in positions, not having expected Natasha to make such a move. She’s been letting you take the lead, letting you guide her through all these new and hopefully gratifying feelings, but now, here she is, zero space between your hips and hers, her face tucked into you so close that you can feel every warm breath of hers on your throat.

Your hands instinctively grab onto her hips, trying to steady her, to settle her—you can feel the tremors in her body—and Natasha whimpers as the heat from your palms practically sears through her leggings.

You can sense the change, but you don’t understand it.

She grinds down lightly, testing without knowing it, and whimpers again at the ever so slight friction she receives. Her eyes flutter shut.

Your brows furrow at her neediness, but it’s not just neediness; it’s longing. Something is stirring within her, unlocking, making itself known, and you wonder…

You’re not sure you have a right to ask, not sure you have a right to know, but the way she’s acting right now—desperate, wanting, like she’s never felt the touch of someone who was touching her for her benefit—makes you think. “Have you ever…” you trail off.

“What?” Natasha asks breathily, eyes opening to look at you, trying to focus on your face and your words despite her hips still lightly grinding into your own. She can’t stop them.

“Have you ever…” you try again before rephrasing, “Has anyone ever made you come before?”

She stiffens in your arms, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve made so much progress with her tonight, gotten her to open up to you, to trust you, to let you touch her. You don’t want that to go away, but she does try to pull away, to sit up and move out of your arms, to remove herself from the vulnerable position she’s put herself in.

Your grip on her tightens minutely, attempting to keep her close, fingers resuming trailing soothing patterns along her as if that will get her to stay despite your misstep.

Neither of you two speak. You’re too worried about ruining what was already a fragile moment, and Natasha, she’s embarrassed, ashamed, not sure what she’s supposed to say in the face of the question that she is taking as an accusation.

She’s Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, known for using her body to get what she needs, known for seduction and sex and lust from others, and yet here she is, about to admit that she’s never been touched in a way that’s fulfilled her before.

“No,” she finally murmurs, quietly, almost inaudible, “It’s always just been a job. It’s always just been about the other person. I’ve never-”

You’re still silent, letting the new knowledge of how Natasha’s only ever been used sink in. You remember how her body moved against your own of its own accord, remember the whimper she made in response to her grinding. She needs this. You make a decision.

“Let me do this for you,” you murmur, pulling her upwards onto your stomach instead of your hips, beginning to mouth gently at the curve of her neck. You can feel her body still rigid in your arms, and although you don’t know if you should, you decide to press your luck, your tongue slipping out to hotly slide along her jawline. “Let me show you what real pleasure is. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.” Your words are said against her skin, and it makes her shiver with want.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut again, and for a moment, just like earlier when you offered her your touch, you think that she’s going to decline, that she’s going to roughly shove herself off of you and tell you to fuck off and never talk to her again, but then she breathes out a small “please”, and it’s all the permission you need.

You can already feel her pulsing along the muscles of your abdomen, so you waste no time. Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of her pants and underwear, dipping themselves into her folds, just feeling her wetness, taking in her heat, and Natasha shudders. It’s not the first time she’s been touched there, but it’s the first time it hasn’t felt like it was for somebody else.

You watch her expression soften as she surrenders to the sensations, and you soften as well.

“I’m going to show you just how good it can feel, just how good you deserve to feel,” you whisper to her, and Natasha’s body yields further, falling limp against you as she prepares herself to simply let herself feel and enjoy it this time.

It’s not a mission, not an assignment, not something that has to be done. This is a choice that she gets to make for herself.

“Tell me what you want. Anything you want, it’s yours,” you tell her as you start to circle her clit, just light circles before pressing down on the sensitive bundle of nerves more firmly, drawing a long whine from the redhead.

You continue teasing her, moving down to her entrance to gather more of her slick before returning to her clit, tapping lightly, swiping across it, using your two fingers to brush and skim and stroke with varying pressures.

For a while, Natasha is speechless, driven into an overwhelmed quiet by your ministrations, but her body aches, her pussy aches, and she needs you to fill her.

“Inside,” she finally gasps out, hips starting to rock up to try and get your fingers to slip into her hole, to delve into her and explore.

You immediately comply, your fingers swiftly entering her. You want to give her whatever it is that she needs. Tonight’s about her.

Natasha’s eyes roll back. She’s felt something similar to this before, felt the fullness and the stretch, but her pussy has never wanted to hold someone within, her pussy has never been desperate for more, her pussy has never throbbed for another person.

You drag your fingers out only to shove them back in, curling them to try and find the spot that the redhead needs, and a whine escapes her again.

Your eyes snap up to look at her face when she makes the noise.

“Right there?” you ask softly, and she nods, her head bobbing up and down multiple times.

“Right there,” she affirms, tone hoarse, voice shaky. Her hips are rolling to meet your every thrust, her body lighting up under your touch. Her hands grip at your shoulders as if that will stabilize herself as you continue pumping into her, and despite her thoughts scattering as the world blurs around the edges, she can’t help but think about one thing: she wants to kiss you.

One of her hands moves to tangle in your hair, to try and draw you closer, to try and pull your head toward hers so she can at first graze her lips against yours. It’s not that she hasn’t kissed anyone—she has many times before—but tonight feels different, this feels different, you feel different.

You acquiesce for a moment, dipping yourself forward until you realize what her goal is, and then you’re pulling away. Although there’s a smile on your face, it’s resigned.

You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Natasha whines for a third time, but this time, it’s out of petulance at being rejected, and she tries to tug your face back to hers again.

You speed up your motions to distract her from her current fixation on your lips, and Natasha’s body arches as you succeed. Despite your movements being restricted by her leggings, you’re quickly taking her up to the edge that she’s always heard contains nothing but pleasure, the pressure building fast and hot inside of her.

And then… it releases. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced before. She wasn’t aware it could feel like this.

Natasha’s reveling, savoring, basking in the feeling that follows an orgasm—a real orgasm—but… it wasn’t just an orgasm. It was an orgasm given to her by you.

She’s almost recovered after a minute or so, her chest still rising and falling unsteadily, her heartbeat still thumping rapidly in her chest, and she falls back onto her side on the sofa to look at you, her eyes soft. You look so beautiful in front of her. Her hand comes up to frame your face, and you lean into the touch, smiling at the affectionate gesture.

Now’s the moment, right? You didn’t kiss her during the act, but that didn’t mean anything. You were busy; you were preoccupied.

“Can I kiss you now?” Natasha asks hopefully, gaze not leaving your face.

Everything about this moment is tender, the haze of all that has transpired still hanging over the two of you and throughout the room… or maybe just over her.

You pull away from her hand, and your eyes turn… not guarded, but acceptant of the belief you already have.

When you respond, your tone is still gentle, so gentle, but it makes the redhead flinch anyway. “Natasha,” you murmur, and she knows you’re going to reject her again before you even continue. “You’ve never had this before, never felt like this before. I know you needed this, and I’m happy to have given it to you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that you want me.”

Natasha’s heart breaks. After all this, you think she doesn’t want you?

When she doesn’t respond, you take her silence for confusion. “Don’t confuse your body’s need with what you want,” you explain more.

“No, no, that’s not-” Natasha breaks off, “I do want you. I do.”

You look at her with a mix of disbelief and sympathy, and it kills her. She doesn’t want your pity; she wants your trust.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone touch me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone fuck me?”

“You’ve never-”

“It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been with someone like this before, I want you.”

“You’re just touch starved-” you protest.

“I’m able to tell the difference between touch starvation and feelings. You believe me. You have to believe me.”

She can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t.

“Every other time, it’s always been for a job, with a goal in mind, but this time, it was a choice. I got to choose. Please don’t demean that; please don’t take that away from me.”

“Natasha,” you try one more time.

“After all that, don’t you… don’t you choose me too?”

It’s your turn to melt for the night, and your hand cups her cheek, fingers caressing her face as you finally lean in and give her what she’s been asking for.